Page 152 of In Sheets of Rain

Mum went directly to him as if she owned the place. She kissed his forehead and told him that I’d come to visit.

I stood at the end of the bed and watched him try to breathe.

“He responded to us after the surgery,” Sharon said from beside me. “He nodded his head when we told him we were there. Even squeezed Mum’s fingers tightly. He’s gone downhill since then.”

Mum waved me over, and I went there numbly. I stood beside my father and held his cool, clammy hand. Then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m here, Dad,” I said. “I’ve come home. I finally come to visit, and this is how you greet me?”

He opened his eyes and chuckled. But he couldn’t speak.

“It’ll be OK,” I said. “We’ll take care of Mum. You just get better, all right?”

He nodded his head and then closed his eyes.

Mum couldn’t make him squeeze her hand afterwards.

The doctor told us the prognosis was not great. She told us to prepare for the worst.

We went home and ate a quiet meal. Mum kept busy. I watched her to see if she’d curl up into a little ball. Sharon at her side constantly. Michael held my hand.

He died at half-past eleven that night.

* * *

We stayed for the funeral, and then I decided to stay a bit longer. Michael had a business trip to Australia he had to take, so I took him to the local airport. A small commuter plane sat on the tarmac.

“It’s just a few days,” he said.

“I’ll be all right,” I offered.

“Call me if you need someone to talk to.”

“Someone to keep me sane, you mean,” I said.

He laughed. Then cupped my cheeks and kissed me soundly.

“Love you, Trolley Girl,” he said.

I smiled. Michael could always make me smile, even when my heart was breaking.

“Love you more, Suit Guy,” I said.

“Not a chance,” he whispered and then walked off to take his flight.

* * *

We’d chosen a sauvignon blanc to drink. Mum sat opposite me at the table. For the first time in what felt like days, it was just her and me.

We talked about Dad and some of the trips we’d taken as a family. Mum still wanted to go back to England. Dad would never get to buy his new Jag.

It was good. It was comfortable. The wine flowed freely.

Mum let her guard down when Michael wasn’t there, and that made me conversely sad and then simply greedy. I wanted Mum for myself. I wanted this easy-going relationship to be real.

But then she said, “You know, I was so disappointed in you, Kylee.”

Maybe Mum let her guard down when Michael wasn’t there to defend me.