The Gaps by Leanne Hall (classic literature list .TXT) 📕

I sweep my phone around so she can see the stars, the trampoline, the Fifitas’ overgrown backyard. ‘With some friends.’

‘Hello, Chloe’s friends.’ Natalia sounds and looks tired but at least she answered my call.

Liana calls out, ‘You’re so pretty!’

I bounce my way off the trampoline, heading for somewhere quieter, more private. I stand in the back corner of the garden, where moths gather around the security light.

‘Do you think you’ll be back at school this week?’

‘Not sure…How did I do yesterday?’

‘You did well. It was nice to hear more about Yin, from a different perspective. It was really sad, of course.’

I can see tiny hints of what looks to be Natalia’s bedroom, whenever she shifts about. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I used to be friends with Yin.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say and it is. In the last week I’ve thought more about how hard things must have been for Natalia since Yin went missing, all the hanging on and waiting.

‘Why did you call me?’ she asks.

‘Just to say hi. And Katie and Liana wanted to meet you.’ I leave it at that. She looks even more shattered than I expected, so my new idea can wait until she comes back to school.

‘You’re so strange, Cardell,’ she says and I know her well enough by now to take it as a compliment.

DAY 73

The only time that Dad and I talk about anything real is in the car, I don’t know why, that’s just the way it is, the words come easier when you’re sitting side by side, when you can pretend the view is fascinating and you’re not talking about something earth-shattering.

‘How are you feeling?’ Dad taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he drives.

‘How do you think?’

About as good as if I was being boiled slowly in a giant metal cauldron over a slow-burning fire or if I was a little baby deer walking through the forest on my own and there were wolves nearby. And I’m wondering if the psychologist is going to make me lie down on a couch or if that’s just something they do in movies, only I can’t bring myself to ask Dad that so instead I say:

‘What was the deal with your nervous breakdown?’

Dad flinches for real, takes his eyes off the road, briefly. ‘I’m surprised you even remember. You were so young.’

From one answer-dodger to another I say, ‘I was young enough that no one told me what was going on and no one has talked about it since so that’s why I’m asking you now.’

Dad throws an exasperated hand up at the driver who has just overtaken us and then cut back in and then he can’t avoid answering any longer. He’s already sweating so much that he has to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.

‘I wouldn’t call it a breakdown, I guess I’d say it was a fairly serious episode of depression.’

‘Why were you depressed?’

‘There’s not always a reason.’ Pause to think. ‘I had a chemical imbalance in my brain, for sure, and I needed medication to fix it. But it was also more complicated than that.’

‘In what way?’

He sighs loudly and I can tell he’s having trouble keeping his patience and let me tell you I’m having patience issues at having to drag it out of him sentence by sentence. Does he think it’s easy for me to ask him these questions?

‘It was complicated, because I was under a lot of stress at the time. Business was bad and I was working punishing hours and not taking care of myself, and I had no tools at all to manage my stress.’

‘Huh.’ I think about the medicine cabinet. ‘Do you still take medication?’

‘No. It got me through a crisis period and then I focussed on my lifestyle and therapy and after a couple of years I could manage without it. I still have to stay balanced though, you know, exercise, eat well, meditate.’

I snort. ‘Just because you keep your gym bag on the back seat doesn’t mean you actually do any exercise. Come on, Dad. I don’t think you take care of yourself as much as you think you do.’

‘I hear you, Natalia. You’re right, I should keep it in mind.’

Dad eyeballs me seriously. I wish he wouldn’t take his eyes off the road so much.

‘You should do more than keep it in mind. I know you don’t always feel good. I do have eyes, you know.’ My voice sounds ever so slightly choked.

‘I don’t want you to worry about me too much, but there’s no miracle cure for depression, you know?’ He’s quiet. ‘It’s more a matter of managing it as best I can. I do have rough patches still.’

All I remember about Dad’s depression is that he stopped working and stayed home a lot and didn’t do any of the normal things I was used to. And he cried more than usual and lost his temper more than usual too. And I wonder if that’s not how I’ve been these past few months. Like him. The thought scares me.

‘How do you not drown in your emotions?’ The questions burst out of me. ‘How do you control your thoughts when they’re going everywhere?’

How do you know when your brain has gone too far, like it’s gotten too weird in there?

‘What kind of thoughts?’

Dad sticks his indicator on, and when it’s safe, he pulls over by the side of the road.

‘What kind of thoughts?’ he says again.

‘Everything,’ I say.

He waits. I don’t want to say.

‘Like, is there anything anyone could have done to prevent what happened to Yin? What did she go through before she died? Was she scared? What was she thinking about? Did she think about her family, or me even? Did she hate me?’

I stop, because I’m starting to get worked up, the tears creep in from the corners and threaten me. I don’t tell him my strangest thoughts, just the more normal ones.

‘That’s a