Chapter Thirteen
Linc
I can’t believe I kissed her again.
Fuck me. I’m doomed to keep kissing this girl inappropriately.
Of course it’s not as big a deal now as it was ten years ago. She’s a grown woman with a mind of her own, and as much as her father and brothers would like to continue to vet who she liplocks with, it’s none of their business. If I want to kiss her, I can damn well kiss her, and they can go fuck themselves.
Except I don’t mean that. Despite taunting Fraser, I respect him, Joel, and their father, and I understand why they’re looking out for Elora. Of course I do. She’s been through a horrific event that must have shaken them all, and it’s natural that they want to protect her.
The last thing I want to do is make things worse for her. I know she likes me, and I don’t want to break her heart, again. I also know that she needs careful handling, and I’m not sure I’m the man for the job. The pirate label is way off the mark, but the fact is that even if I do consider myself a considerate lover, I don’t have the time to treat Elora the way she needs to be treated. At the risk of sounding as if I come from the nineteenth century, she needs wooing, and I have no time to do that.
Maybe I could woo her a little, though. Do a mini woo.
But no. It’s not fair on her. I’m convinced that if I tried, I could seduce her. I probably wouldn’t have to try super hard. But I can’t. I have to be the bigger person here. I have to think with my head and not somewhere further south.
It’s super tricky when my brain seems to have slid into my boxers. But I need to try.
I go back to my hotel room, telling myself I need to leave her alone. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow anyway.
It’s strange how quickly we’ve fallen back into our teasing, friendly relationship, with the added sparkle of adult attraction. She makes me smile. I miss her.
I sigh, make myself a coffee, and stretch out on the sofa to read a book.
My phone buzzes, announcing a text. It’s from Elora. I read it and laugh. In that last year before I left New Zealand, she was studying poetry at school and announced that she was only going to speak in haiku—the Japanese poetic form of five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the third. Technically, she explained somewhat pompously, haiku expressed the writer’s feelings about the seasons, and contained a kireji or cutting word to juxtapose two images.
Not to be outdone, I started sending her badly written haiku of my own, and that led to us exchanging funny and sometimes rude poems which would no doubt have made ancient Japanese poets turn in their graves, but they never failed to make us laugh.
Today, hers reads:
When I kissed your lips
The scent of rum and coffee
Made my mouth water
Smiling, I compose my own and send it back.
Blonde waterfall hair
Cheeks pink as cherry blossom
Kissing you was fun
After a few minutes, I get another.
Sexy in civvies
Black denim jeans fit so well
I love your tight bum
That makes me laugh out loud. Oh, so it’s like that, is it? Mischievously, I compose another.
Voice of a songbird
Rare as a giant moa
Magnificent tits
I send it with a grin.
She comes back immediately.
Elora: Linc!
Me: What?
Elora: How rude.
Me: You started it.
Elora: That’s true. Tits, LOL, you sound so British.
I chuckle.
Me: Are you bloody well taking the piss?
Elora: Haha! Bollocks!
Elora: Sorry, that sounded ruder than I meant it to be. I was just trying to sound British.
Me: LOL! Thanks for dinner tonight.
Elora: Well, technically you cooked it, so I should be thanking you. It was very nice.
Me: Eh I’m no chef but I don’t starve.
Elora: I’m looking forward to tomorrow.
Me: Me too. Should be fun. Are you okay over there on your own?
Elora: I’m fine, thank you. Sleep well.
Me: You too.
Elora: I never sleep well! But I appreciate the sentiment. Here’s a final haiku for you.
Loud, randy pirate
Ogling my pieces of eight
Go play with your sword
I laugh and send her back a heart, then toss my phone on the table.
Her words make me think, though. She doesn’t seem to mind talking about sex. Her reference to playing with my sword suggests she’s not shy about self-pleasure. Does she touch herself?
Does she think of me when she does it?
Ahhh… I’m going to get in all kinds of trouble if I start thinking about that.
I lie back and pick up my book, trying not to think about playing with my sword, which is now begging for some attention.
*
The next day, I’m waiting outside Elora’s apartment when she appears through the doorway just before nine.
“Oh, you should have let me know you were here,” she says, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She’s wearing her hair down again today, and she’s dressed in fawn capri pants and a white vest with a lace panel above her breasts. She looks like how I’d imagine Auxo, the Greek goddess of summer, might have looked. Absolutely beautiful.
“Come on,” she says, showing me her keys. “I booked us into a Wētā Workshop tour for nine thirty.”
“Excellent.”
We walk to the nearby car park where she unlocks a nifty red Mazda MX-5. I get into the passenger seat, and we buckle ourselves in.
“Nice car,” I say as she reverses out.
“Dad bought it for me,” she says. “Or at least, he told me he’d buy me a car. I think he was hoping I’d get an SUV, preferably one built like a tank.” She laughs, obviously in love with the sports car. I’m not surprised. We all used to watch Top Gear together, and she’s always been into cars. “What do you drive?” she asks.
“I have a rather nice Audi S5 convertible.”
“Ooh.”
“You’d love it. I did think of you when I chose it, actually.”
She sends me a smile. “Really?”
“Yeah. I always think of you when I’m looking at cars. Or bones. Or composing haikus.”
That makes her laugh. “Yours was very rude,” she scolds, taking the road toward Miramar.
“I knew you wouldn’t mind. You always found innuendo funny.”
“Innuendo? I think ‘magnificent tits’ is pretty up front, actually.”
“I was talking about the Paridae family of birds,” I say.
“So you don’t like my boobs?”
My lips curve up. “ New fruit-based haiku. Nice pear, marvelous grapefruit… ’ I can’t think of a last line.”
“ Honeydew melons ? God, you’ve really thrown yourself into British seafront humor, haven’t you?”
We both start laughing, and that kind of sets the scene for the rest of the day.
In the morning we have a tour of Wētā Workshop. We get shown around the Wētā Cave, where our guide shows us how they make armor, weapons, creatures, and costumes for movies like The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and Avatar . We spend ages looking at chain mail and double-handed axes and makeup effects, then take a good hour to get through the shop as we examine books, collectables, and games, and have our photos taken with some of the characters.
After this, we grab some lunch at a nearby café, then get back in the car, and Elora drives for about ninety minutes to the site of Stonehenge Aotearoa. I’d read about it, but it’s the first time I’ve been. Elora knows that astronomy is my second-greatest love after archaeology. My love of the stars also began with the Bell family, on the nights when Atticus used to take us camping in the mountains, and we’d lie back in our sleeping bags while he told us about the constellations. The fact that the area was a Dark Sky Reserve meant there was hardly any light pollution, so the Milky Way was visible as a wide splash of stars across the night sky.
I’ve been to the prehistoric Stonehenge in England, and I tell Elora about it as we walk around this modern copy, discussing how our ancestors must have used the heavens for navigation, marking the seasons, and the most overused archaeological word—ritual.
Although many of the girls I’ve met in Europe have been archaeologists, none of them had quite as wide a range of knowledge as Elora, and it’s fantastic to talk to someone who is as well-versed in and enthusiastic about the subject as she is. On the way back to Wellington in the car, we talk about archaeology—places we’ve studied, new excavation techniques, and aerial photography.
At no point do I mention the kiss we had last night, and neither does she.
“I haven’t asked you yet about this divvy thing,” she says. We’ve passed Martinborough and are heading for Featherston, with Lake Wairarapa on our left and the Pakuratahi Forest behind it. It’s a beautiful afternoon, and I’m enjoying both seeing my home country and her company.
“I Googled you last night,” she adds.
“And I didn’t even feel a thing.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “There are lots of stories about you on the Internet. I didn’t expect that. So, are you really some kind of archaeological wizard?”
“Complete with cape and wand.”
“Linc…”
“Come on,” I tease, “what do you want me to say? I’ve been exceptionally lucky. And maybe yeah, I have an eye for spotting small details that others might miss. Combined, the two things mean I’ve made a few interesting finds. People love to put an otherworldly spin on things, but I really don’t have magical powers.”
She smiles. “It’s strange to hear you refer to yourself as lucky, after everything you went through when you were young.”
“I guess. Was I an unlucky child?”
“Some people might think so.”
“To me, luck implies the presence of a supernatural being moving us around like pieces on a chess board.”
“Like Tyche? The Greek goddess of luck and fortune?”
“Exactly. Someone in the heavens choosing our fate. I think chance is a better word. I don’t believe in luck. It was chance that Nancy fell pregnant after sleeping with Edmund. Chance that she was married to Don, and therefore I was born to a guy who hated me even before I left the womb. It’s chance when you’re in a certain place at a certain time for an event to happen.”
“So you don’t think I was unlucky to be assaulted?”
I look across at her. She meets my eyes for a moment, then returns them to the road. Is that what she thinks? That it was luck or fate that put her in the path of those imbeciles? That her path was chosen for her? That it was a lesson she was supposed to learn? She said she didn’t believe that, but she didn’t say she isn’t religious anymore, and I know how deep the roots go, snaking down into the soul. No doubt Atticus would have spoken to her about her assault from a religious viewpoint, and it makes me angry to think he might have implied it was all part of God’s plan.
“You weren’t unlucky, Lora. Or stupid, or reckless, or idiotic, or any other word I know has gone through your brain—you were far less crazy than millions of other teenagers when they graduate. Most kids I know have stories about getting trashed and falling asleep face down in bushes or on park benches. Waking up in bed with someone whose name they can’t remember. Getting wasted and being completely out of it—and all by choice. What happened to you was that a group of dishonest and brutal young men who couldn’t get laid made the decision to get what they wanted using nefarious means. I’m sure to them you were inconsequential. You were irrelevant, which sounds harsh from your point of view, but I doubt they even knew your name.”
She thinks about that. “I don’t know. I think they did. They chose me because they thought I was weak. The bookworm with the glasses who’d had a religious, sheltered upbringing, and who others made fun of because she was so clueless about things like sex and alcohol. I think they knew I was a virgin, and they thought it would be more fun to rape the innocent girl who was unlikely to fight back.”
I look out of the window, and don’t reply.
After a while, she says, “You okay? Sorry, did I go too far?”
“Of course not. You can always say whatever you want to me.”
“But I upset you.”
I think about how to reply. “Since Joel and Fraser told me what happened, I’ve tried very hard not to think about it too much. I’m not your father, or your brother, or your boyfriend, so it’s not my place to get angry on your behalf. I can’t change what happened. And you told me you didn’t want me to display macho bravado, which I understand.”
“But…”
I hesitate. “I don’t want to offend you.”
“Aw Linc, come on. This is me you’re talking to. I thought you said we could discuss anything?”
“All right. Look, we’re archaeologists. We’ve studied sexual dimorphism and its effects on gender through history.” I’m referring to the term that explains how in some species the sexes differ in things like height and muscle mass, craniofacial structure, and voice pitch.
“You’re trying to say men are bigger and stronger than women.”
I wince. “Kinda. Obviously, I’m not talking about gender, because that’s a spectrum, and it’s a complex interplay of biological, environmental, and psychological factors. And although sexual dimorphism influences certain physical traits, it doesn’t dictate gender identity or societal roles.”
“Linc, relax. I understand. You’re saying you’re basically a Neanderthal and feel a prehistoric need to protect your woman.”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah, that sort of sums it up.”
“Not that I’m your woman, but… oh you know what I mean.”
I smile and hold out my hand. She looks at it, then slides hers into it. I tighten my fingers around hers. “I know you don’t need protecting. You’re resilient and strong emotionally and mentally, more so than I’ll ever be. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like I want to put my arms around you and keep you safe for the rest of our days.”
The words are out before I can vet them, and they surprise me. It’s a stupid thing to say when I live on the other side of the world. But the sentiment is true, and I can see by the look in her eyes that I’ve surprised her too.
“Linc,” she says, and then she stops as my phone starts ringing.
“Sorry.” I pull it out and look at the screen. “Shit, it’s Edmund.” I press the green button, then put it on speakerphone. “Hello?”
“Linc? Edmund here.”
“Hello. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”
“No, I didn’t think I’d hear back from the lab before tomorrow at the earliest, but I got a phone call today with the results.”
Elora glances at me, eyes wide. I swallow hard. “Oh. And?”
“There’s a ninety-nine-point-nine percent likelihood that I’m your father.”
My brain goes blank. I stare at Elora. She grins and says something, but I can’t process the words.
“Well,” I say. “Shit.”
Edmund laughs. “Yeah. Bit of a shock, eh? I actually got the call a couple of hours ago, but I spent a while talking to Isabel, and then I rang Claire and Marie. I wanted to take their temperatures, you know. Find out how they felt about it before I called you.”
“I understand. What was their reaction?”
“Isabel was terrific. I knew she would be—she’s solid as a rock, and it all happened before I met her anyway, so it wasn’t like I cheated on her or anything. My oldest, Claire, was matter of fact and wanted to know all the details. Marie, my youngest…” He laughs again. “She’s super excited and desperate to meet you.”
I haven’t blushed in about twenty years, but heat creeps through me now, making my face burn. “Oh.”
“And I want to meet you, too,” Edmund says. “Of course. It’s a very strange predicament, but there are worse things than being told you have a son you didn’t know about, especially one as accomplished as you. I Googled you, by the way. You sound like a very interesting guy.”
I’m such a mixture of emotions that my throat tightens, and I can’t speak. I look at Elora, finding comfort in her big blue eyes.
Elora clears her throat. “Hello, Edmund?”
“Oh, hello! I didn’t realize there was someone with Linc.”
“We’re in the car and he put you on speakerphone. I’m driving. He’s okay, just a little choked up.”
“Are you his girlfriend?”
“No, an old friend. He used to live with my family at Greenfield—my dad is the chaplain there.”
“Greenfield? The school for… ah…”
“Troubled teens,” she says easily. “Yes. He came to us at fourteen after his father… Don… well, I’ll let Linc tell you all about that when he sees you. But he lived with us for four years before moving to the UK at eighteen.”
“I see. Well, I’ve had a few hours to process the news, but I was shocked when I heard. So give yourself time.”
“I’m okay,” I say, finding my voice. “Sorry. It’s just…” Again I trail off. How do I explain the exultation flooding through me right now?
“Don wasn’t a nice man,” Elora says. “And Linc has had to live with the thought that he carried his DNA inside him for a long time. I think he’s overwhelmed that the shadow hanging over him has finally lifted.”
“Well, I’m no angel,” Edmund says.
“Like father, like son,” Elora teases. “I think Linc was a pirate in a previous life, so maybe you were too.”
Edmund laughs. “We’ll have to go to Tortuga and Nassau and see if it rings any bells. Look, are you able to come to Queenstown? If you can’t, I’ll come up to Wellington, but I am supposed to be teaching this week and it’s tough to get time off work.”
“No, no,” I say, “I have a few days yet. I’ll fly down tomorrow.”
“I’ll make sure I’m home by four. Come for dinner. You’ll be able to meet Isabel and Marie. Claire’s in Dunedin, unfortunately, but eventually you can call her, if you want to.”
“Okay. You’ll text me the address?”
“Will do. I’ll let you go now and recover. But… I’m glad you contacted me.”
“Me too. Thank you for responding so well.”
“Like I said, it’s not every day you find out you have a son. Sleep well. Goodbye Elora.”
“Bye,” she calls out, and I say goodbye and end the call.
We stare at each other for a second before she returns her gaze to the road with a laugh.
“Holy fuck,” I say.
“Yeah, holy fuck.”
“I’m going to see my father. My real father.”
“Will you change your name? You could, you know! Linc Mansfield. Has a nice ring to it.”
I blink, my head spinning. “I don’t know. Wow, it’s weird. I can’t think straight.”
“It’s the shock. You need some brandy, stat!”
I look out of the window, not really seeing the shops and houses of Wellington as we enter the city. Don Green isn’t and never was my father. I have no connection with him at all. He’s just some guy Nancy married. He’s dead and gone, out of my life physically and emotionally, and I never have to see him or think of him again.
“I hope you didn’t mind me mentioning Greenfield,” she says. “I didn’t think that maybe you’d rather he didn’t know all about that.”
“I don’t mind. I’m not embarrassed about it. Going there, meeting you… and the others, was the best thing that could have happened to me at the time.”
She sends me a shy smile.
We don’t speak for a while. Elora navigates the busy streets, eventually parking in a car park near the Botanic Gardens. She turns off the engine, and I finally return to Earth and look across at her.
“I’m so pleased for you I could burst,” she says. Her eyes are sparkling, full of joy for me. “I hope you have a wonderful time down there.”
Without thinking too hard about it, I lift a hand and cup her cheek. “I’d like to kiss you again,” I say. “Tell me to stop now if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Her eyes widen, and she blinks a few times, but she doesn’t say anything.
I shift in my seat toward her a little. She turns to face me, color touching her cheeks. Her lips, free of lipstick now, are a pale pink and look incredibly soft. They part as she sees me looking at them, and she moistens them with the tip of her tongue.
Outside, it’s busy with people, the still-bright sunshine beaming down. The Lady Norwood Rose Garden is behind us, and beyond that the observatory and the Space Place Planetarium. The air smells sweet, of flowers and mown grass, and the intoxicating scent of Elora’s perfume.
I lean forward and press my lips to hers.
We kiss slowly. It feels as if the kiss is a metaphor for how I’m feeling right now, full of bright summer joy. My heart rate increases, blood rushes around my body, and the hairs all over my body stand on end as she rests her hand on my chest, then slides it around my body, pulling me toward her.
Lowering my arm around her shoulders, I tilt my head to change the angle of the kiss, and she opens her mouth so I can slide my tongue inside and let it dance with hers.
I don’t think she’s kissed anyone before, not like this. It fills me with happiness that I can be the first to introduce her to the beauty of making out, and I know the memory of this moment will always be with me.
Shakespeare said, Thy eternal summer shall not fade , and only now do I realize what he meant.