‘Thank you, yes.’
He gestures to a table that has been set for lunch service, as they all have. ‘Espresso, yes?’
She nods then sits at the table. She’ll drink two or three espressos to get her through the day, then at night she’ll unwind with half a bottle of whatever she picks up on the way home. Although she has to remember that bottle shops aren’t as thick on the ground here as they are in Melbourne, and businesses close early. It’s still a small town. Or a collection of very small towns.
‘I’ll be only a minute,’ Hans says, and heads for the espresso machine.
Kathy was impressed when she saw the machine the first time she was here; she thought only Melburnians appreciatedgood coffee. Hans, as it turns out, has an Italian mother and an appreciation of coffee accordingly.
As she hears the machine hissing away, Kathy glances towards the river. No, it’s not a bad view. At least when she ran away she ran to something picturesque.
‘Thank you,’ she says as Hans places the tiny cup and saucer in front of her. She waits for him to make his own coffee and they both knock them back in one gulp.
CHAPTER FIVE
Asthey emerge from the church the sun feels warm on Elizabeth’s cheek and she closes her eyes briefly. It feels comforting to know the sun is always there. Whenever she has a bad day – and they are more frequent now than at any other time in her life – she tries to find sunlight, just for a few minutes. Her mother told her once that she did it as a child too – she’d find Elizabeth lying on the grass in their back garden, face up, eyes closed. It’s one of the things Elizabeth likes about living in this part of the world: sunshine is so frequently available, and on the days when there is rain it often clears quickly. That’s life in the subtropics, as her father likes to say.
Today the sun on her face tells her that she’s not only managed to make it out of bed but outside too. And not just outside the house but all the way to church. She needed it today. Needed the reassurance that there is something bigger than her, bigger than what has happened to her. There is a small segment of her brain that acknowledges that the only way she can come back to life is to realise that she is but one small part of a much greater whole, and in that context her woes are not so great.
She takes Charlie’s hand and they start down the steps.
‘Elizabeth,’ says a familiar voice behind her and she turns around.
‘Reverend.’ She smiles.
He puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘How are you?’ His head dips – that unconscious display of sincerity that Elizabeth never noticed before in others but now sees regularly.
She smiles again. It’s hard to know what else to do. She’s always believed in politeness and believes it would be impolite to inflict her sadness on others. The reverend knows she’s sad – that’s why he checks on her – so asking about her wellbeing is perfunctory. Yet that’shispoliteness and she accepts it as such. Except what she really wants to do is ask him: ‘When you feel like screaming – when each day can become an exercise in trying to sew the threads of your life together only to see them fall apart anew – how are you meant to act?’
How am I meant to be now?
It’s not just missing Jon – that’s a given. How can she not miss a man who, even at his worst, was thoughtful and considerate, never wanting to impose on her – although it was inevitable. He was a kind, understated man who was serious when needed and lighthearted when appropriate. When they were teenagers Elizabeth thought him boring, with his Bible study and his manners. It wasn’t until they were older and she’d experienced more of the world and its people that she realised the qualities Jon had were rare. He was a true friend, to her and others; he was steadfast and solid. She loved his voice, which was deep, right until the end. She loved his hair, which was thick and dark brown, and he never minded when she ran her fingers through it and messed it up, teasing that he couldn’t do it to her because curly hair wasn’t made for running fingers through. As his physicality faded she was still attracted to what she remembered of the man he was, and she loved the man who remained, until he didn’t.
Now she has to reconstruct a life not only around Jon’s absence but one that includes it, because that absence will be a central fact of Charlie’s existence. Elizabeth may feel better in time; she may even marry again. Who knows? But Charlie’s father is gone forever. That’s not something she knows how to manage.Everyone who gave her well-meaning advice about having a baby failed to mention what to do if that baby’s father died.
‘I’m … here,’ she says, because it’s all she can think of to say, with the sun warming her cheek and her son’s hand in hers, with the memory of hymns sung fresh and the reading still in her mind.
It was from Corinthians:For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.She’s sure the reverend chose it for her, to remind her that her sadness is temporary, even if it lasts for the rest of her life. The Bible has not always provided comfort for her, but it finds her at the most important times. Or perhaps she finds it.
So she is here. Seen and temporary.
The reverend pats her shoulder. ‘Sometimes I think that’s all we can ever know to be true,’ he says, his voice deep and reassuring.
Then he crouches down next to Charlie. ‘And you, young man – how is school?’
Charlie shrugs and rolls one of his feet to its outer edge, as he tends to do when he’s feeling shy. ‘S’all right,’ he says, then glances up at his mother. He’s only in kindergarten and still ambivalent about something that takes him away from home five days a week.
Reverend Willoughby chuckles and stands. ‘I think that’s all we can ever know to be true aboutschool, too.’
He smiles at Elizabeth. ‘I hope we’ll see you next Sunday, Elizabeth, but if you are ever not here, please know that our thoughts will be with you.’
She nods quickly. ‘Thank you, Reverend.’
Charlie tugs on her hand.
‘That’s my cue,’ she says, and as she turns to go the reverend lifts his hand in half a wave and something about it makes tears catch in Elizabeth’s throat. He looks like he cares – that’s probablywhat has triggered her emotion. When people express care these days she can unravel just a little, almost as if she’s so grateful for their care that she feels overwhelmed by it.
Charlie lets go of her hand and skips ahead, stopping to pluck a dandelion growing in the nature strip. He picks up an empty drink can and inspects its insides.
