You don’t want to hear the answer anymore. ‘I guess you don’t need to ask these days,’ I say. Leo smiles at me and squeezes my hand. ‘Thanks for today. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow? Do you think we can visit the terrace?’
‘The terrace? But you’ll only be able to see the ground floor.’
‘I’m worried about how you fit a dishwasher in my kitchen,’ he mutters, and I laugh.
‘Okay, Leo. We can visit the terrace. Lucien will be glad to see you anyway.’
After the renewed closeness during the afternoon I find that when the night draws in, I don’t want to say goodbye to Leo. On some level, I do understand that this is not my real husband – this is a temporary version of him: one not shaped by the years that have passed because he has momentarily forgotten about them. But this version of Leo still loves me, and it’s a version of him that I still love. He will go soon enough as the memories return, and my anger and my disappointment will definitely resurge as the real Leo emerges. But for now, I find excuses to stay at the rehabilitation centre with him until late in the evening. He convinces a nurse to find a spare meal for me and we have a ‘romantic date’ in his room.
‘This is awesome,’ I say, when I sit down with my hospital-food tray on my lap.
‘It’s not exactly Circular.’
‘It’ll do for now,’ I say. ‘It’s much better than whatever I would have ordered in at home.’
‘When I get home, I’m going to cook you a soufflé.’
‘A soufflé?’
‘There’s a class here next week as part of the occupational therapy programme. I think it’s actually meant for people who have trouble with cognition and sequencing or something, but I’m going anyway – I’m going to learn, and then when I’m released, I’m going to cook you the best damned soufflé you’ve ever eaten to say thanks for everything you’ve done for me lately.’
‘Just getting you home will be thanks enough.’
‘I wonder if I’ll be home by December?’
December feels a long way away. I frown at him. ‘I really hope so. But why December?’
Leo shakes his head at me in feigned disappointment. ‘Now who’s forgotten our anniversary?’
16
Leo – February 2011
After lunch, we walked the remaining blocks to my terrace. The traffic faded as we moved deeper into residential territory until we were on the jacaranda-lined streets around my home.
‘What did you think of the restaurant?’ I asked Molly.
‘I think you enjoyed watching me squirm,’ she said. I glanced at her and grinned. She thumped me hard in the chest. ‘But the food was good – great, even. So we’re going to your place now?’
‘Right. It’s just around the corner.’
As we turned into my street, Molly’s eyes immediately flew to the public housing tower that loomed above it. The tower was a startling landmark among the terraces in the area – twenty storeys of depressing grey cement that housed hundreds of low-income families.
‘That’s not where Dec…’ Molly said suddenly.
‘No. It was in a similar building, but a few blocks south.’ I stopped at my steps. ‘But this is me.’
I walked up past the small veranda and unlocked the front door. Molly trailed her hand over my chest as she went in, and then curved it around my waist. She raised her face towards me, as if she was going to kiss me, but then Lucien came skidding into the living room just before us. At this she released me altogether to crouch down towards him.
‘You are just beautiful,’ she murmured.
Lucien approached her, sniffing carefully, and Molly leant forward to pat him.
‘He takes a while to warm to new people,’ I warned her. But Lucien’s caution suddenly disappeared, and his tail started wagging at top speed. He brushed himself past her, wound his way around my legs, and then returned to lick Molly’s hands. She stood up and looked around. ‘This is nice. Do I get the guided tour?’
I walked towards her and entwined our hands. ‘First stop is the kitchen. I know you have one in your house too, but this one actually gets used.’
‘What an odd concept,’ she laughed.
‘It’s small,’ I said. ‘But it works. The laundry and a bathroom are through that door.’
She released my hand to lean on the kitchen bench and peer out through the window, and when she turned back to me, she was grinning.
‘You have a motorbike?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’ve never been on a bike.’
‘I have a spare helmet,’ I said. I could imagine the feel of her breasts against my back and her arms tight around my waist. ‘Maybe we could go for a ride sometime. My shoulder just needs a few more weeks.’
Molly followed me up the first narrow flight of stairs into my bedroom and the full-sized bathroom. ‘Speaks for itself,’ I said.
She walked lazily towards the windows and pushed back the lace curtains I’d inherited with the house to look out onto the tiny veranda. ‘It must be amazing to sit out there when the jacarandas are in bloom.’
‘Yeah, for a while each summer the view from that veranda looks like a postcard.’