Embracing Change (5 page)

She snapped shot after shot, wanting to preserve memories for herself, for her parents, for Luke’s parents.

According to one of the brochures, Arthur’s Pass was a tiny village that separated east and west. The population was approximately fifty and it was often snowbound in winter. Sarah parked her car on the road side and gazed around, absorbing beauty. The village stretched along one main street, and towering mountains surrounded it on all sides. The buildings were quaint, and the holiday homes tiny. Making sure the car was locked, she made her way down to the Bealey River, which ran parallel to the main street. The water hurried past, flinging drops into the air, glistening and beautiful but icy cold.

Sarah sat down on a flat grey rock and drew in a deep lungful of fresh mountain air, fragranced lightly with wild flowers. High above her, silent waterfalls poured down the mountainside, flashes of crystal appearing and disappearing, pouring from internal streams, feeding the rivers.
Where does all this water come from?
How can there be so much water in the mountains that it keeps coming, day after day, night after night?

She rose eventually, stiff, knowing this wasn’t the right place for Luke. She needed a private place; somewhere she could be alone with him.

Back in the car, she had another look at the Arthur’s Pass brochure.

Lake Misery is one kilometre past Arthur’s Pass and marks the divide between east and west. In flood season, the lake is one body of water but is normally seen as two small lakes separated by thick grass.

Maybe a watershed would be the right place.

It turned out to be a disappointment. She would have called it a pond rather than a lake, and the water was stagnant and murky, laced with red algae. Its surface reminded her of her aunt’s varicose veins. “That’s no good either, Luke.” On her way back to Arthur’s Pass, Sarah chatted to her backpack. “But I’ll find the perfect spot. We’ve got plenty of time.”

In the village, she stopped to pick up a snack.

“Is that to eat here or take out?”

“I’ll eat here please.”

The chicken wrap was moist and fresh and she ate slowly, savouring the taste.
It could have been so different,
she thought, looking at her back pack.
Luke would have had such fun exploring these mountains. He’d talked about them so much, planned to make this our first trip in New Zealand.
Memories washed over her as she sipped her juice. Visions of places they’d been together, the strength of his hand in hers, the softness of his lips as he kissed her deeply and passionately.

Life was so empty without him.

A half hour later, she was back on the road. “We’ll head back towards Christchurch, Luke. I’m going to look for a secluded spot by one of the rivers.” She drove slowly, pulling over to let a couple of irritated drivers pass. “These mountains are incredible. I’ll find a place that you would have loved.”

The road twisted to the right and Sarah paused at the end of a one-way bridge. Several cars were crossing towards her and she used the time to gaze at the intertwined mass of silvery streams, trickling in places, surging across boulders in others. Far above the road, water collected in dancing waterfalls, tumbling from sheer cliffs. She followed one with her eyes, a voluminous fall cascading through thick vegetation. “I wonder if that’s accessible from the road?”

A car honked behind her; she let the clutch out and drove carefully across the narrow bridge before pulling over to let the traffic pass. Then, driving slowly, she kept her eyes on the waterfall while scanning the roadside for a break in the trees. About a kilometre down the road, she spotted an opening and a small sign pointing to Crystal Falls. She indicated right and followed the narrow strip of tar as it led through a leafy tunnel to a circular parking area.

A silver Nissan was nestled under the trees.
Don’t be silly,
she scolded herself as fear told her to turn round and go. Even so, she let the car run for another couple of minutes before switching it off. The engine ticked, cooling and settling and still no one appeared
. This is New Zealand,
she reminded herself.
The car belongs to a tourist. I haven’t come all this way to turn round and go back
.

She pulled the keys out of the ignition and shrugged her back pack on, making sure her pepper spray was in her pocket. Then she locked the car before heading to the trail that led up to the waterfall.

It was like a moist tunnel encircled with lush ferns, thick bushes and wiry trees. Little sunlight penetrated, and she could hear the waterfall roaring in the distance. The sign at the bottom said it was a twenty-minute climb, that the waterfall was the highest in the region and fed into the Waimakariri River. Sarah took her time, not wanting to slip on the damp path. These were also her last moments with Luke, and she wanted to make them special, create a memory to treasure forever.

It was a rude shock when she turned a corner in the path and came face to face with a man.

“How’re ya doing?”

Blood rushed through her ears, panic rising as her mind manufactured impossible scenes. Her voice came out scratchy. “Well, thank you.”

“Have you seen the falls before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“They’re magnificent. Well worth the climb.” He looked directly at her when she didn’t respond. “Are you alright?”

Sarah’s heart rate slowed somewhat. He didn’t look dangerous. In fact, he looked rather good. About six foot tall, he had narrow hips, a broad chest and muscled arms beneath a tight fitting T-shirt. His hair was the colour of sun-ripened wheat and curled over his ears.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

He lifted a hand in farewell as she stepped past him. “Enjoy the walk.”

Come on.
He’s harmless
.

The track steepened, and she found herself grasping bushes and branches to get some traction. Eight months of sitting at home had left her unfit. After several rests, she could tell by the misty air and loud roar that she was nearing the falls. Breathless, she pushed through some hanging fronds and came out on the edge of a pool. The water seemed to be coming from a cavity in the rock a few metres above her head, spraying diamonds through dappled sunlight before landing in the pool. From there, it cascaded into another pool before hurtling down the mountain side.

She knelt and dipped her hand into the water, understanding where the name had come from. It was like liquid crystal, pure and icy. She leaned her back against a tree and carefully took Luke’s ashes out of her backpack. It was 259 days since her life had shattered into a million fragments, and she felt alone, and sick about what she had come here to do.

“This is the right place, Luke. You’ll be able to rest here, rest in this land you’d set your heart on.”

She sat there for a long time, the casket cradled to her chest, soaking in memories, allowing the painful wounds to gape open and grief to pour out. All around, nature carried on as usual; water rushing, birds whistling and insects sawing.

Finally, she removed the lid from the urn. “I feel like I should do something.” She stared at the remains of her fiancé. “Say a prayer or quote from the Bible. Isn’t that what you do on an occasion like this?” She dipped her hand into the fine ash, allowing it to run through her fingers, feeling the hard bone fragments within. “This is so wrong, so unfair.” Fresh tears mingled with the powder as she lifted handfuls and started scattering it across the water, watching as it swirled caught in the current and then surged over the edge to cascade to the next pool far below. “Go in peace, my love. I’ll never ever forget you.”

A while later, she hoisted her back pack onto her shoulders. It was considerably lighter than when she’d set out, the empty casket safe within. Before leaving, she knelt at the edge of the pool and splashed icy mountain water on swollen eyes, wiped her face, and then blew her nose. It didn’t help, as tears continued to fall as she clambered down the track. All she could think was: Luke was gone, gone forever, cascading down the river even now.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even think about the stranger she had met on the way up. He was leaning against a tree at the bottom of the track, his arms folded loosely.

“Have a good walk?”

Chapter Six

I met a man in the mountains today. I was afraid of him and it angers me that I no longer trust anyone.

From the journal of Sarah Johnson

Tuesday, 11th March

Her face grew warm. Why was he still here? What did he want with her? She turned away from him, trying to hide her puffy eyes but it was too late.

He pushed away from the tree trunk. “You’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“No you’re not.”

Sarah felt anger flare through her grief. “Why are you still here, anyway?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

The familiar fear thrust its way up again and she touched her pocket, reassured by the feel of her pepper spray. “What do you want?”

He lifted his hands. “Relax. I was worried about you going up there alone so I waited to make sure you came out.” He gestured to a wooden picnic bench. “I was hoping you’d have a cup of coffee with me.” A flask was on the table and a couple of plastic mugs. “I don’t bite. Promise.”

Sarah allowed her muscles to relax slightly. “Why?”

“Because you look like you need a friend.”

Silence lingered for a long moment before she made her decision. “I could do with some caffeine.” Inwardly, she knew the distraction would be good for her. Would take her mind off the ashes drifting down the river, moving further and further away from her.

He smiled then, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I only serve the best.”

Sarah sat down on the bench as he poured the coffee, the aroma enticing and rich. “So what’s really wrong? You looked so sad when I passed you earlier.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes rested briefly on her engagement ring. “Actually, I’ve been very rude.” He extended his right hand. “Joel Baxter. Pleased to meet you.”

“Sarah Johnson.” She accepted his handshake, which was firm and warm.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Both, please.”

He stirred them into her coffee and continued the conversation. “Now, what else can I tell you? I’m 27, single, unattached and have a gorgeous golden Labrador named Shelley. My parents own a sheep farm at the base of the Southern Alps and I’m going to spend tonight with them. I have two married sisters and between them, they’ve given me two nieces and a nephew.” He paused. “That’s enough about me. Your turn now.”

“Well … I’m 23.” A smile escaped, in spite of her inner turmoil. “What else do you want to know?”

“Where’re you from? Your accent tells me you’re not a Kiwi. I would guess South African?” He raised enquiring eyebrows.

“Good guess.”

“Are you on holiday, or do you live in New Zealand?”

“I’ve been here for just over a week—that is, in Christchurch. I have a residence permit and if I can find a job, I’ll be staying—at least for a few months.”

He nodded. “Sweet as.”

“Sweet as what?”

“Just … ‘sweet as’. It’s a common expression in New Zealand. It means something is good.” He grinned at her. “I also live in Christchurch, although I visit my parents frequently. It’s a great place to live, a beautiful city.”

“I like what I’ve seen of it.” She took a mouthful of coffee, thinking she had done the right thing by accepting Joel’s invitation. Although she had talked to many people over the last few days, it had all been superficial. Joel was the only person who had persisted with her; who seemed genuinely interested in her life.

“So where do you work?”

“I’m a photographer. I do a lot of freelance and contract work, and also fill in for the newspapers if one of their guys is sick or away.”

A photographer. That explained his observation skills. The way he analysed her feelings after their brief encounter.

“I’m a graphic designer, but I also enjoy photography.”

Joel’s face lit up. “It’s fascinating working with images. A frozen moment in time. Capturing an expression. I find it much more fulfilling than working with video footage.”

“I used to paint,” Sarah said. “But not since …” She let the sentence dissolve into the air.

Joel rescued her. “What medium did you use?”

“Oils. I loved the colours. I’d line the tubes up in rows—burnt sienna, iridescent pearl, lemon ochre. I used to mix them endlessly, looking for the right shade or tint. The combinations and subtleties of colour fascinated me. In fact, I used to think in colour. I’d look at something like this bush and see viridian green blended with terra rosa.” She gestured to a shrub behind the table.