SJ Lakes

Chapter 22

In a way I feel a bit better after speaking with Chris, although at the same time it’s terribly depressing just to see him. He’s beginning to actually look like a man who’s dying: his body is starting to waste, but more telling is the empty, resigned look in his eyes. I’m disappointed that he didn’t seem to want to say much to me, but I don’t know what else I could have really expected.

I’m quiet on the bus ride back home with Josephine. She doesn’t say much either and just looks out the window, the course guide now stashed away in her backpack.

When we get off the bus at South Bank, instead of walking back to Josie’s place from there, we transfer to a second bus. The walk was reasonable this morning but now the sun is high in the sky, the temperature in the mid-thirties and heat radiating up from the concrete. It’s much nicer to stay in an air-conditioned bus than to walk outside for even a short distance.

“So, are you going to work tomorrow?” asks Josie as we get back to her place.

“Yeah,” I say, “I can’t really justify taking another day off. I’ll head back to my place tonight.”

“Want me to come with you?” she offers. “I can get the bus back here once you’re home. Or spend the night, if you like.”

“Okay,” I say with a smile. It seems my little sister is being slightly protective of me at the moment, which I don’t mind too much under the circumstances.

We spend the afternoon watching cartoons on television at Josie’s house. Around four we order in a pizza and some sodas – no beer for me today since I’m going back to work in the morning.

After we eat I gather all my stuff together into my duffel bag, ready to head back home. Josie just stuffs her hairbrush and a change of clothes into her backpack, and once the sun has gone down and it’s a bit cooler outside, we head back into the city to my place.

We get off the bus at Queen Street and walk through the mall back to my building.

“I’ll get the bus out to Mum and Dad’s house tomorrow when you go to work,” says Josie. “I’m meeting the movers there to let them in, and they said I can get a ride back to West End with them.”

“Cool,” I say. “Your place will look more like it’s really yours once your book shelf is in there.”

“Yeah,” says Josie, smiling broadly. “And once the last of my stuff’s out, I won’t have to go back to Mum and Dad’s again.” She goes quiet for a moment as we walk. “It’s gonna hit the fan big time when they get home,” she adds.

“I know,” I tell her. “But you made the right decision for you on this. Stick to your guns. Remember you can hang up on them if you have to… especially Mum.”

She laughs. “Will you talk to her for me?” she asks, still looking worried.

“Of course,” I say. “I don’t know how much she’ll listen to me, but I’ll have a chat to her about it. They need to understand how important it is for you to live closer to uni, if nothing else.”

We stop at the front door of my apartment complex and I start fumbling in my shoulder bag for my keys. “How have they been lately, anyway?” I ask.

“Oh, about the same as ever,” she says, leaning against the door. “I try to stay out of their way, and I just hear them fighting from downstairs all night, but I don’t have to take too much of it myself.”

I shake my head. “You couldn’t pay me to live in that house again,” I say. My fingers find the key chain in the bottom of my bag and I grab it.

“Hey!” Josie shouts.

I jerk my head up and see a reflection in the glass door of someone coming rapidly towards us. My stomach feels like it leaps into my mouth and I whip around, barely registering what’s happening before I react, moving in front of Josie and raising an arm to protect myself.

I don’t quite manage to get my arm above shoulder height before something slams heavily into the side of my head, and the world suddenly goes very quiet, bright white, and then dark.

Chapter 21

After we have a couple of beers, Josie makes dinner for us while I nap on the couch. Apparently the new place has made her come over all domestic, and she’s bought rolling pins and sieves and baking trays like I would never have imagined. She puts in her little iPod headphones so as not to disturb me with the music while she bakes. I stretch out lazily and doze in and out for a couple of hours.

Eventually the smell of something good cooking coaxes me awake. I look at my watch and see it’s after four – it seems Josie has been going hard in the kitchen all afternoon.

“What are you making in there, anyway?” I call.

She pops her head out of the kitchen, headphones dangling from one ear, a moment later. She actually has a smear of flour under one eye, which makes me giggle a little.

“Bagels and minestrone,” she says. “I’m starting the minestrone now that the bagels are almost done.”

“You made bagels from scratch?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says with a proud grin. “I made copies of some of Mum’s recipes before I moved. The bagels smell awesome, but I’m not going to make them very often. You know you have to boil the damn things and then bake them too?”

“You don’t say.” I was vaguely aware of something like that, but I had no idea the whole process took so many hours. “Where did you get all that stuff for the kitchen?” I ask.

“Second hand shop near the bus station,” she says. “Everything was like a dollar. Anyway, almost done,” she adds. “Want to go get a bottle of wine for dinner from the store while I finish up?”

“Okay,” I say. I remember seeing a small bottle shop on the corner when we came in. “Red or white wine with minestrone?” I ask her, pretty much joking.

“White, I think,” say Jo thoughtfully.

I snicker. “Really? Wow, you’re really into this foodie thing, aren’t you.”

She shrugs and smiles. “Yeah, for now,” she says.

I pull on my sneakers and run downstairs to get us a bottle of riesling from the store. I don’t normally drink much wine so it’s a slightly random guess as to appropriateness for the meal.

Walking the half-block back to Jo’s apartment I suddenly feel a rush of panic. I clutch the plastic bag tighter and look around. There’s a couple of people out on the street, apparently going about their own business. I stupidly run, stumbling, almost tripping as I hurtle up the stairs. I lock the door behind me and pause for a minute to get my breath and try to calm down. I’m too embarrassed to say anything to Jo.

We sit at the little dining table in the kitchen instead of in front of the television. The minestrone is delicious, and the bagels are damn near as good as our mum makes.

“So when are you at work next?” Jo asks me.

“Supposed to be tomorrow morning,” I say. “But I’m, um, still a bit shaken up after what happened, I think. Maybe I’ll ask Dave to cover my shift, and then I can head out to see that other patient, too.”

I realise I’m getting a bit teary all of a sudden. I try to blink back the tears, then drop my spoon and wipe at my eyes with my hands.

I hear Josie’s spoon drop into her bowl too, and then her arms are around my shoulders. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “You’re here with me.”

I dissolve into big heaving sobs as my little sister hugs and comforts me. After a minute I take out my mobile phone and send a text message to Dave. I get a response pretty quickly; he’s happy to cover for me tomorrow as long as I take his shift next weekend.

“Finish your wine and go pick a DVD,” says Jo, kissing me on the cheek. I sniffle a bit and get up to do just that.

“You got room for dessert?” she calls from the kitchen.

“You did not bake dessert as well,” I say in disbelief.

“Nope,” she says. “From the store.” She joins me in the living room with a small tub of vanilla bean gelato and a couple of spoons.

I’m in a fairly crappy mood again, so as much as I want to watch the second season of Breaking Bad, I select The Craft from Josie’s small but excellent DVD collection.

“Good choice,” she laughs as I put the disc in the player. She settles down on the big old sofa, curling her legs underneath herself, black peasant skirt flowing out around her like a dark lake.

“This one’s always good for a laugh,” I agree, sinking down next to her and grabbing a spoon. “Oh, god, that’s good,” I say around a mouthful of gelato.

“I know,” she says, taking another spoonful herself. “Thank god the place that makes this stuff is too far to walk in summer, or I’d be eating it every day.”

“I’m glad you managed to get your own place, Josie,” I say. “And thanks for being so good to me during… all this.”

She waves a dismissive hand, gesturing with her spoon.
“De nada,” she says easily. “I’m just glad I can offer you my sofa bed here, instead of a room at Mum and Dad’s.”

I snort. “Yeah, staying in that house would be real comforting.”

Jo laughs out loud. It’s good to hear her laughter again, and as the movie starts I find myself smiling too.

In the morning I walk from Josie’s place to South Bank, to catch a bus across to the palliative care hospital where Chris has been admitted. Josie brings a book and comes along with me for the ride. When we’re sitting on the bus I notice the book she’s chosen is the big course guide from UQ.

“Keen on picking out your classes?” I ask.

“I guess,” she says. “I already enrolled in my first semester classes online, but I like planning for what I want to do next.”

I nod. “Good idea,” I tell her. “Although if you’re like me you’ll change your mind heaps of times.”

“Yeah,” she says non-committally, and continues paging through the heavy volume. I note with approval that she’s looking at second year classes in bioethics and medical history, which were some of my favourite undergrad subjects. I don’t say anything else about it for now.

Jo is dressed sensibly for the weather, in her beaten up old sandals, cut-off jeans shorts, and a loose black shirt, exposed skin shining with sunscreen. I’m dressed to talk to a terminal patient, which I’ve never done off the clock. I’m wearing a button-down shirt with short sleeves over grey trousers and a pair of black Docs, borrowed from Jo and polished until they look fairly clean and respectable. I hope I look professional and haven’t sweated through my shirt too much by the time we get there.

Josie waits for me in the hospital lobby, busying herself with marking pages in the course guide, while I ask at the desk where I can find Chris. The clerk tells me which ward he’s in and calls over a tall man in a Volunteer shirt to guide me there.

Chris is watching television when I enter the room. “Hi there,” I say softly.

He looks up and turns off the television when he sees me. “Hey, Dr Klein,” he says in a quiet, scratchy voice. I’m almost surprised that he recognises me wearing civilian clothes instead of scrubs.

“Can I sit down?” I ask with a bit of trepidation.

He nods almost imperceptibly and waves a hand at the chair by his bed. I sit down on the puffy cushion and set my shoulder bag down between my feet.

“How have you been?” I ask, although I can sort of see how he’s doing. He looks paler and more drawn than last time I saw him.

“Okay, I guess,” he says, in little more than a whisper, then clears his throat. “My dad’s gene test came back negative,” he adds. “It’s just me, so I guess the disease must have come from my mum.”

I nod; we had suspected that was the case.

“Thank god I never had kids,” says Chris.

“They looking after you here?” I ask awkwardly. “Keeping you comfortable?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding to the IV line in his left arm. He looks at me. “Do you need something?” he asks.

“Well,” I say, “You know some of the other doctors and I wanted to publish a paper about your case. I wanted to ask you how you feel about it.”

He shrugs, though with visible effort. “Sure, I don’t mind,” he replies. “I… I’m fine with that.” He gives me a thin little smile.

“I’m glad,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

Chris smiles again and closes his eyes. After a moment I stand and quietly step out of the room.

Chapter 20

“You got here fast,” I say to Jo with a sniff.

“I got a cab,” she says. “I wasn’t going to fuck around catching buses after the police called me.”

I start crying again at the mention of the police. “They were… nice,” I manage.

Jo wraps her arms around my shoulders again. I make a big wet face print on her blue cotton shirt.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. “You want tea or coffee, or something?”

I shake my head. “Oh,” I say, remembering, “I should get rid of the coffee in the bedroom.”

The mug is still on the bedside table, mostly full of now cold coffee. I pour it down the kitchen sink and put the mug in the dishwasher.

“I wouldn’t mind a beer or something,” I remark, although a glance at my watch tells me that would be fairly inappropriate. It’s still pretty early in the day.

“Are you supposed to go to work today?” says Josie.

“No,” I reply. “Not until tomorrow morning.”

“Do you want to come and stay at my place for a day or two?” she asks.

“Okay,” I say, with a nod and another big sniff. She hands me the box of tissues from the kitchen counter and I take a couple. “How is the new place, anyway?” I ask.

“It’s awesome,” she says, and her face positively lights up. “The couch folds out into a double bed, by the way.”

“Neat,” I say, returning a thin smile. “How did you go moving your stuff?”

“All right,” she shrugs. “I didn’t really have much to move except my clothes. Most of my books are still at Mum and Dad’s since they’re too heavy to take on the bus. I haven’t moved the bookshelf yet, either. There isn’t one in my apartment.”

“Sorry I can’t just drive your stuff across for you,” I say. “No car, you know.”

“I know,” she agrees. “Doesn’t matter. Mum and Dad are still in Kualar Lumpur until Sunday, so I’ve got a couple of days left to get the last of my stuff out.”

“Ballsy,” I say with a wry little smile. I have no idea how or when I would have been able to leave home if I hadn’t had a university four hours away as my excuse. Just sneaking off while the parents are on vacation is beautiful. “Why don’t you let me pay for a removalist to move your bookshelf,” I add, “and we’ll put your books in a couple of boxes to go at the same time. Call it a housewarming present.”

“Deal,” says Josie. “So, um… did this woman steal anything of yours when she broke in?”

“No,” I say. “It wasn’t really like that, I guess. I’ll tell you about it on the way to your place.” I take a breath and rub at my eyes. “Just let me chuck some clothes in a bag and we’ll go.”

“Okay,” she says. “Are you okay to get the bus?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. I drag out an old duffel bag from my wardrobe and start tossing in a few shirts and my other pair of jeans.

“What’s wrong?” says Jo after a minute.

I realise I’ve stopped packing and am just staring into the wardrobe.

“Heidi left her damn robe here,” I tell her, taking it out on its hanger. Just great. I’m going to have to check through all my stuff to make sure she hasn’t left me anything else.

“Oh, it was Heidi?” says Jo, surprised. “Your Heidi, from ages ago?”

“Yeah,” I say, blushing. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember her.”

“Well, you were with her for a while,” she replies.

“That I was,” I agree, picking up my bag and slinging it across my back. I hang the robe on the back of the bedroom door. “I guess I’ll deal with this when I come back,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

I fill Josie in on what I think happened with Heidi, during the short bus ride to her house. She doesn’t say much about it all, which I sort of appreciate. West End isn’t far from the city so in about ten minutes we’re there.

“It’s just a block from here,” she says as we get off the bus at Boundary Street.

Josie’s place is the one I went with her to look at a couple of weekends ago, a fairly small one-bedroom apartment above an ethnic bakery. It’s an older style building, with high corniced ceilings and polished wooden floors inside. There’s a small air conditioner installed in the living room window, and I notice it’s already running when we arrive.

The furniture, which I recall Josie is renting with the place, is eclectic to say the least. There’s a big, slightly worn, green velour couch in the living room that looks like it seats three people. Next to it is a newer looking recliner chair in a mismatched brown floral pattern. The television looks like a modern LCD screen, sitting atop an antique looking wooden table.

Josie seems to have moved in most of her stuff. Although the furniture isn’t hers, there are signs of her presence around the place already. I recognise a poster of some emo rock band on the wall, and there’s a small wooden shoe rack by the front door holding two pairs of Doc Martens boots, one black and one red, and a pair of slightly battered black high-top sneakers.

“What do you think?” she says, kicking off her old brown sandals and placing them next to the sneakers on the shoe rack.

“Seems nice,” I say, setting my bags down by the couch. I still feel a bit shaken, after the insane morning I’ve had, but I’m still as excited as I can be right now for my little sister, moving out of our parents’ home for the first time. There will probably be a colossal shitstorm when they get home on Sunday night to discover she’s gone, but we’ll deal with that later.

“Are you going to show me around?” I ask.

She shows me the kitchen, with appliances that look to date from the seventies, and a small round dining table with two chairs. The bathroom is tiny, with a shower in the corner opposite the toilet and hand basin, but it all looks functional. In contrast with the ancient shower and tap fittings, there is a brand new washer-dryer installed on the wall above the sink. “I don’t have to go to a stupid laundromat or anything,” remarks Jo as she points it out.

The bedroom is fairly small, with just enough room for a double bed, a tall wooden armoire against the wall, and an old student desk and office chair in one corner. Jo’s little netbook computer is charging on top of the desk, and the bed is made with sheets I recognise from her old room. “I had to buy a quilt and pillows,” she says. “I hadn’t even thought about that stuff. The kitchen already had cutlery and plates and stuff, though.”

“Well, the place looks great,” I say. “I would have killed to have something like this all to myself when I started uni.”

“Yeah, now I just have to come up with the rent every week,” Jo says with a wry grin. “For now, it’s not far to the city or South Bank to get the train to work in the evenings, but I’ll be happier once I get a job nearby instead.”

“You’re not working too many hours once classes start, are you?” I ask.

“Nah,” she says. “I’m only doing about three shifts a week at the restaurant now, and once uni starts it will probably only be two. That’s enough for me to pay the bills at the moment.”

“I really miss the student lifestyle sometimes, you know,” I comment wistfully, taking a seat on the couch. I sink into the comfortable cushions. “Living somewhere low-rent, free to spend your time studying or just hanging out…” I sigh. “I’m sure it’s not as great as I remember, but some days it seems a lot nicer than working double shifts and re-grouting the bathroom.”

Josie laughs. “Sucks to be a grown-up,” she says. “I get to put it off for another three years, at least.” She looks at her watch. “Speaking of which,” she adds, “it’s practically noon. Want a beer?”

“Oh, dear god, yes,” I say.