I stare at him in shock. “Oh no.”
“I asked him if he was cheating and he said, ‘of course not.’ But it was a lie. She said he’s been seeing this woman in the city for over a year.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He sighs and leans back against the kitchen counter. “Mum wants a divorce. She wants him to move out, but he’s refusing. I think I’m going to have to talk to him to convince him to go.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
“Yeah. He’s going to be angry about that. He’s said that if she wants a divorce, she has to leave. But that’s not fair on her. I think he should move into the city and get an apartment. It’s not as if he can’t afford it. And he’s the man. He needs to be the one to take responsibility, admit the marriage is over, and do something about it.” His face is hard. He’s disappointed and upset with his father, and understandably so. Despite hiscarefree attitude and his string of girlfriends, I very much doubt he’s cheated on any of them. He’s not that kind of guy.
He looks past me and says, “She’s finished the call.”
I turn to see Thea coming into the kitchen, holding out the phone. “Thank you,” she says. She’s pale, but composed.
“Everything okay?” I take the phone and leaving it on the counter.
She nods. “They’ve given Daddy something to help him sleep. Mummy said he should feel better in the morning.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Someone is going to talk to him in the morning,” she says. “About what he did.”
“A therapist?”
“Um… she said it was a psy… psych…”
“Psychologist?”
“Yes, I think so. What’s the difference?”
I glance at Kingi.
“They’re pretty much the same,” he says. “Both of them help you to understand why you make certain choices, and to come to terms with trauma. A psychologist has a doctorate—a special degree. They’re more highly trained, that’s all. It’s good. It means your dad will get to talk to someone with a good understanding of mental health issues.”
I like the way he isn’t afraid to tackle difficult topics head on. He doesn’t shy away from problems or emotions.
“Will they make him better?” Thea asks.
“I hope so,” I say.
“They’ll help him understand why he did what he did,” Kingi says. “They’ll talk about his feelings, and whether he’s depressed. They might give him some pills to help him feel more level and able to cope. And they’ll probably find him a therapist for ongoing counselling. It won’t be a quick fix. He’s not going to get better overnight. But he’s obviously been feeling very bad.And now everyone knows, they can start helping him get better. Does that make sense?”
She nods.
“All right,” I say softly. “Time for bed, I think. Have you finished your toast?”
She brings the empty plate and glass out while Kingi takes Bearcub outside for a final garden visit. Then we walk them down to the spare bedroom. Kingi lifts Bearcub onto the bed, and once Thea is settled, the puppy turns around a couple of times, then curls up in the crook of her legs.
“I’ll come in before we go to bed and take him out for another pee,” Kingi tells her. “But I’ll bring him back afterward, so don’t worry if you don’t wake up.”
He goes out, and I sit on the bed beside her. “Are you okay?” I ask her. “Anything you want to talk about?”
She shakes her head. “I’m okay.”
“Kingi told me that you were the one who found your dad after he took the overdose.”
She nods.