We’ve all asked that same question at some point, but we’re supposed to trust Jehovah’s plan. ‘The wound’s still bleeding. Do you have something to cover it with? A bandage?’
He waves the suggestion away. ‘It’ll heal quicker without one.’
I go to the sink and wash the bowl out. ‘I can stay with you until Hunter gets home.’
He stands slowly. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he says, sauntering from the kitchen, clipping the door frame on his way out. I hear the creak of a bed a moment later.
I stand awkwardly in the kitchen for a few minutes, then go to check on him. He’s asleep on the bed, legs hanging over the edge. I get a towel from the bathroom to place under his head, then go to remove his boots. He doesn’t even stir.
Returning to the kitchen, I grab the pen by the phone and write a note on the back of the cornflakes box.
Wake your dad when you get home and check the wound on his head. Your motorbike is in the paddock near the creek.
Annie
Glancing around the kitchen a final time, I exit the house.
Hunter
I’m leaning against the door frame of Dad’s room, watching him sleep and feeling too much at once. The fact that I can’t even get through detention without him nearly killing himself is making me crazy. Dark thoughts rush in, like the image of me holding a pillow over his head to end this misery for both of us. He’d welcome it. I know he would.
My chest and eyes are burning, and I’m petrified that my emotions might present as something other than anger. I take hold of the door frame to steady myself while looking down at the cereal box and rereading Annie’s note. And now I’m angry at her. How dare she come into my home and stick her nose into my business? Annie with her superior morals. Annie, who’s the reason I was in detention in the first place, because she’s too piss-weak to stand up for herself.
Can I be angry at her and grateful to her at the same time? Would I be angrier if she’d left him bleeding in the paddock? Maybe I’m angry at myself for being at school or for caring enough to act the way I did. For caring at all about anything.
I look back at Dad and feel that anger multiply. I’m definitely mad at him. He didn’t even get through work before writing himself off. Now it falls to me to finish everything on my own—yet again.
He’s a shit farmer and a shit dad. He used to be a great farmer, and he used to be good at the parenting stuff too. When I was young, he’d read with me in the mornings while Mum made eggs and coffee.
‘Tastes better than the expensive stuff they sell in town,’ he’d say when she handed him instant coffee in a chipped mug.
And she’d always reply with ‘It’s all in the milk.’
Mum used to walk to the Davis farm each morning, jug in hand, and take milk straight from the vat in the shed. Then on weekends, she’d drop over a cut of lamb. That all died with her. The only thing we exchange with the Davises now, especially since Dad shot one of their working dogs, is awkward glances.
I head to the kitchen and open the fridge to see if he at least made it to the supermarket to get a few groceries for dinner. It’s empty aside from a few cartons of long-life milk.
How the mighty have fallen.
The cupboard isn’t much better. My eyes go to the cornflakes box I just placed on the bench. Ladies and gentlemen, I present dinner. But there’s work to be done before I indulge in such luxuries.
Slamming the fridge closed, I go to retrieve the bike.
The sun is low in the sky. I squint against it as I head for the creek. The sound of a chainsaw draws my eye to the other side of the water. And there’s Annie, hacking through blackberry bushes that have gotten well out of control. She straightens when she sees me and turns off the chainsaw. I doubt it’s a coincidence that she’s down here.
‘How’s your dad?’ she says when I’m within hearing range.
I run my eyes over the bike, surveying it for damage. ‘He’ll live.’ When she moves to restart the chainsaw, I add, ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
Her eyes return to me. ‘Should I have left him bleeding on the ground?’
‘How else is he going to learn?’
She shifts her weight and switches the chainsaw to her other hand. ‘You know, there’s places that can help if he can’t stop.’
‘He doesn’t have the time or money for that shit.’ I crouch to inspect the back wheel. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t leave one of your little pamphlets, use it as a teaching moment.’
I’m such an arsehole.