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Annie
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Dad tells me in the car on the way to the airport.
My eyes keep going to the side-view mirror, because that was the last visual I had of Hunter. He’s more than a hundred kilometres behind me now, but I continue to look.
Dad reaches down next to my feet, picks up a stack of papers, and hands them to me.
‘What’s this?’ I ask, running my eyes over the first page.
‘Enrolment details. You start next week.’
I look at him. ‘You already enrolled me?’
‘Consider it a well-meaning push.’
I could pretend to be annoyed that he didn’t ask me first, but this is the most fatherly thing he’s done in years. ‘How much was the fee?’
He shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. Let me do this small thing for you.’
My eyes return to the mirror. ‘You said that about the flight to Brisbane.’
‘Then let me do these two small things for you.’
My mouth twitches.
‘There is one thing you can do for me in return.’
I look back at him and wait.
‘I’d love you to meet Carol.’ He keeps his eyes on the road ahead. ‘Maybe we’ll come to Brisbane for a holiday, meet up for dinner.’ He sneaks a glance at me. ‘And you know you’re welcome to visit us here in Melbourne anytime, right?
It’s clear he doesn’t want me to disappear again. ‘I’d love to meet her.’
The muscles in his shoulders relax upon hearing that. ‘Okay. Great. We’ll figure something out.’
It’s starting to feel comfortable with him again. We almost resemble something normal, something healthy.
‘Make sure Bridget knows she’s welcome too,’ he says.
I nod, feeling sad for him. ‘I’ll tell her.’
Our goodbye at the airport is rushed, but it’s fine. We’ve already said everything we need to in the car on the way there.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ I tell him when we hug goodbye. It’s the first time we’ve touched since the day he moved out. We both hold on a fraction longer than the people around us. Then he’s climbing back into the car and driving away.
As I head into the terminal, I text Bridget to let her know I’m at the airport. I phoned her the day Dad booked my flight, asking if she still has a bed for me there or should I go back to the hostel.
She texted back, Who’s this?
So I wrote back, The pretty sister. I’m bringing the latest issue of the Watchtower with me. There’s a great article in it titled “Being Funny—Why God Skipped You”.
And she wrote back, I’ve changed the locks.
When I exit the plane in Brisbane, I look around for the baggage sign and freeze when I see my sister standing amid a group of chauffeurs holding signs with names printed on them.
‘Mark Webber - Emporium Hotel’
‘Lisa Thatcher - Hilton International’
My gaze goes to the sign Bridget’s holding. It reads ‘Annie Wilson - Metro North Incontinence Clinic’.
I press my lips together to stop from smiling. She’s even printed a logo on it to make it look official. The smart thing to do would be to walk by and pretend I’ve no idea who she is. But that’s not what I do. Instead, I walk straight up to her and do something I should have done months ago, the day I found her drawing in a park—I wrap my arms around her and hold on. Hers remain stiff at her sides. She’s thoroughly uncomfortable. Undeterred, I squeeze her tighter. I squeeze until the muscles in her arms finally relax, until the wall she built for protection begins to crack beneath the weight of my affection.
‘I missed you,’ I tell her.
Finally, she bends one arm and places it lightly on my back. ‘Careful,’ she says. ‘If you squeeze too hard, you might pee yourself.’
I release her and snatch the sign from her hand, folding it in half. ‘I need coffee.’
She gestures in the direction of the baggage claim. ‘Then let’s get you caffeinated.’
