He’s still looking down. ‘I been meaning to say this for weeks. But I could never put it together right.’ He shoves his blond hair out of his eyes and finally meets my gaze. His face is very earnest. ‘All this stuff… What you’ve done for me… I dunno if you understand what it means.’
His eyes are a deep verdant green, with little brown flecks in them. I suddenly get this powerful feeling, the same feeling I got that time in his hospital room: like the air between us, everywhere around us, is humming.
I put my forearms on the table to steady myself. ‘What does it mean, Harris?’
He waits a long beat before replying. ‘Amie, I –’
‘Amie!’ There’s a shuffle from the hallway. ‘Amie, d’you reckon you could get Nick to shift his car? I wanna –’
The sound of my dad’s voice gets Harris moving before I’ve even registered it. By the time Dad steps into the kitchen and cuts himself off mid-sentence, Harris is out of his chair and standing beside it. His blank neutral face is firmly back on. Dad takes one look at Harris and changes expression in an instant.
‘Ah. Right.’ He glances between me and Harris, back to me. ‘Sorry, I thought you were talking to Nick. I saw the car and I just forgot…’
‘Hey, Sarge.’ Harris stands, fidgeting with his cane.
‘Hey, Harris,’ Dad says.
‘Dad, I’m sure Harris will be okay about moving the car.’ I speak clear and slow, still adjusting to the rapid shift in emotional temperature, trying to lower Harris’s tension. I gesture at the glasses on the table. ‘Is it urgent, or is it okay for him to finish his drink?’
Dad takes in the table setting. ‘Ah, sorry. No, sure, it can wait.’ He seems to think for a second. ‘Actually, I might get a drink m’self.’
‘We’re out of juice,’ I warn.
‘Milk, then. A glass of milk’ll do.’ Dad lumbers towards the benchtop. I have to move my chair around to the side so he can get to the fridge and bench cupboards. The kitchen suddenly feels a bit…cramped.
I sigh. ‘Harris, can you sit down again? He’s not gonna throw you out.’
‘Ah…’ Harris says.
‘Yes, for god’s sake, sit, sit,’ Dad says, ushering with his hand.
Harris sits.
I swivel to look at Dad. ‘What happened? I didn’t think you were gonna be back home until later tonight?’
‘Just had to drop off the other squaddie for a tune, I’m taking Jared’s car back,’ Dad says over his shoulder. ‘I probably won’t make it home for dinner, love.’ He glances at Harris, perched on the other kitchen chair, and his tone shifts from casual familiarity to ‘we have a visitor’. ‘Right. So. Just a social call, is it?’
‘It was.’ I restrain myself from eye-rolling. ‘Harris is picking up the spare keys for the Subie.’
‘Um, yep,’ Harris says.
‘You’re looking better than last time I saw you.’ Dad pulls a tumbler from the cupboard. ‘Although you looked pretty dire then, of course.’
Harris huffs a soft laugh. ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t feel that great, either.’
‘Fair enough.’ Dad swipes out his glass with a tea towel. ‘Amie says you had another close shave recently – with your mate, Snowie Geraldson.’
‘Dad.’ I purse my lips. ‘You’re really gonna get into thisnow?’
‘Snowie’s not my bestie, but I know him,’ Harris says. The tone of his voice makes me look over. He has a quiet set expression on his face. ‘It was Marcus Anderson I had a run-in with. Snowie wasn’t throwing no punches, he was just there at the pub.’
‘But you don’t want us to book Anderson?’ Dad says.
‘Nothing in it,’ Harris says. ‘Just a bit too much to drink. Nothing I’d be bothered making a big deal out of.’
Dad doesn’t reply, but he glances at me. I feel like saying,See, I told you.But for a second I get a momentary flash of how frustrating it must be: nobody will tell him the truth, even though he’s trying to help.
Dad nods sombrely, heads for the fridge.
