SIXTEEN
Luke
“You really oughta do something with this garden bed here, Lukey.”
Dad jerks his head at the bed which runs along the side of my house and is currently full of weeds and broken tiles. I should. I know I should. There are a lot of things I should do here, I just haven’t had the motivation.
Our hands are full. He’s helping me carry some rotten sleepers from the backyard out the front, so I can get rid of them. I’m taking it as a good sign he seems as strong as ever. My dad’s always been a monster of a guy in all senses of the word. I remember when I was really young, he’d toss me and my brothers up out of the water one after the other so far it felt like we were flying before we hit the waves again. Thought of him that way until I was almost twenty. Like he was larger than life. Indestructible.
“Yeah, I know, Dad.”
I liked Mia’s idea about going for a drive. There’s something about not sitting across a table looking at each other that definitely makes it easier to talk to him. When I called him, though, he asked me how my garden was going, and I had to admit I haven’t done anything to it since the last time he was round. So we ended up at Bunnings for weedkiller and a new shovel. Then he decided I need to clear all the junk from my yard and pull out the old tree stump that’s been there for years.
I get the impression he’s trying to keep me distracted.
We dump the wooden beams and turn back to tackle the stump taking up half the yard. I grab the spade and Dad wheels the wheelbarrow behind me. “Hey, Mum says you’ve gotta go up to Sydney next month for an appointment.”
“That’s right.”
Dad’s behind me. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s got his head down, avoiding the topic.
“Must be something important to go all the way to Sydney.”
He grunts.
When we reach the back, I turn and pin him with a look I hope says I’m not going to just leave this alone. “Dad, we’re worried about you. Me and Jack and Noah.”
“Wanna start on that side, I reckon.” He points at the side of the stump where the rain has eroded the soil around the roots .
“Dad!”
He sighs and puts the barrow up against the house. “It’s nothing. Just a lump. This is why I told your mother not to tell you boys.”
My mouth goes dry and the spade thunks to the dirt. “A lump?”
“It’s nothing, Lukey. Damn doctor wants to stick a tube up me clacker.” His face turns a deeper ruddy shade, closer to the deep russet shade of red he turns when he shifts. He scuffs the ant nest under the window with his boot.
I laugh despite myself, and he scowls.
“Not nervous are you, Dad? Surely by your age you’ve had a few doctors go up there.”
“Don’t you start.” He waves his finger at me, but I see the smile cracking the corners of his mouth.
“Nothin’ to worry about, Rob. Happens to all of us.” A beat up old gardening glove appears on the top of the fence. Moments later, Mr Parker’s bald head pops into view. He leans on the top of the fence, and I have the urge to dash around to his side to check if his step ladder is stable. The last thing he needs is a fall right now.
Dad groans. “I’m begging you. Both of you. Can we please stop talking about this?”
Mr Parker waves a glove-encased finger at Dad. “Now, Rob, no harm telling the boy the way of things. It’s important to have your prostate checked regularly.”
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “I assure you, Carl. My prostate is just fine. How are your roses?”
I snigger at my father’s discomfort, but I get it. I’d be wanting to change the subject, too, if it were me. “Got some old sleepers, here, Mr Parker,” I cut in. “What about I make you up a new garden bed out front?”
“You’re a good boy, lad. Raised him right, Rob.” Mr Parker gives me a nod. “I’ll take you up on that, Luke. I could do with a new project. Elsie won’t let me do the gutters or the windows anymore. Gotta keep busy.” He climbs down off his ladder and his head disappears below the line of the fence.
Dad pats me on the shoulder. “Just you wait. This will be all over town by the end of the week.”
I laugh. “Come on, Dad. They’re not as bad as that.”
He gives me a long look, but he doesn’t need to say anything more. I know they are. News travels like a bushfire on a windy summer day in Kraken Cove.
“Look. Don’t go blowing this up, OK?” he tells me. “Your mother’s forcing me to go see the specialist. I can tell you right now, there’s nothing wrong, but she won’t leave it alone.”
I pick up the spade and wedge it into the dirt, planting my boot on top. Dad gets the chainsaw, and we work without talking for a while. The sun is getting lower in the sky and it's getting colder.
Eventually, Dad switches off the chainsaw and wipes the back of his arm across his forehead.
“I’m glad you’re getting it checked out, though,” I tell him.
He pats me on the shoulder in the way that still makes me feel about five years old. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Nothing to worry about.”
After Dad leaves, I shower, wondering if it’s too full on to go round to Mia’s again tonight. Probably.
As I’m towelling off, a message pops up on my phone.
Mia: did u talk to your dad? Everything OK?
Luke: yeah. I mean I think. It’s just a test at this stage
Mia: here if you want to talk. Or if you just want to come binge Netflix and ice cream. Here for that too xx
I should probably leave her alone. I did just spend all night and all morning at hers.
My resolve lasts all of about twenty minutes, until Mia sends me a photo of her in her tiny pyjama shorts and my jumper.
Mia: still haven’t showered. Better come now or I’m choosing the movie
I’m into my truck and parking in her driveway quicker than I should probably admit, given I had to break the speed limit to do it. When I knock she opens the door straight away with a grin.
“Have you eaten? I couldn’t be bothered going to shops, so I’m making omelette and I could make some for you, too.”
My stomach growls and Mia shoots it a look. “Two omelettes coming right up.”
I feel a bit lame sitting at the kitchen counter while Mia cooks me dinner. When I try to get up and help, though, she shoos me back to the stool. “You’re the guest. Sit!”
I sit down again, and she hands me a plate with some toast, then pushes the butter towards me. “There. If you want to be useful.”
As I butter the toast, she turns back to the stove. “So did your dad say what he’s being tested for?”
“Not exactly. He just said it’s a lump and—” I break off, grimacing. “Pretty sure you don’t want all the ugly details.”
She turns and slides a steaming omelette onto my plate. “Why not? If you want to tell me, I don’t mind. ”
“Well, it sounds like they think it’s bowel cancer. At least that’s what came up top of my search when I googled. Not that he was up front about the details.”
She puts the pan in the sink and comes to stand next to me, putting her hand on my knee. For some reason, my throat gets really tight and I struggle to swallow my mouthful of omelette.
“It could be nothing.”
I sigh. “That’s what he said. But what if it’s not?”
She squeezes my thigh. “Then there’s lots of things they can do. Even if it is bowel cancer, he could still be fine.”
I put down my fork and gather her into my arms, resting my cheek on her breasts for a moment. She slips her arms around my waist, and we just stay like that for a little while.
Eventually, I let her go. “Don’t let your toast get cold.” It’s a shit excuse for a thank you. My throat still feels tight, though, and I don’t trust myself to say much more. She doesn’t seem to mind.
By the time we’re on the couch with her feet tucked in my lap watching Love Actually , I’m feeling better. I don’t even mind that she insisted on picking a sappy rom-com. I’ll never admit it, but some parts are actually funny.
Mia’s right. No point worrying now. The lump might turn out to be nothing. Or it might be something they can easily treat.
So I focus on massaging her feet gently with my knuckles, listening to the little sighs she makes, and watch her face while she thinks I’m not looking.
God, she’s beautiful.
Effortlessly beautiful in a sort of natural wholesome way. Her brown hair falls in soft waves below her ears. Her small nose and angular face is somehow soft instead of harsh. I can still see the pretty eighteen-year-old there beneath the layers of the older woman who is wiser, smarter, but still hesitates to put herself forward, still needs to be told how amazing she is.
When Mia yawns and switches off the TV, I scoop her up, ignoring her shriek of protest. Then I carry her up to bed and tuck myself behind her to spend another night with her in my arms. It’s worth every ache and pain in my joints and skin from the dehydration to hold her all night long.