Authors: Rosalind James
“Well, not quite,” Nic pointed out. “There’s still working
out the visitation. That’ll be a bit trickier.”
“You’re still planning on that, then.”
“Course I am. Thought I’d made that clear.”
“Don’t you think it’ll make everybody’s life pretty messy?
He’s been getting on fine without you, all this time. Is it really fair to him
to raise his expectations? I understand that you’re obligated on the
maintenance,” she added hastily. “But putting him into a situation where he has
to leave his mum and come here? How is that in his best interest?”
“It’s in his best interest to have a dad who cares about
him,” Nic said with finality. “I’m dead sure of that. And that means spending
some time.”
“And is his mum, what’s-her-name, quite keen on that too?”
“Emma,” Nic said sharply. “Her name is Emma. And I don’t
know. We haven’t discussed it, like I said. Early days yet.”
“Uh-huh,” Claudia said skeptically. “All of this, and the stepmum
thing too. I don’t think any of this is going to be as simple as you think.”
“I didn’t say it’d be simple. But we’ll work it out, all the
same. In the meantime, I’ll be spending time with him Mondays. Playing a bit of
rugby, and having dinner. Starting tomorrow.”
“She’s agreed to that?”
“Emma? Yeh. For this week, she has. That’s as far as we’ve
got. Which is why I need to talk it over with her. Plus all this.”
“She doesn’t know yet?”
“Nah. Wanted to tell you first. I need your support on this,
Claud,” he admitted, taking her hand. “It’s thrown me for a good old loop, I
don’t mind saying.”
“I’m trying,” she said. “But it’s a big ask.”
He scooted closer on the couch, took her in his arms. “I
know it is. But we can do this, together. One step at a time.”
Emma finished cubing the avocado, slid it from the chopping
board into the wooden salad bowl with the flat of the knife, then crumbled some
feta on top. She wished she had something more exciting to offer than a precooked
chicken from New World, the roasted vegetable salad she’d prepared the day
before, and this green salad. But that was as much as she could manage on a
Monday evening.
It wasn’t about eating anyway. It wasn’t a date. This dinner
would merely be the transition between Nic’s time with Zack, and the discussion
the two of them needed to have.
Another lurch of anxiety at the thought. She shook her head
impatiently, shoved it down with an effort. She’d done an extra thorough job of
cleaning yesterday, had even tidied up the lounge, attempted to bring some
order to her desk, get rid of some of the papers that seemed to multiply of
their own accord. And then had been annoyed at herself. So she wasn’t neat. It
wasn’t Nic’s place to judge her, and she was tired of apologizing for who she
was. She’d resisted the urge to tidy her bedroom, anyway. Judgment or not, he
wasn’t going to be seeing that.
“Cheers for dinner,” Nic told her once Zack was safely
tucked into bed. Emma had decided on the lounge this time. It was more
comfortable, after all. But she wasn’t sitting on the couch with him. She took
the small easy chair to one side, a safe distance away from where he sat,
casual as usual in his track pants and T-shirt. She wished he’d wear long
sleeves. And a turtleneck. And a bag over his head. Then she wouldn’t be
distracted by the sleepy eyes, serious now, without the glint of fun she’d seen
in them so often.
Dinner. He was thanking her for dinner. “No worries. Zack
loved having you here.”
“Yeh.” He got up and went to the entryway, fished an envelope
from the pocket of his jacket. Came back and handed it to her, reseating
himself on the end of the couch beside her chair. “Here it is. The report.”
She opened the envelope with hands that were suddenly cold.
She’d known what it would say, of course, but she was still unprepared for what
she saw there. The brief sentences, confirming that she and Nic were Zack’s
parents.
Father.
There was the word that she once would have
longed to see. Her fingers felt clumsy as she folded the paper again, shoved it
back in the envelope and handed it to him without a word.
“Your copy,” he told her. “I’ve got the other, to file. Rang
Oliver—my attorney—today as well. He’ll handle it from here.”
She nodded, set the envelope down on the coffee table, took
a comforting sip of tea just for something to do. “OK.”
“I’d like to make this—this Monday thing—a regular deal,” he
went on. “You don’t have to feed me again,” he went on hastily. “I’ll take him
out, afterwards. And I’ve got tickets for you, for the two home games that’re
left, next couple weeks. If we end up playing any of the knockout rounds at
home, I’ll get you those as well.”
“All right. On the Monday thing. For now.” Zack certainly
seemed to be enjoying himself, and that was what mattered. “And thanks for the
tickets, and for asking Hannah to look out for us. That helped.”
“No worries. Though she’ll be wondering why, when you turn
up next time. May be time to tell people I’m his dad. As well as Zack.”
“Not yet,” she said immediately.
“Why not?” he asked in frustration. “Isn’t he going to
wonder why I’m hanging about?”
“Of course he isn’t. He’s
six.
To a six-year-old,
adults are a big mystery. They don’t sit around analyzing our motivations. They
accept what we do. He’s thrilled to have you around. But I don’t want to tell
him you’re his dad until I’m sure you’re really ready to take that on.”
“I’m sure. I’m doing it.”
“I didn’t say till
you
were sure. I said till
I
was.
You don’t have a great track record, do you?”
“I was twenty-two,” he said impatiently. “And I didn’t know
what I was walking away from.”
“We’re not telling him yet,” she said again. “Please, Nic.
Promise me. This really matters to me.”
“OK,” he said reluctantly. “For now.”
“How’re you going on those bridge revisions?”
Roger was standing over her, doing what Emma privately
thought of as his looming thing. His fingers drummed on the work surface as if
he barely had time for her before his next urgent appointment. As if she were
holding him up.
“Fine,” she said briefly. “Everything’s on track.”
He nodded briskly. “See that you get them done. The
deadline’s Wednesday, remember, and we can’t afford to miss it.”
“If I’m not working fast enough, maybe Sean could help out,”
she suggested.
“He’s on the Vogelsong project,” Roger said impatiently.
“Well, then, I guess it’s up to me. Unless you want to take
some of this.”
“I have enough to do,” he said. “You have no idea what my
workload is. Having to check everything you and Sean do, as well as my own
assignments. Not to mention the reporting.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then. Because I think
Ryan has a question about the project too.”
Roger turned, saw Ryan standing behind him. “Right, then. I
expect to see those drawings first thing Wednesday, though, so I can look them
over. I don’t want any surprises.”
It was amazing that she still had a tongue, as many times as
she’d bitten it this past year, since Roger had been promoted. She should have
had the job, when Mike left. She was the best, and she’d thought, naively
enough, that that would have counted. She knew why it hadn’t. She was too
young, too pretty. And had too many ovaries, she thought bitterly. And now,
instead of a tolerable job that she didn’t always enjoy, but that at least paid
the bills, she dreaded every day.
Roger moved off at last, and Ryan came to take his place.
“Guess I don’t have to ask you how my drawings are coming along,” he said with
a smile. “Looks like Roger already did it for me.”
She made a little face. “They’re getting done, no worries.
Do you have a spec change for me, or something?”
“Nah. But I do have a couple tickets to the Yanni show at
the Vector Arena, Saturday night. And I thought you might like to come along.”
She’d rather poke herself in the eye with a sharp stick,
actually. She hated Yanni. “Sorry,” she said instead, offering Ryan a smile.
“Thanks for the invitation, but I have a date Saturday night with my son.”
“Pity,” he said, recovering fast. “He’s taking his mum out,
is he?”
“He is. To the Blues game.”
“Didn’t know you were a rugby fan. Or a Blues supporter.”
“Shows what you know about me, doesn’t it? I’m full of
surprises.” She was enjoying flirting a bit now, watching his eyes light up in
response. It
had
been a long time, and it was a whole lot nicer than
being bullied by Roger. “I enjoy it, actually. And Zack loves
it.”
“You really are a dream date,” Ryan said with a flash of
teeth. “Beautiful, talented,
and
you like rugby. Maybe next week, then.”
“Maybe,” she said with a smile of her own. “We’ll see.”
“Ouch,” Emma said at once when Nic stepped into the entryway
that evening, delivering Zack again after another session of rugby and
hamburgers. She reached a hand toward the swollen red mass that was his left
cheekbone, let it fall again without touching him. “That looks awful. Do you
want to come in for a minute, while Zack’s in the bath? Cup of tea? Tell me how
it went, tonight?”
“Yeh. Cup of tea’d be good,” he agreed.
“OK, then. Just a minute. Wow, you’re a mess too, sweetie,”
she said to Zack, hanging up his jacket. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Nic was in the kitchen when she returned carrying Zack’s backpack.
She removed the crumpled school uniform and lunch bag, then set the plastic
containers in the sink to be washed.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, handing her a mug. “I made
myself at home.”
“Thanks. Sit down. But here.” She went to the freezer,
pulled out a soft sports icepack. “Put this on. Cover it up, anyway, so I don’t
have to look at it. How did I miss that happening? I don’t remember you being
injured.”
“This isn’t injured. Just a bit of a knock. And it didn’t
happen during the game, is why you didn’t notice.”
“Then what? You didn’t have training today, did you?”
He shook his head. “Last night. Outside that Belgian pub in
Vulcan Lane, you know the one?”
“You got in a
fight?”
“Not much of a fight,” he said with a rueful grin. “I was
standing there with Claudia and a couple friends, saying goodbye. And this
bloke ran up to me, gave me a good whack, and ran away again.”
“What? Why?”
He shrugged. “Who knows why? Because I’m an All Black. A
tall poppy, by definition. Because he had a bet on. Because he was pissed, and
one of his mates dared him. Any of those.”
“But couldn’t you do something about it?” she asked in
outrage. “Have him arrested, or something? He can just come up to you and
punch
you, do that to you?”
He smiled around the icepack. “Not likely to dob him in.
That’d go down well, wouldn’t it. Be a laughingstock then. What I would’ve
done, if I weren’t smarter than that by now, is chase him down, sort him out
myself. But that wasn’t on.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t you be able to retaliate, if
somebody hits you?”
“Because then there’d be an inquiry,” he explained
patiently. “And I’d be another brawling footballer. Drama, my name in the
papers, a trip through the courts, most likely, and the All Black selectors
looking at me askance, wondering what happened to my cool head, whether they
should find another fullback for the Championship. Not to mention the World
Cup.” He shuddered. “Not taking that chance. Even if I weren’t suspended. I
can’t afford it, in any sense. It’s not worth it.”
“But that’s not fair,” she protested.
“Like being a gunslinger in the Wild West. Fair game for
anyone to challenge.”
“That’s not a challenge. That’s just cowardice,” she
snapped. “I don’t care how well known you are. I wish I’d been there. I
would’ve gone after him. Nobody should be allowed to get away with that.”
He got up, handed the icepack back to her. “Next time I go
out, then, I’ll have to get you to come along, be my bodyguard. My enforcer. I’ll
pop my head in, say goodbye to Zack on my way out. See you next week.”
No question, Emma decided on Saturday. She’d take a rugby
game over a concert any day. At least a Yanni concert. She was sitting with
Hannah again, watching the Blues take on the Highlanders, the southern team offering
its usual stern challenge.
“They sure grow them tough down there,” she said, wincing as
Nic was pulled down in mid-stride by a particularly bruising tackle from one of
the big Highlander locks. She breathed a sigh of relief as he bounced up again,
seemingly none the worse for wear.
“How do they
do
that?” she asked. “Go down that hard,
and come back up?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah confessed. “Or even how they tackle
that hard, and keep getting up. I look at Drew the next day, and yeah, he’s
sore and bruised. But
I’d
be in a hospital bed.”
Both women sat back in relief at the halftime whistle. “I
wanted to ask you about something,” Hannah said. “Do you think you’d be
interested in coming in and discussing a CAD operator job with our technical
manager? I’m not sure if we have an opening right this minute, but if you send
me your CV, I’ll pass it along.”
“That would be amazing,” Emma said, her heart beating hard.
Could it be this easy? “I’d love to have the opportunity.”
“It’s not my department,” Hannah cautioned. “So I can’t
promise anything. But I’m asking because it’s not easy to find qualified people,
so we do like to snap them up when we have a chance. I don’t know that it would
pay as well as what you’re making now, but I think you might find it more interesting.
And who knows, other opportunities might come up as well. The company’s
growing, and we do promote from within.”