Authors: Rosalind James
“Luce. Shhh,” Emma hissed, unable to stop a giggle from
escaping her. “I swear. You’d better not talk like that in the classroom.”
“No worries. Those kids’re all so hormonally crazed, that’d
send them right over the top,” Lucy declared. “Fourteen-year-old boys. What was
I thinking? I could’ve done something easy. Been a welder, or a lion tamer, or
something.”
Emma laughed again, then looked at her watch. “Twenty
minutes before we have to leave, if we’re going to catch the ferry. Be quiet
and listen. I have to tell you something. And I don’t want to force Tom into
taking care of Zack for another half hour.”
Lucy’s gaze sharpened at the change in tone, and Emma could
see the concern in the blue eyes that were so like her own. “He won’t mind. You
know they’re sitting on the couch, watching some Saturday morning sports chat show.
What is it? What’s happened?”
Emma was grateful as always for her sister’s easy
understanding. They’d always been reasonably close, but after their parents had
made the decision to emigrate to New Zealand when Lucy was barely into high
school, necessity had forced an even tighter bond. And when she’d become
pregnant . . . that’s when Lucy had really come through.
“Nic,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been waiting all week to
tell you. He showed up.”
“Nic?”
Lucy asked in astonishment. “What d’you mean,
showed up? When? Where? After all this time?”
Emma told the story as quickly as she could. “So here he
is,” she finished. “Well, in Cape Town right now. But he wants to take Zack out
on Monday. And we’re meeting him for DNA testing on Wednesday.”
“Wow,” Lucy said soberly, her sore thighs forgotten. “He’s
serious, then. How could he not have known?”
“I’ve been asking myself that all week,” Emma said in
frustration. “But I don’t see why he’d refuse to be involved all this time, and
suddenly decide to start. So he must be telling the truth, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” Lucy said doubtfully. “Like you say. Hard to
think why he’d go to the trouble, unless he really didn’t know, before. What do
you think about it all? How are you feeling?”
“Completely confused,” Emma admitted. “Is it a good thing
for Zack? Or not?”
“Depends whether Nic’s going to follow through or not,” Lucy
said shrewdly. “Entirely. If yes, then yes. It’s a
great
thing for Zack.
If no . . .” She shook her head. “Then it’s what I see every day. Better not to
be involved at all.”
“That’s what I told Nic,” Emma said with a worried sigh. “I
hope he got it.”
“And that’s Zack,” Lucy said. “How is it for you?”
“Me? How d’you mean?”
“Em.” Lucy shot her her best exasperated, big-sister scowl.
“This is me. Your labor coach. Remember whose name you yelled out? Not mine,
despite the fact that I was the one going to those stupid classes with you,
hauling around those big pillows like a fool. I know what a torch you’ve
carried for him.”
“That’s all over,” Emma said. “Six years gone.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy pressed. “He hasn’t got any
worse-looking in that time.”
“No, he hasn’t. But he’s engaged,” Emma reminded her.
“When’s the wedding?” Lucy tried to remember.
“After the World Cup, I think. End of the All Blacks season.”
Emma tried to sound casual, as if she hadn’t read every report, right from the
start. She knew the date. November 25th.
“Long engagement,” Lucy commented.
“A long time leading up to it, too. They’ve been together
for years. But whatever,” Emma caught herself. “Not my business.”
“Who else’s business would it be? She’s going to be Zack’s
stepmother, you know,” Lucy pointed out. “If he’s serious about this, which it
sounds like he is. You hadn’t thought that through, had you?” she guessed. “But
yeah. She’s going to be in Zack’s life. Which means she’s going to be in
yours.”
Emma put her head in her hands, pushed back the sweat-soaked
strands of hair, feeling the panic rise. “Too much. I’ve just got used to being
on our own, without you. I thought I was handling things. Getting it together.
And now this. I feel like I’m actually going crazy. Forgetting things. Losing
my keys. Losing my mind. Yesterday, at work. Roger was talking to me about the
drawings for the Emirates building, and I just . . . zoned out. Which you know
gave him a thrill. He got to reprimand me for something real. What if I lose my
job? What’s going to happen to Zack then?”
“Roger’s a jerk,” Lucy replied automatically. “And you’re
doing fine. You’re not going to lose your job. Of course it’s disconcerting.
But this could be a good thing, Em. Zack needs a dad.”
Emma looked up at her older sister, her attention arrested.
“Why? What? Is something wrong?”
“No,” Lucy sighed. “It’s just . . . it’s kind of sad, how
much he seems to look forward to his time with Tom, isn’t it? I mean, Tom’s a
great guy, and I love him. But a couple hours with your aunt’s partner, once a
week . . . should that be the highlight?”
“He’s so kind, though. He watches sport with him. And throws
the footy with him too, some,” Emma objected. “And you know how much that means
to Zack.”
“Yeah, and how great would that be, if Nic really did step
up to the plate? A dad, and his favorite thing in the world, all wrapped up in
one pretty terrific package?”
“I don’t know.” Emma got up and picked up her gym bag. “Come
on. We’re going to miss the ferry unless we leave now.”
“What did he seem like?” Lucy asked curiously as they walked
the few blocks to the Ferry Building. “Nic. The same?”
“No. Older. Harder,” Emma said briefly.
“Hotter?” Lucy asked slyly.
“Luce. Quit it. He’s
engaged.
And I wouldn’t go there
anyway. Not for a million dollars.”
“Really?” Lucy looked surprised. “That’s not the impression
I got. I thought he was something special.”
“He is. The most special thing there could be. But the price
is too high.”
“Zack.” Emma gave his shoulder a shake the following morning.
“Time to get up, sweetie.”
“Ummmm,” he protested. “Wha?”
“If you want to watch the game,” she told him, “it’s on in
fifteen minutes.”
“Oh!” He sat up, and Emma smiled at the spikes of hair
sticking up. He really needed a trim, much as he resisted. “I’m getting up.”
“OK, then. I’ll fix you a hot chocolate while you’re in the
bathroom. Brush your teeth,” she reminded him as she left the room.
“Why do they play so early, Mum?” Zack asked once he was
tucked up on the couch under the afghan, carefully holding the Peter Rabbit mug
she’d found in another Op Shop success years earlier. Peter was a bit faded
now, but it was still her own favorite. It always reminded her of his
three-year-old self. The sweet little boy she missed, even as she enjoyed
watching him grow up.
“I explained, remember? It’s time zones. It’s not early, in
South Africa. It’s Saturday night.”
“Oh. I forgot. D’you think they get confused? The Blues?
D’you think Nic does?”
“I don’t know. They’re used to it, I suspect.” Emma sank
down next to Zack with her own mug of tea. It
was
too early, not yet
six. She wanted to watch, though. Ironically, she’d become interested in the
game when Zack had, after getting through her life first blithely ignoring
rugby, then studiously avoiding it. Though she’d wished Zack didn’t follow the
Blues, once Nic had moved there from the Chiefs the previous year.
“There he is!” Zack cried, as the players came out of the
tunnel. “He said his leg would come right, and it did! He’s starting!” Zack had
changed out of his pajamas despite the early hour, and was wearing his rugby
camp jersey in honor of the occasion, with Nic’s signature black and bold
across the back. Emma knew, though, that under the afghan, he was still
clutching Raffo, the flocked giraffe that, in odd preference to a more
conventional stuffed animal, had always been his comfort object.
“It’s going to be hard,” Zack said with fierce concentration
as the Stormers kicked off to the Blues, Nic fielding the high ball and
returning it with a kick that was chased down by another Blues back, who was
instantly tackled. “For Nic, I mean. Because all the South African teams kick heaps.
And that means Nic has to catch heaps too.”
“How come he sometimes kicks it away, and sometimes he runs
with it?” Emma asked Zack an hour and a half later. She’d never watched Nic
closely before. Had never wanted to. But this time, she’d found herself riveted.
The game had been an intensely physical one, a battle of forwards so typical in
matches against South African rivals. The Blues had come away with the
narrowest of victories at 17 to 16, aided by two missed Stormers conversions.
Zack had been on the edge of his seat during the entire second half, his usual
close attention with a desperate edge now. He’d eaten the cereal she’d given
only after it had turned to mush in his bowl, and the toast too had grown cold
on his plate.
“He decides,” Zack told her. “Which is better. But I’m not sure
how. How does he know? I could ask him, d’you think? Tomorrow? If he really comes?”
His hand went out for Raffo, Emma saw, and her heart lurched with fear for him.
If Nic didn’t keep his promise . . .
“You can ask him,” she agreed. No point in trying to dampen
his expectations. He’d only worry. Time enough to comfort him if Nic failed to
appear.
Show up, Nic,
she thought fiercely.
You said you
would. Show up.
“Am I keeping you?” Roger asked sarcastically as he
intercepted Emma’s glance at the clock.
She flushed, turned her attention back to him. “Of
course not. I want to finish that Emirates drawing before I leave tonight,
that’s all.”
Was that pointed enough for you?
“It would’ve been done already, if you’d been willing to cut
your lunch hour short,” Roger reminded her.
How had she ended up with the only supervisor in New Zealand
with an American attitude toward her legally entitled work breaks? “I like to
think that working out at lunch keeps me productive during the afternoon,” she
said levelly. “Do you have a problem with my performance?” She was startled at
her own directness. She’d never challenged his jibes before. But she was so
sick of his harassment.
She saw the flush rise to the scalp visible under his thinning
hair, his lips hardening above the indeterminate chin. She’d only made him more
hostile, she realized. Mistake.
“Just be sure you get all those drawings done this week,” he
warned her. “You’ve said you could do it.”
“And I can.” She’d better mend this fence. As much as she
could. “They’ll be done, I promise.”
“Because I’ve been wondering if you value your job,” he said
meaningfully.
A bolt of pure fear shot through her, the anxiety making her
feel physically ill even as her anger rose. “I value my job, Roger. In fact, I’d
like to finish one of those drawings tonight. Before I leave.” She glanced at
the clock again.
“Good,” he muttered, and took himself off at last. She
turned back to her computer, trying to calm her racing pulse. However she felt
about it, she needed this job. Not just the paycheck. The sickness benefit, and
the holiday leave. She couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now. Not ever.
She turned reluctantly again as she saw Ryan making his way
towards her desk. Yet another interruption, before she could even get the
document open.
“Hi,” she greeted him briskly. “What can I do for you?”
Blond hair, carefully mussed. The close-fitting, casually untucked dress shirt
atop slim trousers. The complete, casual young Kiwi professional.
“Just wanted to ask you how you’re going with those bridge
drawings,” he said with a smile. He asked nicely, but when she thought about it,
he was at least as demanding as any of the other engineers. Asked about the
status of his projects more than anybody else. Or maybe just came over to talk
to her more than anybody else.
“Next on my list,” she promised.
“Because I’m getting pushed on the internal deadline,” he
confided. “So if you could do it earlier, it’d help.”
“I said next week, and it’ll be next week.” She heard the
ding
of a text from her mobile, tried not to glance at it on her desk. “3-D
takes time. You know that. If you need them sooner, you’ll have to talk to
Roger. Maybe he can shift them to Sean. He has less on his plate than I do. Or
Roger may even be willing to do them himself.”
“Nah. I want you to do it. Don’t want to have to give them
back six times.”
“Shh,” she hissed, shooting a quick glance to her right. Roger
was over talking to one of the engineers, and Sean had ducked out early, she
saw with relief. She might not appreciate her colleague’s work habits, but she
didn’t want to talk behind his back, either. “I’ll do my best. But I’ve got quite
a stack, and I take orders from Roger.”
“Wish you took them from me.” She glanced up at him,
startled. Surely he couldn’t have meant
that.
“How about coming out with
us for a drink after work on Friday?” All right. He
had
meant that.
“Can’t do it,” she said briskly. “Sorry.” She enjoyed going
out with the group sometimes. But the ongoing drama with Nic had her unsettled
and faintly panicky. She wasn’t going to feel like socializing this weekend,
she knew. She just wanted to go home and be with Zack.
Ryan took himself off at last. Emma cast a quick glance
around for Roger, then checked the text on her mobile. Nic.
Got Zack. Back around 6.
She set the phone back down, looked at the clock on her
monitor. Four-thirty. She was leaving on the dot today. With luck, she’d be
across the bridge and home by five-thirty. Time enough to change and be a bit
more composed by the time he brought Zack home, be ready to meet him again. She
took a deep breath and finally opened the document. She wouldn’t have time to
finish it tonight after all. She couldn’t worry about that now, though.