Flight by Darren Hynes Page B

thing going, mind you, but at least now I know where he is come evening. And it’s all because I refused to put up with his foolishness.”
    Foolishness. It’s like that jug of cold water being thrown in her face all over again, except in slow motion, every ounce of her humiliation being drawn out, like wringing the last drop of water from a soaked dishcloth. Foolishness. It takes all of her willpower not to pick up the plate of food and send it flying across the room. Coleslaw and the grease from the chicken running down the walls and pieces of broken plate and macaroni bits scattered all over the hardwood floor. Foolishness.
    â€œLeaving him that time was the best thing you could have done.”
    The few forkfuls that she’s managed to swallow threaten to come back up. She tries breathing the sensation away.
    â€œPut the fear of God in him, it did… the possibility of losing you, the youngsters. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
    She’s too busy concentrating on her breathing to say anything.
    â€œWe’ve all got something. No one’s perfect, God knows. Plus, there’s Lynette and Jeremy to think about. They need their father – ”
    â€œStop it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œJust stop!”
    Emily’s dad comes in then, one grandchild on each side of him.
    â€œPop likes the new bench press,” Jeremy says.
    â€œYou didn’t try lifting anything, did you, Felix?” her mother says to her father.
    â€œWhy shouldn’t I?”
    â€œHe did a pull up and some arm curls,” Jeremy practically shouts.
    Her mother shakes her head. “And he’s still walking?”
    â€œThere’s plenty I can do yet my dear. Don’t you worry.”
    Emily offers her cheek for her father to kiss. His moustache tickles. There’s Tetley tea on his breath.
    â€œHe should charge admission,” her father says, pointing behind him in the direction of the garage. Before sitting himself, he pulls out chairs for his grandchildren.
    She’s struck, suddenly, by how old her father looks. Had he always been so rounded at the shoulders, his hair so grey?
    Her mother piles his plate, then serves Lynette and Jeremy, and finally herself.
    Emily sips her Coke and watches them eat. No one’s perfect, God knows, her mother had just said. They need their father.
    Her Dad’s just said something to her.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œChew what’s in your mouth first, Felix,” her mother says.
    Felix does, then says, “I asked if he’ll be home before the final crossing? We can’t miss the last ferry.”
    She doesn’t answer right away, still taken by the years, it seems, her father has aged in the weeks since she last saw him. She shakes her head. “I doubt it.”
    Her father nods then goes back to eating.
    It’s not so much his growing older, it occurs to her, as it is the time that’s been slipping away almost without her realizing. Time that can never be gotten back.
    She turns towards the window. Breathes deeply, letting it out slowly, thinking of all the days and weeks and months and years that have been wasted. Nearly thirty and it’s as if she’s never lived. Not re- ally. In someone else’s body it seems, someone other than herself waking up each morning, walking the children to school, checking groceries through, coming back home at the end of the day, and then lying beside him. Leaving him was the best thing you could have done.
    She looks at them all again: Lynette’s humming while she chews; Jeremy’s reaching across the table for more chicken; her mother watching her; her father’s face hung over his plate as if he’s the only one in the room.
    No one’s perfect, God knows.
    She’ll start over on Friday, she thinks. A second chance to get right what she couldn’t the first time.
    * * *
    HER DAD’S DOZING IN THE LA-Z-BOY. Jeremy and Lynette are on the floor in