Fierce (35 page)

“Stinson Beach. You said you’d never seen the sea, not as it’s meant to be. Not wild and empty. I checked, and that seemed like the closest we could get.”

Effort again. He knew he wasn’t getting anything else out of the trip, and he was willing to be here, to do this. So I wasn’t going to pout like a little girl who hadn’t gotten her way. I was going to enjoy the day, enjoy his company. Nothing had changed. All he’d done was tell the truth. 

And besides, the ocean
was
beautiful. We drove along a winding coastline with the breathtaking expanse of the Pacific below us until we got to the top of a crescent of sandy beach that stretched into the distance, and I saw what Hemi’d meant about space. He parked the car, and we took off our shoes and walked near the water’s edge with the wind fresh in our faces and the sand gritty and cool under our feet. A Labrador bounded into the surf after a ball, every line of its body radiating joy, a wetsuit-clad surfer caught a wave and rode it to shore. 

I watched it all and felt better, felt perspective returning and was glad of it. So everything wasn’t going to work out the way I wanted. When did that ever happen? Right now, I had this, and this was good.

“Is it like New Zealand?” I asked Hemi after a while. “Being here?”

“Yeh, nah. The sea is. The long beaches like this. But not as many people there. And more bush on the other side, normally. More...wild. And then, when you’re out of it, in town again...not the same at all.”

“Uh...Hemi. There are maybe twenty people around us.”

“Yeh. What I said. Not as many there. Because there are only a few beaches here. There...it’s everywhere, the sea. You can always find an empty place.”

“And you miss it.” He’d taken my hand as we walked, had threaded his fingers through mine despite everything we’d said. Now, as the wind picked up, I dropped his hand and took his arm, moved in a little closer, and he tightened that arm around my hand as if he wanted me there.

“I do,” he said. “I miss the sea. Miss the bush as well. Miss the green, and the birds. Miss waking in the morning and hearing the tui and the bellbirds, miss looking out over my Koro’s front garden, down over the paddocks to the sea. Miss being able to ride my bike to the beach anytime I fancied. I miss everything that meant I had to leave, because the pace is too slow, and the opportunities aren’t there. You could call that irony, I guess.”

“Your...koro?”

“My grandfather. I lived with him when I was in high school. In Katikati, on the Bay of Plenty. Best part of my childhood, you could say. Before that—it was South Auckland. Not so good.”

He didn’t go on, and I didn’t press, because this time, he
had
shared, and I wanted to respect that. The last thing I wanted was to destroy the mood by pushing for more. “How old were you when you came to the U.S.?” I asked instead.

“Twenty-two. Got an internship out of Uni—university—to New York. Boy from the wop-wops in the Big Smoke. Thought I was tough, and I wasn’t one bit tough. Not then.”

“And sometime in there,” I said, “you got on that show.”

“Yeh. Launched my career, didn’t it. Even if it was just the Maori bit. The tattoo and all.”

“Mm.” I’d read the articles and seen the clips. I knew what a sensation he’d been. His spectacular body and face, the accent, the tattoo that the producers had taken care made an appearance at every opportunity. He hadn’t even won. He’d come in second, but the fashion reality show had made him a star all the same. “And then you started buying things.” 

“Eventually. Because that’s what I’m good at. Deciding.”

“Deciding?”

“Most people can’t decide. They faff about, worrying and wondering and regretting. If you’ve got enough discipline to gather the information, decide, act, and move on, that’s half the battle.”

He stopped speaking, raised his other arm to point, but I’d already seen them. A line of heavy bodies, huge wings outstretched, flying low in a V formation over the water.

“Geese?” I guessed.

“Pelicans.” 

We watched as they came closer on wingspreads so wide they didn’t have to flap. They caught the air currents and soared, never breaking that perfect formation. And when they flew overhead, they were so low that I could swear I heard the rush of their passing.

“Beautiful,” I said.

“Yeh. They are. Birds are special.” He sounded a little abstracted, and I wondered if he were thinking about that idea again. That new line of his. About the tui and the bellbirds, whatever those were. And if nothing else, I’d helped him think of that. Or at least I’d been there.

But then he asked, “And what about you?” So maybe I’d been wrong about what he’d been thinking of.

“Me?” I started walking again. “What about me? You know all about me.” 

“I know your mum died. I know you took care of Karen. I know you worked for Vincent. I don’t know your...your dreams.”

I thought about telling him that it wasn’t wise of me to share my dreams with him. But I hadn’t been wise from the beginning. Why start now?

“Maybe I had dreams once,” I said. “Maybe so.” I looked into the distance, at the waves breaking in a foam of white, curling toward the beach. Again and again, because they’d never stop. Reminding me how small my life was in the context of those waves that had carved this beach long before I was born, and would go on carving it long after I was gone. Of how little it mattered, in the end. 

Life wasn’t about dreams. Life was what you did instead. It would only hurt to share those foolish dreams if I allowed it to. 

“Not for a long time,” I said at last. “Dreams, I mean. To go away to college, I suppose. Once.”

“And you didn’t.”

“No.” I swallowed down the disappointment that, despite everything, insisted on being remembered. “No. I got a scholarship, a decent one. To Mount Holyoke, which is a women’s college that tends to fund girls like I was. Smart girls who do well in school but don’t have many...opportunities. With loans, a summer job, I could’ve done it, if I’d only had myself to think about. But of course, as it turned out, there was no question of that. I got a job instead, and an A.A. degree, too. Eventually.”

“And beyond college?”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t even tell you. It’s been so long since I gave it up, I never looked past that. I think I can do a job if I get the chance, even though I don’t have a degree. I think I could have ideas, and that I could make them work. In marketing, maybe, I guess. That’s why I was so excited about your job. I thought maybe I could go somewhere, maybe move up from the bottom. At the beginning.”

“Before...”

“Yeah.” That memory wasn’t so great, either. “Before I realized why I’d gotten it.”

“Could be you still can.”

“Could be. Someplace else, once I put in a year or two with Martine. Maybe you’ll give me a reference,” I said, trying to joke. “I’m not sure she will. And it’d be easier for me to work someplace else. A good job...that’d sure make it easier to send Karen to college. Although she’s going to get a scholarship, if there’s any way in the world we can swing it. One way or another, she’s going to go. I don’t care how.”

He was looking down at me now. “If you’re going to be that fierce about it? Reckon she is.”

I laughed a little. “Sorry. But I care about that.”

“Yeh,” he said. “I know you do.”

I looked out to sea again, breathed in that salt-sea tang that could never be anything else, let the hiss and roar of the waves fill my soul. Something else to remember, later. A memory to hold onto when this was gone.

“People leave,” I said. “We both know they do. Men leave. Fathers leave. And I guess women do, too. Even mothers can leave.” If that was too close for comfort, too bad, because I’d just said it. “But I won’t leave Karen. Everyone needs one person who loves them no matter what. One person who’ll be there for them, always. I’m that person for Karen. She’s never going to doubt that.”

My throat had closed over the words, and I was grateful for the wind that was bringing tears to my eyes. I didn’t let anyone see me cry. I wasn’t going to start with Hemi.

“She’s lucky,” he said. “And I’ve never thought of it that way, but my Koro’s that for me as well.”

“If you’ve got one,” I said, “you’re all right.”

“And you?” he asked. “Who do you have?”

“Karen,” I said. “I have Karen.”

You could have called it romantic, under other circumstances. It was hard enough not to call it romantic even now, not when Hemi had booked us into a big old Victorian bed and breakfast inn with a fireplace in the room, a huge four-poster bed heaped with pillows, and a clawfoot tub in the bathroom. But after that, it changed some, because after he took me for an early dinner in the dining room, he left me alone to take a bath and watch a movie in bed.

“As you’re feeling unwell,” he said, “I may as well get a bit of work done. I’ll do it downstairs so I don’t disturb you.”

So my movie didn’t disturb
him
, more likely, but it was polite of him to put it that way. 

“I’d apologize,” I said, “but I don’t think you’d be excited by the alternative.”

“Excuse me?” He looked startled. Really? He’d never thought of this?

“That would be pregnancy,” I pointed out. “The normal alternative to having inconvenient periods.”

“Oh.” I could see that the idea truly hadn’t occurred to him. Must be nice to be a man. “I’ll just go do that work, then.” 

“Fine.” I tried not to be disappointed that he didn’t want to lie on the bed with me and watch a romantic comedy. Of course he didn’t. 

Except that he did end up doing just that. He was back in the room again an hour later, climbing into bed beside me. I reached for the remote, and he said, “Nah. Watch till the end.”

He actually smiled at the funny parts, and watched the happy ending with me, and didn’t say anything about it. But then, neither did I. I just turned the TV off and did my best to get comfortable, stuffing a pillow under my stomach and not caring too much that I wasn’t exactly appearing irresistible. 

The third time I shifted position, Hemi said, “Hurts, eh.”

“Just achy, that’s all.” I shifted again. “My belly and my lower back.”

“What d’you need? What would help?”

“A heating pad, but I don’t have one.”

“Mm.” I was turned away from him, my knees drawn up, and he snuggled up behind me, pressed himself against my back, and laid a gentle hand over my belly. “Better?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Better.” 

The warmth of his big body was so soothing, his touch so comforting. And just for tonight, I decided, I’d let myself believe in that comfort. I’d pretend that the security I felt in his arms was real. Just for tonight.

Hope was still asleep when I woke the next morning, and asleep when I’d pulled on my running clothes, too. Knackered from her rough night, I guessed. Well, I’d let her sleep. We had a long day of flying ahead of us, and a work week ahead that I imagined wasn’t going to be completely pleasant for her. 

She’d never said anything about Martine to me, I thought as I began the run through town, then took the steps that led to the beach. Probably didn’t want to put me in the middle. But I suspected that Martine kept her late more often than not, and that Martine was hard on her, too. I wasn’t sure if Hope was more worried that I’d let Martine sack her, or that I wouldn’t. About not making it on her own, or not making it at all. 

I needed to set her right about that, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. She’d been so insistent that she not get any special treatment, but I had the feeling that she was going to need it. I knew now how much she needed the job, and what a tough spot I’d put her into. Guilt wasn’t an emotion I indulged in, but now, I felt a stab that was surely exactly that. 

I’d ring Henry, my marketing director, I decided, picking up my pace a little in the fresh wind, under scudding gray clouds that told me there’d be rain before the day ended. The hell with not interfering. I’d interfere. Hope had said she was interested in marketing, and she’d be good at it. Putting her in with Martine hadn’t been the best idea, but that had been where the vacancy was. 

I kept running, and gradually, my thoughts turned to the idea that had begun to take shape yesterday. The gray of sky and sea, the white-flecked waves...gray and white. Scalloped white borders on gray shot with blue. Tweeds. The texture of woven flax. Creams and browns and seafoam green.