Cracks

Rachel inched down the hallway, linen bundled in her arms, until she reached the blue door. Her fingertips automatically reached to glide over the nameplate, but this time, instead of moving on, they traced the woodwork to the handle and twisted. She paused, thinking how long it had been since she had entered this room, then took a deep breath and pushed. The hinges cried as they protested being used. Did she have any WD-40 in the house? Maybe down in the laundry, with all the other home repair items that didn’t get used any more. The bed sat in the middle of the room, exactly how it had been left the last time the bed had been vacated. The last time she’d walked in this room. The Star Wars bedspread lay half on the floor, where it had slipped as its owner slipped out of her life. Rachel hadn’t had the heart to straighten it, nor take it off. Stuffing it into the washing basket, Rachel stripped the rest of the bed. How she had left it this long, she didn’t know. No, that wasn’t true. She did know. She just didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to have to deal with the room and the empty ache inside that it would churn up.

It had been seven years since he’d left. Not even a note. He’d just packed up his suitcase and walked out. Seven years of no contact, except for a card each year at Christmas and on her birthday. Seven years of wondering where he was, if he was okay, and whether she’d ever see him again. Picking up the photo of the two of them from his bedside table, she wiped away the dust before putting it back in its place. He’d been so innocent, so joyous in that photo. On her birthday, he’d wrapped his arms around her neck and insisted that someone take a picture of them together. Then one day he’d got up and walked out the door, slipping away without a goodbye or an explanation.

Shaking away the memory, Rachel picked up the fitted sheet and started to remake the bed. Was blue still his favourite colour? Did he still like Star Wars, and could she get the bedspread dry again before he arrived? She only had the one special cover. The others were all plain. Shaking her head again, Rachel focused on making sure the sheet was on properly. There was only so much she could do before he arrived, and he probably didn’t care what colour the sheets were. Or would he?

Dropping the bedding in the laundry and retrieving the vacuum cleaner, Rachel smiled as she recalled the skittish cat Steven had adopted. A soon as it saw the vacuum come out, it would run for the one safe room in the house – the bathroom. Except one time, the bathroom had been occupied, and the cat had turned the corner and barrelled straight into the door. Stunned, it had sat there until Steven opened the door and rescued it. At least the poor thing learned to not run around corners too fast again. It had disappeared with Steven. He obviously could not live without his precious cat. Unlike her. Apparently he could live just fine without her.

Steven stepped out of the taxi, pulling his duffle bag behind him. Maybe he should have tried to call with an exact time, but he didn’t want to give her a chance to tell him that he couldn’t come back. He didn’t want an extra excuse to change his mind either. It had been hard walking away. It was even harder coming back. Looking at the front door, it seemed like nothing had changed. Still red trim around the front door. Still twin rosebushes either side of the door. The house hadn’t changed a bit. Had she?

Looking down at the footpath, he noted how fractured the cement had become. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Step on a line, break your mother’s spine. The childhood rhyme came to mind every time he walked on concrete. Ever since he’d heard the rhyme at six, he’d avoided stepping on lines and cracks. Somewhere along the way, it had become almost a compulsion. He didn’t always have to avoid the cracks, but if he could, then he did. He knew the rhyme wasn’t true, but he watched where he walked anyway. It was why he left, in a way. It wasn’t the cracks, but the weight of responsibility. His mother, his work, his life.

And so he’d run away. Just like he felt like doing now. But it was time. Time to fix what he’d done. How, he had no idea. But he’d done the first step. He’d written home, telling his mother that he was coming. He’d tried calling her. Three rings, then the ‘hello’ in his ear. Each time, he’d opened his mouth but his mind had gone blank. He couldn’t even say hello in response. As she repeated hello for the third time, he’d hung up. She probably thought it was some creep.

Did she still have the cat? It had broken his heart to leave the tiny thing behind, but he wasn’t even sure he could look after himself at that point, let alone a helpless animal. He smiled as he recalled his mother’s initial rejection of having a cat in the house, and the times he spied her cuddling it when she thought he wasn’t around.

A shadow passed across the curtain of one of the front rooms. His old room. He hadn’t even bothered to make his bed like usual when he left. His mother had probably straightened it perfectly the moment he left. He never could make it the way she wanted anyway. Never kept his room tidy enough, never did the dishes right. Never did anything right.

Why was he coming back again? To make peace. He’d made a life elsewhere, but needed to reconnect with the past to make it whole. He looked down at the cracks again, then focused his gaze on the front door and strode towards it. It was time to reconcile with the biggest part of his previous life.

Rachel peered out the bedroom window just as Steven started striding towards the door, bag in hand. She reached the front door just in time to hear his knock. Stretching her hand towards the doorknob, her hand halted mid-air as she considered what might happen when she opened the door. Surely he wouldn’t write her, wouldn’t come back, just list all her failings to her face, would he? What would they even talk about? Was this visit because he wanted to, or just some sort of duty? Turning the knob, she forced a wobbly smile on her face as she prepared to welcome her son home.