The lounge room had seemed emptier somehow, as though there was furniture missing or rearranged. He remembered the walls felt more exposed, barren—although actually only a couple of his father’s jackets and a pair of shoes had disappeared from beside the phone stand. The curtains were closed and the sun behind them washed the room a thick red. From his position on the couch, resting through his latest migraine, Sam had heard a patter of laughter from out on the street, and a familiar exchange of dogs barking three houses down. In the kitchen his mother and Dettie were sitting opposite one another at the table, staring into two cups of untouched tea.
‘What—what did he say exactly, Joanne?’ Dettie’s voice had jerked and cracked.
Sam’s mother was rubbing her forehead. ‘It doesn’t matter, Dettie. He said nothing. Nothing. We just talked. He said what he felt. Everything that he felt. That’s it.’
‘But it might not be—I mean, he might—’
‘No. That’s it. It’s done. He was perfectly clear. Horribly.’ His mother fiddled with the handle of her cup. ‘And anyway, I couldn’t.’
‘And he just—’ Dettie clapped her hands together and held them out open in front of her, empty.
Sam’s mother watched the ribbon of steam lifting from her cup. She turned the handle absently and nodded.
‘It’s just—it’s despicable,’ Dettie shook her head, scratching in her handbag. ‘To just come home from work—To drop a bombshell—’
‘It’s been coming for a long time.’ Sam remembered that his mother had sounded tired. She’d seemed unable to stop staring at things with a surprised expression, her eyebrows raised, frozen on her face. ‘I knew,’ she said. ‘We both—I think we both saw it coming. The bickering and the brooding. Snapping at each other all the time. Every little thing. When they offered him the job…Well, there was nothing…He thought there was nothing—’ Her voice had sounded tighter, and she paused a moment, breathing. ‘It was time,’ she said.
Dettie had dabbed a tissue to her nose. She turned in her chair, glancing back at Sam—who scrunched his eyes shut, burying his head.
‘Well, you can tell yourself that, Joanne,’ she said, ‘but I don’t believe it. For him to just skulk off—pack his bags and flee. Like some criminal. To not tell me. His sister. His children even! I mean, to not even wait for them to get home? To give them some idea of what it’s all about?’
His mother shook her head quickly, blinking her eyes. ‘He left them a letter.’
‘A letter?’ Dettie squeaked. ‘Oh, how very managerial of him.’
‘He said he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear to see their faces.’
‘Oh, what a load of rot. “Couldn’t stand it”? Too ashamed of himself, more like.’ She was sputtering. ‘No. I don’t care what he could stand, Joanne. There are children involved. In his entire life he has never—not once—’
‘I know. I know, Dettie. And I agree. And I’ll be angry. I will. I’m just—I’m just not there yet. For now I can’t even…’ Her voice quavered, rising. She picked at her coaster. ‘Look, what he’s done,’ she said, ‘how he’s done it, it’s awful. It’s wrong. God help me, there would have been better ways. But it’s for the best.’
Dettie had straightened in her chair as if to speak, shaking her head, but she didn’t. Instead, she watched the way his mother ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.
‘You’ll be all right, Joanne.’ She leant over to his mother, touching her arm. ‘I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will. I’m here. The kids are safe. Everyone’s healthy. Maybe we all just need some time to calm down. To rethink. Us. Donald. Nothing’s set in stone.’
‘I’m just breathing, Dettie.’
‘You know I’ll help. If I can. In any way I can. I’m only a phone call away. Since Ted passed on I’ve got all this free time. And another set of hands. In fact, if you need to go and lie down…’
His mother had laughed like a hiccough as Dettie spoke. She sighed. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I just need to breathe.’
And so they sat, breathing softly, until his mother’s tea was cold and Dettie had drained the last of hers from her cup.