Blurring the Line

by Nicola Marsh

  But considering Joel wouldn't be coming home any time soon and I was a big girl now, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Mum knew what a fool I'd been, thinking I could get Joel out of my system with a short term fling.

  We discussed the usual births, deaths and marriages on the way home. I chuckled in all the right places and asked appropriate questions, but as I stepped into the kitchen and dumped my bags in the corner, I knew I couldn't keep up the act much longer.

  "Sit and I'll put the kettle on," Mum said, washing her hands at the sink before reaching for her always-overflowing baking container. "I've made your favorite raspberry lamingtons."

  "Thanks."

  My chest tightened as the emotion of being home finally hit. I'd expected it, had braced for it as I'd first caught sight of the cottage with its sienna-trimmed windows and jaunty terracotta roof. But being in this room, where I'd spent the bulk of my life, surrounded by mismatched crockery and vanilla-scented air, having Mum fuss over me, made me want to bawl.

  "Actually, Mum, think I'll lie down for a bit." I faked a yawn. "I'm really tired."

  "You okay?" Mum turned, took one look at my face, and lowered the plate piled with lamingtons back to the bench-top. "What's wrong?"

  In response, I burst into tears. Loud, noisy sobs that had Mum rushing toward me. "Oh my darling girl, it can't be as bad as all that."

  She bundled me into her arms, enveloping me in her familiar rose-moisturizer fragrance, and it only made me cry harder. She cooed and soothed and patted my back as I clung to her, feeling about ten years old and just as foolish.

  Because now I'd have to tell her the truth and revealing how I'd messed up with Joel would only make me feel worse.

  When I finally eased out of her embrace, she said, "It's a boy, isn't it?"

  I nodded and she half pushed me into the nearest seat.

  "Right then, we'll skip the tea and go straight for the chardonnay."

  Considering Mum thought drinking a glass of wine every night with dinner verged on outrageous, the fact she was opening a bottle at two in the afternoon meant she was really worried about me.

  "Make mine a double," I said, managing a weak smile as she topped up my glass before I'd taken a sip.

  She handed me the glass, a deep frown wrinkling her forehead. "You're not pregnant?"

  "Shit no." Jeez, that's all I needed.

  "Thank God." Mum exhaled loudly. "Well then, we can deal with whatever this bum who broke your heart has done."

  "The bum is Joel," I blurted, unable to contain the truth any longer. Hopefully sharing this burden would do what crying jags, tequila and chick-flicks had failed to do during that last week in Denver when I’d had to see out my clinical placement after Joel had bolted: give me closure.

  Mum's eyes clouded with confusion before the truth sunk in. "Joel, as in Joel Goodes?"

  I nodded, wishing the sound of his bloody name didn't make my heart pound with longing.

  "How … " Mum shook her head, before she shot me a fond glance. "You fell for the boy next door. That's so sweet."

  "This isn't a romance novel." I rolled my eyes, not surprised she found this romantic, considering she bought saucy novels by the boxful. Then again, I'd raided her library as a teen and read more than my fair share. Pity my Mr. Right had turned into Mr. Shit-Scared-to-Commit.

  "Does he feel the same way?"

  I wished.

  "He's a nomad. Can't stay in one place for long. So whatever he feels is irrelevant considering we want different things." I took a sip of wine, followed by a healthy slug, the sweet crispness of South Australian grapes loosening my throat. "He was working in Denver, we got together, I fell for him again, then he bolted. End of story."

  Mum's eyes widened. "Again?"

  Great, now I'd have to humiliate myself further. "I had a crush on him years ago."

  "I knew it." Mum grinned. "Even told Kate I thought that's why you chose physiotherapy."

  Horrified, I put down my glass. "You didn't?"

  Feigning innocence, Mum sipped at her wine. "What? You think I don't know my own daughter?" She chuckled. "I saw the way you pined after Joel whenever he was over here hanging out with Trev. In fact, I always thought …" she trailed off, staring out the kitchen window, either not wanting to look me in the eye or lost in some memory I wasn't privy to.

  "Thought what?"

  She sighed and looked at me. "That you two would get together. Joel's a lovely boy who'd probably take over Kate's practice one day, and that would mean you'd be here too."

  Mum shrugged. "The wishful thinking of a sentimental old woman who'd love to have her daughter home for good."

  "I am home for good, Mum." Just not with Joel. "But there's not much chance of Joel taking over the practice."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. He's not the putting down roots kind."

  Mum tilted her head to one side, studying me. "Maybe he'll change his mind if he knows you're here?"

  I snorted. "It'd only make him run away faster."

  I picked up my wine again and drained half the glass. "He's aware of my dreams. He knows I want to live here. And I'm pretty sure he knows how I feel about him but he ran anyway. What does that tell you?"

  "That the lovely boy has shit for brains."

  The sip of wine fanned from my mouth in an unladylike spray and we laughed. If Mum didn't drink wine before six p.m. she sure as hell never swore.

  "Anyway, I've got more important things to focus on, like studying for my final exams." I stood and moved toward the sink to rinse my glass. "Let's forget about this."

  "If you say so, dear."

  I didn't trust Mum's sly smile, not one little bit. "And don't you dare tell Kate."

  She mumbled an agreement and I knew I was fighting a losing battle. Then again, why did I care? Joel wasn’t close to Kate considering he hadn't visited in years so if she mentioned me during an infrequent phone call it wouldn't make an ounce of difference to my heartbreak.

  "I'm going to have a shower and rest," I said, bending to wrap my arms around Mum's shoulders in a hug. "Catch you later."

  "It's good to have you home, love." She patted my hands. "As for Joel, it'll work out—"

  "This isn't one of your happily ever afters, Mum, and I'm fine with that."

  But as I left the kitchen, we both knew I was lying.

  I'd never be fine with not having the fairytale I craved so much with Joel.

  Chapter 17

  JOEL

  My plan had been simple.

  Take a few weeks off, head to Queenstown for some skiing, before starting a locum in Christchurch. I liked New Zealand, had worked three-month stints in rehab hospitals in Auckland and Wellington a few years back. The irony was I liked it because the laidback atmosphere reminded me of home; a home I didn't want to return to.

  Until now.

  Because no matter how many mountains I skied down, how many white water rapids I conquered, how many beers I had, I couldn't forget.

  Sorry that you're living your life based on fear. Sorry that you'll never experience the joy of growing attached to anyone. Sorry that you think what we share isn’t worth fighting for.

  Annabelle's words echoed through my head, an old vinyl with a deep scratch. Over and over. Stuck.

  I couldn't bloody get rid of them no matter how hard I tried. And I tried. Fuck, had I tried. I'd even contemplated a one-night stand with a snow bunny that worked at the lodge where I stayed. But the damnedest thing was, I couldn't even muster up the interest to flirt with her.

  Because all I could think about was Annabelle.

  Her giggly laugh, her penchant for fairytale flicks, her unswerving optimism, her inherent goodness. I think that's what scared me the most about her; how she always believed the best in everyone; that she only saw light even if it were tinged with darkness.

  And that's how I felt, like an all pervasive darkness haunted me, despite how many people I helped, how many patients I assisted to gain full recovery.r />
  I got that from Mum, the urge to do good. But the darkness? That was Dad and the bleakness that covered him like a smothering blanket until he died.

  They were opposites in every way and growing up privy to their tense marriage reinforced why I never wanted to be in a long-term relationship like theirs. Mum, the go-getting do-gooder; Dad the unhappy pacifist who would rather wallow in his own unhappiness than get proactive and do something to change it.

  I hated that I had similar bouts, occasions where I'd be in a new city filled with bright lights and exciting possibilities, but would feel empty inside anyway. Like nothing I did could totally erase the fact I was alone.

  I'd assumed that was the reason Dad stuck it out in Uppity-Doo, trapped in a humdrum marriage in a dead-end town. Because he didn't want to be alone.

  Unfortunately, the strangest thing had happened since I'd been hanging out with Annabelle. I didn't want to be alone either. Which pretty much vindicated what she'd said: that I'd never know the joy of growing attached to someone.

  As for being frightened? Damn straight I was scared. Terrified, in fact, of hanging my balls out and getting then lopped off. Because that's what happened to guys in relationships: they handed over their gonads along with their hearts and sooner or later, snip, nutless.

  Then again, unless I faced my fears, I'd probably end up feeling this shitty for ages and I'd rather be able to move on than being reactive like dear old dad.

  Which is why I was in Mum's sunroom, waiting for her to come home from the clinic.

  Yeah, I'd actually set foot in Uppity-Doo for the first time in four years. And it wasn't half as bad as I remembered.

  New businesses dotted the main street, from cafés to boutiques, bookended by brand spanking new pubs at each corner. The high school had undergone a transformation, complete with new footy oval. A sprawling housing development had sprung up on the northern outskirts, taking advantage of the river-views.

  The fact I'd noticed the changes made me feel nostalgic, made me remember the times Trev and I had terrorized the town with dumb-arse yet harmless pranks. And later, when I'd noticed Annabelle transforming from a teasing tomboy into a beautiful young woman. The woman who'd given her heart to me. The woman I'd hurt by doing what I always did: sticking my head up my arse while taking care of the problem by running away.

  But the fact I was back meant I'd stopped running, albeit momentarily. I had to sort through a lot of stuff with Mum before I could move on to … wherever.

  I heard Mum's car pull up in the drive, the door slam and her footfalls on the verandah. Mum always had a spring in her step, like she couldn't wait to get where she was going. I was the same, though in my case, it was usually running away from where I'd been.

  Her eyes widened as she stepped into the sunroom and caught sight of me.

  "Surprise," I said, feeling gauche and awkward and embarrassed, unsure if I should apologize for my lengthy absence, hug her or both.

  She had more laugh lines fanning the corners of her eyes, crinkles that should've aged her. Instead, Mum looked amazing, more relaxed than I'd ever seen her, as I belatedly wondered if she had another guy. Not knowing about her personal life rammed home just how much of a narcissistic bastard I'd been all these years, caring for nobody but myself.

  "Good to see you, sweetheart." She dropped her bag on a sun lounger and enveloped me in a hug that squeezed me so tight I couldn't breathe. Or that may have been the fact I had a giant lump wedged in my throat, the emotion of our reunion getting to me in a way I hadn't anticipated.

  Being emotionally detached served me well usually. Yet with a simple embrace, Mum had unraveled me in a way that scared the hell out of me.

  When she released me, she beamed like I'd presented her with a PhD. "Want a wine?"

  "Sure. But you sit, I'll get it." Would give me something to do, and distract from the urge to blubber.

  I never cried. Can't remember the last time I did. Ten, when the local bully pinched my bike? But with Mum staring at me like I was a mirage she expected to vanish at any second, I couldn't deny my eyes stung.

  Hiding out in the kitchen was a welcome reprieve and I dragged in a few calming breaths while I poured her favorite Riesling into two glasses. My hand shook and I snorted in disgust.

  This is why I never came home. Regressing to an emotional cripple, incapable of articulating half of what I was feeling and furious because I couldn't. Just like Dad.

  Which was enough to steel my resolve. I didn't want to be like him, didn't want to wear the accusations Annabelle had flung at me.

  I had to confront Mum if I was to move on with half a chance at forming any kind of relationship beyond the transient.

  I re-entered the sunroom to find Mum staring at the backyard, a small smile playing about her mouth. And for the second time in as many minutes it struck me how contented she looked.

  Almost feeling like an intruder, I cleared my throat. "Here you go."

  "Thanks." She took the wine glass I offered. "Is this a flying visit or have you finally come to your senses and decided to join me at the clinic?"

  I didn't want to get her hopes up so I quickly shook my head. "Nothing like that. But I did want to talk to you about something."

  Disappointment pinched her mouth. "What is it?"

  "Dad."

  Surprise flickered in her eyes before she glanced down at the glass in her hand, swirled the wine and drank deeply.

  "I'm similar, aren't I?"

  She glanced up at that, a frown creasing her brow. "Why do you say that?"

  "He wasn't happy here. He wanted to move around a lot, before he got … trapped."

  "Is that what you think?" The sadness behind her question made me want to back off.

  But I needed answers and I wouldn't get them if I skirted the issue.

  "I heard you arguing once." Here went nothing. "Dad was yelling about having to go to Melbourne and being stuck here instead. You were crying and accusing him of never being happy wherever he was."

  Her face crumpled a little so I finished in a rush. "That's why I need to keep moving around, because I don't want to end up like Dad, stuck in one place, not being happy and making everyone around me miserable in the process." I had the sense not to add ‘and he died because of it.’

  She shook her head. "It’s not what you think."

  I shrugged. "It's what I observed first hand."

  "You're wrong."

  "Mum, I know what I saw—"

  "Your father was never trapped." She sucked in a breath, as if she couldn't get air into her lungs fast enough. "Sure, he grew restless every now and then, we all do, but Uppity-Doo was home to him." She eye-balled me. "It was his choice to live here, not mine."

  My jaw sagged and her wry chuckle did little to nullify my shock.

  "I wanted to stay in Melbourne, your father couldn't …" She gnawed on her bottom lip, like she'd said too much.

  "What do you mean, couldn't?"

  "Your dad had a past. Hung out with the wrong crowd. Got involved in some shady dealings." Sadness clouded her eyes and for fleeting moment I wished I'd left well enough alone. "If he'd stayed in Melbourne, he would've gone to jail along with the rest of his mates. So when we started getting serious, he pulled out a map of Victoria, stuck a pin in it, and we ended up here."

  Staggered by her revelations, I stared at Mum, wondering how I could know so little about the one person in this world I thought I knew best.

  She filled the awkward silence. "That argument you overheard? He wanted to go to Melbourne to testify for a mate, despite what it could potentially do to us. So I said no. Vigorously. He saw sense by the end of it but I guess you didn't hear that part?"

  I shook my head, still trying to absorb the enormity of this. "So technically, you were the one trapped here?"

  A gentle smile softened the tension around her mouth. "I loved your father, otherwise I wouldn't have made the sacrifice to move to the country in the first place." She placed her
wine glass on the table and covered my hand with hers. "I never felt trapped. I was lucky enough to run my own business, raise an amazing kid and have a good marriage while it lasted."

  I could've left it at that, but a lot of it still didn't make sense. "Why did Dad always look unhappy? Like he was missing out on something?"

  She squeezed my hand and released it. "Because he lived in constant fear he'd be hauled back to Melbourne to face the consequences of his past actions."

  Mum fiddled with her wedding ring, the burnished rose gold still residing on her finger despite the fact Dad had died ten years ago. "Your father drove a getaway car for an armed robbery once. The perpetrators were caught and sentenced, he was never apprehended."

  The ring spun faster and faster. "He met me the week after, told me the whole story a few months later, said that robbery had been a wake-up call for him. He went straight after that, but even after we moved here, he lived in constant fear of being discovered and the two of us copping the flack."

  She finally raised her tear-filled eyes to mine. "The shame of what he'd done in the past and the fear of being found out was too much for his heart eventually."

  Stunned, I slumped in my chair. So that's what had caused Dad's heart attack. Stress. Shame. Fear. And not the pining for a city he missed, as I'd wrongly believed.

  Ironic, that my father had been a criminal but that didn't shock me half as much as the fact I'd spent my life running from this place for fear of being stuck like him, when he was never stuck at all.

  "Does that make things clearer?"

  Kneeling at her feet, I took both her hands in mine. "I'm so sorry for misjudging you, for blaming you …"

  She hauled me up onto the sofa and we hugged, the emotion of the moment once more overwhelming me.

  I blinked rapidly and cleared my throat before easing away. "You're incredible, Mum. What you did, leaving Melbourne, establishing a new life in a small town … amazing."

  "I did what I had to do for love." She cupped my chin and tilted it up to look me in the eye. "And that's all I want for you, sweetheart. Peace. Love. Whatever makes you happy."