I look out the window, avoiding his eye.
“Yeah,” I bluff again.
The truth is, I’m not sure if I will be.
Anything is better than home.
But as much as I’ve wanted to leave Jundah, I’m dreading getting out of this truck.
I lean my elbow against the door and watch the plains drift past.
My thoughts keep circling back to Mum.
She’ll be awake by now, morning shadows skimming across the floor.
Has she noticed that my bed is empty?
She’ll move around the kitchen in that nervous way she always does.
Slow and careful, trying not to do anything that might set my father off.
She’ll find the note inside her coffee mug eventually.
I imagine her standing there reading it with her hand covering her mouth.
Tears sliding down her cheeks, perhaps.
The thought makes my chest ache.
Guilt churns in my stomach.
But underneath the guilt, a wave of something else emerges.
Relief.
I shift in my seat and reach down to unzip the backpack.
My fingers brush the photograph of Mum.
I slide it out a couple of inches, just enough to see her cheeky smile.
I’m sorry, I mouth silently.
Her hair is blowing across her face in that picture.
But my favourite part is the way she’s looking at me.
As though I were her own personal galaxy.
I slip it carefully back into the pocket and close the zipper.
Longreach, seventeen kilometres.
Bugger.
I haven’t thought this far ahead.
Not really.
