Page 11 of In the Long Run

KNOX

Fucking Brand Bolton. Going to call me ‘Jailbird’ in front of Gen. Smirking because he knew exactly what he was doing.

My hand shakes as I tip the pan of burnt asparagus into the bin. I breathe deeply, taking a few seconds to get myself under control.

Eugene is sleeping in his room – I was getting concerned, but his doctors keep saying this level of fatigue is normal a week after such a big surgery – and Gen sits across the granite counter with papers spread out in front of her.

The first thing she did was twist her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head and put a pen behind her ear.

Another is clutched tightly in her hand and the page in front of her has notes scrawled all over it in perfect cursive with long, loopy letters.

‘Okay.’ She reaches for her glass of water. ‘Things are’—she looks over her shoulder towards where Eugene’s door is ajar and lowers her voice—‘not good.’

This isn’t a surprise. Not after Eugene gave me access to all the patisserie’s accounts, but hearing someone else say it? Not fun. I wipe my hands on the tea towel I tossed on the stone benchtop when I realised the asparagus wasn’t just lightly charred, it was inedible.

‘Alizée’s is struggling to keep up with all its expenses, including its mortgage payments.

Those are being paid late. Several supplier accounts are overdue as well,’ Gen continues, pointing to the pile of bills next to the poor salad I took out all my frustration on.

The lettuce leaves, squashed cherry tomatoes and roughly chopped walnuts and feta deserved better.

‘Those are paid now,’ I say, and a crease appears between her brows.

Please don’t make me say it. I still feel sick about what I did, because lying is the one thing I promised Eugene I wouldn’t do.

But he would’ve never accepted the money otherwise.

‘Can you help me come up with a plan to get Alizée’s back on solid ground? ’

Gen taps her pen against her lips. ‘It won’t be easy, and it might not work.’ Something on my face pushes her to add, in a softer voice, ‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. We could get in touch with the bank’s financial hardship team to negotiate a payment plan. But …’

‘We’d need to demonstrate that the business is still viable. If things continue the way they’re going …’ I look down.

Alizée’s will be gone forever.

Eugene needs something to keep him going. To get him out of bed in the mornings and fill his days, especially now. I sigh before adding a knob of butter to the frypan on the cooker. ‘It feels impossible.’

‘Nothing is impossible, Knox, except maybe you coming up with a good nickname for someone. Coffeebean?’

I sneak a glance at her over my shoulder. The pendant light makes her skin glow.

‘It slipped out. Besides, you like coffee and coffee cake. I seem to recall you almost having a sexual experience with it the other morning.’

Excuse me, mouth, but what did you just say?

The fumes in the kitchen must be getting to me.

Cutting up onions makes some people cry.

Apparently, it makes me say wholly inappropriate things to the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

But there’s just something about Gen. She disarms me without even trying.

Or maybe I don’t want to keep my walls up around her.

Gen blinks at me, her mouth hanging open in shock, which, frankly, doesn’t help, considering my mind has relocated to the gutter.

‘I’m sorry. That was …’ I gesture around the room at nothing in particular. I don’t often get flustered. ‘That was bad. But in my defence, you said you’d had indecent thoughts about it first.’

Gen giggles and claps a hand over her mouth. It’s the cutest sound I’ve ever heard. She arches her brows at me and I’m done for. Gone. Lost in this tiny moment of joy in the midst of a week that’s been a total shitshow.

‘I also like whipped cream on my coffee sometimes. Going to bust that out next time?’

A vision of what I’d like to do to Gen with whipped cream instantly materialises and I sniff deeply, forcing air back into my lungs.

Shit . Something’s burning again. I spin around and the butter has blackened.

I tip it down the sink and start over. I need to …

focus, damn it. There are real problems all around me.

Indulging in what is fast becoming an adolescent crush won’t help anyone.

But I really want to help Gen.

‘Were you serious about going to the police?’ I ask.

She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t feel like it’s directed at me. ‘What’s the point? Brand’s right. No one’s going to take me seriously. As much as I don’t want to buy into the whole Bolton family Kool-Aid situation, I’m the anomaly. Even my mother thinks Brand’s a good guy. Everyone does.’

‘He’s never been a good guy,’ I mutter darkly, scoring tonight’s steaks too roughly. I release my tight grip on the knife and flex my fingers before reaching for the salt and pepper. Once the steaks are seasoned, I place them into the pan, wash my hands and flatten my palms against the countertop.

‘What’s the beef between you?’ Gen leans across the bench to swipe a cherry tomato, and the oversized shirt she’s wearing slips off her shoulder, revealing a black bra strap and so much smooth skin.

‘He’s never liked me.’ In truth, I hadn’t liked myself all that much back then either. Things could’ve been so different if I’d made different choices.

Gen chews slowly. ‘That says more about him than you.’

‘I’ve been saying that for years.’ Eugene’s voice is still thick with sleep as he wheels himself into the lounge room. He still prefers the wheelchair even though he’s been cleared for the knee scooter. ‘How’s it going, Genevieve?’

He can pretend that’s a general, polite question but I know better. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s trying to figure out how much I’ve told her. About Alizée’s and everything else.

‘I’m good, thanks, Eugene. Sorry to hear about your accident.’ Gen stands and rounds the counter, sliding past me and opening cupboard doors until she finds glasses. She fills one with water and takes it over to the couch for Eugene.

Eugene makes a noise of assent and I guess that’s my cue. ‘Gen and I have been going through Alizée’s paperwork.’

‘It’s a mess,’ he says quietly, eyes focused on the glass in his hand. ‘But Knox said if anyone could help, it’d be you, Genevieve.’

‘It’s tough out there for businesses right now,’ Gen says kindly, and I try to convey my gratitude through my eyes. ‘My sister and her husband are constantly pivoting and trying to find new ways to attract clients to their gym.’

‘I’ve got a new client for you.’ Eugene points at me. ‘Sign this guy up so he’s not trapped in the house with me every day. He’s a day or two away from alphabetising my bookshelves and CDs.’

Gen brushes at a few stray hairs that have escaped her bun.

‘I’m sure Mere would do you a deal on a temporary membership until you have to go back to work.

’ There’s something about the way she says temporary that annoys me when it shouldn’t, because Gen’s right.

My being here is temporary. My whole life has been crafted to avoid anything permanent.

That’s why the Army has been perfect, and why my recent feelings of restlessness have been so terrifying.

It’s my plan for the next ten years; my days of taking risks are long gone.

‘Does anyone want anything else to drink?’ I ask. Eugene’s not drinking alcohol at the moment, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t offer Gen something other than water.

‘No, thanks. Meredith’s roped me into going to parkrun tomorrow to advertise her new run club – another thing they’re doing to try to boost client numbers, actually – and she signed me up for Brigitte’s Run. You know, the marathon that goes around the bay in September?’

Eugene shifts and sits up even taller. ‘Knox likes running.’

Gen’s smoky grey eyes settle on me. ‘Do you want to come along tomorrow?’

‘He does.’ Eugene answers before I get a chance.

‘Then I’ll meet you out front in the morning. The walk over can be our warm-up.’

‘It’s a date,’ Eugene says.

Gen flushes, a pink tinge skating up her neck and blossoming across her cheeks. ‘No,’ she says to Eugene, but her eyes never leave my face. ‘Knox knows my heart belongs to your opera cake.’

‘That was my Alizée’s favourite too. We had it at our wedding,’ Eugene says, clearing his throat. ‘I better wash my hands before dinner.’

But instead of heading for the kitchen, Eugene turns the wheelchair and heads back to his room.

‘Is he okay?’ Gen asks.

I answer honestly. ‘I don’t know.’

Then she says something that makes my chest ache. Makes this place feel a bit more like home and makes me want the things I stopped considering I could have a long time ago.

‘It’ll be okay, Knox. We’ll figure this out together.’

It’s later when I’m helping Eugene into bed that I find the courage to raise the topic I know neither of us want to discuss.

He sighs.

‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’

He leans forward and pulls out one of his pillows, thumping a hand into it until it’s the shape he wants. ‘But I do.’

‘I spoke to Gen about Alizée’s some more.’

We’d taken the girls out for their night-time toilet trip and brainstormed a few different ideas to try to raise Alizée’s profile.

Things like reducing the number of items on the menu and streamlining our ordering process to take advantage of bulk prices.

Offering discounts to emergency services and military members.

Setting up a buy ten, get one free coffee or croissant club.

It had become clearer to me how important it is to not have secrets between Eugene and me.

‘I have some savings.’

Eugene unfolds his glasses, puts them on and picks up one of the books stacked on the large metal stool he’s always used as a bedside table. ‘Your money is your money, Knox.’

‘Is this my home?’ I ask.

His eyes narrow. ‘Of course it is.’

I sit on the end of his bed, careful not to jostle his bad foot or Madeleine or Chouquette, who are both curled up next to him. ‘It was originally your home, and you shared it with me. This is the same thing.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘What’s mine is yours, Eug.’

He blinks slowly and opens his battered copy of The Three Musketeers . Alexandre Dumas is a longtime favourite of his. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. Not anymore. I want to read for a bit and then go to sleep.’

I start to stand, but Eugene stops me. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. It’s just hard. I thought if I kept trying things would eventually improve. I didn’t want to be a burden, but look where that’s gotten me. I won’t drag you down with me.’

Now’s when I should say that it’s too late. That I’ve already done it. But my throat’s tight, the words nowhere to be found. Instead all I can think about is that old adage of asking for forgiveness instead of permission.

He’ll understand.

He’ll forgive me.

Eugene picks up his book and plucks out the leather bookmark stamped with half-moon crescents, swords and crossbows.

I made it for him in Year 7 when my class did a leatherworks project.

Gave it to him on Father’s Day, because he’d been more of a father to me by then than my real one was.

I bet the belt I made is still tucked in his wardrobe.

The buckle broke years ago, but Eug refused to get rid of it.

I stand to leave. I’ll sneak back in and turn the baby monitor on once he’s asleep, like I do every night. Eugene’s huff stops me in the doorway and I turn back. He’s frowning at the page. Eug replaces the bookmark and closes the book.

‘You okay?’ I ask.

He must be so sick of me asking that, but he doesn’t get frustrated or raise his voice. ‘I can’t focus.’

I shuffle back to his bedside and hold out my hand. I shifted his reading chair into the far corner of the room the other night to give him more space to move around in here.

‘What are you doing?’ He stares at me blankly.

‘It’s my turn to read to you.’

His expression softens and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. That this is familiar ground for us. The roles might be reversed, but that’s okay. It’s a good lesson that sometimes when things change, it’s not all bad.

‘You don’t have to.’

I snatch the book playfully. ‘I want to, Eug. Besides, I still don’t know how this ends.’ We never finished The Three Musketeers because I got too cool to keep letting Eugene read to me once I was fourteen.

He’s asleep within two pages, so I mark the place with the bookmark and flip back to the beginning.

I want to sit here for a little bit and reacquaint myself with the story so I can keep pretending that what Eugene doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

But I’ve been down that path before and it destroyed everything.

But there’s a difference this time, I remind myself as I settle further in the chair and start reading.

This time it’s being done to benefit other people.

Not to ruin lives.