Page 42 of One Night on the Island

‘Mack, please. That doesn’t matter right now.’

‘Do I know him?’

Her resigned sigh rattles down the line. ‘It’s Robert.’

For a second I can’t place the name and then it clicks. ‘Robert? Your boss, Robert?’

Robert, man of many vests, zany ties and an annoying habit of calling my wife ‘Susie Sausage’. Fuck. I want to smash his jaw in. My kid’s heart is breaking over Robert?

‘Put Leo on.’

‘Mack, I don’t think …’

‘Just get my fucking son, Susie.’

I can hear she’s crying. I don’t think there’s been even once in our lives when the sound of her tears hasn’t bruised my soul. There’s a first for everything, it seems.

After a few moments, I hear Leo.

‘Dad?’

Honestly, the shake in his voice almost breaks me.

‘Hey, buddy,’ I say, forcing my words out clear and cool. ‘Listen, your mom and me were just talking about what’s been going on over there.’

‘I know,’ he says. He sounds about five years old. I’d give my right arm to be able to pull him into a bear hug right now.

‘Okay. I need you to listen to me. Will you do that?’

‘Uh-uh,’ he says.

‘Where are you?’

‘My room.’

‘On your own?’

‘Yeah.’

I can picture him clearly. He had a fascination for outer space a few years back, we decorated his room out with astral wallpaper and bed sheets, lamps, the works. On his ninth birthday, I picked up a model of the planets and attached them to his ceiling, all while he slept, his pale hair spilling across his pillow. I wanted him to open his eyes on the morning of his birthday and see Jupiter, Mars, the Moon.

‘You see the moon I hung up?’ I say.

‘Yeah,’ he says.

‘I’m looking at the moon here too,’ I say. ‘I’m sitting on top of a hill on an island in the middle of the sea, looking at the moon.’

‘I wish you were here, Dad.’

‘I know, bud. Me too. More than I can say.’

‘I should have told you about him, shouldn’t I?’

I dash my hand over my eyes. ‘No. You did the right thing, son. Some things are just too grown up for you to have to deal with, and this is one of those things, okay? I’m so sorry you had to worry about this on your own.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ he says, quick, fury shaking his voice up an octave. ‘It’s Mom’s. And Robert’s.’

‘Hey now, listen. I know you’re mad, and trust me, it’s okay to feel mad, but don’t go making your mom feel like a bad person. You know how much she loves you. We both do, more than anything or anyone.’

---