6. Like a Snake
Roman
I pushed through the door to the Emergency Department’s waiting room with the two women behind me, and Summer said, “Wait.”
I did not sigh. I waited while she walked to the desk—straggly wet hair, mud-caked bare legs, white bandages, and all—and told the nurse, “I don’t have an address right now, or my purse, either. If I give you my email, can you send me the invoice for my cousin that way? I should be covered once I get my passport back and can provide my details, as I’m a British citizen, but I’ll have to set up a payment plan for her.” She said all that in a level voice while standing ramrod-straight, completely different from the shaking, scattered girl—woman—I’d held in my lap. I couldn’t help admiring it, even though she was, of course, wrong.
“We won’t be sending an invoice,” the nurse said. “It’s in the doctor’s notes. Covered by the ACC.”
“I will be,” Summer said again, “but my cousin’s American. She doesn’t have insurance.”
“None?” The nurse looked surprised, as well she might.
“Yeah,” Delilah said, because she’d headed over as well. “I was covered in the States, but it’s Medicaid. Insurance for poor people. Doesn’t apply in New Zealand. I guess they figure that if you’re so poor, what are you doing traveling to the other side of the world? I rolled the dice, because I didn’t have hundreds of bucks a month for coverage. Oh, well.” Said bravely, the same way Summer had done, but it took an effort.
“Oh.” The nurse looked like she had an opinion about that, but she didn’t provide it. “Covered by the ACC, as I said.”
“But—” Summer said. “I mean, she has no insurance.”
This could go around and around for hours, so I said, “The ACC provides cover for anybody who has an accident. Tourist, citizen, whatever.”
“But the tests,” Summer went on, clearly not believing me, which was annoying. “Emergency care, too. What if we’d needed an ambulance? Or, worse, a helicopter? It can’t all be covered.”
“And yet it is,” I said. “Sprain an ankle or need a helicopter rescue, either way. Come on. The nurse probably has better things to do than explain our national accident cover to you.”
Summer said, “Excuse me. Did I sign a waiver appointing you as my guardian and not notice it?”
“No,” I said. “But you probably should’ve done. You need a hotel room, and I’m the one with the credit card. Let’s go.”
Summer
All very high-handed, you’ll agree.
First, there was a detour to a pharmacy for antibiotic tablets for me, plus first-aid materials and over-the-counter pain tablets—which Roman paid for, adding to our debt—and then a place called Shake Shack, because we were too dirty for anything but fast food eaten in the car, and anyway, that piping-hot, salty, greasy burger and fries was all I wanted in this world. When we got to Balclutha, though, he discovered that there were no rooms available down here at all. Not anywhere close, in fact.
“Sorry,” we heard over his car speakers at the last place he called. “It’s the storm, all the flooding. They’re doing an emergency shelter at the high school, though.”
All right. Life happened, and this was what was happening to me. I tried to resign myself to a mat on the floor in a school cafeteria, no clean clothes, and possibly no shower. That was obviously a far better answer than the jail idea, but my new positive outlook didn’t seem to have survived the day. Maybe because I hurt despite the pain tablets and was freezing cold again, even though Roman had the heat turned up so high that the sweat stood out on his forehead. It was also steamy in here from the humidity, despite a welcome pause in the rain. I drew a face on the passenger window. It was a frowning face. Even my doodles were dispirited.
“I guess you should’ve dumped us in Dunedin.” That was Delilah, not me. She was the one with the concussion, but she was bouncing back better than I was, even though she was half-lying down in the back seat. “At least we’d have a room. What now? Also, if this is our new start, it sucks.”
“We go to my house,” Roman said, sounding resigned. “For one night only,” he added.
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to sound brisk and efficient and utterly failing. “The last thing I plan to do is depend on some random man. As soon as I have my purse and some clothes, we’ll be out of there. You aren’t going to be stuck with us any longer.”
“Can’t decide if I should be relieved or offended,” Roman said.
“I thought you said the houses were probably fancy down here, Summer,” Delilah said. “This is a nice car, too. Maybe we should be worming our way into Roman’s heart.” Not likely. For one thing, the car was a mess, full of mud and, unfortunately, blood. I was going to have to vacuum and scrub it before we left, and it would be a job. Another thought to make you tired.
“If he has one,” I muttered, and heard a choking sound that may have been a laugh from beside me.
Back along the way I’d driven before, then, though Roman took the twisting gravel road a whole lot faster than I had. The night was black, and I couldn’t see a thing.
Roman said, when we’d turned into his drive, “The lights ought to be coming on,” but that didn’t make it happen. All I saw was a sort of wavering pattern on the ground, picked out in the headlights.
“Bloody hell,” he said, and I realized what it was. Standing water.
He didn’t say anything else, just handed me a big flashlight from under the driver’s seat and said, “Come on,” before climbing out of the car. How many times had he said “Come on” tonight?
We sloshed through calf-deep water that stung my cut leg like crazy and made me glad of the antibiotic tablets and reached the front door, where the light from Roman’s phone picked out a keypad. He punched something in and nothing happened, and he said, “Hang on,” and walked away.
I heard the car door opening, and Delilah said, “What’s he doing? It would suck if he drove off and left us here.”
“If he does,” I said, “I’m breaking a window and getting in that way.” Maybe my dream of jail time could come true after all.
“I heard that,” Roman said from behind me, then he was at the door again. “Key. Backup systems are important.”
He opened the door and said, “Shit.”
“I told you,” Delilah said, “Summer doesn’t like?—”
“Shh,” I hissed. Men tended to lose their tempers when enough bad things happened, or sometimes when any bad things happened. Roman hadn’t exploded yet tonight, but still—better to shut up and go along. Rather than, for example, suggesting that he had no heart, after everything he’d done.
Roman, though, just said, “Reckon it’s a good thing I drove down here tonight, setting aside rescuing the two of you.” Oddly, he seemed less irritable than before. Unusual. “Come in,” he added. “I’d tell you to take off your shoes, but I think you’d better leave them on.”
Oh. Because there was quite a bit of water on the floor. At least an inch of it. I said, “You flooded.” Stupidly.
He didn’t say, “You think?” like I’d have expected. He said, “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Follow me,” and we followed his light through the house. A house that went on, and on, and on. I could swear the hallway was curving, too, but that must just be my confused brain.
Roman made a right turn, and I swung the flashlight. Bedroom. He said, “One room, or two? Bed’s a good size, and there’s an ensuite bath, but we can do two if you’d rather.”
“I’ve never slept naked with another woman,” Delilah apparently decided it was a good time to inform him. “Breaking new ground here. Of course, it’s my cousin, and I grew up with her and she probably doesn’t lust for me, so maybe it won’t be as exciting as I think.”
“One,” I said, because answering Roman was easier than answering Delilah. “Because I’m freezing.”
“Hang on,” Roman said. “I’ll grab some towels. You can keep the torch. I have others.”
“Of course you do.” That was me being snarky again. Would I stop? It wasn’t comfortable, though, being here in his house, having nowhere else to go. I would so much rather have been in … well, not the shelter, obviously, or I’d have asked him to take us there. And not in a jail cell or the hospital lobby, either, so I needed to shut up, get Delilah into the shower, take one myself, and get some sleep.
It would be better in the morning. It was always better in the morning.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple.
Roman
I was propped against the pillows on the bed, checking the news on my phone to gauge the likelihood of getting electricity back tomorrow so I could get on with some cleanup, when I heard something. A sort of splashing. Either a family of seals had decided to come live in my delightfully underwater dream house, or somebody was out there.
I put the phone down, headed outside through the irrigation, and saw the light of the torch bouncing around the curve of a wall.
“Keep coming,” I called out. “I’m back here.” And when the light got closer, asked, “Lost?”
“Just about,” Summer said. I couldn’t see her beyond the light, which she’d lowered so as not to blind me. “How big is this house? I was wishing for a ball of string.”
“Like Theseus in the labyrinth of the Minotaur, eh. Hopefully I’m not that scary.”
“Annoyingly literate reference, but at least I know what that is,” she said. “More or less. Tonight, more less than more.” I felt rather than saw her shiver. “Is there somewhere I can talk to you where we’re not in water?”
“Here.” I led the way back into my bedroom. “Better climb onto the bed. Otherwise I’m going to be shouting to you across the dark.”
“Oh. OK.” Dubious as hell.
I sighed. “I’m not going to attack you. I told you. I’m not tempted.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I think. Also, you have a wood stove in your bedroom. That’s new.” She did climb onto the bed, though, and adjusted something around her. I could see it now, in the flickering light of the little fire. It was a towel. White. Not a big one. She had a hand clamped over the crotch area, and another one holding the fabric closed between her breasts.
All right. Possibly I was tempted. Now that the mud was off, she had some fairly spectacular long legs, rounded at the thigh and narrow at the ankle, exactly the way you most wanted legs to look. Her arms were more of the same, and there was heaps of cleavage showing above that towel. I didn’t get much more than that, other than another impression of long, wet hair, but it was enough. Her pale skin all but glowed in the firelight.
Oh. “A wee corner stove, that’s all,” I said. “Useful during a power cut. I’ve got a bigger one in the lounge, but it’s some distance away. What can I do for you?” She probably hadn’t turned up to show me her body. Pity, but there you were.
“I’m supposed to change these bandages after showering,” she said. “The ones over the stitches especially, and I can’t see well enough to do it in the dark. I’m a little worried about infection despite the antibiotics, with the floodwater and all, and?—”
“Delilah not up to the mark?” I asked.
“She was asleep by the time I got out of the shower, and I was barely in there five minutes. I would’ve stayed longer, but the hot water ran out. And, yes, I could’ve woken her up, but—concussion, and anyway, I didn’t.” I was pretty sure she was frowning at me. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find my way back to my room—I hope—and do it myself. It’ll take you two minutes.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. Here, though.” I found the tumbler on the bedside table and handed it to her.
“What is it?” Suspicious again.
“Neat bourbon. Medicinal, maybe. Seems like a good idea. You must hurt like hell.”
She took a sip. “That’s like … apple pie with caramel sauce. It shouldn’t taste good to me, but it does.” And didn’t say anything about pain, though I guessed she’d be feeling heaps. Panadol could only do so much.
I took the glass from her and tasted the stuff again. “I wouldn’t have been so poetic about it, but I reckon you’re right. Not sure why it shouldn’t taste good to you. Tastes good to me. Bottle on the bedside table. Hand it to me and I’ll top it up.”
She did, but said, “I’m not going to sit here and get drunk with you.”
“All right.” I splashed a generous amount of liquor into the glass. “Sit here and get drunk by yourself, then, while I take care of these bandages. D’you have the stuff? I don’t see any pockets.”
She handed me a plastic carrier bag. Oh. “Aim the torch,” I said, “so I can see what I’m doing.”
One gashed hand, the black stitches surrounded by angry red patches that still oozed blood, like she’d been dragged down the road on her palms. I held a slim hand, dabbed antibiotic cream over the whole mess while she didn’t flinch, and asked, “How did you do this? And your knees?”
“I fell. Trying to get to the van. Before it went off the road.”
I stopped in the act of putting gauze over the wound. “I thought you were in it.”
“No. I was pushing it while Delilah steered. It died.”
“You were pushing that van? On that road?”
“What else could I do? I told you, it died, and there was no place to pull off. So I pushed.”
“You’re strong, then.” Come to think of it, she did look strong. A bit. That was why the arms and legs were shaped so well.
“Mostly, I was desperate,” she said. “I don’t know why it died, but it did. Everything was fine, and then it started making weird noises, and the lights were flickering and the horn was honking like it was possessed, and it was sort of … jerking. Finally, it just died and wouldn’t start again.”
“Alternator,” I said.
“Oh.” She digested that while I finished taping the gauze down and picked up her other hand, which was just as bad, but without the stitches. Her body was warmer at last, thanks to the shower and the woodburner, and she was … fragrant, though there was nothing but soap and basic shampoo in that bath. Soft skin, too. Soft everything. I was touching nothing but her hand, but I could have closed my eyes and known it was a woman here beside me. It was a presence. Almost an aura, shimmering around her. Her wairua, maybe. Her spirit.
Stupid, and much too poetic. I hadn’t got concussion. She was young and fit, that was all.
She asked, “Is that expensive to fix?” Showing that she was still focused on the practical.
“Eight hundred or so, probably. But the van will be a write-off after rolling like that. Take the insurance and buy something else.”
She shrank into herself like the air had been let out of her tires. “Oh,” she said in a much fainter voice. “I probably knew that. Thanks.”
She hadn’t sounded defeated at any time today, but she did now. I said, “You don’t have insurance cover.”
“Liability, I do. That’ll pay for most of the damage to your trees, except for a thousand dollars, but I may have to …” A breath. “I may have to owe you for a while. It’ll take me some time to get it all paid off, since I’ll need to buy a car, but I’ll set up a plan, and I’ll do it. But I—the van wasn’t worth getting collision insurance. I knew it wasn’t, except that not having it— I wasn’t imagining that it—” She broke off. “I should think that it’s just another snakeskin. Why can’t I think that?” In a wondering voice, and maybe a sleepy one. I guessed she was working on that bourbon.
“Mm,” I said. “Hand me that drink, would you? I need it if I’m going to hear about snakes. I’m not fussed about my trees. Heaps of trees on this section. They’ll grow back.”
She gave me the glass, missing a little so the back of her hand brushed my arm lightly, making the hairs rise there. I wasn’t wearing much myself, just a T-shirt and shorts. If I were a gentleman, I’d offer her a T-shirt. Later, I decided. She wouldn’t want to put it on now anyway, because she’d have to take off her towel to do it. Of course, I could have been rationalizing here. It was surprisingly intimate in the dim firelight, not really able to see each other, the scent of her in my head and the knowledge of that towel lingering at the back of my mind.
It had been a while. Nobody who appealed to me enough, because there couldn’t be any other reason. I didn’t do doubt, and I didn’t do depression. This woman wasn’t the answer, either, whatever my body was telling me. Too complicated, and I didn’t need complicated. Also, I needed her to leave tomorrow. No mixed messages. I took a sip of the bourbon—she was right about the caramel, I decided, and also about the spicy apple—and handed it back to her.
She said, after a minute, “You know. A snakeskin.” Her voice a bit lazy now. Husky, too, but it had always been that. Pitched low. Her voice didn’t match her stroppy attitude, because that was a bedroom voice all the way. “The snake sheds its skin because it’s outgrown it. That’s a good way to look at things when you feel like you’re losing too much. You’re shedding your skin, that’s all, ready to move on, be somebody new. Unencumbered. That’s the word.”
“A good philosophy,” I said. “If you can make it work.”
“Yeah. Well …” A sigh, and the movement of her throat in the flickering light as she drank. “I’m trying.”
“Good on ya. What else needs bandaging?” Stick to the point. You don’t need this, however it feels right now, and neither does she.
“Uh … my knees, mostly. Shins. A few places. I wouldn’t care, but … infection.”
“Mm. I think you’d better put your legs across my lap, then. If you lean up against the pillows, you can see where to shine the torch.”
“That’s a little …” She stopped.
“Well, yeh,” I said, “in your towel and all. Or you could drink some more bourbon, tell me your story, and let me bandage you. Nobody’s watching, and I’ll never tell.”
Seemed I didn’t listen to my own advice, and it wasn’t the bourbon. I had a hard head. Unfortunately, my head was no match for her voice. Or her scent. Or her skin.