Luke doesn’t say anything. He gives me space to compose myself. But he keeps his hand firmly on my leg.
Finally, I sort myself out. “Do you know what my mother said when I told her I landed a job at the newspaper?”
Hand still on my leg. “I imagine she would have said how happy she was for you. Or maybe that she was proud her daughter was following in her footsteps.”
I shake my head. “No. When I told her that I got the job and that my goal was to move up into a journalist position, she told me she doubted I would make it because I had never taken the time to study writing. She said it took a certain type of person to handle the pressure of writing for a city paper and that she didn’t think I had what it took.”
His hand grips me harder, but he doesn’t say a word.
“My parents never kept any of my school work, never oohed and aahed over my results the same way they did over my sister’s. They didn’t ask me how my first day at the job went and they sure as hell won’t be keeping a copy of today’s newspaper to remember my first published article. The fact you want to buy a copy to keep means more to me than you will ever understand, Luke.”
His hand remains on my leg.
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. When he does, his voice is steady, but I can hear the emotion in it. “For all my mother’s faults, she gave me all of that. She might not have been home most nights, might not have taught me to read or write, might not have toilet-trained me or done anything most parents do, but she was always interested in my schooling, my jobs, and my general wellbeing. She has a framed copy of the house plan for the first house I ever worked on. She planned a party at Elixir for the first night I took over its running.” He pauses for a beat. “I’m sorry your parents have no clue what parenting is actually about, Callie.”
I place my hand over his on my leg. “You give me hope that I won’t turn out to be my parents.”
“We don’t have to
be,” he says with such strong belief it almost convinces me, but I watched my mother emulate her mother, so a tiny piece of doubt still lives in me.
We drive in silence after that. From what I can work out, Luke is heading towards the Sunshine Coast. I love the beach, even in winter, so I hope that’s where we’re going.
“Tell me about Glenda,” I say after a while.
“What do you want to know?”
“Are you two close?”
“She’s helped me with Sean a lot since Jolene went to prison. He adores her.”
“Does Jolene have any other family that you’re close to?”
“No, it was just her, Glenda and their mum.” His answers are short, and I wonder if he’d rather not talk about this. I want to know everything, but I don’t want to rush him if he’s not ready.
I reach out so I can run my fingers through his hair. “If you’d rather not talk about this, I totally understand.”
“I never want to talk about Jolene, Callie, but I know we need to.” He looks at me. “I know you need to understand my past, so ask me whatever you want.”
He’s given me free reign, so I decide to throw my thoughts out there. “I guess I’m just trying to grasp what kind of woman could do that to you and to her mother. What was her family like? Did you get on with them?”
“The one thing Jolene and I had in common was that our mothers were too busy chasing men when we were young. The difference was that my mother could afford nannies; Jolene’s couldn’t. All Jolene had was Glenda, who is two years older than her, but they were never close, so really Jolene had no one to look out for her. She also didn’t have a lot of friends—she rubbed most people the wrong way. As for her mother, I didn’t like her too much. She was always scheming ways to trap a new man. Penny Spiers was trashy and loud, and she treated her daughters like shit. Glenda is single, and I see similar traits in her to Penny, but she has a heart of gold when it comes to Sean and me, so I ignore all that.”
“How did you meet Jolene? You must have seen something in her if she tended to rub people the wrong way.”
“She managed a department in Myer that I used to buy clothes from.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, and I sense his irritation. “I was attracted to her looks. I’ll admit that. They blinded me enough to ignore her snarky, bitchy ways. And then one day, I went in to buy some clothes, and she was crying. I couldn’t stand seeing women cry back then, so I said the first thing that came to mind. I asked her out on a date. And when she told me later she was crying because of something her mother had done to her, I was fucked because it reminded me of how my mother made me feel.” He glances at me, his eyes stony. “The rest is history.”
“You couldn’t stand women crying back then? Does that mean you can now?” I’m confused as to what he meant by that.
“I’ve been subjected to too much crying since then—fake tears—that I struggle to react to it now,” he says. He sounds so distant as if he’s lost in his memories. He sounds so cold, not like the Luke I know.
There is so much more I want to know, but I think Luke’s maxed out for today, so I refrain. He’s told me enough to get a picture of the woman he married and her family.
I settle my hand on his leg and leave it there for the rest of the drive. At some point in the trip, he places his hand over mine. It’s little gestures like this that make my heart burst with happiness.
Two people comforting each other and being there in ways other people in our lives haven’t been.
An idea for a story suddenly sparks in my mind.