Page 7 of In the Long Run
‘Knox.’Eugene’s eyes and tone are heavy.Anyone else might think it’s the cocktail of meds they’ve got him on, but I know better.‘I’ll find a way to manage.I know how hard it is for you to be here,’ he says.
Is this what he thinks of me?That I’d pick my own avoidance issues over his health?My past and my mistakes aren’t going to stop me.Not when the only family I have left needs me.
‘It’s decided,’ I tell Kate.‘What else do I need to do to get everything ready for Eugene to come home?’
Madeleine and Chouquette are positively mutinous by the time I get back to Eugene’s.His surgery went well, and even though he won’t remember the conversation we had when he was wheeled back into his room, I’d needed to see he was okay.Or okay-ish.It’s going to be ages before his life looks the same again.
‘Are you hungry, girls?’I ask.
Madeleine jumps up, her black paws on my knees.You’d think she had a side gig in a circus.
‘Let’s get you fed and then we can get this place Eugene-safe, hey?’
Once the dogs are eating, I stand in the middle of the lounge room and survey the mess in front of me.Mess isn’t really the right word.It’s not dirty or untidy, but there’s stuff everywhere.Eugene loves books and two walls have been converted into shelves filledwith everything from the classics to all the old, battered copies of the Percy Jackson series he’d insisted we read together every night when I first came to live here.Moving into someone else’s space when my world had been turned upside down hadn’t been easy.Iwasn’t easy.Eug had put up with a lot.
I tap my fingers against my thighs, mentally rearranging the room to make as much space as possible.It’s been years since I’ve lived anywhere other than in a room at the Mess so I might be a bit out of practice, but I can do this.
It takes less time than I expect and once the living room has been reorganised, I head to Eugene’s room and strip the bed, remaking it with hospital corners because he’ll get a kick out of seeing how regimented I am now.Eugene’s going to need all the extra incentives he can get to smile for a little while.Chouquette trots in as I open the box I got earlier from the chemist.Never thought I’d be buying a baby monitor, but here we are.If Eug finds it, he won’t be happy, but I’m more concerned about him falling in the middle of the night and not hearing him call for help.One of the best things the Army has taught me is how to sleep deeply anywhere at any time of day or night.
Crouching, I reach under the bed and find a few old dogs’ toys, a bunch of shoeboxes and a power board with a free outlet.Perfect.The carpet tickles my arms as I lie on my stomach and pull it forward, tugging harder when the cord snags on the back of an old Nike box.After another yank the cord comes free, but the box tips and papers spill everywhere.
I don’t mean to look.
I really don’t.
But they all say the same thing: ‘Final notice’, ‘Service suspended’ and ‘Account overdue’.
Alizée’s address is listed on them.I don’t recognise the business names.Suppliers, I guess.There are so many.And then there arethe others in the kitchen as well.Shit.I push backwards and sit up, my back against the wall.We speak every week, and Eugene always says everything’s fine at work.He’s dedicated his whole professional life to that pâtisserie.I spent countless hours there after school, during the holidays.
But as I flip through the papers, it’s clear I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets.
3
KNOX
It’s a good thing I’m used to dealing with soldiers because Eugene’s current mood resembles that of someone who’s been told they’re stuck out field in shitty conditions.But instead of being forced to keep sleeping under a hoochie and eating ratpacks, he’s going to be trapped at home.
Or he will be if we can get him into his yellow Hyundai Getz with a croissant-shaped light-up sign for Alizée’s attached to the roof.Not even the accidentally dirty personalised plate he chose years ago can conjure a smile out of him this morning.‘CRM KNG’ gotmefour honks on the drive in to pick him up from St Clementine’s Hospital.
‘How do you want to do this?’I ask, after I’ve stowed his bag in the boot and opened the passenger side door for him, positioning his wheelchair as close to the car as I can.
Eugene shrugs.
I pull the crutches out of the backseat and pass them to him before raising my hands in what is hopefully a supportive and not blatantly obvious ‘I’m ready to catch you if you fall’ way.But Iamready.Nothing’s going to happen to Eug on my watch.I’ve done picket more times than I can count but this is the most serious guard shift of my life.What kind of carer would I be if Eugene hurt himself before we even left the hospital car park?My phone’s Notes app is already filled with a comprehensive list of post-operative care instructions and I’ve loaded all his upcoming appointments into my calendar.
Eugene winces as he shuffles forward to the edge of the wheelchair.I have to grit my teeth to stay still but the man’s pride has taken a beating over the last few days.I make a silent promise to both of us that I won’t step in unless I have to.
He heaves himself up and it’s a miracle I don’t crack my molars when he gets halfway, crutches shaking, and slumps back into the wheelchair.
‘Dizzy,’ he mutters, scrunching his eyes shut and pushing the walking aids towards me.I steady them with one hand and crouch next to Eugene.His toes peek out from underneath the temporary cast that curves around the back of his leg and stretches all the way up to his knee.It’ll be replaced with a fibreglass one at his next appointment.Is his foot cold?It’s clear and sunny today, but a wintry chill lingers in the air.I add ‘Find a sock big enough to fit over the cast’ to my to-do list.Celeste might be able to knit him something, too.
‘What’s wrong?’Eug asks.
He’s wrong.
This is all wrong.
It’s so unfair.
