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I wipe away a tear that falls over my lashes. Is it true? Is duty so ingrained in me that I end up taking over and not letting people walk their own path?
“I have to go,” I tell him, because my head hurts, and I need to think about this.
“All right. Take care of yourself.” He pulls me toward him and gives me a hug.
I bury my face in his T-shirt for a few seconds. He smells warm and familiar, and I want nothing more than to stay there and let him comfort me.
But in the end, I move away and say, “See you soon,” before I slip out of the door into the dark night.
I return to Kathy and spend over an hour calming her down and getting her back to bed before falling exhausted into the spare bed. I check my phone before I settle down. No message from Cam, who might be at the hospital. But there is one from Henry.
E kore e mimiti te aroha mou. It means ‘my love for you will never wane.’
Eyes stinging, I text back. E kore e ea i te kupu taku aroha mou. ‘Words can’t express how much I love you.’
He texts back a line of hearts. I smile as I turn my phone off, but the smile fades as I curl up under the covers. The sentiment is wonderful, but they are just words. Deep down, I feel queasy with anxiety. Something has to give, and I can feel it coming.
It takes me a while to fall asleep, and when I do, I dream about gray skies, and thunder rolling around the hills.
*
With Alan finally appearing to be on the mend, Cam comes back from Australia, tired and weary. When he walks in, he flicks me a quick smile, then goes through to talk to his mum. No hug, no passionate declaration of how much he missed me.
Both of us start back to work on Monday, but we shoot off to his parents’ house at lunchtime and at the end of the day to fight the fire that’s constantly burning there. It feels as if we’re caught in a never-ending loop. Kathy is in a real downward spiral mentally, barely able to lift her head from the pillow without dissolving into tears or panic. Cam calls to make her a doctor’s appointment, but the surgery is run off its feet at this time of year, and the first appointment he can get is in a week’s time.
When he tells me that, my frustration boils over, and the two of us have an argument in the garden that inevitably turns personal. I announce that we’re not a couple anymore—we’re like roommates who have no physical contact at all, to which he gets angry and replies that he didn’t think I wanted him to touch me, and by the time Roy comes out to yell at us to stop because Kathy can hear us, we’re both close to tears and exhausted.
Things get worse when Alan’s wife calls Cam Wednesday lunchtime in a panic to say she’s started having contractions. Her family lives in Melbourne and she’s not close to them anyway, and Alan is still at least a week away from being released from hospital. I go back to work, taut as an elastic band that’s been twisted to breaking point. I’ve hardly seen Henry, who’s been closeted with Tyson, working on the conference, and my period still hasn’t started so I’m achy and miserable and tired and exhausted.
And then, that evening, when I arrive at his parents’ place after work, I’m preparing dinner for us all when Cam comes into the kitchen.
“Em rang again,” he says, massaging the bridge of his nose. “They’ve taken her to hospital because her blood pressure’s up.”
I stop where I’m draining the pasta and say, “Oh no. It’s not pre-eclampsia?”
“Borderline, I think. She’s really upset. I think we need to go over there, so I’ve booked two tickets for Friday. We can be there then for both of them, and we can stay at their place so it won’t cost us anything.”
I put down the colander. “What do you mean, ‘we’? I can’t go.”
“I need you, Lettie. You’ve got to come with me.”
“Well, for a start, what about your mum?”
“I know, I might try to get a nurse in or something. But I need you.”
“You need me because I’ll organize everything,” I say, a little hysterical. “And anyway, I’m working.”
“Alex will let you have the time off,” he says impatiently. “This is important.”
“Cam, the funeral is on Friday. I have to be here for that.”
“This is more important,” he insists.
I meet his gaze. “Not to me.”
We stare at each other for a moment. I can see it’s only just occurring to him that saying goodbye to Maddie is more important to me than his brother and his wife. I’ve shocked him.
“I thought Hindus believed in reverence to their husbands,” he says snarkily.
