Page 36 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
Lorraine pulls Shirl to a standing position, while Cynthia almost springs to her feet.
Barb remains on the earth and pushes her sunglasses further up her nose. ‘Until next time, dear,’ she says.
Unsure whether to stay longer or take off, Kathy looks uncertainly at Lorraine.
‘We’re about to go,’ she says. ‘You don’t have to stay while we pack up. It’s your first day – and you didn’t even know you were going to do this! You can choof.’
‘Oh … thanks.’ Kathy looks around, unsure where to head to now. The past hour contained the closest thing she’s had to peace of mind in what seems like years and she’s not so keen for it to end. Yet she can’t stay: she’s not friends with these women.
The walking path by the river beckons and so, with a quick smile and a wave, she heads in its direction. As she walks she repeats Lorraine’s last name to herself, determined to remember it so that once she’s home she can check the phone book and make that call.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ahard,fast downpour has kept Cynthia and her father trapped in the house this morning. She’d told him she’d like to go for a walk in the national park, since they live on its fringes, and it would be better for her to have company when she’s in there. Sometimes there’s no one else around and while she’s not scared of nature, she is scared of strange men.
Pat told her there’s a huge marijuana plantation in the park. Not that he’s seen it, just that ‘everyone knows’. The sorts of people who have the chutzpah to grow and guard a huge marijuana plantation on Crown land are not the sorts Cynthia wants to encounter on a walking trail when she’s on her own.
When she mentioned this supposed plantation to her father he simply raised an eyebrow and said, ‘So?’ Which she took as confirmation that the crops are there and the locals are looking the other way, because not much gets past Wilfred. The marijuana was not, therefore, the reason she gave her father when she asked him to accompany her on a walk, since he doesn’t care about it. Instead she said she’d like to spend time with him, which is true. She just left out the part where she wants to ask about Odette and Pat and what her father has seen and heard from them both over the past few years.
Odette breezed in and out last night, ostensibly just to ‘see Pa’ although she slung a ‘How are you, Mum?’ in Cynthia’s direction.Cynthia had never felt so grateful for a scrap of affection. But she didn’t let on, instead answering, ‘Fine, thank you, darling.’ She may even have seen a little smile from her daughter – although if one existed she probably owed it to Pat. The other day he called to say he’d talked to Odette about the three of them meeting up soon.
Pat likely knows the father of Odette’s child but Cynthia doesn’t even know his name. While she quite likes the idea of her daughter as the Madonna, because that’s easier than thinking of Odette having sex, she knows there has to be a boy – a man, even – somewhere. Or not, because the lack of mentions of him makes Cynthia think he’s not planning to be present for Odette or for his child, which is another reason Cynthia worries for her daughter.
It’s in moments of contemplation such as these that Cynthia really misses her mother and simultaneously realises how much trouble she caused her, and how hypocritical she is being about Odette’s pregnancy. Yet she feels unable to resist the hypocrisy. Her conclusion about it all is that being a parent is hard. No wonder she didn’t try it twice.
Which is not entirely true. What she’s never told anyone – not even Lorraine – is that when Odette was one year old she fell pregnant again then lost the baby. It wrecked her for quite a while. Sometimes she thinks that’s the real, subterranean reason she left Pat: she didn’t want to be reminded of losing their second child. He didn’t know about the baby, either, but she made him pay for it.
‘What’s it to be?’ her father says as he limps towards the couch.
The limp is new – and Cynthia is glad she’s seen it now rather than halfway into the national park.
‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ she asks.
Her father makes a face. ‘Fell down the back steps.’
‘When?’
‘Just then.’
‘What were you doing outside? It’s raining.’
‘Did I ask you to nag me?’ He’s glowering.
She glowers back. ‘I’m not nagging. I’maskingbecause I’minterestedin your welfare. But if you’d rather I don’t take an interest, fine, I’ll stop.’
She feels like stamping a foot to emphasise her point but that would be childish.
‘Your mother nagged,’ he says, but there’s a wistful tone to it.
‘Because she cared.’
He sighs and nods. ‘That she did.’
Slowly he manoeuvres himself around the couch and sits down heavily next to Cynthia.
‘I care too, Papa.’
‘I know you do.’ He pats her hand. ‘A man just likes to do things his own way sometimes.’
