was taking care of himself properly and he wanted to be sure before he left that there was at least food to hand for him, even if he chose not to eat it.
‘Steak and salad okay for you?’
Simple food was what Mike always liked. Sometimes he reminisced about Mary’s chicken pot pie or dumpling stew, and Sam would realise how much he still missed his wife and felt guilty that he didn’t live closer or make the effort to see his father more often.
‘If it’s what you’re making.’
When the food was prepared Sam laid knives and forks on the old yellow laminate table and put the plates out. ‘It’s ready.’
Mike fumbled for his stick, but it still lay where Sam had pushed it aside. The old man gave a grunt of irritation and stretched awkwardly but Sam was there first. He put it into his father’s hand and helped him to his feet, then guided him the few feet to the table.
‘I can manage. How d’you think I get by when you aren’t paying one of your visits, eh?’
‘Sure you can manage. But when I’m here, I like to be able to help you.’
They ate in silence after that, the only sound the clink of their knives and forks, and the wind driving darts of ice against the windows.
‘Not going to be a great night for travelling,’ Mike remarked.
I could stay over, just until tomorrow, Sam thought. But he didn’t want to and the realisation twisted yet another strand of guilt in him. He wanted to get out of here, back to his own place, away from the mute cohorts of their memories.
‘It’ll be fine. I’ve got to get back to work.’
That was another aspect of disappointment. He hadn’t even made it to law school. Sam’s business was computers, designing and managing websites, and it wasn’t an outstandingly successful one.
At least the silence was broken. Mike chewed thoughtfully on his steak, then wiped his mouth. ‘So you reckon that’s it, is it? No chance of a rethink?’
He was talking about the running again.
Sam must have been twelve because Mary was still there, although she had begun to seem sick. Their last summer vacation, then. Sam couldn’t recall exactly where the climb had been, but he remembered every crease and corner of it. There was a narrow chimney and then an awkward overhang. Mike had led the way and he negotiated the underside of the shelf as if it were a mere optical illusion.
‘Climb when you’re ready,’ Sam heard him call from the invisible secure point above it.
The rock waited, bearing down on him. ‘I don’t think I can do this one.’
No answer came, and Sam sighed and began to climb. Even as he was hanging off the first hold, beginning the calculation that would achieve the next, his mind and his will disengaged themselves. It wasn’t simply that he couldn’t do it. It was much more that he had no wish to. At once he down-climbed the short way he had come and called again. He told Mike that he was going down and he wouldn’t be climbing any more that day. He felt a start of rebellious happiness. A moment or two later Mike reappeared on the ledge beside him. The space felt too small to contain them both.
Mike said, ‘Do you want to think about that again?’
It wasn’t a question, but Sam boldly treated it as if it were. ‘Uh, no, thanks. I’ll head back.’
‘I think you should climb it.’
‘I think I should go down.’
‘Do what I tell you, son.’
The rock seemed to press down on their heads.
‘I don’t want to.’
It was self-discipline that restrained Mike. He wouldn’t let anger master him out on the mountain, because anger was a loss of control and loss of control meant danger. Instead, he lowered his son safely to the ground and watched until he was unclipped from the rope. Then he turned and climbed solo up the overhang.
Sam ran the path through the woods. He made himself run faster and faster to contain his shock at what he had done. When he reached the campsite he found Mary sitting tiredly in her chair under the shade of a tree. Mary defended her son against his father. That was the year Sam took up track sports.
‘Not for 2000, I’m afraid.’
The two of them had cleared their plates. The talk show finished and a soup commercial began.
Sam took them to the sink. ‘Would you like some dessert? There’s a pie. Apple.’ A bought one.
‘Sure, if it’s there.’
He brought the helpings to the table and they ate, in silence again. That was how it was. Afterwards he washed up, and dried the cutlery and placed the dish towel – without knowing he did so – in the way that Mary always left it to dry. Mike had never bought a dishwasher.
Only then did Sam allow himself to look at his watch. ‘Time for the airport.’
‘You really going, in this?’
Sam tilted his head, pretending to listen to the wind. He wanted to switch off the TV in case the local weather report came on and closed off his escape route.
‘Oh, it’s not so bad.’ He collected his zipper bag from the bedroom that still had his college sports posters on the walls and made a show of checking for his keys. ‘Do you need anything else, Dad?’ There was food in the cupboard, fuel in storage, current magazines on the chair. Spring would be here soon.
‘Not a thing.’
‘So, I’d better be going. I’ll call you in the morning.’ From the apartment or the office, in Seattle.
‘Sure.’ The old man pinched his nose and rubbed it with the back of his hand. Then he levered himself to his feet and rested his weight on his stick. From opposite directions they reached the door at the same time. Sam looked down on him.
Michael had survived a broken back, but the terrible injury and the years of fighting back from it had robbed his father of height, as well as other things. Sam thought that the way the old man lived now was truly little more than survival. Awareness of his father’s loss depressed him as well as filling him with unwieldy sympathy. It also increased his own sense of being able-bodied and surrounded by opportunity, and still having locked himself into a life that didn’t satisfy him, or offer any immediate chance of improvement. Mike’s estimation of him as a failure only confirmed his own.
‘I’m really sorry about the Trials.’
‘Maybe next time, like you said,’ Mike answered. They made an awkward connection, a little more than a handshake but less than a clasp. Then they stood apart. ‘Thanks for buying all those supplies. I didn’t need them.’
‘Take care of yourself.’
‘You know me.’
Well enough, Sam thought. He hoisted his bag, rested his hand for a moment on Mike’s shoulder, then opened the door
