22. Born Again
Roman
It didn’t turn out exactly like that.
“You’re joking,” I said, when I came into the lounge to find Delilah on her stomach on the couch with an enormous ice pack on her arse, flipping channels on the TV. And Summer collecting a dinner tray from the coffee table, still in the jeans, T-shirt, and ponytail she’d probably worn to the café. Barely five days later, and it looked like one step forward, two steps back, because I wasn’t exactly getting a soft, warm, sweet welcome, the kind where she’d cuddle up close and lift her face for my kiss.
“Nope,” Delilah said, her chin propped on her fists so she could turn her head and look at me. “I bruised my tailbone. Badly. But, hey, good news, I didn’t break my tailbone. You know what the downside of that ACC thing of yours is?”
“No, what?” I asked.
“That when you slip on the wet floor at the rug guy’s place and fall on your butt and practically break your tailbone, you can’t even sue him. I can’t even sue you, and I was carrying your stupid hundred-pound Oriental rug! The end of it came down on top of me when I fell, too. Practically ruptured my spleen, but oh no, no lawsuit. All you get is a free ER visit. I don’t call that much of a trade. And my butt is freezing. Also, you’re supposed to be tough here and not need pain pills. Have I mentioned the many ways in which this country sucks? ‘Panadol will do you,’ the doctor said. Hello? I’m getting over a concussion and I have an incredibly sore butt, and still no pain pills? Would I have to be in a body cast? Or is that a Panadol Moment too?”
“Probably,” I said. “I notice you’re drinking wine, though.” I could’ve told that with my eyes closed, because she had a definite slur in her voice, and Summer was still hovering there, looking worried. I wanted to hold her, or maybe kiss her. Gently. I wasn’t a complete arsehole. I could be gentle. At first. Probably.
Since she didn’t look receptive, though, I took the tray from her, and she grabbed the remote and muted the TV.
“Hey,” Delilah said. “I was watching that.”
Summer said, “That was your consolation prize, the wine. Well, I thought so, anyway. The doctor said that if her headache’s mostly gone and she doesn’t have other symptoms, her concussion’s pretty well cleared up, so I said she could have a glass of wine while I was gone, since she hurts. I didn’t say?—”
“She’s upset that this is my fourth glass,” Delilah said. “Maybe my fifth, because the bottle’s kind of empty. Totally legal here. I have a hard head, too, because you can’t tell. I’ve been drinking it over, like, three hours, so I’m not even drunk. Little baby sips, that’s all. Whoops, you don’t like people with alcohol issues. Better hope my tailbone gets better fast.”
“Not that hard a head,” I said, “because I can tell. Wait, though. If it hurts that badly, are they sure it’s not broken? It’s a bone, right?”
“They X-rayed,” Summer said, sounding distracted. “I wish you’d done more of the ice packs, Delilah. I didn’t want to leave her,” she told me, “but it was last minute, and you can’t leave a restaurant in the lurch like that.”
“Responsibility junkie,” I said.
“Normal level of commitment,” she said.
“I’ve hired hundreds of people,” I said. “You’re nothing like normal.”
“Nice,” Summer said. “Is this some more of your smooth way with women?” Geez, she made me smile. When she wasn’t annoying me with her refusals to go along with my perfectly reasonable suggestions, anyway.
“I am drinking,” Delilah pronounced, waving her half-full glass of red wine in a way that promised nothing good for my furniture, “because my butt hurts. Extremely. Also, they said I had to take stool softeners, and Summer of course went right out and bought them, and also this blow-up doughnut pillow that’s for hemorrhoids, asking for them like la-la-la, I’m not embarrassed to talk about my most revolting bodily processes. She made me take one of the stool softeners already, too. Do you know what those are? They’re for when you can’t poop normally, because your tailbone hurts too much to push, so they want it to slide out easy. The doctor explained all that to me, and you know what was the worst? He was that guy Matiu! That I met. Talking about how I was going to be pooping! Joke’s on Summer, though, because what if it means I have to run for the toilet, and I can’t run? That’ll be a fun time, and guess who’ll have to clean it up? Is this not the most disgusting topic you’ve ever encountered?”
“A bit too much information, yeh,” I said. “Really?” I asked Summer. “Matiu?”
“Really,” she said. “Just as kind as last week. He was so nice, showing me the X-ray, and I …” she stopped, breathed, blinked, then went on in her usual cheerful tone, “And he thought the stool softener and hemorrhoid pillow were funny, you could tell. Delilah’s total horror.”
Delilah said, “I am not talking about this.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” I pointed out.
“Huh,” Delilah said. “Must be the wine. Do you have excellent taste in wine, or is all New Zealand wine this good? Wait.” She picked up the bottle from the coffee table, which Summer had pushed up against the couch, and squinted at it. “It’s Australian. Huh.”
Summer said. “They’re not all as good as his. I’m sure that bottle cost serious money, but I couldn’t figure out which were the cheap ones.”
“I don’t buy cheap ones,” I said. “Do me a favor. And Aussie shiraz is better.”
“I’ll replace it,” she told me.
“No,” I said, “you won’t. I can afford a bottle of wine.”
“I also didn’t tell you to drink the whole bottle,”Summer told Delilah. “I said a glass.”
“Too bad,” Delilah said. “I did anyway. I’m going back to watching my movie, if you don’t mind. You guys getting on my case is messing with my butt recovery.”
Summer looked at her, then at me, clearly torn. I didn’t say anything. I was curious, maybe, about what would happen next. I said, “I’ll take this to the kitchen,” and headed off with the tray.
She followed me. Responsibility, probably. I was getting pretty bloody tired of her responsibility.
Summer
When Roman set the tray down on the kitchen counter, I started slotting dishes into the dishwasher and said, trying for control, “I brought her food from the café. I wasn’t sure when you’d be here, so I didn’t bring you any, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t have time to make anything before I?—”
He grabbed me. Well, he touched my arm first, but when I turned, his arms went around me. I tensed, thinking, You really think I want to kiss you at this moment? But he didn’t kiss me. He held me and said, “Sorry that happened. Must’ve scared you. Though I reckon she’ll live.”
I had to haul in a breath and fight for composure. It was a good thing he was holding me, because it meant he couldn’t see my face. Also, he was so broad and hard, so solid. So tempting to lean against him, to let him wrap me up and tell me it would all be OK.
Men didn’t hug, though. If I knew anything, it was that. When they held you, it was foreplay. But he still wasn’t trying to kiss me, and there was all that broadness and hardness and warmth and so forth, and his arms did feel good, and he still smelled like rain and trees, so … what can I say. I succumbed. I laid my cheek against his shoulder and admitted, “It was a scary moment, when she fell like that. She was really hurt. I’ve tried …” Another breath, fighting the tears. “I’ve tried to help both of us. I’ve told myself this was the right thing, this year, that we aren’t just …” Another gulp. “Drifting around aimlessly. That this means something. When these things happen, though, I have to wonder … am I just fooling myself?”
“No,” he said, his voice rumbling out of his chest and into mine. “If the other thing hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have given this a second thought. Be a funny story, that’s all. Bruised her backside and got drunk? That’s a funny story all the way.”
I stepped back. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew I should. “And by the ‘other thing,’ you mean when Delilah was hanging upside-down, unconscious, in the van, and I thought she was dead.” I kept my voice level with an effort, because that image kept coming back. Like a nightmare where you try and try but you can’t save that person you love most, except that it hadn’t been a dream. It had been real, and I couldn’t lose it.
“Yeh,” he said. “That. There you were, taking her to hospital again. Had to feel bad.”
“And my life keeps getting turned upside down exactly like that,” I said, and tried to laugh. “I’m stable, though. I’ve always been stable. I just don’t know …” My hands were, somehow, in my hair. “What’s happening to me? Why isn’t it working?”
“How are you not stable?” he asked.
“Well, obviously. The trial. My public disgrace. My mom dying. Delilah. The accident. I’m not batting a thousand lately.”
“What? You’re not …”
“Baseball metaphor,” I explained. “I think. I’m not that familiar with baseball.”
“Oh. Did you make those things happen, then?”
“Sure I did. I made the choices.”
“That’s some superpower you’ve got, making your husband a tax cheat. Making your mum die. Let me get another bottle of wine.”
“Oh, because that will make me less hysterical? What if I weep all over you? And I take responsibility for my actions. Tell me you don’t.”
He sighed. Irritating, you’ll admit. “Maybe I want wine. Although Delilah did drink my favorite.”
“Let me take a shower first,” I said, because I wanted to say, “I’ll buy another bottle” again, but knew it would only annoy him more.
“Fine,” he said. “Come outside afterward. I’ll put the fire on.”
I could have dressed up after my leisurely steam shower—where had this technology been all my life?—but it was nine o’clock at night, and this wasn’t a date. It was a glass of wine. I put on my tank top and boxers, added my robe, and headed outside.
“So,” I said, when I’d sat beside him, picked up my wine, and inhaled. Another red, like Delilah’s, spicy and warm and rich and deep. “I’m not going to cry, and I’m not going to tell you my whole sad story, no worries. But I have to ask—did you watch the show?”
“No,” he said.
“Not even the first episode?” I was startled. The show and my marriage to Felipe had defined me for nearly a decade—until the trial had.
“Each morning,” he said, “we are born again. What we do today is what matters most. The Buddha.” He lifted his glass to me and drank. “I judge what I see, and besides—our mistakes help make us who we are.”
“Who said that?” I asked.
“Me. Wise, eh.”
I had to laugh. “Very wise.”
He said, “Your hand’s not stitched anymore.”
I held it out and turned it, then pulled the skirt of my robe back and showed him my legs. “Matiu took them out. Kind, like I said. I saw Daisy again, too. The nurse. They really are friends. You can tell.”
“Mm,” he said, which wasn’t exactly encouraging. Still looking at my legs in a sort of absent way.
Time to say what I needed to. “So I stayed the week, like you asked, but your mum didn’t come back, so I didn’t have to kick her out. The rugs were the final task. I wanted to get them put back today, but obviously, the plan changed.” I longed to ask him about the DNA results, just as I’d longed to ask Matiu, but it wasn’t my business. “Delilah does need to lie down for a few days, though. I know we said two weeks, but I can’t put her in a tent. If it’s a problem, I’ll find a motel room. I’m not actually flat broke, just?—”
I had to break off, because he’d started to bang his forehead against the table. I barely rescued my wine, and I was laughing. “What the heck?—”
He sat up again. “You done? Good. I told you. I’m not even here most of the time. What’s it to me if you stay another week or two?”
“Maybe I think so,” I said, “because of the way you threw your mother out. Admit it, you don’t always come across as Mr. Hospitality.”
“You’re not accounting for my ulterior motive.”
“What? I told you?—”
He sighed. “You may need to get over yourself. Needed you to clean my house, didn’t I. I’ll help you put those carpets down tomorrow, and don’t tell me you can do it yourself. You can’t do it yourself.”
“Excuse me? I can?—”
“No,” he said. “And I heard from Matiu Te Mana myself yesterday.”
I forgot everything else. “You did? What did he say?”
“That I’m out of luck in the parent department.” A twist of his mouth. “It’s Daniel. Bugger.”
“I’m trying to think of something encouraging to say here,” I said.
“Tough, isn’t it. And here’s the kicker. They’re celebrating the old man’s hundredth in a couple of weeks, and he apparently wants me to come, because Matiu mentioned it again. Urged me, in fact. If it’s possible to have a negative desire to do something, that’s me with this. I said no.”
“Oh.” I tried not to be disappointed in him. “Aren’t you just a little curious, though? Or at all … well, that’s probably not fair.”
“What?” When I didn’t answer, he made a beckoning motion with his hand and said, “You dissected all of us happily enough last week. What’s holding you back?”
“Politeness?” I suggested.
“If I wanted to talk to somebody polite, I’d ask somebody who works for me. Wait. You haven’t met my assistant, Esther. Not that polite, but she doesn’t discuss personal issues, so I can’t ask her. Here I am, stuck with you.”
“OK, then. It seems pretty unkind not to go if you can, if he’s turning a hundred and he wants to see you. All you’d have to do is meet him and talk to him a little and then leave. You’re perfectly capable of telling your mother to get out of your house, so don’t tell me you can’t set your own boundaries on this. Why would you not do it? And if you say that some people could be hostile—you don’t seem like a shrinking violet to me. Unless … oh, I get it.”
“Can’t wait,” he said, but he didn’t exactly seem disturbed.
“That you’ll feel like an outsider. That they’ll make you feel like you don’t fit, and you’ve felt that way too many times and have fought your way out of it and can’t stand to be reminded.”
“I’ve never felt that way,” he said, but his face told another story.
“No?” I asked. “Never felt like you can’t ask anyone over after school, because you live in a crappy mobile home and they have nice houses with stairs, and you’ve never been in a house with stairs or matching furniture, and the one time you asked somebody over, she wrinkled her nose? Like you get free breakfast and lunch and they all know it, and in the first grade, the mean girls told you that you stank, because your mom smoked and you didn’t have a washer and dryer, so your clothes were never clean enough? And like in sixth grade, you wore your new pink dress to school for Valentine’s Day and felt so happy about it, and Selena Craig told everybody that it was her old dress that her mom gave to Goodwill because it was so out of style, and it looks stupid with your old tennis shoes anyway, and they all laughed? And you know all of that is in the past and your life now is the only life that matters, but you can’t stand to feel that way again even for a minute. Like you don’t belong. Like they have any power over you when they tell you that you’re not a part of them and you never will be.”
He said, “None of that happened to me. And if it did, I have fought my way out of it.”
“I’ll bet you did, and I’ll also bet it felt lousy. Aren’t you tired of wearing all that armor? Doesn’t it weigh you down? Your … your grandfather thinks Daniel did wrong by you, and he wants to make it up to you, or maybe just to apologize. Just to know you. You can’t even give him that? You want to stand tall, to stand strong, to be the person you are with no apologies. So do that. Go there and be that. This is chickening out, and it’s beneath you.”
He stood up, ignored his nearly full wine glass, and said, “Thanks for the suggestion. You could be right.” Voice level, face closed down. “I need a swim before bed, and I’m going to get nude to take it. Unless you want to join me, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Yeah, being authentic was really working out for me.