Blackheath
***
Blackheath waited in the empty shuttered house for them to return. He had the plane tickets booked, he only needed Dorsey and there was nothing stopping him going back and finding their daughter. They would all be together again for the first time in over a year. He thought back to when it had last been that way.
They had lived right on the river, an old cottage whose backyard rambled unfenced through the bush, and the thought of their young daughter wandering down to the water was always on his mind.
Dorsey had a dance class on Thursday afternoons, and he had carried their child down to the river, trapping her legs together against his body with one elbow, and she threw one arm around his shoulder and leant into his arm, gazing at the passing scenery.
It was dry til you got within metres of the riverbank. Then there was a tunnel of greenery concealing the lazy, sparkling water, and the life surrounding it: a heron flying off in an explosion of long white wings, the bright blue blur of the kingfisher, the dark flick of a frog kicking away beneath the ripples. At the ford the river spread out in display, and only a few balding trees had survived the passing mobs of cattle and people, letting swathes of sunlight wash the water. Here the water was only knee deep, and the current a gentle tug, slowly sinking your feet into the sand.
He relaxed his grip to let her slip to the ground, standing gingerly in the rough rocky sand in her bare feet. She looked up at him questioningly; he never went near the river. And so, when she could hear the other kids swinging and splashing and shrieking, she'd only listen longingly. She knew there were just some things her family didn't do.
He pulled off his shirt and took her hand.
"I think it's time you learnt how to swim. What do you reckon?"
She nodded hopefully.
"Alright. But this will be our little secret ok? We're not even going to tell Mummy."
He watched her expression cloud momentarily, though no cloud sullied the sun. She was no stranger to secrets. Ever since she could talk, what she shouldn't say was impressed on her just as much as what she could say. But never had she known something that had to be kept from her mother. They had always done everything together, the three of them. But the afternoon was hot, and her confidence in her father unshakeable. She squeezed his hand and followed him into the water.
And for months they had kept their secret close and quiet between them, how to float so your mouth was always just above the slapping wet, how to hold your face under the skin of the water, how to strike against it with arms and feet to keep it below you and you above. Then one day Dorsey had walked home along the river bank.
The first thing Blackheath had known of it, he had been escaping from a particularly forceful explosion of kicking, pulling swiftly through the water to the shallows, standing grinning and turning his back to shield him from the drenching spray, and he had recognized Dorsey's face hanging where the bushes started to reclaim the river bank. He would never forget the expression on her face. Crying silently, watching her child swimming strongly, as if he had taken everything of importance from her and smashed it. Like she had nothing left.
She had said nothing, just disappeared and walked up to the house. The words had come later, when their child was safely asleep.
"I thought you said you couldn't swim," she said, her voice dangerously quiet, her words relentless, "You lied to me. You've been lying to me for years. How much longer were you going to keep it up? You think I'm that dumb I'd never figure it out?"
He could find nothing to say. He could feel her drawing away, and while he stood still and quiet, he could feel something inside him stretching after her, desperate to stay close. He was afraid of saying anything, doing anything, that would make her draw away more quickly. And what could he say? He had lied to her. But had he told her he had let her sister drown, he knew he would have lost her then and there, and losing Dorsey was something his heart refused to contemplate. But in the end, it was the lie that drove her from him.
She had left the next day, taking a part of him with her. He had never felt whole since.
Even this morning, she had hardly said a word to him, listening to what he wanted silently, holding herself away from him still. Riding behind him on the snowmobile, she had kept herself apart, her frame a stiff cage behind him. It wasn't til he had to concentrate hard on the steep climbs and narrow turns of the hills that she had released her resentment and melted into his back, laying her cheek on the back of his shoulder like it were some cherished thing. As if she could only give in to her feelings for him when she knew he wasn't paying attention. It had warmed him more than she would ever know, this little glowing knowledge that, whatever else she felt about him, she cared a little for him still.
And a lot for their daughter, to risk herself this way, to come with him. But then, when they had arrived back at Flame's house she had stopped him.
"You haven't told her, have you," she asked tightly.
"No."
"Don't tell her."
"Ok. Why not?"
"I'll tell her. I just… I just haven't told her about… about our daughter."
He was stunned. Was she that ashamed of him that she wouldn't even tell her sister about their child? But something in the way she held herself together, drawing into herself, not away from him, made him realize it wasn't that.
"Why not," he asked, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.
"I don't know… she'll think… I would feel like I was abandoning her like I abandoned him." Only the 'him' was so quiet that he barely heard it. He had to think for a while, but then realized she was referring to the baby she had lost long ago, in prison. He knew the decision had haunted her, but he had never realized it still affected her so much. It explained a lot about how she reacted to the pregnancy, the birth, afterwards… he had known she was anxious, but had thought it was the nerves of a first time mother, alone in a new land. He had thought if he took over as much as he could of the work of caring for the baby, she wouldn't be overwhelmed, she would see that she could cope. He wondered now if he had done the wrong thing, and made it harder for her to feel their child was her own. Really her own. Not given her the chance to be the mother she wanted to be, but was afraid that she was not. And now, his actions had made her leave him, and she had fulfilled her worst fears; abandoning her child again. But perhaps she thought it was better that way, that he would better look after her, like he had all along.
Only, he had not looked after her.
He had lost her.
***
Flame drove Dorsey back from the hospital and arrived at the same time as the taxi for the airport. He watched as Dorsey hugged her goodbye and got into the taxi, leaving her alone in the snow. Flame had immediately wrapped her arms around herself, her face tight. He recognized the ache in her bones, the need to be whole again. She had brought him Dorsey. He would have to do what he could for her. He stepped forward, decided.
"About Alex." She flinched as he said the word. "You need to go looking for him."
She looked at him, puzzled, like he was speaking another language. She knew where he was. He never left. Blackheath tried again.
"You need to look inside his mind."
Her eyes widened as she understood, her head beginning to shake in refusal.
"You've done it before," he insisted quietly, wondering at himself for pressing the issue. But he knew Alex, and he knew Flame, and he knew that this was the only way left.
"I can't," Flame whispered.
He turned away, shaking his head. He'd have thought she was beyond that by now. She always ran away til the last possible moment. But Alex needed her to fight this one. She was all he had left.