‘I’m surprised you waited,’ she says, her voice heavy with disappointment.
I wet my lips. ‘I couldn’t leave without saying a proper goodbye.’
Nothing changes on her face. ‘You didn’t even make it to two weeks.’
She’s referring to how long I’ve been baptised. ‘I’m sorry.’
She pushes off the car and takes a few steps in my direction. ‘You’re sorry.’
‘Yes.’
She nods, holding back tears. ‘You were doing so well.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You said that already.’
I knew this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. ‘Just know that I’m leaving the organisation, not you.’
‘Right.’ She blinks a few times. ‘Where are you going? To your dad’s?’
‘Brisbane.’
I think that hurts her more than my leaving. Going to Bridget is a cruel form of betrayal in her eyes. ‘I doubt she’ll even want to see you.’
I don’t reply to that—I can’t. Instead, I reach down and stroke Banjo’s head.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas. Banjo stays here. He belongs to the family, not you.’
Doesn’t she realise she’s the only one left? ‘Okay.’ I’m not getting into a fight over the dog. I’ll never win.
‘I can’t believe this. Both daughters.’ She shakes her head at the ground. Her collective disappointment weighs heavy.
I swallow down tears. ‘I tried. I really did, but the feeling never goes away. It’s always there, and it’s… exhausting.’
Mum presses her lips together and walks straight past me to the front door. ‘You’ll have to make your own way to the bus stop. Dinner won’t cook itself.’
I knew to expect all this, but it still stings. They say every child’s worst fear is being rejected by a parent. Turns out that fear doesn’t go away as an adult.
‘So that’s it?’ I call to her. ‘You’re done with me?’
She pauses at the door and calls Banjo’s name. He trots over to her, and my heart splits in two.
‘You’re turning your back on Jehovah,’ she says. ‘It’s just unimaginable after everything we’ve been through.’ She pushes the door open, and I see her face collapse as she steps through it. I know she’s crying on that side of the door while I’m crying on this side of it.
I wipe my shaking hands on my jeans, then tug up the handle of my suitcase, wheeling it along the edge of the veranda towards the drive. The wheels jam the moment it hits the gravel, and I have to half drag, half carry it all the way to the road.
The walk takes me twelve minutes.
Twelve minutes of physical, mental, and emotional struggle until I’m finally standing on the asphalt. I did it. I left. Now I’m sweating all over and trying very hard not to throw up. It’s difficult choosing this when I know I could turn around and beg Mum to help me stay on the right path—and she’d do it. Without hesitation, she would help me. But I’ve chosen the coward’s path too many times. It’s time to be brave.
Adjusting my backpack, I start dragging my suitcase along the road in the direction of town. I slow when I see a Rav 4 parked on the shoulder up ahead. The driver door opens, and out steps Tamsin in low-rise jeans and heeled sandals, her hair in a slick ponytail.
‘Need a ride?’ she calls from twenty metres away.
‘What are you doing here?’ My voice is drowned out by the rumble of my suitcase wheels.
‘Mum saw you drop a letter for me in the letterbox.’ She slides her hands into her back pockets. ‘I asked her to read it to me over the phone.’