WAKE (Wattpad edition)

5. Good mom.

{Mel}

It was mid-morning before Mel fought through the smothering fog of tiredness and got out of bed. The house was quiet. She guessed Pete had made breakfast for the girls and they had gone outside to play while she slept and he worked. Their summer routine, such as it was. She drew her old sweater across her body and shuffled into the kitchen. She wasn't hungry, but she was supposed to eat something with her pills.

She stood at the window, looking out at the backyard. The so-called flowerbed was a jungle of weeds and bare patches of dirt. Weeks of dry, hot weather had turned their patch of lawn a lightly toasted brown. Mel closed her eyes, her breath sighing through her nose. Her mother's garden would be lush and green this time of year, the roses climbing over the arbour gate and spreading their heady fragrance through the entire yard. There had been no money to spare to go east for a visit this year, and she felt thin and stretched in this strange, dry city.

Bea burst in through the back door, her hair a wild tangle at the back of her head. Her soft face lit up at the sight of her mom standing in the kitchen.

"Mumma! You're up! We wanna do a sprinkler—can we please please please?"

"Do we have a sprinkler?" she asked slowly.

"Tabby got it. She just needs help to get it on the hose." Bea's little hand grasped hers and tugged. "Come on, Mumma, just take a minute."

She followed Bea out the back door, blinking in the sun. A breeze pushed her hair off her face, bringing with it the smell of wheat dust and asphalt. She screwed the hose end onto the sprinkler and dragged it to the middle of the backyard where the girls and the grass could get the most good out of it. When Tabby cranked the faucet open, a spray of mist caught the back of Mel's calves, and she jumped and found herself laughing a little breathlessly.

She sat on the edge of the deck, pulling her loose pyjama pant legs up around her knees so her feet and calves emerged, pale and strange as underwater creatures. She shaded her eyes with her hands and watched her girls play in the sun.

Weeks had passed, she realized, since she had been outside. Depression had moved in like a heavy, low-hanging cloud, and she had lost track of the days. The realization slowed her thoughts to a crawl and she was tempted to turn around and curl back up in her bed for the day.

Mel?

Her husband's voice cut through the fog, and she straightened and turned to the house.

Pete came out the back door, his bearded face strained with worry. His cheek was swollen, tight and red, incongruous above his clean, collared shirt.

"Peter—what happened to your face?"

His mouth twisted. "Is it obvious?"

"No-o," she said hesitantly. His beard covered some of it. "A little," she admitted.

He swore under his breath, and her eyebrows went up. It took a lot for her husband to revert to the language he'd used in his 20s. "We had the meeting with the lawyer today, and I had to restrain Cary after," he said in a tight undertone. "He didn't mean to hit me—I should have just let him punch the bus shelter down."

Mel gave a strangled half-laugh. "Oh, no."

Pete took a breath, and she saw him pulling on his business face, the kind, neutral expression he wore when he was dealing with hard things. "I have a lunch meeting. Can you check the cuts on Cary's hands and call the transit people? We need to make arrangements to pay the fine. I'll send you a picture with the bus stop number." He pulled out his phone, pausing to check the notifications on the screen. His mouth tightened. "I need to go. Sorry, love."