by K T Bowes
“What’s the point? If your health condition is a big secret, you don’t want to come home with me. You need to stay where knowledgeable people can take care of you.”
“Don’t say that.” Discomfort made Logan squirm in the bed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” Hana sat on the side of his bed and folded her arms. “Stay here until you do then.”
His slender fingers traced a line along her thigh, sending shivers down her back. She glanced sideways at Alfred and forced herself to resist his charms.
“Medical insurance!” The old man leapt to his feet so fast, the chair hit the wall with a crash.
“What?” Hana’s eyes widened in shock.
“Bloody medical insurance!” He said it again and his lips widened to reveal missing side teeth. “Remember?” He appealed to Logan, dancing a jig in his excitement. “You still paying it?”
A little light went on in Logan’s brain and a smile played on his lips. “Yeah,” he replied. Hana looked from one man to the other without understanding, just as the bell sounded for the end of afternoon visiting time.
Later that evening, Hana grovelled in a cardboard box in the spare room. “Logan said it’s in here.” She waved an impatient hand towards Alfred, who poked around fecklessly in a banana box. “Aha!” She held up the white envelope in triumph. “Get out of jail free.”
Alfred snatched it from her and disgorged the contents onto the bed. He peered at the date on the policy. “Bingo!” he shouted. “One month left before it renews. I always told the boy he wasted his money on this shite. Now he’ll make me admit I’m wrong.”
Hana gritted her teeth and pulled her phone from her pocket. “You should ring them.” Her voice sounded sad. “They might ask me questions I can’t answer.”
Alfred dialled and walked away after giving the policy number. Hana heard him arranging to move Logan to a private hospital. The precious sheet of paper rested on the bedspread and Hana reached for it, reading the policy and schedule. The premium looked astronomical and she used the booklet key to isolate costs. Whilst it listed nothing personal, she deduced the insurance company considered her husband a substantial risk.
Bodie returned to the cottage with Jas, letting himself in with a key. “Amy’s on night shift,” he said, a sheepish expression on his face. “Can we stay here? I’m not quite sure what to do with him.”
“Okay,” Hana conceded. “But there’s another guest.
Alfred emerged from the bathroom holding his nose. “You need an extractor fan in there,” he complained. “Almost gassed meself.”
Hana sighed and offered introductions. Bodie grunted in irritation at yet another Du Rose in his space, but Jas’ enthusiasm reached new levels of hysteria. “Oh my!” he yelled. He counted off on his fingers. “I got a new daddy, a new Hanny, a new poppa and now a new old-poppa! Bloody hell!”
“Language!” Bodie pinked with embarrassment and Alfred ignored the child’s error.
“I guess we’re whānau.” He scratched a hairy chin. “Not blood, but good enough.”
“I remember you from the party.” Jas bounced up and down on the spot. “You broked the lights.”
“I remember you an’ all,” Alfred retorted. “You puked on the carpet.”
“Did too. I don’t appreciate curried egg.” Jas patted his stomach. “Wanna read my book?”
“Na. I don’t read so good.” Embarrassment pursed Alfred’s lips and Hana held her breath. “I didn’t stay in school long. My brother kept getting us expelled.”
“That’s okay.” Jas reached out for his gnarled hand. “I’ll read it to you.”
At eleven o’clock, Alfred accepted the fourth bedroom for the night with Bodie deeming it far too late for him to start the journey home. Hana excused herself, leaving her son and father-in-law chatting. She knew Bodie’s game and his good-cop routine bored her. She wondered with a stab of bitterness if he’d fill her in the next day.
Bodie woke her early. He didn’t mean to, but she heard him whispering through the wall. Hating herself for it, Hana crept closer and listened, forming the muffled words into sentences. He spoke to Amy on the phone. “Logan’s older brother died years ago from a blood disorder,” he told her. “I wonder if that’s what Logan has.” He paused and Hana waited. “Yeah, the old man said one of the boys isn’t his. The old girl must’ve cheated on him.” Hana heard the disgust in his voice. “Family sounds a damn mess from what I overheard Mum saying to Pastor Allen the other night. I’m worried about her!”
The conversation ended with an abruptness caused by Jas. His wail of annoyance sounded loud through the wall and gave Hana enough noise-distraction to hop back into bed. “You’re so loud!” he whined. “I’m trying to lie in! Get your own bed next time.” The mattress creaked as Bodie scooted back under the covers and a tickling fight ensued.
Hana dressed and prepared to ring the hospital. Instead, they rang her. “Hello, Mrs Du Rose, this is Keely from the Bramwell Hospital. Your husband arrived this morning and you’re most welcome to pop along and see him as soon as you wish.”
“Thanks.” Hana contemplated pumping her for information but sensed she’d waste her time.
Keely continued. “Mr Du Rose wanted you to know you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. We don’t have restrictions.”
“Okay, thank you.” Hana disconnected the call and chewed her lower lip. Another day of exclusion filled her with misery. Did he ever intend to confide in his own wife?
Alfred’s constant presence ensured Hana gained no further insight and her disquiet grew to fever pitch. Her intimacy with Logan cracked under the strain of faking marital bliss while nursing a fatal sense of mistrust. Instinct told Hana to run. Instinct failed her once before. She ignored it.
Alfred stayed a few more nights and visited Logan each day. The old man confided some things, but nothing of note. “He bought that insurance policy years ago,” he told Hana. “He hates hospitals after that hunting accident. They made him lay in a corridor for over three hours with his guts hanging out. The emergency room got busy and they kept putting him behind all the other accidents, so it became infected. Miriam complained but back in the day, brown skin was filth and the white nurses treated our women like second-class citizens. It’s why she nursed Barry at home when he got real sick, because she didn’t trust the hospital system to make him well.”
Hana nodded, keen not to break his flow of confidence.
“Jack dealt with it,” Alfred admitted. “He picked Logan up from the hospital and took his stitches out. Miriam gets sick when everything gets on top of her. She made a mistake. And we all paid for it.”
Hana licked her lips. “You paid by losing Barry?”
Alfred snorted. “We paid by pretending her bastard was mine!” His grey eyes flashed and then calmed. “No matter, kōtiro. What’s done is done.”
Hana opened her mouth to speak again and he waved her unasked question away. “I’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” he said, stilting the conversation. “Need to get back and run the farm.” He leaned across and patted her arm. “You take care of my favourite son. He’s an ornery old git, but he’s done more for me and his ma than any of the others put together. That boy knows loyalty.”
Hana nodded, fitting the snippet of information into a file in her head. It made little sense against the other bits of history. She recalled the overheard conversation that afternoon as she returned from the shop with biscuits and coffee. Alfred’s voice sounded raised from the corridor. “He turned up with a loaded .22 looking for you. Says he’ll only talk to you. His boys are threatening the stockmen.”
“All right,” she heard her husband reply in a low voice. “I’ll see him when I get out of here. It won’t take me long to get over this and then I’ll come. I’ll sort it out.”
“Well, I need you to,” Alfred said, hatred underpinning his tone. “You started this. I never want to see that man’s face agai
n, not as long as I live.”
“I said I’ll do it! This is your bloody mess, not mine and don’t you forget it!”
Hana heard the hardness in Logan’s voice, astounded he expected to take on a man with a gun in a few days. The more she discovered about Logan Du Rose, the less she understood and it frightened her. She sensed that Logan and not Alfred ran the hotel and farm in the mountains. Did Alfred really visit his son out of concern, or to receive assurance of his forthcoming help?
Hana lay in bed that night listening to the moreporks and possums making their night calls. Her empty bed seemed vast with just her occupying one corner. Logan’s scent faded from his pillow and she sniffed it, conjuring up his image. Warmth flooded her soul and added to her confusion. The darkness in him intrigued and terrified her. She fell asleep with the admission it was part of the attraction. He offered more than the good-looking English teacher from her sheltered, educational world. Logan Du Rose owned a metal backbone formed from emotional and physical hardship, pain and adversity. He could think on his feet and commanded respect in that other, mysterious world of family and hotel.
Hana met Jas and Amy at the Bramwell hospital the next day. Jas carried a dried blob of waxy, grey looking paper and Amy looked apologetic. “It’s a horse,” she told Hana. “He wants to give it to Alfred.”
“Great-gramps!” Jas corrected her, his eyes wild. “It’s not for you, Poppa Logan,” Jas informed him and Logan nodded with relief. “It’s for him.” He jabbed a finger at Alfred.
“Wow.” Alfred took the blob and peered at it. “What is it?”
“A horse.” Three people answered at once.
“It’s got five legs,” Alfred said, holding it up to the light.
“It’s a boy one.” Jas put his hands on his hips. “That’s his thing.”
Alfred’s jaw dropped and Logan snorted. He clamped a hand over his stomach and groaned in pain. Jas glared at him. “Everyone’s got one.” His eyebrows narrowed in doubt and he pointed at Hana. “Not her or her.” He looked at the women in disgust. “Everyone else.”
“It’s a ruddy big one,” Alfred chuckled and Amy died a thousand deaths by embarrassment.
“Just shoot me,” she muttered next to Hana. “Just bloody shoot me.”
The women excused themselves to the corridor for the rest of the rather sexist presentation-of-the-blob-ceremony. Amy sighed. “I got called into his kindy yesterday,” she whispered. “They think he needs a psychologist.”
“Oh.” Hana struggled for a suitable reply.
Amy spared her by continuing. “They don’t believe a word he says. He’s wanted an extended family for so long; they thought he made one up.” Tears of mirth filled her eyes. “The principal expressed her grave concern about his imaginary family. I sat through twenty minutes of her suggestions.”
“What did you say?” Hana drew closer for the punch line.
Amy snorted. “I told her the truth. She wrote down the number for a great counsellor.”
“For Jas?” Hana shook her head in confusion and Amy’s face creased into a grin.
“For me. She thinks I’m crazy too.”
Hana laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. “How rude.”
Amy leaned against the wall and tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “Yep. Wait until Bodie picks him up from kindy. I signed the form to give him access but they haven’t seen him yet.”
“They do look alike. The principal might need to apologise.” Hana bit her bottom lip and imagined the scene. She inclined her head towards Logan’s door. “Do you think it’s over yet?”
Amy peeked inside and withdrew her head. “Nope. It might go on for hours. Be grateful he didn’t have time to make you one. Fancy a coffee?”
An alliance formed without either woman meaning it to and Hana felt relieved. Friendship with Amy gave her access to Jas and bypassed either of their tenuous relationships with Bodie.
They left and Alfred’s looming departure produced the taste of ash in Hana’s stomach. She liked him but grew bored with the lengthy discussions about brood mares, sire fees and the state of the grass. Their speech lapsed into Māori, excluding her from their conversation. After a walk around the grounds, she bumped into an unexpected visitor. Pastor Allen held the front door for her as she ran up behind him. “Ah, I can see from your face things are better.” He smiled. “I didn’t stop praying for you both,” he promised and his blue eyes twinkled.
“Thanks Allen,” Hana touched his arm. “Logan’s recovering well and his father came to see him. He should be able to go home next week.”
“I figured I’d try the private hospital as Waikato’s mortuary assistant didn’t recognise Logan’s name. Sounds like he’s doing pretty well after the hospital-hop.”
“Sorry. I should have let you know.” Hana bit her lip and gave a guilty sigh.
Allen laughed and pushed her shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m a detective in my other job.”
Hana nodded and gave a slow nod. “You always catch me out.”
“Don’t I just?” Allen kissed her temple and waved his arm towards the stairs. “Take me to the patient.”
Hana led him upstairs and the men shook hands. Logan’s smile looked genuine. “Hey, thanks for praying for me. Hana said you did.” His gaze strayed to his father and a look of discomfort flickered across his face. Alfred stood up with wooden precision and shook hands, intimidated by the dog collar.
“You a priest?” he demanded and Hana held her breath.
“Pastor,” Allen replied. “Same difference, but I get away with more.”
“But you don’t do last rites and shite?” Alfred said and she closed her eyes.
“Not today.” Unfazed, Allen winked at Logan.
Alfred jerked his head upwards. “Take my seat, vicar,” he offered, shuffling towards the bed. “I’m going home.”
“No, no, I don’t want to disturb you. Just calling in.” Allen waved his arm, including everyone in his apology.
“Sit!” Alfred insisted and Allen bumped his rear end onto the seat pad in fright, the smile wavering on his lips. “I’m leaving now, like I said.”
The old man squeezed Logan’s hand and nodded a goodbye. “You won’t forget?” he demanded as though continuing an unspoken conversation.
Logan shook his head. “Have I ever?”
“I’ll walk you down,” Hana offered as Alfred nodded to his son.
“Thanks.” Alfred straightened his back and headed for the doorway. His look back at Logan seemed pointed.
“I’ve enjoyed your company,” Hana said on the front steps. “Thanks for coming.”
“Aw, it’s been a pleasure, kōtiro.” He flashed her the classic Du Rose smile, a trace of a handsome, enigmatic man beneath the wrinkles. “And I got given a horse with a giant dick.”
Hana watched the old man shift things around in his bag, trying to find a tape to listen to on the aged music player. Emptiness assailed her at the thought of sleeping alone at the cottage that night.
Alfred turned and hugged her, a mouldy cassette tape in his hand. “Haere rā, Hana,” he said and rubbed his blunted thumb across her chin with affection. “Visit soon?”
She nodded and he took it as a promise. The weather broke, raining giant, uncomfortable spits of water as Hana watched Alfred battle the barrier arm for the private car park. She waved until she knew he couldn’t see her, finality in his departure. Difficulty and a marriage based on lies faced her in the upstairs hospital room and her footsteps dragged.
Pastor Allen rose as she entered, refusing her offer of coffee. “No thanks.” He watched her blank expression with concern. “I’d like to pray for you both before I leave.”
Hana glanced across at Logan but got nothing back. “Yes, please. I’d love that,” she said. “I’m sure God knows what’s going on.” She bowed her head, regretting her sarcasm in the face of kindness. Her gaze flicked up to peek at Logan and found h
im watching her. Shock made her giggle and she hastened to turn it into a fake cough.
The pastor left and awkwardness descended over the room. Logan shifted on the bed and stared through the window.
“I forgot to tell Allen you moved hospital.” Hana picked at a hang nail and examined her shoes. “He rang the mortuary.”
Logan gave an upward jerk of his head. “He said.”
Hana heaved out a sigh and sat opposite, her back to the doorway. “What did you talk about?”
Logan settled a half amused look on her, his first spark of real enjoyment. “Nothing much. Just laying some cards on the table.” As intended, his answer filled Hana with even more curiosity. But she daren’t probe the vaults of his spiritual health without seeming rude and he knew it. Logan flicked the buttons of the television remote with his fingernail. “What gets said between a man and his priest is sacred.”
Hana snorted. “Not just his priest it seems.” She stood, her skirt flowing around her shins with the action. “And by the way, prayer got you through that second operation. Allen’s prayers and mine. You might see a surgeon’s hands but I see their maker’s.” Father Sinbad’s words about unequally yoked marriages stopped her in her tracks. He’d never see things the same way as her.
She slumped back into the armchair and looked at her watch. Logan saw and his comment sounded barbed. “You can go if you want.”
“What? And miss all the action?” Hana’s sarcasm hurt her more than it did him and she curled her legs beneath her. Part of her brain urged her to run and she resisted, but only out of spite. A nurse appeared to take Logan’s blood pressure and for once, Hana ignored his unspoken desire for privacy. She snuggled into the comfortable chair and listened to the gentle lull of the woman’s voice as she chattered about nothing important. Rain drummed on the roof in a steady, soporific beat and exhaustion washed over her like a warm wave. After a valiant fight, her eyelids drooped and she slipped from consciousness.