Chapter 21 #2
“Really,” he assured her. “It’s a big thing, childbirth. A big deal. And I’m going to say it. He should never have taken that trip. It was selfish.”
“But you went. You played while your wife was pregnant. You played overseas.” Those eyes steady on his.
He took a breath, and she said, “I’m sorry. It’s your job. I do know that. But still—you surely have a greater chance of getting injured than the average tourist on safari.”
“You’re right. I do. I can say that this is what I know how to do, what pays the bills—”
“What you love. Because it’s too hard to do if you don’t love it.”
“Yes. What I love. Putting myself to the test. OK, having a rethink here. I won’t blame him for going, if that was his work. Though I’m guessing he wasn’t making millions at it.”
“No. I earned more, when you evened it out. I certainly earned more steadily.”
“Right, then. I’ll blame him for doing something so risky at the time when he should’ve been trying his hardest to make a better life for his whanau. I have to blame him for something,” he said, when she opened her mouth to protest. “Because I’m hating the bloke right now.”
“My choice,” she said. “My choice all the way. So you see why I don’t necessarily trust my choices.” She smiled. It was clearly an effort. “And, yes, I kissed you anyway. But this would be the same thing, getting involved with you. Another wrong choice.”
“Why?”
“Uh … school? To name only one objection.”
“Oh, yeh. School.”
He was silent, because he didn’t know what to say next—somehow, he wasn’t coming off as the contrast he definitely felt he was—and eventually, she went on.
“So anyway, in the room, when I was having George—the midwife was lovely, so it wasn’t her—it all hit me.
I’ve never felt so alone. Or so helpless.
I thought, What if I die? What happens to my kids then?
Which isn’t the sort of thing I normally think, despite Finlay’s constant reminders.
That wasn’t a good time at all. But then I was out the other side and George was born, and he was lovely.
The sweetest baby, right from the start. ”
“Kids help,” he said. “They’re the hardest thing when you’ve got that grief, but they also help the most. Odd.”
“Yes. Both things. That maternity leave—” She took a deep breath. “That was a hard time, too. Olive was only two. Sometimes I wonder if she’s so quiet because she had to entertain herself too much. If she doesn’t know how to count on anyone either.”
Zane had her hand again. He’d known the story would be bad. He just hadn’t realized how bad. “I don’t think that’s it. She seems fine to me. She isn’t hiding. She’s watching, maybe, but she’s not hiding.”
She turned those green eyes to him. Her mouth trembled a little, but even as he watched, she firmed it with an effort of will. “I hope that’s true. I’ve worried.”
“You’re a brilliant mum. I don’t see how it wouldn’t be true.” His heart ached. Physically ached. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all today, and he was feeling too many things at once. Rage. Pity. Tenderness. At least he thought that was what they were. Confusing, all of it.
“Anyway,” Skylar went on with determination, the same way she’d gone through everything else, he’d bet, “Granddad came to live with me, and even though I missed Gran like you can’t imagine—oh, how I wanted her—he was such a comfort. Somebody I knew I could count on.”
“And now he’s found somebody new.”
“Yes. And I’m happy.” She beat the heel of her hand on the arm of her chair, probably not realizing she was doing it. “I’m happy for him. Of course I am! How could I not want him to find love again? But I—”
“You’re alone again,” Zane said.
She blew out a breath and tugged at her hair. “Yes. No. My kids are older. They’re getting more independent all the time. I’m not rich, but I’m not desperate anymore. I can make it. I can raise them. I am raising them.”
“Doing a good job, from everything I can see.”
“Well, thanks.” Another deep breath. “So that’s my story. There was no reason for me to tell you all this today. Why did I even do it? It doesn’t have any bearing on whether we come visit your whanau in Wellington.”
“Doesn’t it?” He considered that. “I think you wanted to set the record straight. To let me know that you’re like me. A self-contained unit. An independent actor. Or something like that.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything from you. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Oh,” he said, “I could have to worry about you.”
“What?” She’d turned her head now, at least.
“Don’t you think,” he said, keeping it gentle with a major effort, “that there’s something going on here? With us?”
“Oh. I …” She trailed off.
“And I’d like to see where it goes. Wouldn’t you?”
She went rigid. He could see it. He said, “We don’t have to take anything away from each other.
You don’t have to prop me up, and I don’t have to prop you up.
Trees can stand together, can’t they?” He felt stupid the moment he’d said it.
What did trees have to do with anything?
“I mean,” he blundered on, “that they can be straight, and strong, and all that. And still be, uh, trees together.” He closed his eyes, then grinned and opened them. “Help.”
“Your metaphor’s running away with you,” she said, but she’d lost the tension. In fact, she was nearly laughing.
“Yeh,” he said. “Not my strong suit. You should hear my after-match chats with the media. But still. Come to Welly, and we’ll see how we go. What do we have to lose?”
“You’d have to pay, though. Other than the airfare, of course. I truly can’t afford those activities, and they’re not cheap.”
“You’d have to mind the kids sometimes,” he countered, “though I’ll have some stern words with Nan about that. I’d say we’d be even. Including the airfare. How much would it cost if I had a nanny down there?” he decided to throw in.
“A nanny?” she said, looking … shocked? Hurt? He obviously shouldn’t have thrown that in.
“No,” he said firmly. “A welcome guest. But I’m pretty sure you’ll end up with the kids a fair amount, and airfare seems like the least I can do.
A hire car, too. You’ll need it,” he decided to add, “when you take the kids anywhere. Six kids. So that’s settled.
What other objections can I mow straight over? ”
“First,” she said, “you are not paying our airfare. That’s ridiculous, and I’m not your nanny and don’t want to be.” Which was what he’d thought, wasn’t it? So why was it bothering him? “And second,” she went on, “the school. The rules.”
“Bugger the rules. It’s an experiment. You like experiments. Georgia told me so. I won’t even be around most of the time. Also, it’s Wellington. Even if we do slip and fall off that high horse, who’s to know?”