Chapter Nineteen #2
“Chessie told me you’re pretending to be engaged,” she states.
I lift my eyebrows at Chessie, who pulls an eek face and says, “Sorry.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. But you mustn’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Yes, I know it’s a secret.” Thea has a bite of her sandwich. “Did you get the job?”
“At the Foundation? Yes, I did, because of Chess.”
“What job is it?”
I tell her a bit about it while we eat the sandwiches and drink our coffee and juice. I explain that I’ll be helping young people, providing opportunities for them to improve their health, wellbeing, and futures.
“Kingi likes mountaineering,” Chessie tells her. “He’s climbed Aoraki Mount Cook.”
Thea’s jaw drops. “Really?”
I nod. “A few years ago.”
“Wow.”
I smile. “It was quite an experience.”
Chessie goes to say something, but then she says, “Oh,” and pulls out her phone. “It’s Grandma,” she says to Thea. Putting the phone to her ear, she gets up from the table and wanders over to the window as she talks quietly.
Thea watches her go, then looks up at me. “My dad’s in hospital.”
I lean on the breakfast bar. She obviously wants to talk about it.
I’m sure that some people would try to change the subject, but I’ve never shied away from difficult conversations.
It’s one reason why I want to work for the Foundation—because kids need to know it’s okay to have feelings, and it’s okay to want to talk about them.
“Did an ambulance come to pick him up?” I ask.
She nods. “He’d taken too many pills.”
“Yes, Chessie told me.”
“I found him,” she says.
Oh… fuck. “Thea, I’m so sorry.”
She sits with a stiff spine, tearing little bits off her sandwich.
“We’d been shopping, and when we got back I went to see him.
He was in the bedroom, on the bed. He’d been sick.
” She swallows hard, but lifts her chin as she looks up at me.
Her expression is defiant, and her eyes blaze. “I hate him,” she says. “For doing it.”
I feel a wave of pity for this poor girl. There’s no point in saying it’s not his fault. She’s angry that he did this to her.
I make sure not to react or look shocked. “I understand why you feel like that.”
She blinks, and her bottom lip trembles. She looks at the remainder of her sandwich. “I thought you were going to tell me off.”
“You’re entitled to your feelings, whatever they are.
Don’t ever let anybody tell you otherwise.
And you can always talk to me. I won’t judge you.
The only thing I will say is that hate is a negative emotion.
It’s like a huge wall towering over you and leaving you in shadow.
Always focus on trying to find the light, if you can. ”
She moves the pieces of her sandwich around the plate, thinking about that. “Chessie said something isn’t working right in his brain.”
“That’s right. The important thing to remember is that he doesn’t want to be an addict.
And he would never want to hurt you. When people attempt suicide, it’s because they’re in so much pain that they can’t think about anything else except stopping that pain.
It’s as if he’s in a box and his emotions are like hedgehogs that are being stuffed in with him, and there are so many hedgehogs in there that there’s no room for your mum, or you, or anything else, and all their prickles are really hurting him. Does that make sense?”
She nods, her eyes wide.
“When that happens,” I continue, wondering where that analogy came from, “your body goes into what’s called fight or flight—you literally can’t think about anything else except either fighting or escaping the pain.
He’s trying to climb out of the box, that’s all.
He loves you and your mum very, very much, and he would never knowingly hurt you.
But when it comes to it, we’re just animals, and our bodies are like machines, like cars. Sometimes bits don’t work properly.”
“Like, I’ve got asthma,” she says. “My lungs don’t work properly.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m short sighted—I have to wear contact lenses. Chessie is claustrophobic—she doesn’t like enclosed spaces.”
“I didn’t know that!”
“Yeah. And with your dad, there’s something in his brain that isn’t quite right.”
“Chessie said addiction is something to do with dopa… dopaline?”
“Dopamine, yes, she’s right. Gambling makes the body give a high surge of dopamine quickly, which makes you feel good.
But we don’t quite understand why some people are able to walk away from things like gambling or drugs after trying them a few times, whereas others feel the need to keep going back. ”
She eats a piece of sandwich, thinking about what I’ve said. I glance over at Chessie. She’s still on the phone, but her gaze is on me. I think she’s half-listening to what I’ve been saying. Her demeanor is calm, so I’m guessing the news isn’t terrible. I hope her father is okay, too.
I look back at Thea. I don’t think she wants any more of her sandwich. “Would you like to see the room you’re going to sleep in tonight?”
“Yes, please.”
“Come on, then.” I lead her to the hallway, Bearcub trotting at our heels. “That’s my study,” I say, pausing in the doorway.
“You have lots of books!”
“I do. Do you like reading?”
“Oh yes. I’m reading one called Wolf Girl, about a girl called Gwen who gets lost, and she’s looked after by four dogs.”
“Wow, that sounds amazing! Maybe I should read that one.”
She giggles. “What are you reading?”
I lead the way past the small gym room to the end where the bedrooms are. “A biography of Edmund Hillary. Do you know who he was?”
“He climbed Mount Everest.”
“You’re so smart! That’s right. He was a Kiwi, did you know that?”
“No!”
“He also climbed Aoraki Mount Cook, and he went to both the North and South Pole. And he kept bees.” I gesture to my left.
“That’s my room there. Chessie can have this room, so if you need her in the night you know where to find her.
And I thought you could have this room.” It’s next to the one Chessie will sleep in.
It’s decorated in a pretty light-green and lavender color combination.
On the way home, I called in at a furnishings store and bought a couple of plush pillows—one a unicorn, one a purple owl—and also a bedside lamp she can keep on all night that’s like a willow tree with small, colorful LED lights.
I show her how she can switch it on just by tapping the base, and she plays with it a few times, then jumps onto the bed and hugs one of the pillows. “Can Bearcub sleep on my bed?”
I hesitate. He usually sleeps in his crate. He can go about five or six hours without needing to go out, but I normally take him out once in the night.
But her eyes are full of hope, and I don’t have the heart to say no. “Sure. I’ll have to come in and take him out before I go to bed, but I can bring him back afterward.”
“Yay!” She bends and lifts him onto the bed, then giggles as he tries to tug the owl out of her arms.
“What’s going on here?”
I turn to see Chessie leaning against the door jamb.
“Tug of war,” I say. “How are you doing?”
She sighs, then gives Thea a small smile. “Your dad’s doing okay. They’re going to keep him in hospital overnight and make sure he feels well enough to go home tomorrow. And he’s also going to see a counselor.”
“Will that make him better?”
She glances at me, then back at her niece. “He’ll be okay physically. Mentally it might take a little longer. But at least he’s getting help now.”
“How’s your dad?” I ask.
“Back on IV antibiotics. He’ll be in overnight, too.” She looks at the plush pillows and the nightlight. “Are these yours?”
I grin. “No, I picked them up on the way home.”
“Aw, that was sweet.”
“I am occasionally thoughtful.”
“Kingi said Bearcub can sleep with me,” Thea announces.
“Well, that was kind of him. Are you sure?”
“I can take him out before I go to bed,” I say, “and he should be all right until we get up. Okay so I’m going to start the Bolognese so it can cook for a bit. What would you two like to do? I’ve got Disney+ if you want to watch a movie. Bearcub’s fond of Monsters Inc and Toy Story.”
They both laugh as we go out into the living room. “I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Chessie says.
“Hey, I love Disney. Actually, The Little Mermaid is my favorite, but I don’t usually tell other people that.”
“I love The Little Mermaid!” Thea looks delighted. “I’ve seen it thirty-seven-and-a-half times.”
“Wow.”
“Ariel looks like Chessie,” she states as we go into the kitchen.
“That’s why it’s my favorite.” I wink at Chessie, who blushes.
I find the movie and put it on, and Thea takes a coloring book and some pencils out of a bag that Chessie gives her, and sits on the floor by the coffee table to color, with Bearcub curled up by her side.
I go into the kitchen and start getting the ingredients ready for the Bolognese: beef mince, a tin of tomatoes, tomato paste, onions, garlic, carrots, celery, olive oil…
I turn to put them on the counter, expecting to see Chessie sitting with Thea, and discover her sitting instead at the breakfast bar, leaning her chin on a hand, watching me.
“You all right?” I ask.
She nods. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but there’s a small smile on her lips. “You’re a good man,” she says.
I put down the ingredients, then rest my forearms on the bar. I lean toward her… and press my lips to her forehead.
I move back a few inches, and she lifts her face to look at me. I pause, waiting to see if she’ll sit back, but she doesn’t move. Slowly, giving her time to react if she wants to, I lean forward again, and this time I touch my lips to hers.
She sighs, her breath a whisper across my lips, and tilts her head a little to the right. So I kiss her again, no tongues, just pressing my lips to hers, once, twice, and a longer third time before I finally move back.
She meets my eyes, and we study each other for a long moment.
“Fake engagement,” Thea says from where she’s sitting at the coffee table. “Yeah, right.”