Just for You (17 page)

Authors: Rosalind James

“Hope you aren’t planning to get us stuck,” she told him a few days later as they drove along the beach. How many days, he’d have had to stop and count, because one day blended into the next here, slipped by so easily.

“Do me a favor,” he said with exaggerated pain, steering expertly around a soft spot, heading briefly towards the water and then back higher up the sand again. “I grew up driving this beach. Can’t tell you how many tourists I’ve dug out in my time. That’s why there’s a shovel in the boot. For them, not us.”

“You just tell yourself that.” She was laughing, and the sound, as always, made him smile too. “Luckily, I’m a dab hand with a spade.”

“You’re asking for it,” he warned, doing his best to sound menacing.

“Oh, yeh, big boy. I’m so scared. Who knows, you may push me down the stairs again.”

“I thought we’d agreed to forget that,” he complained. “You’re going to be bringing that up for years, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” Her smile was a bit smug now. “Nah. Definitely.”

“Just you remember,” he warned her, “I’m good at discipline. For myself, and for…others.”

“And again,” she said, “not exactly quaking in my boots. Going to have to do better than that.”

He had to laugh. “I’ll think of something, then, shall I?”

“You do that,” she said. “Something to impress me. Thrill me a little, too. Later.”

They stopped along the way to toboggan down the sand dunes of Te Paki, and Reka loved it as much as he’d known she would, charged up the steep slope without any trouble at all, again and again, making easy work of the heavy going through the deep sand. And slid down every bit as fast as he did, laughing with the exhilaration of speed, hitting a bump once, accidentally or on purpose he couldn’t tell, rising in the air, coming down to one side of her sled and rolling, over and over, down to the bottom of the huge hill.

She got up laughing, too, grabbed her toboggan and jumped out of the path of a shrieking pair of young girls, and ran down the slope to join him at the bottom, her hair and clothes a sandy mess.

“If anybody has to dig anybody out,” he told her, his own smile broad, “it’ll be me. I think you took half the dune with you.” He brushed off her back as she worked on her front, then moved a bit lower, and that was fun too, slapping the sand away.

“Going down again, aren’t I,” she said. “I could come off again. No real point in cleaning me up now, much as I can tell you’re loving the excuse. I know what you’re doing there, boy.”

“And if you do come off,” he said, giving her backside one last good slap, “I’ll help clean you up again. I’m chivalrous like that.”

They stopped again at Tapotupotu Bay for a swim, washed the sand off in the clear blue waters of the Tasman Sea, and she didn’t mind that either, and neither did he, because he loved swimming with Reka, even though she was still faster than he was. A
picnic lunch, wet hair, salt and sand and sea and sun, and the final five kilometers to the carpark.

Cape Reinga, as far as New Zealand went. The northernmost point of the North Island, the point where the Tasman to the west met the Pacific to the east in a churning line of mixing waters. The path along which the spirit flew when it left the body, when it left this world.

Te Rerenga Wairua, the Leaping-Off Place of the Spirits. To most, a tourist attraction. But to a Maori, the most sacred spot there was.

“Can’t believe you’ve only been here once,” he said when they’d left the crowd taking the easier paved route along to the lighthouse, were climbing the hill to the vantage point above.

“Mmm,” she said abstractedly, looking down along the finger of land beyond, off-limits to every living soul, down to the single gnarled pohutukawa clinging to the cliff as it had done for eight hundred years. To the spot where both their souls would, one day, slip down into the sea and join their ancestors.

She stood there looking, and he knew what she was feeling, that the power of this place had infused her soul as it did his own. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, the way he had so long ago at Motuarohia, looked out with her, and their hearts beat in time with each other, in time with this place, with the heritage that stretched back in an unbroken line to the first wakas that had come ashore on this island six hundred years ago. To the people who had crossed that expanse of ocean in a journey so long, so arduous, so perilous that it made every other risk their descendants would take, any courage and honor they could ever show, pale in comparison.

They stood, silent, letting it fill them, then walked down the hill again to the stone-surrounded platform that housed the lighthouse, the last bit of ground that living feet could tread here.

Full of tourists, as always. He could hear French and German and Japanese and a few more languages, too. English as well, though there were few of the clipped accents that fell most easily on his ear.

“Thanks for bringing me,” Reka said softly, leaning against the stone wall next to him, still looking out. “It’s been a good day.”

“I did it for a reason,” he said, and if he’d ever been sure of anything, he was sure now.

“Oh?” She turned her head to look at him, a few tendrils of long dark hair escaping their messy knot and whipping in the ever-present wind, her generous mouth curved in a smile, her dark, liquid eyes full of humor. “Not just to watch me tumble off my sled?”

“Nah, not just for that, entertaining as it was.” He smiled back, then was serious again, was pulling out the box he’d grabbed while her back was turned, there in the carpark. And right there, in front of the tourists and the ancestors and everybody, was sinking to a knee, feeling the stone under his bare skin, because this was the place, and this was the time. “To ask you to marry me.”

He opened the box, revealed the ring he’d spent hours picking out a couple weeks ago in Johannesburg, and prayed that she’d like it, that she’d want it. He was glad he wasn’t wearing a monitor just now, because he didn’t want to admit how hard his heart was pounding, how short his breath was coming as he waited for her answer.

“So,” he managed to say, “what do you think? I know we started out exactly wrong. Well, not we,” he amended, “I. I did. But we’ve got the rest of our lives—I mean, I do. Bloody hell, I should have practiced this. I should have written it down.” He took a deep breath and plowed on. “The rest of—my life, I mean, to finish right. I’ve got every day until I die to show you how much I care. And every day until I die to know you do, too. I need to know that, baby. I need you so much. So please. Marry me.”

“Hemi,” she said, and she was laughing, and crying a little too, he thought. The tourists were all watching now, he could tell, and he was still on a knee, and she hadn’t answered, and his heart was galloping like a runaway horse.

She wasn’t even bothering with the ring. She had his hand, was pulling him to his feet, was throwing herself into his arms and kissing him, holding him. Loving him.

And then, finally, she stepped back, took his face in her hands, and smiled. Just smiled, and his heart was so full, he wanted to shout with the joy of it.

“Give me a chance,” she told him, her heart there to see in her eyes. The heart that was his, just like his was hers, and always would be. “Give me a chance to say yes.”

The End

Turn the page for a Kiwi glossary, a preview of the next book in the series, and more links

agro:
aggravation

All Blacks, the ABs:
New Zealand’s international rugby team, and the country’s biggest celebrities

back:
One of the 7 rugby players who play—well, in the back, outside the scrum. They tend to be leaner and do more of the running and kicking, although all players do all jobs.

boatie:
sailor

bollocks:
balls (of the male variety)

brekkie
: breakfast

bush:
the (wild, uncultivated) countryside

Captain’s Run:
final training session, the day before a match

chat up:
flirt

chips:
French fries

chilly bin:
ice chest

chuffed:
pleased

conversion:
kicking the ball between the posts after a try. Worth two points.

cuppa:
a cup of tea; the universal remedy

dead:
very. “Dead easy”: very easy

do the business:
do the job, get the job done

Domain:
park; usually the main park in a town or city

dressing gown:
bathrobe

earbashing:
a talking-to, or just yammering on

first five:
a first five-eighths, a rugby No. 10—the director of the offense, and the main goal-kicker

fizz, fizzie:
soft drink

fizzing:
excited, ready for action

footpath:
sidewalk

footy:
rugby, or a rugby ball

forward:
One of the eight rugby players who form the scrum and do more of the pushing, shoving, and tackling, though all players do all jobs. Tend to be bigger and stronger than backs.

front, front up:
square up, face up

Four Square:
chain of small grocery stores in NZ

fullback:
rugby position (back). Stands in—yes, the very back. Does a lot of long kicking and is the last line of defense.

get stuck in:
commit; try your hardest

good as gold:
perfect, good, fine

good fist, make a good fist of it:
do a good job

greenstone:
pounamu, jade—prized by Maori, used in pendants

haere mai:
Welcome

hangi:
Maori feast, cooked in an earthen pit in the ground.

harden up:
toughen up. Standard NZ (male) response to (male) complaints: “Harden the f*** up!”

have a go:
try

heaps:
lots

holiday:
vacation

hongi:
forehead/nose-touching ceremonial greeting amongst Maori.

hooker:
rugby position (forward). In the front row of the scrum. A tough, physical, battling position.

hoover:
vacuum

into touch, kicked into touch:
out of bounds (across the touchline—the sideline)

ITM Cup rugby, club rugby, provincial rugby:
lower levels of rugby, below Super 15, which is the elite, and the All Blacks, who are the all-stars, the international squad

jandals:
flip-flops, New Zealand’s choice of footwear (along with gumboots)

joker:
guy. Not humorous or derogatory, just “some joker”—some guy.

ka pai:
good. “It’s all ka pai”: it’s all good.

kai moana:
seafood. New Zealand has no native mammals, and kai moana was an important staple of the early Maori diet.

kerfuffle:
skirmish

kia kaha:
Be strong, stay strong: an important Maori concept

kia ora:
Hello; good day

kit:
clothes. Get your kit off, get your gear off: get undressed.

Kiwi:
A New Zealander. (The bird is a lower-case kiwi; the fruit is a kiwifruit.)

larking about:
messing around

lock:
rugby position (forward)

lounge:
living room