The Broken Ones

CHAPTER 2

The door opens. I look up from the sofa. It's Noah. He's late. This is new. I'm the one who comes home late in the evening. He'd be at home sitting at the dining table with Molly and Emma when I walk in the door.

"You're late."

He nods tiredly, tugging at his tie.

"I know. Loads of stuff to do. Emma okay?"

"Yes, she's asleep. I'll warm up your dinner. Molly made pasta."

"Okay." He's already halfway up the stairs. "I'm going to take a shower."

I say later in bed, "So how was your first day at your new job?"

"Hectic." He yawns.

"How's your boss? Is he nice?"

"She's all right."

I stare at him. "Your boss is a woman?"

He grunts, yawns again.

"What's her name?"

"Natalie."

"So how old is she, your boss?"

He mumbles something, turns on his side, closes his eyes and in a minute, he's breathing deep.

FIVE MONTHS AGO

April

"Daddy's late again."

"Daddy has to work."

"Every night?" Emma throws up her hands. She's prone to dramatics. She'd make a good actress someday.

Inwardly, I sigh. Coming home late has become a regular fixture since he switched jobs. And I'm the parent who makes it home in time for dinner now --- what a reversal. My boss, the owner of the gallery, Stephen Fairfax, caught me harried and hurrying out after work one day, and had a chat with me the following day. He was really nice and understanding about it. You don't want to miss your child's growing up years, Gwen, Stephen had sighed, his faded gray eyes nostalgic. You'll never get them back. From now on, you leave at five p.m. sharp and not a second later. That's an order. I insist.

Noah comes home close to nine. He doesn't ask where Emma is; he knows he's missed another bedtime.

"I'll get your dinner."

"I've already eaten." Another new normal.

"Busy day?"

He shrugs. Which translates to: I don't want to talk about it. Fine.

Later, in bed:

"I was thinking we could take a drive to the beach this weekend. Emma would love it."

"Can't." Yawns --- a really big, slow one, head swivelling from left to right like an owl: Yaaawwwwnnnnnn. I can see his shiny, flossed teeth right down to his tonsils. Noah's taken to flossing religiously lately. It's a new bedtime ritual.

"I've got to work this weekend. I told you about that new project we took on, remember?" Did he? I don't know. We hardly talk these days. "You could go yourself with Emma."

Wow.

He rolls over to the other side.

"You know what, Noah, I just might."

Nothing.

I lean over, peek at him.

He's asleep, his mouth frozen mid-yawn. It is not a beautiful sight.

I am taking the day off. Molly's mum isn't feeling well, and she rang me to say she won't be able to come today.

I hurry upstairs to find Emma dressed and ready in her pink nursery school frock.