Page 72 of One Night on the Island

‘Wow, you did?’ Walt is an avid fisherman, there’s always competition to see who can land the biggest catch.

‘I took a photo.’ He wriggles down, still clutching my hand. ‘It’s on my iPad, come on.’

‘I definitely need to see this,’ I say, letting him tug me along. ‘Is Leo home too?’

Nate nods. ‘He hurt his leg at the lake.’

I frown, hating that I don’t already know this. Nate runs through the door he left open, and I hang back, tapping on the vintage stained glass. Homesickness kicks in hard as I stand and look at the wide central hallway, the floorboards I sanded, the rug we brought back from a long weekend in Nantucket.

‘Hello?’ I call, my hand still half raised. I swallow hard when Susie appears in the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall, a half-carved pumpkin in her hands. Familiar longing kicks me in the teeth.

‘Mack,’ she says, coming towards me, surprised. ‘I thought you were still in Ireland?’

I shrug, aim for nonchalant. ‘It just felt like time to come back,’ I say. ‘How was the lake?’

She blinks, still flustered by my unexpected appearance. ‘Oh, you know. Good. Mom said to say thanks for the flowers.’ She pauses. ‘It was a nice thought.’

I sent flowers for Marie’s birthday, aware my name was probably missing from her cards and gifts.

‘Is that supposed to be a spider’s web?’ I nod at the mess of lines on the pumpkin.

She looks down at it. We both know I’m the chief pumpkin carver.

‘We’re late putting stuff out this year, with the trip and all. I almost didn’t bother, but you know.’ She shrugs. ‘The kids love it, so …’

Anything that makes things feel normal for the kids is a good thing in my book. ‘Need a hand?’

She half smiles, uncertain, and for a moment she reminds me of the college student who used to pose for her father’s photography class, apprehension in her clear blue eyes. I can almost hear her running my offer through the scanner in her brain to check for inflections of tone, analysing my word choice, assessing any hidden meaning. There isn’t a hidden meaning. I just thought it would be better to have something to actively do rather than sip coffee and make awkward conversation in the kitchen I used to cook pancakes in on Sunday morning.

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘The boys would really like that.’

I run her words through my own internal scanner and it spits out a note suggesting that Susie emphasized the boys would like my help, which perhaps implies that she wouldn’t. I scout around inside my head and yank the plug out of my internal scanner as I follow Susie down the hallway to the kitchen.

‘Is Leo around?’

Susie places the pumpkin down on the central island. ‘Up in his room, I think.’

I hate having to wait for permission to go upstairs. ‘Okay if I …?’ I say, looking towards the sweep of the staircase.

‘He’s on crutches for a few days,’ she says quickly. ‘Went over awkward on his ankle at the lake, just a ligament strain the doctor said.’

‘You didn’t let me know,’ I say. It’s not intentionally accusatory. I just feel cut out of the need-to-know loop.

‘Mack, you were in Ireland. I can’t tell you every little thing that happens,’ she says, defensive. ‘I dealt with it, he’s fine.’

‘Maybe we could make injuries one of those things you tell me about at the time,’ I say, equally defensive, because I’m damn sure she’d want to know straight away if anything happened on my watch.

She sighs, and I wish things weren’t always this tense between us these days. ‘Go on up,’ she says. ‘See if he wants to come down and help carve, he usually likes to.’

I leave her opening a cardboard box marked Halloween on the side, my handwriting surrounded by childish ghosts Nate added for special effect.

Leo’s door is closed, so I tap and push it open. He doesn’t look up straight away, engrossed in the game console in his hands.

‘No hi for your old dad, kiddo?’ I say, leaning against the door frame.

He looks up instinctively at the sound of my voice, and I see the second he realizes I’m not his mom come to get his dirty clothes or Nate here to annoy him. It’s like the flick of a light switch, dim to full beam.

‘Dad,’ he yells, throwing his console aside, forgetting his ankle injury as he scrambles to get up. He stumbles, winces, and I shoot over and sit on the bed, pulling him into a hug.

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