A Pair of Lost Socks

"You were snoring."

Max looked up, Yvonne's hair lit by the sun behind her, King at her side, tail wagging. He'd fallen asleep on the log. "I didn't used to snore."

"You did, sometimes."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Not sure. Ten, maybe twenty minutes. Your face is getting burnt."

"Feels it."

"I thought you'd come to cut more wood, just to spite me."

"No," he said, sitting. "I...wanted to be alone."

Yvonne eyed him, then said, "Exactly what I used to say when you became bitter about life. Any room on your log for me?"

"Sure. It's nice and flat on top, would make a fine seat up in your garden."

She sat to his left and King sniffed around several smaller trees and shrubs, pissing on them to mark his territory. Yvonne patted the log. "I have no way to haul it up the hill."

"Could probably tow it with the Jimny."

"I think it'd gouge out the lawn."

"Use a log shoe," Max said, but didn't elaborate.

After a while Yvonne said, "Poor Heather, spending all this time away from Tim."

"I think they're over reacting by her coming here when they could've spent this lockdown together."

"I do too, just quietly. But as they keep reminding us, he is on the front line and they're both worried about the baby if there's a break out."

They were quiet again, the family of wrens still flitting about, but higher in the trees, wary of King, and they could hear the distant roar of an engine and road noise of tyres on bitumen from a single vehicle speeding up the highway on the other side of the ridge, behind the house. King was sniffing at something in the grass now, and Max grumbled, "I've heard more than a few cars on the road...so much for not supposed to be goin' anywhere."

"On the news people in cities all over the country are still going to shops. They're supposed to be doing this social distancing thing, but everyone's complaining no one's paying attention to the rules. From the sounds of things everyone's renovating all of a sudden and going to Bunnings to buy hardware, and all these people are out and about taking videos of other people, then posting it on Facebook so they can complain about all the people out and about. Even Pat's having a whinge about it."

"Having a whinge even if they're going out too?"

"Patrick has to go out to buy his building supplies."

"I didn't mean Pat, but the whingers taking the videos."

"Yeah, I guess everyone's a hypocrite, even my brother. We've become a nation of whingers and dobbers. Everyone should suck it up so we can defeat this thing as quick as possible..."

"Somethin' I've noticed is everyone's havin' a whinge about somethin' these days. Why are you on the Facebook anyway?"

"Why not?" She waited for Max to respond, but he didn't, so she continued. "I use it to sell my art works, mainly. It helps me advertise. Ryan set everything up a few years ago. eBay, Etsy, other sites. And while I'm at it I can see what Ryan's up to in Brisbane as well."

"Your art is amazing, Vonnie, you must sell a bit."

She smiled. "Thanks. It took me a while to build the courage to put it out there, and it does earn a bit on the side, but not enough to make a proper living."

"So that's why you still work at the post office?"

"I haven't hit the bigtime with my art yet," she said, giving him a smirk. "One of these days. I should've started earlier."

"Yeah," Max said, watching the wrens flit about. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, I didn't mean...I wasn't implying you held me back."

"But I did, though, didn't I..."

"Look, Max, we've discussed this many times before, and I've told you it's not like you think. I'd never thought of making a cent from art or anything I did back then, but now we have so many opportunities."

"What about those sketchbooks you filled before we had kids?"

"They're not worth a cent."

Max grunted, but said nothing. Neither did Yvonne, and the silence grew, and something niggling at Max's mind and heart prompted him to speak. "The painting in your living room with the family, the shadows on the beach..."

Yvonne turned to face him. "It's my...special painting. I've not made a single print of it." Max pursed his lips and nodded, and after a while Yvonne said, "Come with me, I want to show you something."

He and King followed her up the garden path, past the house and cars parked out front, into the front garden. Three young deciduous trees were on the property's northern boundary here, their leaves turning golden with the chill of autumn, and Max's mind told him they were elms, probably knowledge his forester father once put in his head. Paths of stone wound between garden beds of native shrubs, and in the very centre of the garden was a stone-paved circle with a timber seat facing the west. He'd briefly explored this garden, not stopping to sit upon the seat, as Yvonne did now.

"Sit with me," she said, and he did. "What do you see?"

"Shrubs. Trees. Your fence, the road. Hills in the distance."

"Look harder and closer."

His eyes fell on the shrubs near their feet, another path winding between them. And then he saw the tiny clay figures upon a clay urn. They could've been small and thin garden gnomes to the untrained eye, but they weren't; two taller figures holding the hand of the much smaller figure between them.

Max knew who they were.

"Justin," he whispered, lips closing tight and a prickle of tears forming at the corners of his eyes, the heavy emptiness griping his heart.

And Yvonne took his hand, giving him a gentle squeeze, and he squeezed back, neither having touched one another in fourteen years. She whispered, "It's taken me a long time, Max. He's here with us in the urn, facing the sunsets he used to love so much..."

Max turned to face her, seeing her bite her bottom lip, which trembled, a tear on her cheek, and he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. The little pottery family in the garden remained oblivious to them, still staring west; him, her, and Justin between them.

After a long time, Max said, "The story I told this morning, about when I dropped you off at the hospital to have Heather. I knew once we dropped you off I needed to park quickly and get back to you. I told Justin I'd piggy back him to you and we ran through the streets, and..." Max stopped, took a deep breath and Yvonne squeezed his hand. "...and I vividly remember he stuck his arms out and began flapping like a bird, giggling, and it was the first time he'd done so. I'd wrapped my arms behind me, around him, holding him against my back so he wouldn't fall, running past people on the street. And he was like a bird flying along on my back, full of laughter."

"You never told me this detail..."

Max took his time to answer. "I'd always remembered it, but not thought it important to mention. But it was important enough that for years after we'd run around the backyard or park like that, but I never thought of how we'd started that game. So many little things I missed...maybe I thought it unimportant at the time?"

"Max, I missed some of the important details too, and you know I still punish myself about it. Years of therapy can only do so much."

Max nodded, as if in agreement. "He used to follow me around everywhere. But he showed no interest in kicking the football and I was so pushy about it."

"But he loved to help you tinker with the Torana."

"Only when he was little." Max wiped his eye. "One of the last times he showed interest in the car he was about ten, and he wanted to know how the key started the motor and I showed him...I showed him the ignition wires under the dash and how..."

Yvonne rested her head on his shoulder. "You had no idea he'd one day steal a car, Max."

He grunted. "Heather was never interested in the car but always wanted to kick the football from a young age and she followed me around, then Ryan did too. By then all Justin wanted to do was draw with you, or help you in the garden planting flowers. I couldn't even get him to mow the grass or cut firewood without him gettin' all sullen about it. I never understood it, because when I was a kid I just did what I had to do."

"I bet this isn't the way your Mum and sister remember you doing things." Yvonne sniffed, also wiping her eye. "But Justin walked to the beat of his own drum, but I don't think he even knew where he wanted to go."

King, who'd been sniffing about the garden, returned to them, resting his furry head on Max's lap, big brown eyes looking up, and Max rested his hand between King's ears. "And then we bought Lady and they became inseparable..."

"Lady was such a great dog, and they were best mates. All through early high school he kept going on about becoming a vet, and we told him he'd have to be good at maths..."

Max sighed. "I think he knew he wasn't academically inclined. When he was a teenager and wanted to be a vet nurse, I kinda suggested nursing was a woman's job. It's ironic, because Tim's a nurse, and he's a manly man...and of course it wouldn't matter if he wasn't. But still, I should've acted...kinder."

"You weren't harsh, Max," Yvonne said. "And you weren't the only one who put Justin off vet nursing. Dad and Pat both said similar things too. You're all men who're products of your time. But even I kept telling him to look at other options and not limit himself, which is why he found the baker's apprenticeship, but I don't think he wanted to be a baker. I'm not sure he knew what he wanted and if he had dreams, he stopped sharing them."

"And I never noticed because Heather and Ryan showed so much interest in sport, and I was still playing football all the time too."

"He still came to all your games to cheer you on," Yvonne said. She shook her head, wiping another tear. "But we've spoken about this a million times in the past, you and Justin simply didn't have the same interests. Can't force it."

Max felt the tears welling again. "For a brief period..."

"I know...you two were..."

"Inseparable..."

They both bit their trembling bottom lips, Yvonne's tears flowing freely now, both sniffling, and Max lifted his hand from King's head to wipe his eyes too. "I'm sorry, Vonnie."

"I'm sorry too. We have to stop blaming ourselves. Every time I think about him I remind myself we always gave him a loving home, and we both need to remember this. We didn't know what was going on in his head, and he never told us he was being teased at school or in his apprenticeship, or whatever else was going on with him, or how he was feeling."

"But he should've come to us to talk. I don't know why he never did."

Yvonne looked down and sighed. "It's hard being a teenager. I remember those years as being awful, and I hardly wanted to leave the house. I think he was similar to me in that respect."

"Heather holds the theory he was struggling with identity issues, like he was gay or transsexual."

"I don't know, and Heather doesn't really know either. She's searching for unanswerable answers too, I think. You, me, her, and Ryan too, we've discussed this with each other so many times, but how can we tell? He never indicated it beyond being...aloof. But I think maybe it was hard for Justin to live in the shadow of big Maxie Coughlan who was loud and brash and tough, commanding everyone's respect and love. I'm not having a go at you there, Max, I just sometimes think maybe he felt there was something wrong with him, being so different from you. His identity issue may be as simple as he never felt he fit in."

Max sniffed and nodded. "We have no idea what was going on with him, but he could've said something...I mean, I can't be completely unapproachable, because it was me who Marty Robinson came to before he came out as a gay man. But if I really was unapproachable, if Justin was too nervous to ask me, maybe he could've spoken to you?"

"You weren't unapproachable, Max, and Marty came to you because you're a listener and probably the most accepting person he knew. But it's different with your own kids, and I'm sure you remember the infinite number of times you told Heather she needed to listen to people before she went off half-cocked, and now she mostly does listen. But maybe Justin didn't want to talk either, especially when he was starting to use drugs. And he might've actually spoken to me about his problems before then, and I missed it, or said the wrong thing, and I wasn't always easy on him, either. I don't know...I've spent years going over and over what I can remember, and can't work it out no matter how much I try."

Max sniffed again. "Then my accident..."

"Which wasn't your fault, as you know."

"And having to have Lady put down. Everything happened at once and set Justin off."

"It was his choice to take drugs, Max, which he was doing before your accident or Lady's death."

"But I wasn't easy afterwards either..."

"No, you definitely were not."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Yvonne said, resting her head on Max's shoulder. "Bloody silly men, falling apart as soon as life throws a spanner in the works. But it's not your fault Justin began using drugs, he made the decision on his own, and breaking into a bunch of shops, the stint in jail, more drugs, then to go steal a bloody car and...and...and...you and I gave him a bloody good home, Max, and we were his safe space and I don't understand why it went so wrong."

Max sighed. "If you say so."

"I know so, I've told you a million times. You have to believe me, Max. We raised him kindly and gave him somewhere safe to live, and I know you'd have given him support if he'd asked for it, no matter what troubled him. I think some people are going to take the hard road regardless, and he didn't even know where he wanted that road to take him."

"Probably...but maybe he was asking for support and I didn't..."

"No, Max! You did this to yourself fifteen odd years ago, over and over again, and I did it too, and I'm not having you start again, because this is partly why I left. It's why Heather ran away to the Army too..."

She stopped talking and began crying, heaving sobs, and Max wrapped his arms around her, holding Yvonne tight, tears in his own eyes, softly whispering, "I'm so sorry, Von..."

"See," she said between sobs, "We became stuck in this loop all those years ago and it destroyed us, and now we're talking for a few moments and we're heading back into the same old territory. Everything seemingly happened at once, but we need to accept we can't change the past, and some things we'll never understand, no matter how hard we try."

He held her, and King whined, sensing their sadness, his head still on Max's lap.

Eventually Max said, "I loved him."

"I know you did," Yvonne said, sitting up, wiping her eyes with her hand. "We all did."

"Sorry I was difficult back then...after the accident."

"Yeah...so you should be."

"I know you needed to strike out on your own."

She shook her head. "I needed a break, but I never expect it to be a fourteen year break, and you know I'd have come back to you or you could've come to me anytime. You surprised me when you didn't come back."

"I was ashamed...I didn't think you wanted me around...back then I didn't even want to be around myself."

"You were heading down a dark path and we both know you were too proud to accept anyone's help, and nothing I said was going to stop you, so let's not go into it."

Max pulled her in to him. "I never stopped loving you, Von."

"Funny way of showing it back then," she whispered. "But I know. I never stopped loving you, either, after all these years. I must be a fool."

"I'm the fool. A waste..."

"No, Max, don't. Not this kind of talk again, please."

They sat in silence and Max closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling the sun on his face. He opened his eyes and saw the little figures on the urn, two parents holding their child's hand, and he nodded.

Eventually Yvonne pulled away and stood. "I'm going back to the house. Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah," Max said, still watching the figures and urn. Yvonne trailed her hand along his arm, nodded, then left him. He stayed and King stayed too, until the sun began to set, low under the clouds, which began to turn orange and crimson, and he recalled how Justin loved to watch sunsets, painting them with Yvonne when he was a kid and later photographing them on his old Pentax point-and-shoot they'd bought him for his twelfth birthday. His heart felt heavy and he whispered, "I'm sorry, cobber...I...loved you so much...I wish I'd told you...more often."

Tears were on his cheeks and he let them flow, because they needed to flow after all these years. In the twilight crickets were chirping and wallabies gathered on the grass by the driveway, and King began to take interest in the nocturnal wildlife, so Max led him towards the house.

There, Yvonne looked at him and gave a knowing half-smile, a little more than a grimace, and he nodded to her with pursed lips. She nodded back and turned to reheat left-over meat from lunch, and dished up the potato salad too, then Heather entered from the spare room where she'd spent her afternoon streaming TV on her computer with Tim, who was over eighty kilometres away.

Max looked to Heather, who appeared tired, despite her fitness freak ways. "I hope you've had a happy birthday, love."

"Thanks, Dad," she replied with a smile. "It was...perfect, given the circumstances."

"You know your mother and I are always here for you."

Heather gave Max a funny look, slightly confused, slightly amused, and she looked to Yvonne, who shrugged with a similar expression as her daughter's, then looked back to Max. "Of course I know, Dad. And I'm here for you too."

"You have been, love, and I'm grateful. I do love you, you know?"

Heather smiled, still semi-amused. "I've never doubted it, Dad. I love you too."

~0~

The sun rose and Max took King for their morning walk, down the garden path, then through the dewy grass, wetting his boots, King sniffing and marking every tree and shrub in his way. Small birds flew away from the paperbark tree at their approach, where Max gripped the low branch and began his chin-ups.

"Ah, yes, feel the burn," he whispered to himself, straining on the last few, and King looked to him, head cocked as if wondering what Max was on about. He lowered himself to the ground, stretching his arms out for a moment, then said to King, "Come on, let's go get some breaky."

Today Heather was the cat, on hands and knees, holding her back arched in the air, then gently sitting back on her mat. King bounded up the stairs to the deck and went to her, and she ruffled his fur vigorously, then she looked to her father. "How many today?"

"Fifteen," Max replied.

"You're back in the game, Dad."

"A bit to go yet," Max said, with a smile. Through the doors Yvonne placed a bowl on the floor for Jamieson, then came through to the deck with a bowl for King, who bounded over. Out of old habit, Max greeted her with a cheery, "Morning, love."

Yvonne looked up from where she was patting King and smiled, then chuckled. "Morning, darling."

They both laughed, because it was like the old days, and Heather sat on her yoga mat smiling at her parent's new-found rapport. They entered the cottage while Heather finished her routine, and Max glanced to the painting of the family shadows on the beach, then he stood there, admiring it, recalling their many family holidays to the beaches along this very coastline. He felt Yvonne's hand on his shoulder, and she squeezed him there, and he turned to her and smiled.

Everything they needed to say was already said, and Max placed his hand on Yvonne's, giving a little squeeze in return.

"Kettle's boiled," she said, gently.

"Thanks, love."

While he made them each a tea, Yvonne sat on the stool at the kitchen bench, and when he passed the tea cup across to her, she watched him intently. She smiled when their eyes met, then said, "Thanks...darling."