Chapter Twelve
Fraser
Wow, The Stutter is hitting me big time. I guess it’s not really a surprise.
I shouldn’t have said it. But I couldn’t have Hallie imagining I was thinking about Ginger, or that all I’m concerned about is my job.
She’s sitting staring at me with complete incomprehension. It really didn’t enter her head that last night might have been earth-shattering for me, as well as her.
I’m not being egotistical when I think that it was special for her—as soon as she enters the dating game, she’ll discover that I’m nothing out of the ordinary, but I could see last night how shocked she was at our lovemaking. I can only imagine how different the experience was compared to her time with Ian.
“Oh,” she says. She blinks, and then, in the space of about five seconds, she goes completely scarlet.
I try not to laugh, and fail. “Aw, Hallie. You must have had some inkling, surely.”
She just gives a tiny shake of her head.
I guess some men might find her innocence and her lack of self-confidence annoying or frustrating. But even though I hate Ian for what he’s done to her, I still can’t deny that I find her naivety delightful.
I have a mouthful of sausage and toast, and chew it as she continues to sit there, clearly utterly bemused.
“Eat your food before it goes cold,” I say eventually.
She looks down at it as if she’d forgotten it was there, then picks up her fork and has a mouthful. Gradually, her gaze creeps back up to me. The redness in her face has faded a little, but the look in her eyes suggests it’s not far away.
“Did you say that to make me feel better?” she asks suspiciously.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I made it all up.”
“You didn’t think I was bad in bed?”
I laugh as I cut up another piece of toast. “Oh yeah. Terrible.” I stab a piece of sausage with it, then lift it to my mouth as I meet her gaze. As I see her pained expression, I stop and lower my fork. “I was teasing you,” I say softly. “Hallie, for God’s sake. Last night was amazing. The best sex I’ve ever had.”
“What? I don’t… it can’t… but… what about Ginger?”
I shake my head and eat the toast and sausage. “Nowhere close. Now you know why I lay awake half the night.” I’m serious. Ginger liked sex, but she was a tad aggressive, and even though it’s nice to know a woman’s enjoying herself, and I don’t mind a girl taking the initiative from time to time, I’d much rather lead in the bedroom. Hallie’s quiet reticence, her wide-eyed innocence, and the way she slowly succumbed to her passion… that was more of a turn on than any other experience I’ve had.
And… now she’s turned scarlet again.
I take pity on her and rest my hand on hers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” she whispers. “Just shocked.”
I brush the back of her hand with my thumb. “Last night was very special, and I’ll always treasure it.”
Her eyes meet mine. They’re very dark, full of emotion. But she doesn’t express it. Instead, she just says, “Me too.” She turns her hand palm up and squeezes mine. Then she removes hers, looks down at her breakfast, picks up her knife and fork, and continues eating.
She changes the subject, talking about some archaeology news she read on her phone this morning, and I relax a little as I realize I haven’t ruined everything with my little speech.
We talk for a while, then rise from the table and help ourselves to some more breakfast. Hallie has a plate of small buttermilk pancakes with berries and whipped cream, then a bowl of yogurt with more fresh fruit before she finally declares she’s full up. The cooked breakfast was very filling, but I have a banana smoothie and a blueberry muffin for something sweet, and we both order a cappuccino to finish.
“I probably won’t fit in my dress now,” she states as she scoops up the last mouthful of yogurt.
I chuckle. “Maybe we should go for a walk to help it go down.”
She brightens. “That would be nice.” I think maybe she was worried I wouldn’t want to spend any more time with her.
I knock back the last mouthful of coffee and say, “Come on, then. It’s such a great day. We’ll have to be careful not to get burned though.”
Thanking the waitress, we go out and return to our suites where we put on some sun lotion, collect our sunglasses, and Hallie finds the sunhat she brought with her, and then we head out of the hotel.
It’s only a short walk to the beach. We decide to head north toward Mount Maunganui, which is an extinct volcano and a sacred Māori site.
The light breeze brings with it the salty smell of the sea. The tide’s in, the sand just a narrow strip, so we both take off our shoes and walk along the water’s edge. Warmed by the sun, the water washes over our feet. The sand is the color of latte where it’s dry, and treacle where it’s wet.
“Is there anything you’d like to do today?” I ask. “Anywhere you want to go?”
“We’ve got until three p.m., right?”
“Yeah. They’re serving cocktails at three, then there’s some kind of presentation in Sebastian’s honor. After that there’s a buffet, and then drinks and dancing, I think. Do you like dancing?”
“I love it.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure we take to the dance floor.” I smile.
Her eyebrows rise. “You dance?”
“Absolutely. You look surprised.”
She smiles back slowly. “I assumed you were like most men who stand on the sidelines while the girls dance around their handbags. You don’t seem like the dancing type.”
“Mum and Dad made sure all three of us could hold our own.”
She bends and picks up a shell, and turns it over in her fingers, examining the colors. Then she says, “Are you religious?”
I suppose it’s a natural question considering my father is a deacon and the chaplain at the school he helps to run. “It’s not an easy question to answer,” I reply. “I don’t go to church anymore.”
“Because of what happened to Elora?”
Her astuteness surprises me. “Yeah. Dad had always implied that if you were a good person, good things happened to you. Her assault shocked all of us, including him. It made us all question our faith. Dad went away to a retreat for a while afterward, and whatever he learned there helped him to come to an uneasy truce with his religion. I’m not sure about Mum—she still goes to church, although her own illness has further shaken her beliefs.” Hallie knows about Mum’s breast cancer. She’s recovering well, but it was touch and go for a while.
“Is your dad disappointed that none of you go to church anymore?” she asks.
“Yes, but he understands. Before Elora’s assault, he would have been very vocal in his disapproval. He was much more outspoken about his beliefs when we were younger. More prescriptive about our behavior and more… evangelical, I guess. Our lives revolved around the church and the teachings of the Bible. I can’t really complain—we had a happy, healthy childhood, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing to grow up with a strong ethical code. But I don’t like that it removes the ability for children to make their own decisions about their beliefs.”
“Oh…” she says softly. “That’s why you reacted the way you did when I told you about Ian.”
“How did I react?”
“Your expression when you described his religious group as ‘a cult’. I could feel your disapproval.”
I hadn’t been aware of that, but it makes sense.
“You’re a Libertarian?” she asks.
“More a champion of free will,” I reply.
She smiles. “That’s very poetic.”
“That’s me in a nutshell.”
She laughs.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you religious?”
Her smile fades. “Nope.” Her statement is flat and unequivocal. “That all went out the window when I was eight,” she says.
“Hallie, was the letter you received the other day from your father?”
She doesn’t reply, but instead looks out to sea. That in itself suggests I was right.
I stay silent, letting her think about what to say. The water washes over my feet, warm and soothing. I bend and pick up a stone and skim it across the surface six or seven times.
“I’ve never been able to do that,” she says.
“Come here,” I say. “I’ll show you.” I fetch another flat, smooth stone, and I stand behind her and pick up her hand. I place the stone in it, then turn her side on. “It’s all in the wrist,” I say.
“No wonder you’re an expert then.”
I laugh and show her the motion she needs to follow. “Think about the stone spinning as it leaves your fingers.”
She doesn’t reply, but she turns her head a little, her eyes lowered, as if she’s thinking about where we’re touching. I look down, seeing her tucked against my chest. I can smell her shampoo and her light perfume. Her flushed cheek is only an inch from my lips. I could kiss it if I wanted.
I clear my throat. “Go on, have a go.”
She throws the stone from the side, like a guy. It only bounces twice before sinking beneath the waves, but she gives a delighted laugh. “Another first!” She looks over her shoulder and flashes me a smile before continuing along the water’s edge.
I join her, assuming she’s not going to reply to my question, but to my surprise she says, “Yes, it was. From my father, I mean.”
“Is he a prison warder?”
She sighs. “No. An inmate. At Rimutaka Prison.”
We walk quietly, the splash of our feet in the ocean and the cries of the seagulls the only sound for a minute or two.
I don’t want to push her to talk, but equally she’s opened up a little. I just don’t want her to regret it.
Eventually, though, she says, “That’s why we left Dunedin.”
“Because he went to prison?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to tell me what he did?” I ask softly. Of course there are thousands of reasons a man might be sent to prison. Tax evasion, not paying fines, theft…
“He killed someone,” she says.
I stare at her, shocked.
She gives me a quick glance, then drops her gaze. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she whispers.
I blink, then frown. “Why?”
She stops walking. The breeze has grown stronger, and it whips her hair across her face. She puts a hand on the top of her hat to stop it blowing away. “Because it’ll change how you see me.”
“Of course it won’t,” I say. And I mean it… except she’s right, partly. Our view of other people is a collage of our knowledge of and experiences with them, and every picture we add to the board changes that view ever so slightly. I don’t consider Hallie responsible for her father’s actions—of course I don’t—but now, in my eyes, she’s not just a young woman with divorced parents. She’s a girl whose father took someone else’s life. You don’t have to attribute any emotion to it for it to be a stark fact.
“I’d like to go back now,” she whispers.
“Hallie…”
She turns and starts walking back to the hotel.
I stare after her for a moment, then fall into step beside her. She takes off her hat, presumably because she’s afraid of losing it to the wind, and carries it. She walks quickly, with her head lowered, her hair snapping around her head.
I don’t say anything for a moment. It’s impossible not to wonder who her father killed. I want to ask her, but it’s clear that she regrets telling me, and doesn’t want to talk about it.
My heart goes out to her. Life’s too short for all these regrets.
“Hallie…” I place a hand on her arm.
She moves it away and continues walking.
“Hallie.” I hold her arm this time. She tries to yank it away, but I grip it so she can’t, and we stop walking.
“Let go,” she snaps, wrestling with me.
I release her, and we face each other. The water washes up the sand and draws small stones back over our feet, but we don’t look down.
“It’s okay,” I tell her.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know. You don’t have to. I won’t ask questions, and we never have to mention it again if you don’t want to.”
A tear spills over her lashes, and she dashes it away, looking out across the ocean. She heaves a big sigh. “I’m sorry. The letter said he wants to see me, that’s all, and I really don’t want to visit him.”
“Then don’t. You don’t owe him anything.”
Her gaze comes back to me then. “Not even because he’s my father?”
“People demand too much of each other because they share the same DNA. Relationships are about respect, honor, and love, not blood. Many people are closer to their friends than their family, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If a member of your family treats you badly, there’s no reason for you to feel bound to them. You’re an adult now, and he has no hold over you anymore. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to.”
More tears spill over her lashes, and then she’s crying properly. I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly, snuggling up against my chest. I hug her tightly and kiss the top of her head.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, sensing this is the first time she’s let herself believe that she doesn’t have to see him. “You don’t ever have to tell me about him,” I continue, rubbing her back. “But if you ever want to, I’m happy to listen.”
Part of me hoped she might open up and tell me everything, but to my disappointment she just nods, her shoulders hunched. Well, I can’t force her to tell me.
We stand there like that for a minute or two while she sniffles and snuffles, and then eventually she moves back. I lower my arms and watch as she wipes her face and blows her nose on a tissue.
“Sorry,” she says.
“You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have asked about him.”
“No, it’s okay, it was a fair question. It’s just… I’ve moved on, you know? I haven’t thought about him in ages. And then the letter arrived, and it was such a shock knowing he’d found out where I worked, and it turned me inside out. I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s been building up inside me, I guess.”
We start walking back, more slowly this time.
“I saw that there was a phone number and an email address on the envelope,” I say. “You can contact them and request not to receive mail from the sender.”
“Yes. I think I might do that. Dee said that Mum has been in contact with him, and she was the one who told him where I work.”
“Jeez.” That shocks me. Presumably Hallie has made it clear to her mother that she wants to distance herself from her father. It’s a huge invasion of her privacy to tell her dad where she works.
“It’s really upset me,” Hallie says. “I need to go and see her, but I thought I’d take a few days to calm down first.”
“I understand.” We walk quietly for a bit. Then, struggling with my curiosity, I ask, “What was Ian’s view on all of it?” Maybe he didn’t understand why she didn’t like talking about it, and that was why she’s so reluctant to tell me?
“I never discussed it with him,” she says.
I stare at her. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “I never told him my dad was in prison.”
My jaw drops. Holy shit. No wonder she was so upset to let it slip.
I close my mouth, but I’m having trouble processing that information. “So how did you explain where your dad was when Ian asked?”
“He didn’t really. I mean, in the beginning he asked if my parents were divorced, and I said yes and that I didn’t see my father anymore, and he just kind of accepted that.”
“He never wanted to know why?”
“No.”
“You never talked about your childhood, or why you moved away from Dunedin?”
“No, not really.”
“But you were with him for ten years.” I’m so puzzled at their relationship. “It’s such a long time. He never wanted to know more about you?”
She smiles. “He was very different from you, Fraser. He wasn’t inquisitive. He never analyzed. He didn’t look back much; he wasn’t interested in history, either long past or the more recent past. He was very much a live-in-the-moment kind of guy.”
I’m still baffled as to why she stayed so long with him. “Why didn’t you marry him?” I ask, puzzled as to why she’d turn him down when she must have loved him a lot, despite all his weaknesses.
Her big brown eyes study me for a moment. Then she says, softly, “Because he never asked me.”
It’s my turn to stop walking. “You’re kidding me?”
She stops too, turns to face me, and smiles. “No.”
“I don’t… I mean… why not?”
“I guess he didn’t love me enough.” She states it simply.
“The guy obviously had a fucking screw loose. I mean, seriously. He needs locking up in a mental institution.”
She giggles, then scolds, “Stop it. Come on. Let’s get back to the hotel. I want to have a rest before the ball.”
Leaving the ocean behind us, we walk up to the road, dust off our feet, and slip our shoes back on. Then we walk the short distance back to the hotel. We don’t say much. I’m sure she’s thinking about her father. But my mind is still spinning from the revelation that Ian never asked her to marry him. How can you commit yourself to a girl for such a long time and never propose?
It occurs to me at that point that I’m kinda old fashioned. Lots of people don’t get married in this day and age. Ian might have been religious, but maybe deep down he was trying to make a break from his church, or rebel against his parents by not following the rules. Or maybe he just didn’t love Hallie enough to ask her. If so, why stay with her for so long?
I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Maybe it is old fashioned, but I see it more as an acknowledgement that, despite our attempts to civilize ourselves, we belong firmly in the animal kingdom. We have a deep-rooted urge to procreate and continue the species, which means that most people meet someone with the intention of settling down and having children. Not everyone, of course, and as a champion of free will, I have to acknowledge everyone’s right not to do that. But as a guy, when I meet a girl, I have to assume that one day she’ll feel a desire to have children. And therefore I owe it to her not to string her along, and if I do want to stay with her, to have a conversation early on about it all.
I glance at Hallie as we walk along the path to our suites. I’ve never really thought about marriage before, other than in abstract terms. I’ve never been out with a girl for long enough to consider asking her to marry me. Ginger was already married, and anyway, I don’t think I’d have considered proposing even if she were single.
But if I were to meet someone like Hallie? Someone smart, funny, innocent, and beautiful in body and spirit? Why wouldn’t I want to marry her and put a ring on her finger to let every other guy she met know she was mine?