‘It would have to have been,’ Leo says. He’s still frowning, but I can see that my explanation has gone at least some way towards convincing him. ‘So, where did we meet, then?’
‘I emailed you to ask you some questions about Dec. We met up to discuss that, and things evolved from there.’ His face is set in a fierce frown. I recognise intense concentration and give him a minute or two. I wonder if he’s remembering something and after a while curiosity gets the better of me. I touch his arm very gently. ‘Leo?’
He sinks heavily back against his pillows. The frown gives way to weariness.
‘I just can’t remember. It still doesn’t… none of this makes sense.’
‘Give it some time?’
‘Something is right there… I don’t even know if it’s a memory…’ he mutters, pointing at his forehead. ‘It’s just like when a word is on the tip of your tongue, exactly that feeling. Maybe if I can figure out what it is…’
‘Try to be patient, Leo. I don’t think you can force this,’ I say.
He sighs. ‘I’m not good at being patient.’
‘Oh, I know that!’ I say wryly. He glances at me again.
‘Did they tell you I can’t move my legs properly?’
Tears loom as I nod, but I force them away with some determined staccato blinking. We sit in silence for a moment, then Leo asks hesitantly, ‘Since apparently I don’t know my own life these days, tell me… does it work at all if I’m in a wheelchair? Because the way I remember it, it just wouldn’t.’
I meet his gaze and I keep my expression neutral and it’s possibly the most courageous thing I’ve ever done. As I raise my chin and stiffen my spine I force every weakness out of myself because I want him to see that I am facing this bravely and that he can too. I can blubber later, and I will. ‘Firstly,’ I say, ‘no one is saying the wheelchair will be a long-term thing. I signed organ donation forms for you two weeks ago and now you’re sitting up in bed, talking. You’ve already proven that you refuse to do what anyone expects of you and there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll get those legs working again through sheer force of will. And until then, we’ll adjust.’
But I’m not the strong one in our relationship. I’m the one who sulks at the drop of a hat and feels so deeply that I can’t sort out a good decision from a bad one once my heart gets involved. If it’s up to me to help Leo navigate this terrifying possibility, he’s doomed – but he doesn’t know that yet, and it’s sure as hell not the time to show him. He seems surprised by the strength of my declaration, and after he ponders it for a moment, he offers me a weak smile. His eyelids look heavy and he’s pale again but he’s smiling and I feel an immense sense of satisfaction that I’ve brought him at least a little comfort.
‘I feel like I’m having a really trippy dream,’ he admits. He sinks further down into the pillows and I take a seat beside his bed and fish out my iPad from my bag. He glances at it. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’ve got emails to deal with, and you have a date with some real dreams,’ I tell him. ‘We can talk some more later and I’ll be here when you wake up.’
And I will be. Despite everything that’s happened between us, I’ll be here as long as he needs me.
4
Leo – January 2011
Molly and I strolled in silence at first, sipping our coffees as we walked. I was still trying to figure out how to get out of telling her the truth about Declan, but at the same time I was also trying to plot a script as to how I would word it if I actually had to.
‘How did you hurt your arm?’ she asked me.
I glanced at her. ‘It’s my shoulder. I caught a stray bullet in Libya.’
‘You got shot?’
‘Occupational hazard.’
‘Oh. Are you supposed to be resting?’
‘I’m fine to walk.’
‘I’m not, my legs are killing me,’ she sighed, and then she laughed weakly. ‘I did a Pilates class a few days ago. I have no idea what I was thinking. Can we sit somewhere?’
We made our way towards First Fleet Park, a patch of grass between The Rocks and Circular Quay, and automatically steered together towards the only empty park bench. It was sheltered by the branches of a peppercorn tree and as we neared it, a flock of seagulls swarmed around us. I shooed them away and we sat side by side.
‘Go,’ Molly said, as soon as we were seated. Suddenly every word that I’d planned on the walk from the café seemed painfully contrived.
‘Dec was a great guy, Molly. And he doted on you.’
‘I know that. I need you to tell me things about him that I don’t know.’
‘I want you to remember those things, though – the brilliant human being he was; the loving brother he was – those are the things that count. Not his struggles.’