‘Your theory was that they’d lived a shared life – that because they farmed the land together they’ve had the same environmental exposure: they’ve eaten the same food, they’ve laughed and cried at the same time and life has weathered each of them in much the same way. So at eighty, or whatever age they were, they wound up looking kind of similar. And I think I said something like it wouldn’t apply in our case, because the way you were going, with all the stupid risks you were taking, you’d probably be dead by then, anyway.’ Her voice is flat, almost emotionless. ‘And then you probably said something about my being so unsupportive of your career and that it wasn’t forever… blah, blah, blah. Cue yelling and Lucien hiding with Mrs Wilkins until the noise quietens down.’
I focus not on the argument, but on a single aspect of it. ‘You felt I was taking too many risks in the field?’
‘I did. So did everyone, except maybe Kisani, who seemed to rather enjoy the bump in the magazine’s popularity every time you got yourself injured and made the news.’ I frown, and Molly sighs. ‘I didn’t mean that. She was devastated after your accident and she apologised to me for letting you go ahead with the assignment. Even she knew it was a mistake by then.’
‘But was it a mistake?’ I ask carefully. ‘I mean, sometimes you do have to take risks in the field to get the important stories. And I was hurt in a car accident; that could have happened here in Sydney on the way to a Sunday brunch.’
Molly raises an eyebrow at me. ‘But it didn’t. It happened in Syria, while you and the militia you were embedded with were outrunning a squad of government soldiers who were trying to blow you up. Are you seriously going to sit in that wheelchair and try to tell me that pursuing the story that got you this brain injury wasn’t a mistake?’
‘Battlefields are dangerous places. And the important stories are never in the safe zones.’
Molly stands up abruptly.
‘Don’t, Molly,’ I say, and I catch her hand. ‘Stay, talk to me about it.’
‘Don’t you understand how hard it is for me to hear you say that? I thought you were going to die, Leo! I had to think through whether I could stand to fly back on the jet with your body,’ she hisses, and she shakes my hand off hers. ‘You’re not even walking again yet and already you’re justifying the next dangerous assignment you take. I just don’t understand why you have to keep pushing the boundaries all of the time.’
‘I am going to go back to work one day. You know this is my calling,’ I say, and she groans and throws her head back in frustration.
‘Well, Leo, I’ll promise you one thing. The next time you’re in a coma in a foreign country, it won’t be me they call to deal with the aftermath. I’ll be back at home here raising our baby and getting on with my life.’
She slams the door as she leaves the room and I sigh and look back to the article. I see my name on the byline, and I wait for the thrill I’d always felt at the sight of that, and the impatience that’s hovering below the surface now that I’m grounded – the urge that is driving me to get well, and to get back to work.
Neither emotion surfaces this time. Instead, I can only think of Molly. I close the magazine and go after her. She’s in the bathroom and the shower is on. I manoeuvre myself in through the doorway and watch as she tears her clothes off and throws them with force onto the floor.
‘Is that what our fights are like?’ I say, and she glares at me as she steps under the stream of water.
‘That wasn’t a fight,’ she says, and she laughs bitterly. She lets the water run over her face and then turns to wet her hair. ‘That was a friendly discussion by our standards but it gives you an idea, and as great as this has been between us the last few weeks, it shows that our problems are still there and that we haven’t yet figured out a solution.’
‘Yeah,’ I murmur. ‘We need to find a compromise.’
‘There is no compromise.’
‘What if I travel less?’
‘You already promised me that once before. It didn’t last long.’
‘Do you have some ideas for a solution?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
She pours shampoo into her palm and lathers up her hair before rinsing it off. The suds drain down over her glistening naked body and I follow their path, momentarily distracted from the very serious train of thought I’d been on.
‘Leo,’ she prompts, and I look back to her face. She raises an eyebrow at me.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘Maybe you should just stay naked all the time. It would be really hard for us to quarrel if you did.’
‘Even my naked body won’t be enough to stop you getting on that plane the minute your legs are back in action.’
‘So that’s your solution? I don’t work anymore?’ I feel a tic start up in my jaw, and I reach to rub it. Molly is applying conditioner now and she doesn’t answer me. ‘Would you really have me stuck here and miserable about it?’