Each summer, we commission some of Aotearoa’s finest writers to tell us a short tale. This year’s theme is “second acts”.
The dog came out of nowhere. Roger was driving too fast and Laurie was looking for bars and Penny was talking to Tim and Pat had his feet on the dashboard and they all heard the thump.
Roger braked. The trailer swerved. Pat yelled at him to pull over and the brothers ran back along the road. The border collie lay on its side, panting through its teeth.
There wasn’t a house for miles. Roger squinted, hands on his hips. It just came out of nowhere.
Pat muttered as he walked back to the SUV. When Tim saw his father get out his bag he started to cry. Penny tried to explain how it was wrong to let things suffer but the boy was inconsolable.
Pat filled the syringe: This should be you. Roger wiped his upper lip. Pat crouched. They didn’t have anything to throw over it.
Pat drove the rest of the way. Everyone was quiet. Roger stared at the curving coast. Their mother always tried to make the boys come down and this was exactly why they didn’t.
After their father died her invitations became more pleading. Roger refused. He hated their house. Our house now: Pat focused on the road ahead.
The property was surrounded by an investment block. As the car and trailer bumped down the metal driveway the rows of pine trunks fell into line.
The black-stained A-frame stuck up in the clearing like a witch’s hat. Summer had baked the grass yellow. The herb planters had seeded. The white sand beach ran behind the patches of scrub in a broken grin.
Penny flicked the spiders out of the curtains. She threw out the dead candles and stuffed the shawl back in the cupboard and unhooked the dreamcatcher from the ranch slider and threw it in the bin.
Pat got Tim to help him bring in their things. They’d brought everything they needed for the week: food and water and gas and toilet paper and candles. There was no phone and no signal but Laurie kept trying.
The loft was a furnace. Laurie and Roger took the downstairs room. Penny put Tim in Nan’s bedroom which was cooler. Her mother-in-law smiled behind glass: Tim and Nan swimming. Tim with Nan’s old border collie. Tim with his mother.
Uncle Roger was scared of dogs.
Penny smirked: I don’t think that’s true.
Why are there no photos of you?
Penny pursed her lips: That was before I met Dad.
They fired up Pop’s barbecue on the deck and opened the wine and the beer and the scotch. Sparks spiralled in the windless night. Beyond the scrub the waves landed with a bang. The only lights were the stars. Laurie said she really understood why their mother never wanted to leave here.
Roger was silent. Pat rolled his tumbler in his hands. Penny asked Tim if he wanted anything more to eat.
They were all too pissed to do the dishes. Penny tucked Tim up in Nan’s bed. Roger and Laurie collapsed in the back room. Pat made it as far as the sofa.
In the night he dreamed about tinkling crockery. When he woke up in the morning he was lying under the shawl and the plates and glasses were stacked neatly on the bench.
Nan tidied up, Tim said. Pat smiled at his son. Kids had funny ideas about death.
After breakfast they went down to the beach. Pop’s boat was still tied up on the jetty. Roger wanted to sink the damn thing. Pop had to quit work after the boom caught him in the head. Their mother was glad to have him home. She was furious when Pat followed his father into hospital work. Beats fluffing auras in Santa Barbara, Pat said. Roger splashed his brother.
Tim was scared because the waves were big. He wanted to swim with Nan. Penny told him he didn’t have to go in.
Laurie sunbathed topless now you-know-who wasn’t looking. She stayed in California last time Roger came: she didn’t need that shit.
When Roger arrived he was shocked by the sight of his mother. She was skin and bones under the shawl, panting. She refused to go to the hospital. Penny held her hand while Pat got his bag from the car. It was wrong to let things suffer.
When the boys finished swimming they all went back to the house and relit the barbecue and drank too much again. Laurie was first to crash. She could never handle her liquor. Roger stumbled in after his wife. Tim had been eaten alive: his right arm was covered in welts. Nan had a special recipe for mosquitoes. Of course she did, Penny said. She didn’t mean to snap.
The loft was too hot to sleep. Penny lay staring at the steepled ceiling. She could hear the waves. The tide was coming in.
We shouldn’t have come back.
It’ll cool down after midnight.
You know what I mean.
There was a hiss from downstairs: Tim opening the ranch slider.
Oh god. Penny pulled the sheet over her face: You deal with it.
Pat went down. Nan’s bed was empty. Outside under the moonlight Tim was running towards the beach, his right arm extended in the grasp of a hand that wasn’t there.
Pat sprinted after him. Now the dreamcatcher had been taken down he couldn’t see the ranch slider was closed and he went straight through the glass.
He landed face down on the deck. The pain was blinding. He groped himself, diagnosing. The shards had missed the arteries. Pat lay on his side, panting through his teeth.
Roger ran out first. Jesus, he said. Jesus Christ.
Pat pointed to the beach: Tim.
Roger pointed to the trees: I see him.
Pat tried to say: No. But his brother was already running towards the pines.
Laurie freaked. Pat tried to tell her about Tim when they heard the shriek. Laurie ran into the stand and disappeared.
Penny came out, calm. She held her husband’s bloody lips to her ear. When he told her about Tim her face went white. She ran towards the water.
Pat fell back on the pieces of glass looking up at the stars. He needed a doctor. He was a doctor. His laugh bubbled pink spit.
Penny would reach Tim in time. Nan had never rated her as a mother. It was a shame she wasn’t here to see what a good mother Penny had turned out to be.
The noises coming from the pines were unspeakable now. Laurie had a real Hollywood scream. At least Roger was finally sticking up for himself.
Pat was losing consciousness. He was finding it difficult to breathe. He felt something soft being gently laid across him. He thought it was probably the warmth of the summer night.
Chad Taylor is the author of seven novels. His most recent is Blue Hotel.
