З життя
Єдиний
Один
— Що з батьком? Чому краще?! — Голос матері звучав різко і з надривом.
Вона не просто мила посуд, а брязкала нею, наче могла повернути сина стукотом каструль.
— Думаєш, із ним буде краще? — Вона різко обернулася. — Ти, як миленький, повернешся вже завтра!
— Не повернуся, мамо. Все буде добре.
Вона вже набирала телефон. Гулки. Гулки. Зайнято.
— У мене син іде, а у нього зайнято!
— Мам, де мої осінні черевики?
— Чого тобі черевики? — вона засвідчувала кожне слово, вбиваючи між ним і його батьком клин. — Ти що, до осені там жити зібрався?!
— Так, мамо.
Тиша. Тиша перед бурею.
— То нехай тебе твій татусь утримує! — Її голос знову рвонув угору. — Від мене ні копійки не дочекаєтеся!
Степан визирнув з кімнати:
— Мам, я на свої хотілки заробляю сам.
Тиша. Зовсім інша.
Він зачинив за собою двері. А вона… вона розплакалася.
Два місяці тому, коли батько запропонував приїхати на канікули, Степан погодився просто так, без великих очікувань.
Але вже в перший день він зрозумів: може бути інакше.
Може бути дім, де ніхто не кричить.
Може бути жінка, яка не віддає команди, а говорить тихо і лагідно.
Може бути батько, який сміється, а не мовчить з надутою міною.
Може бути сім’я, в якій тепло.
Степан дивився на молодшого брата, якому щойно виповнилося три, і не міг відірвати очей від цих сцен. Як батько ніжно гладить Олену по спині, як вони перекидаються поглядами, як разом готують на кухні.
Як він міг не знати, що може бути так?
Як він міг думати, що гучні слова — це і є любов?
Кожного тижня він залишався у батька ще на день. Потім на два. Потім назавжди.
— Може, на дачу поїдемо? — Батько заглянув у кімнату.
— Ні, тату, я зайнятий.
— Ти точно хочеш в десятий клас?
— Ще не знаю, — знизав плечима Степан. — Але якщо не знаю, значить, буду вчитися. Може, в університет вступлю, а там розберуся.
— А мама що каже?
— Не цікавиться. Лише кричала, щоб не вештався.
Батько кивнув.
— Живи тут стільки, скільки потрібно.
— А Олена не проти?
— Не проти. Але просила сказати, щоб не чудив.
Степан усміхнувся.
— Тату, а мама завжди була такою?
Батько помовчав.
— Ні. Вона була красунею. Розумницею. Я дуже її любив.
— А що змінилося?
— Вона зламалася. — Батько зітхнув. — Я зрозумів, що більше не можу робити її щасливою. А якщо жінка нещаслива, то і чоловік теж. Наче тебе просто вимкнули з мережі. Раз — і все.
Він замовк.
— Тоді ми і розлучилися.
Восени Степан вперше за тривалий час зайшов у мамин дім.
— Мамо, ти вдома?
Шелест у кімнаті.
— Привіт! — Вона вискочила у коридор. На ній був шовковий халат, а обличчя… обличчя було іншим.
Відпочилим.
Світлим.
А потім він побачив чоловічу куртку в шафі.
— Привіт. — У коридор вийшов незнайомий чоловік і простяг руку. — Я Олег.
Степан усміхнувся.
— Степан.
Тиша.
— Заважаю?
— Ні! — голос матері здригнувся, і раптом вона крокнула вперед і обійняла його. Просто обійняла.
І в цей момент він зрозумів, що все було не даремно.
Що його відхід дав їй щось більше, ніж самотність.
Що батько був правий.
— Щаслива жінка не помічає, як робить всіх навколо щасливими.
Тільки зараз він зрозумів сенс цих слів.
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