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With Neil Young playing in the background, a New Zealand woman living in Australia recrosses the ocean over a game of Checkers.

- Alison Wong

Luke shakes the last hand. “If you need to talk,” he says, “just give me a call.” He picks up his alb and walks to the car. In the driver’s seat, he sits staring through the windscreen. Turns on the ignition and drives. Past straggly eucalypts, dry earth colors. A haunting steel-stringed guitar, something Spanish, comes over the radio. A familiar, deep voice: Who by fire, who by water . . .

As he opens the French door, he sees the flickering TV, his stepson sitting on the floor motionless, just the twitch of a finger, thumbs circling, sliding back and forth. He sighs. The boy’s been there ever since he left, and Luke’s had enough death this week without adding electronic carnage.

“You’ve been playing that blasted game all day,” he says. “Why don’t you go and shoot hoops or kick a footy? Or read a book or better still, go and practise the guitar.”

Max looks up from the PlayStation. “But I only just got it—”

“Three days ago.”

“But I’m playing online, I can’t just quit—”

“I tell you what,” Luke says, “I’ll let you carry on. As long as I can play Leonard Cohen as loud as I like. When you turn that blasted game off, I’ll turn off Cohen.

The boy slumps a little, his face still intent on the screen, still thumbing the controller. “Okay.”

Jess is lying on the bed against plumped up pillows reading Somebody Loves Us All.

“How long do you think he’ll last?” Luke asks. “