Kiwi Strong (New Zealand Ever After Book 3) Page 11

  Just as I was thinking it, Gray said, “If being here is making things harder, scaring you, there’s an easy solution. You should get out of here.”

  Talk about your slaps in the face. I may actually have rocked back. Then I said, “Well, yeh. That was the plan. We can do the backpacker’s right now, in fact. I’d need a loan for the night, that’s all. And a bit extra to get something to eat.” I lifted my chin. It was an effort. Gray hadn’t had to help me at all, or he could’ve dumped us at the backpacker’s this morning for the price of a couple nights’ lodging. Why would he bring us here, into his house, with his mum, and then turf us out as soon as things got complicated? How was that right?

  I wasn’t being fair. It was right if he chose it. His house, his rules. It just wasn’t what I’d thought he’d do.

  Hope is what gets you out, maybe, but hope is also what can knock you down again. Daring to hope, and being disappointed.

  He said, “Wait, what?”

  “A loan,” I said. “I told you, I have exactly zero dollars, and the girls don’t have anything either. You don’t get paid at Mount Zion. Or Dorian could come tonight, after work.” Why hadn’t I thought of that? Because I’d wanted to stay? I didn’t want to stay, though.

  I also didn’t want Dorian to have to drive seven hours after a full day of work. He wasn’t as tough as me. Pity it wasn’t about what I wanted. I said, “He wouldn’t get here until nine-thirty or so, but he’ll do it if I ask, and we’ll be out of your way. I just have to ring him back and tell him.”

  I headed for the phone, and Gray said, “No.” He put out a hand on my way around the table and caught my wrist, and was on his feet in the same motion.

  I froze. I knew the girls would be doing the same thing.

  I couldn’t let them see this.

  Breathe. Think. Act. I said, “Let me go, please.” My voice was controlled. My blood pressure wasn’t. I wanted to twist away, but I knew it wouldn’t work, and I’d only look weak. As strong as I’d made myself, he was too much bigger. My face was flushing. My heart was pounding.

  He dropped my wrist.

  Two quick steps, and I was on the other side of the table, telling the girls, “Come on. Right now.”

  They looked between Gray and me, and I said, “Now.” They sat frozen, and I was, suddenly, furious. How dare they wait for him to tell them what to do? I was their sister. I’d got them out. I was in charge of this.

  Gray said, “Daisy. Wait. What the hell?” He’d taken a single step toward me, had a fist resting on the table, and I stared at that fist and thought, No. That makes no sense. Stop and think. You’re panicking.

  I took a breath, turned to face him, and said carefully, “Please explain what you meant. And I don’t like to be grabbed.”

  He ran a hand over his face, and I asked, “Is it your head?”

  “No,” he said. “Or, yes, it’s my head, because you’re doing my head in. Right. Sorry I grabbed you. I should’ve thought. But what the hell, Daisy. Could you just … slow down, please? I thought I had a temper.”

  “I don’t have a temper,” I said. “I’m very levelheaded.”

  “Compared to who? T. Rex?”

  All right, that was funny. I had to laugh at that one, didn’t I?

  He said, “Let’s take a walk.”

  “I thought you wanted us to leave.”

  “Of course I don’t want you to leave. Why would I want you to leave? Why would you think so?” His tone wasn’t exactly measured, but maybe that was because he meant it. He went on, “I meant that I could drive you back this afternoon, if you’d rather. Or this evening, after dinner. What did you think I meant?”

  “Oh.” That seemed to be all I had.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s weak.”

  I had to smile. “Possibly. And, yes, I would like to take a walk.” Since I’d been jumping out of my skin all afternoon, anxious and on edge, and it was getting so hard not to show it.

  He glanced at the girls. “Would you like to come? Taste of freedom, eh. Walk by the lake, maybe? Fruitful’s ankle’s not up to it, but Obedience? You could wait at the beach, Fruitful, if you like.”

  The girls looked at me, and I thought, Think. Put yourself in their place. When you’ve worked every day of your life, having a couple hours to not work, not to mention being free to check out your first-ever single-family home and exclaim to each other about every surprising detail without worrying that you sound stupid, can be a welcome catch-up period for your overwhelmed mind. I told them, choosing my words carefully, “You can decide. This is one of those choices we talked about. An easy one. Just think what you’d like to do and tell us, and you can do it.”

  Obedience looked at Fruitful, because that was too big a leap. Not for Fruitful, though, because she said, “If we stayed here, we could make dinner for everyone. We only have two hours.”

  Very satisfactory, because she could do the checking-out part and pretend it was for a useful, helpful reason. “Mount Zion eats at six,” I explained to Gray.

  He said, “Let me introduce you girls to an exciting new concept. Takeaway pizza.” When they didn’t react, he said, “Pizza that you take away. From a restaurant.” Another puzzled couple of seconds, and he added, “And bring home. And eat here. Instead of cooking it yourself.”

  He waited some more, and finally, Fruitful asked, “What’s … peeza?”

  He grinned, and then he laughed. “That’s told me. Right, then. I promise you this: there’s a wide, wide world out there, full of wonderful things. Starting with pizza.”

  Gray

  Daisy and I went alone, in the end. We didn’t even take the dog, because I didn’t have a lead for her yet. When she ran to the door after us, all but panting in her eagerness to go with me, I said, “Nah, girl. You need a rest. You’ve been exercising too much lately, I’m thinking.”

  In answer, she whined softly, then sat, cocked her head, and raised her paw to me, the tip of her tail twitching as if she couldn’t help it. I gave her broad head a rub and said, “Besides, I need you to look after the girls. Anybody comes to the door, you bark. That’s your job.”

  She wasn’t enthusiastic. My last view of her was of her mournful face pressed to the glass.

  When Daisy and I were outside, I pulled on my hat and sunnies and asked, “Walk from here? Or the lake?”

  “Oh,” she said, “the lake. I love being outside at this time of day, when it’s cool and the sky’s this sort of deep blue and the light’s this …” She gestured. “I don’t know. Intense but filtered? At a low angle, because spring? Golden? I’m not very poetic. Also, the hat and sunglasses are a good idea.” When I glanced at her, she said, “For migraines.”

  “Yeh.” That wasn’t why I was wearing them. I didn’t feel like being recognized, that was all, and Wanaka was too small a place.

  I was about to open the door of the ute for her, possibly trying to make up for that grabbing-the-wrist thing, but she was too quick for me and was already climbing in. I settled for slamming the door shut, then said, once the truck was headed down the drive, “I can see that, that it’s a good day to be out, but I’m not used to thinking about the weather that way. Just glad when it’s not raining, normally. I’ve spent a fair amount of my working life out of doors, and never mind the weather. Rain’s not romantic. It’s just wet.”

  “You haven’t spent that working life as a farmer,” she said, “or you’d like the rain.”

  “No. Not as a farmer.” I don’t know why I was so reluctant to tell her what I did for a job, and what I’d done before. Maybe because it was pretty bloody nice to be with a woman who didn’t know it already. You got her honest impressions with no filter.

  Of course, it was Daisy, so you got no filter anyway.

  It wasn’t too crowded by the lake for once, on a Monday afternoon in spring, and I found a carpark without difficulty. We headed over to the lake, and she asked, “Do you mind if we run? I need to move.”

  I looked
at her doubtfully. She was a tiny thing, and I wasn’t. I was taking one step to every two of hers. I decided to say, “We’re in jeans.”

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Can’t run in tight trousers? They’re not as tight as mine, boy.”

  I grinned, she laughed, and despite all the tension of the day, my spirit lifted. She was right. Outside was better, and the lake was always going to be nicer to look at than streets of houses. Then she said, “Oh, wait. Your head.”

  “Nah,” I said. “Head’s not bad, not anymore.” I wanted to say, I can’t run slowly enough for you, though, headache or not, but there was no way to express that thought that wouldn’t have her looking like she wanted to slap me, so I just said, “We’ll go at your pace.”

  She glanced at me, then smiled and said, too sweetly, “Thank you,” tucked her hair into the back of her T-shirt, which was something I’d never seen before, and started to run.

  She was fast. Very fast. She was like some kind of whippet. The track was easy going at the edge of the beach, if a bit crowded with tourists in the town center, but she wove her way around the various groups and never lessened her stride. I stayed behind her a few steps, and when we got into the trees and she glanced back, she looked almost comically surprised that I’d kept up.

  I couldn’t help it. I grinned. I also said, “You’re not the only one who can run. But you’ve made your point, I reckon. Slow down, if you like.”

  “What do you mean?” she said. “That was my warmup.”

  It wasn’t, I could tell. She upped her pace, though, and I dropped back to give her space before I lengthened my stride. It was quite nice to loosen up, actually.

  This time, she ran for five minutes or so before she looked back, and when she did, I’d call her expression “shocked.” She turned and began to run backward, then said, “All right. Tell me why.” Her breath was coming pretty hard. She was going to get her clean clothes sweaty, and she was also going to need another shower and not have anything to wear afterwards. I quite enjoyed thinking about it. I wouldn’t share that.

  “Why what?” I turned and ran backward myself, moving up beside her. Just the two of us, jogging along. Backward. I kept an eye out behind us all the same. There was proving a point, and then there was mowing down some old lady walking her Miniature Schnauzer.

  “Why you can run as fast as me,” she said. “At least for a little while. And why you can run backward while looking behind you. Anybody else would be crashing into a tree right now.”

  “I can run faster than you forever,” I said. “Though that’s not saying much, as I’m head and shoulders taller than you. Stride length, eh.”

  She bristled. Not like a whippet. Whippets were timid. Like a … ferret. Another thing I wouldn’t be sharing. “Want to bet?” she asked, like, yes, a ferret.

  I shouldn’t do this. It would go nowhere good. I settled for saying, “You don’t have anything to bet with.”

  “Well, not here, I don’t,” she said. “We could settle up later. Or we could bet services.”

  “Services. My mind’s boggling. I’m trying not to be dirty here, that gentlemanly thing and all, but …”

  “Oh? I thought you only liked dogs.”

  I stopped running, and she called out from behind me, “I’m winning.” Still running backward.

  I caught up. “I may not be a gentleman, but how ladylike was that? You were meant to blush and look away.”

  “Nah. Nurse. My blushing days are over. But no, I don’t normally offer to trade sexual services with a man I met less than twenty-four hours ago.”

  “Not swiping right, then,” I said. “No eggplant emojis. Pity.”

  “No. I don’t do that.” She’d gone a little stiff, emergency nurse or no. I got the feeling that her inside could be pretty different from her outside, but then, people’s insides aren’t always easy to see.

  I said, “I don’t do as much swiping as I used to, either. Sorry. A joke I shouldn’t have made.”

  “Well,” she said, “to be fair, I made the one about the dog. Can we turn around and run forward now, or do I have to run backward the whole way to show you I can?”

  “Nah,” I said. “We can run forward.”

  “Let’s race, then,” she said. “Betting nothing but bragging rights. To the end of the Millennium Walkway.”

  “That’s a good five kilometers from here.”

  “What’s the matter?” She glanced at me sidelong. It was a cute look. “You scared?”

  I gave up. “Just one question. Do you want me to go flat to the boards? Or would you rather I pretend it’s close?”

  “You’d better be going flat to the boards, boy,” she said. “Otherwise, you’d tell me you weren’t, and that was why you lost.”

  I laughed, and she said, “Ready, steady … go!”

  I left her in the dust.

  Possibly not the most productive approach in terms of my love life. But then, she wasn’t the only one with a competitive streak. Not to mention no off switch.

  16

  That Wanaka Tree

  Daisy

  He left me in the dust.

  At first, I thought there must be something wrong with my lungs. River water, maybe. It wasn’t like nobody was ever faster than me, and there had been all that athleticism, jumping into the bed of the truck and all, but he was too big to be fast.

  Big men were never fast. They just thought they were.

  Except that he was, and it wasn’t my lungs. I knew my pace, even in jeans and non-athletic trainers. I was running at my pace, or not too far off it. It was just that he was running so much faster.

  When I rounded the last corner, some kilometers later, he was standing by the water, skipping stones across the lake. I put on my best burst of speed—no point in sulking—stopped a couple meters from him, and said, “That’s just insulting. You could at least have the grace to be stretching.”

  “Nah. You wouldn’t respect me in the morning.”

  I laughed. What else could I do? “Do you race, then?”

  “No,” he said. “Do you?”

  He was that fast, and he didn’t race? That computed even less. “Yes,” I said. “It’s a thing I like. Triathlons.”

  “Ah.” He skipped another stone. It skipped five times. “Explains so much. It may have saved your life last night, what d’you reckon?”

  “In the river. I think so. That I didn’t panic, because I know how to push beyond what I think I can do. And …” I paused.

  “And what?” he asked. “I want to hear.”

  “Why?” It was easier to ask, out here, looking across the wide expanse of blue water to the mountains beyond. Restful to the heart, Lake Wanaka, as it always had been for me. “We’re nothing but complication, and I’m guessing you may have some complication already. Migraines and all. Why do you want to hear?”

  “Dunno, really,” he said. “Because you’re interesting, I guess.”

  “The cult thing,” I said. “Let’s run back. Or jog, because your head. Did you mean it, about the pizza?”

  “Course I did. I love pizza. And it’s not just the cult thing. It’s possibly more of a you-thing.” He was obligingly beginning something that could, perhaps, be called a jog, but was probably more of an “I could actually walk as fast as you jog, but I’ll pretend I’m jogging.”

  When I didn’t say anything, he prompted, “So how else did triathlons save you last night?”

  Maybe I answered because he’d won our race, and because he’d been so graceful in the winning. “I think …” I started, then had to wait while I sorted it out in my mind. “Belief, I guess. I don’t think I would have dared to do the things I’ve done, especially going back to Mount Zion, without that. When you set a physical goal and achieve it, you really start to believe that you can change, that your life can change. You realize that hard things are possible, even though it takes a while. Step by step. My theme song, I guess. A song I heard early on, after we got out. It’s
an old one, Whitney Houston. You won’t have heard it. In Mount Zion, the only thing you hear is worship music. Not even regular hymns. They’re written specially, and they’re absolutely terrible.” He laughed, which was good. “So,” I went on, “pop music? It was a pure revelation. And YouTube … How do I explain YouTube? Beyoncé, how proud and strong and confident she was—she was the first one. Then Taylor Swift, singing about some breakup. I don’t know how many breakups Taylor Swift has had, but they’ve fueled some songs, haven’t they?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “Not too familiar with the discography of Taylor Swift.”

  “You’re laughing at me. But you can’t imagine how outlaw that radio-friendly pop music seemed to me. All the things I’d been thinking all my life, knowing I’d go to Hell for, those women were saying. Plus they were wearing tight clothes. And makeup. Don’t get me started on my mistakes in the beginning. Do not use Beyoncé as your makeup model.”

  “All right,” he said. “I won’t. But I can imagine a bit, maybe. When I look at your sisters, and then I look at you. Fruitful will be all right. A bit rebellious, which will help. Obedience, though…”

  “Yes,” I said. “Obedience. Fruitful convinced her to come. I hope she’ll stay. Between Dorian and me, and Fruitful, I hope she’ll stay.”

  He said, “The transition won’t be as hard for them as it was for you, surely, with the two of you out here already. What was it like at first for you? Where did you go?”

  “Here. I came here. That was when I found out about the Wanaka Tree. Which you have on your wall.”

  “I do. Bit of a cliché, maybe.”

  “Don’t say that.” I was, suddenly, fiercely angry at the thought of him censoring himself like that, dismissing himself. “It’s a symbol. Symbols are important.”

  “Right,” he said. “That’s why I have it on my wall, then. Because I like it. Tell me about how it matters to you.”

  “I don’t think I can tell that story quickly.”

  “No worries. We have five kilometers.”