Chapter 31 #2
We don’t tell him that the snake probably slithered in through the bottom.
“It’s just a python, my love. You’re safe.”
He’s still nervous.
So I hold him for a moment, whispering in his ear.
“I promise if you were in any danger, I’d throw you over my shoulder and run.”
“You can throw me over your shoulder later,” he laughs.
◆◆◆
We spend the next couple of hours taking care of things that needed fixing.
Clearing the gutters, propping up the sagged fence.
Heavy lifting. Simple repairs.
The kind of things I helped my mum do every day when I was younger.
I teach Amos how to hold an axe, and put him to work bucking and splitting.
“You're a natural, baby.”
“Yeah?”
“But if you do it without a shirt, it makes the wood split more evenly.”
He falls for it.
And I enjoy the view. Very much.
Mum ducks next door to return the tools and get more potting mix.
So I steal a moment while we have a little privacy.
Standing behind him, I teach him the most essential part of firewood prep.
Which is kissing the man you love.
Lowering his axe onto the chopping block, he turns to face me.
His abdomen ripples with sweat, shoulders bronzing in the sun.
His hair is beginning to curl in the humidity.
Later is too long to wait.
I lean in for a quick pash.
The way I want to ravage him is primal.
Our sunrise fuck against the tree was hours ago.
Still can't get it off my mind.
I’ve never seen him like that.
So passionate and untamed.
And when he came inside me for the first time...
Fuck, I’m swelling again.
“I swear. I will remember how you look right now, next time I shower alone.”
“A sticky, sweaty mess?” he laughs.
“A man who can handle my wood like no other,” I simper. “And my heart.”
His lips track down my neck.
“Between the two of us, the cabin at the lake will never be short of kindling.”
“Not a chance.”
His eyes are dark and ardent.
“But only if we can keep our hands busy long enough to…”
“Anyone keen for a cuppa?” Mum sings out as she steps across a low hedge.
“Tea would be lovely, thanks Ma.”
She ventures inside to find three clean mugs.
“I’ll deal with you later,” I whisper, as we make our way up the stairs.
Amos buttons his shirt, giving me a cheeky slap on the ass.
◆◆◆
With a strange ache in my chest, I eye the clock.
I’ve never ever seen her as happy as she's been these last few hours.
But we should probably get going soon.
Beth is expecting us in Longreach in a few hours.
A knot tightens in my stomach.
I can’t walk out of here without her.
I can’t bear the idea of leaving her alone again.
With him.
We sip our tea, then help her with the dishes and laundry.
She protests at first, but I know she’s just embarrassed.
“Mum,” I begin softly. “We're meeting a friend in Longreach for dinner.”
She does her best to keep her voice cheerful.
“Oh lovely. That will be lovely.”
I don’t want to hurt her by telling her about Beth.
The way she's been an honourary mother to me.
The way she’s loved me in all the ways I was neglected.
Or the way I’ve taken her last name because she feels like family.
Safe family.
“We’ll be heading off soon.”
Mum simply nods, her eyes softening.
“There's something I want you to have,” she says.
She rummages through my old bedroom closet to retrieve a shoebox.
Inside are photos of me and her at every age I’d ever been until I left.
“Ma…”
“Keep them,” she insists. “They’re safer with you.”
She’s probably right.
“Wouldn’t take much for him to find them and light a match right in front of me. I've got one or two hidden inside the lining of my sewing kit. I often look at them when I miss my boy.”
“Your boy has been missing you,” I sigh. “So much.”
We move slowly toward the front door.
I feel the weight of this goodbye churning in my gut.
Part of me wants to stay longer.
I also know that my father could return any time.
She wraps her arms around me and I sink like a stone.
Eleven years.
Eleven years without this.
Freedom has come at a price.
But we both know I made the right choice.
◆◆◆
Her hair still smells of beer from when he lunged at her.
“Come with me, Ma,” I beg.
I dread the thought of losing her a second time.
So I chose my words carefully.
We’ve had this conversation so many times before.
There’s one difference.
Back then, we lacked options.
“You can come with us. I have money this time. I’ll help you find a place.”
I see the fear in her eyes.
And also longing.
She glances back toward the house, deep in thought.
For one fragile moment it seems like she might say yes.
But when she turns, she avoids my eyes.
“It’s not that easy,” she sighs.
I take her by the hand.
“It can be.” My voice is wavering. “Think about it, Mama.”
She nods slowly.
“I’ll think about it.”
“No, I'm serious. You need to get away from him.”
Her eyes are glossy, but she smiles bravely.
“We could live near the beach. With a little garden in the back yard.”
“Son…”
“You could sew another quilt. I could get you a sewing machine.”
The heartache on Amos's face mirrors my own.
“I don't know, darl,” she says.
“We could see each other all the time. Just like we used to. But without him.”
“I'd stick out like a sore thumb in the city. I don't belong there.”
“It's different than we thought,” I say. “It's not all traffic jams and skyscrapers. I own a little cottage by the lake. We can lay under the stars and sit by the fire.”
“That does sound nice,” she admits.
I follow her gaze between the truck and the house.
My desperation grows stronger.
I know the clock is ticking.
And I know the minute I leave, she’ll talk herself out of it.
“I need time to think about it, Marco. I can't just leave the way you did. You were young and fit. Had your whole life ahead of you. But look at me. Bung leg and missing teeth. Bruises all over. What if he comes looking for me?”
“That's what he wants you to think, Mum. He wants you to feel worthless and scared. He's got you trapped here. Just like I was. But you're not safe if you stay here. He's gonna keep hurting you. And I can't handle the thought of…”
Fear and frustration collide.
Heat rises in my lungs as the tears burn my eyes.
I hold her tight, knowing how terrified she must be.
A terror and learned hopelessness that surpasses anything I felt when I left.
A deeper vulnerability from decades of quiet resignation to her fate.
Years of convincing herself whatever she had to believe to survive.
I know I can’t make this choice for her.
It breaks me to pieces when I let go of her hand.
But I’ve prepared for this moment.
I know what I have to do.
◆◆◆
Walking over to the truck, I reach inside my suitcase to find three envelopes.
This was what Sam and I have called Plan B.
Even though Plan A was still worth a shot.
I place the first envelope in her hand.
“This one is for dad,” I say. “I wrote it for me, not for him. It's my way of closing the door. When you’re ready to walk away, please leave this letter behind.”
She nods gravely.
I hand her the next one.
“Here’s a pre-loaded phone card for the booth near the roadhouse, and a few of my business cards. Hide them in more than one place. Memorise the number if you can.”
Her face is solemn.
“Call me any time,” I continue. “Any time, Ma. Even in the middle of the night. I mean it. I will come and get you. I have friends who will help make it happen if you ever want to cross that line. Just say the word.”
Her breath shallows.
She’s fighting an internal battle of anguish and possibility.
Options, for the first time in her life.
But also, a fear of the great unknown.
The real world is a dark void she has no tangible experience of.
I know that feeling well.
I rest my hand on her shoulder.
Seeing her cry is setting me off too.
One more envelope.
Large and padded.
My biggest risk.
“This envelope has cash for groceries and medical supplies. Just for you. Whatever you need until I hear from you, okay? Do not let him find this. Promise me. You know what he'll do.”
She doesn’t have to guess.
She knows all too well.
And I can see it so clearly.
She’s thinking about what I’ve said.
Really thinking about it this time.
Tears track down our cheeks.
I’m barely holding it together as I speak those final words.
I’ve created a life where both of us can finally be safe and happy.
But the next step has to be hers.
I can’t force it, no matter how much I want to.
I wait in silence for as long as I can.
She’s frozen and numb, dissociating from the overwhelm.
Maybe I’ve pushed her too far.
Or not far enough.
All I know is, it’s time to let go now.
I can’t be the parent anymore.
Amos and I hug her one final time.
A hug that might be too tight, but she never tells me so.
“Love you, son,” she says.
Words I hungered for so much as a kid.
Words I’ve accepted I will never ever hear from my dad.
And as we stand there next to the overturned wheelbarrow, I no longer need him.
“Love you too, Ma. I love you so much.”
The three of us crowd together for a photo.
That’s something I’ll later be so thankful for.
“Drive safe, won’t ya,” she calls from the top of the stairs.
Her voice crumbles a little as she waves.
“Call me,” I plead.
She nods.
And I hope she means it.
Blowing her one last kiss, I turn.
Gravel crunches beneath my shoes.
Hand in hand, Amos and I walk down the driveway.
The same driveway I once sprinted along in the dark.