Hana Du Rose

by K T Bowes

  “I might see Dad first.” Logan backed away on the parquet floor and hesitated at the sight of Hana. “Would you mind?” he asked, glancing sideways at Miriam. “I won’t be long.”

  Hana swallowed and ground her teeth. Dumped in the first five minutes. She wanted to tell him this wasn’t the agreement, this wasn’t the deal. But she didn’t. She gave a wooden smile and nodded, releasing Logan to abandon her in the lion’s den.

  “Come.” Miriam crooked a finger at Hana and bid her follow. She did as ordered, her footsteps growing heavier as they reached the fire door leading into the kitchen.

  Hana sat at the table and watched Miriam dodge the kitchen staff as she made a pot of strong tea. Her hands wrung beneath the cover of the table and her heart rate hiked. The idea of conflict repelled her and she closed her eyes and wished herself elsewhere. The thud of the teapot on the wide table startled her.

  “I know you think I’m a bad mother.” Miriam’s voice sounded huffy and Hana cringed. “I haven’t left the property for twenty-seven years and it’s too late to start.”

  Hana swallowed and her answer emerged with more bile than intended. “I won’t judge you for your choices and I’d like the favour returned.”

  Miriam halted, surprise in her face. Her lips turned upwards and she nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Hana ate home baked cookies with chocolate chips that melted in her mouth. She gobbled up four before nausea stopped her half way through the fifth. The sound of munching inside her head acted as a brake on conversation and without it, the atmosphere filled with tension.

  “Ooh, cookies!” An olive hand dipped into the biscuit tin and snatched up two. Crumbs littered the table. Hana held her breath as Michael stared down at her. “Guessing the little bro came to check on his kingdom.” His barbed tone put her on red alert. Seeing her apprehension and the way her eyes strayed towards the exit, Michael moderated his attitude with the ease of a performer. He squeezed Miriam’s shoulder. “Did you make these, Ma?”

  She nodded and her grey eyes softened with pleasure. “Yes, tāne.”

  “Awesome. I love yours best.” He settled into a chair next to Hana, his thigh brushing hers. She tensed every muscle in her body to make herself smaller and edged away from him. Michael leaned closer anyway. “I liked you better as a redhead,” he whispered and Hana held her breath.

  “My son is on leave from his important job as a doctor,” Miriam said and Michael bit his bottom lip. His sideways glance at Hana conveyed victory, as though she’d rubbished Logan’s teaching role without saying so. His wink confirmed her theory.

  Blood pounded in Hana’s ears and the familiar headache snaked up the back of her neck to grip the space above her ears. She released the held breath and focussed on controlling the episode, her sweaty palms leaving a dark patch on her thighs. Her inner coach began its mantra, reminding her to breathe, to calm down and focus. The sugary concoction in her stomach shifted from pleasure inducing to sick making.

  Hana focussed on the sunshine outside and watched it create prisms through the long sash windows. A woman sliced carrots by the sink and the rhythmic chopping aligned with her heartbeat. Michael spoke to her, leaning across so she tasted the chocolate on his breath. The fresh air of the car park beckoned to her, offering freedom and space to breathe. Hana stood in a jerky movement and the chair skittered away across the tiles. Everyone stopped their activity to stare at her and Miriam’s lips moved. Hana cocked her head, hearing only a hum in her ears. The world spun and she closed her eyes against the sickening rush of the roundabout it created. Miriam’s face came and went like a ghoulish fairground attraction. Hana saw the edge of the table rise up to meet her and felt her knees buckle.

  She woke up on the floor, one bent arm under her forehead and the other trapped behind her back. The pounding in her head dulled to a faint throb. Michael’s voice sounded calm and unconcerned. “Heart rate is low and her blood pressure sucks.”

  “Logan’s coming.” Miriam’s voice shook. “What will you tell him?”

  “The truth, Ma. She fainted.”

  “I’m glad you caught her, tāne. Logan will be grateful.”

  Michael snorted. “I doubt that.”

  Hana groaned and dragged her forehead along her arm. The wetness on her cheek embarrassed her and she wiped her lips against her sleeve. She sniffed, trying not to cry and holding out for the promise of Logan’s strong and capable arms to dissolve into.

  Freeing the arm trapped beneath her, Hana rolled onto her back. The overhead chandelier of the ballroom glittered in her vision and she closed her eyes against threatening nausea. A strong hand slipped behind her neck and pressed a cushion under her head. She concentrated on her breathing; bringing it under control and hearing the rasping sounds disappear.

  Running footsteps and the slamming of a door heralded her husband’s arrival. “What happened?” he demanded and Hana heard only silence. She opened her eyes and found his face next to hers.

  “Logan,” she whispered. “Logan.”

  “Okay.” He gathered her into his arms and Hana pressed her face against his chest. “It’s okay.” He rocked her like a child and she inhaled his scent.

  Miriam spoke. “I think it’s a sugar rush, Logan. She ate cookies and passed out.”

  Hana heard Michael snort. “I doubt she’s diabetic, Ma.”

  “She’s not.” Logan spat his reply. “Thanks for taking care of her.” He kissed the top of Hana’s head. “What made her come in here?”

  “Michael carried her.” Miriam’s voice wavered and Hana felt Logan tense against her. His muscles bunched in anticipation of something.

  “You’d rather I laid her on the kitchen table?” Michael’s sarcastic tone induced a sharp inhale from Logan. Hana felt her body leave the floor, tipping and rocking as Logan hoisted her into his arms.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Alfred’s voice joined the melee. “You’ve a broken arm and stomach wounds. Let Michael take her upstairs.”

  “No!” Logan hissed through his teeth and Hana struggled to get down.

  “I can walk,” she protested, her voice cracked and her head spinning. “I’m fine.” She looked at Logan’s face and searched for an answer to the question in her eyes. Did he have the bullets? Could they go home?

  To her disgust, Logan carried her upstairs. “Put me down,” she grumbled. “I can walk.”

  Logan lifted his leg and balanced her against his thigh as he pressed the key code for his bedroom. Hana wriggled and he gave her a withering look. He placed her on the bed with care and removed her boots. “I’m sorry,” he said, his expression cowed as he sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed her feet in his strong fingers. “I just left you and I shouldn’t.”

  “It’s fine.” Hana lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “It’s a sugar rush, like your mother said. I pigged on biscuits so it served me right.”

  “What about the other day? And the time before that?” Logan massaged her toes and Hana opened one eye to look sideways at him.

  “What about it? Each incident happened in moments of stress. Sitting between Miriam and Michael counts as stressful.”

  Logan answered a knock at the door and Michael stepped over the threshold carrying a medical bag. Hana watched her husband’s body tense. “I’ll check her out while I’m here.” Michael dangled the bag from his fingers and Logan gave a cursory nod of reluctant approval. “I took your blood pressure before. It’s low. Did you know that?”

  Hana shrugged. “No. But low is good, isn’t it?”

  “Not when it makes you faint.” Michael sat on the side of the bed while Logan jammed his fists into his jeans pockets and hovered nearby. “Can I take your pulse, please?” Michael held his hand out and Hana placed her wrist into it, looking away while he measured her heart rate using his expensive watch. Next he shone a bright light into her eyes and Hana held her breath. The temperature gauge he shoved in her ear recorded a normal
reading. “It’s settling,” he concluded. “Better than before.”

  Another knock at the door distracted Logan and Hana heard Miriam’s voice. “What about some hot, sweet tea?” she asked.

  “No, not sweet,” Michael interjected. “Just in case sugar caused it.”

  Hana heard Miriam’s voice lower. “Alfie said you didn’t finish your discussion. He wants to talk to you in the stables.”

  “Not now!” Logan’s irritation bridled and Hana tensed. Michael raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder, his interest piqued.

  “I’m fine,” Hana called, not wanting him to leave but hating the conflict. “I’ll lie here for a while and then you’ll need to drive home.”

  Logan’s jaw worked and he ground his teeth. He jerked his head towards Miriam. “Not now,” he asserted and closed the door against her protests.

  “Nice.” Michael’s sly grin threatened to set Logan off and Hana closed her eyes against the sibling rivalry. She recognised their pleasantries at the wedding as fake. Hatred bubbled beneath the surface, borne of something deeper than she could uncover. Michael stood and spoke to Logan. “Your wife needs to see her doctor and let him run some tests.”

  “What sort of tests?” Hana lifted her head off the pillow and looked at Logan.

  “Pregnancy tests for a start,” Michael replied and Hana laughed.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m serious.” Michael raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes into a serious expression. “It’s that or a heart problem.”

  Logan’s unreadable expression sent Hana into a panic. “It’s not that. It isn’t. I would know. I’m not pregnant and my heart is fine. I pigged on sugar.” Hana spun her body sideways and rested her feet on the rug. “Let’s go home.”

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. “Stay here a while longer, at least until your colour returns. I’ll check on you later.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” Hana asserted, her cheeks flaring in response. “And my heart is fine.”

  Michael selected a box from his medical bag and closed the lid, locking the clasp with practiced fingers. He sat the box on her stomach. “It only takes once,” he said with a lascivious wink. “I should know.”

  “Screw you, Michael!” Logan lurched for him and Hana gasped in shock. Her husband stopped long enough for his brother to escape, before slamming his way through the ranch slider onto the balcony.

  Hana lay her head against the pillows and closed her eyes. Her body screamed with exhaustion and the tension in the house bore down on her like a lead weight. “Every time,” she murmured.

  “What?” Logan slid the door closed and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Every time what?”

  Hana exhaled. “Every time I come here there’s drama.”

  “Sorry.” He sank onto the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. His fingers tapped a beat on the tatty cast. “I need to get this thing off. My arm feels good now.”

  “It can’t be.” Hana watched the set of his shoulders and shook her head. “It’s too soon.” She fingered the pregnancy test on her stomach and it slipped onto the mattress. “Should I do this test, do you think?”

  Logan collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. “No!” His eyes widened in horror. “Don’t!”

  Hana watched his internal agonies with surprise, his vehemence seeming to condemn her. “It can’t be positive. I’m too old and my periods aren’t regular anymore. I told you that before we married.”

  Logan swore and Hana poked him with her toe. “Please don’t Hana.”

  “Why?”

  He rubbed his eyes with the back of his good hand and shook his head. “I don’t want you to.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Hana seized the box and Logan made a grab for it. They tussled and she won. “Stop!” His behaviour confused her and anger pushed the headache and nausea away. She fuelled it further, seeking wellness. “It’s my body. I’ll do what’s best for me.” Avoiding further confrontation, she took herself into the ensuite bathroom and slammed the door, locking it behind her.

  “Hana!” Logan rattled the handle and experience told her it wouldn’t hold him.

  She threatened him instead. “Go away, Logan. Your behaviour sucks and I don’t have the energy for it. Leave me alone.”

  “But Hana!”

  “No!” She leaned against the door. “I’m right behind this door. If you do anything stupid, you’ll hurt me.” She sensed his defeat and heard his boots against the floorboards. The click of the bedroom door took the standoff further than she wanted and isolation crowded around her.

  “Great!” Hana twisted the box in her fingers and shook her head. “It’s a virus,” she asserted, believing her own conclusion. In the back of her mind, a distant memory tapped away at her resolve. The awful conversation with Vik replayed on a loop. One night of crazy turned into Bodie and a hastily created union to limit the damage. “It’s not that,” Hana repeated, letting herself out of the bathroom.

  Hana understood the weight of emotion that drove a two year old to kick and scream with abandon. A sense of rejection returned full force, leaving her tired and empty. The sound of clattering drew her to the balcony and Hana watched a horse trot from the stable yard. The figure astride it sat with easy confidence against the motion of the beast and Hana recognised Logan’s jacket. He rode the white horse as if he belonged to her physiology and they covered the ground beneath them at speed. Not stopping to open the paddock gates, he cleared them without breaking their and disappeared into the bush.

  Hana pressed her face against the cool glass and closed her eyes. “Screw you, Logan Du Rose,” she breathed. The window fogged and she reiterated her sentiment with her index finger. Ashamed of herself, she wiped it off and turned away. Snatching up the cardboard box, she fumbled with the cellophane. “It’s time I became master of my own destiny,” she declared with more confidence than she felt.

  Ten minutes later, Hana sat on the closed lid of the toilet. Her thumb smarted from battling the plastic wrap and gaining entry into the stiff cardboard. A paper cut bled onto her tongue as she sucked her finger to take away the sting. The instructions fluttered in her other hand and she stared at them. “I must be stupid,” she sighed. “What line goes where?”

  Hana pulled out her phone and ran an internet search. Her eyes bugged at some of the ludicrous results and she scrolled through, narrowing her questions to avoid the weirdos. “I can’t be pregnant,” she muttered. “I’m a grandmother.”

  Missed periods alerted her to Bodie’s existence. Late on the uptake, Hana blamed the stress of university for a blissful four months before realisation dawned. She rubbed a hand across her face and fought the sense of foreboding. They hadn’t planned Izzie either. “Not again,” she breathed. “This can’t happen. Nasty Michael. Why did he put the thought in my head?”

  Reading the instructions one more time, Hana sorted herself out and performed the test. She sat on the closed toilet lid and waited. The ridiculousness of the situation sent a giggle bubbling into her chest. Damn Logan for running out on her just when she needed him most.

  The first line appeared to confirm she did the test right. In a couple of minutes, she’d throw the box in the rubbish bin and continue life as normal. Whatever a normal life looked like. But Hana didn’t need to wait.

  The blue line appeared alongside its mate, growing darker as the moments passed. Hana waited anyway, giving it a chance to go away again. Then she waited just because she couldn’t trust her legs to carry her anywhere. Her butt grew uncomfortable on the toilet lid and she wriggled to increase the blood flow to her legs. The pee dried on the stick and the lines looked darker than ever as a sense of inevitability engulfed her. She’d hopped into bed with Logan Du Rose like a filly on heat and shouldn’t be surprised at the outcome. “But I’m a granny,” she whispered, justifying her understandable lack of contraception. “It’s not possible.”

  Four weeks of marriage st
reamed behind her like a battered sail. Four weeks of stress and trauma. The thought of being only a little bit pregnant made no difference to the effect it would have on her relationship. A knock on the bedroom door sent Hana scrambling to hide the test. She shoved it into a drawer in the vanity unit and stood on wobbly legs.

  Dragging the bathroom door open, she screamed as she ran into Michael. “What are you doing?” she gasped, clutching her chest. “How did you get in?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders and towered above her. “Sorry, you didn’t answer. I know Logan’s code because I used to steal his lollies. I needed to check you weren’t unconscious.” He looked past her into the bathroom. “When patients collapse in hospital, it’s always in the bathroom with their body wedged between the toilet and the wall.”

  “Why?” Hana took a step back and ran a hand through her messy hair. The scent of the hairdressing salon wafted outwards.

  “It’s a natural place to hide. Often collapse is preceded by a feeling of sickness.” He stopped and looked down at his socks.

  Hana edged past him and sat on the bed. She wrung her fingers before her as a stress reaction. Michael followed her with his eyes. “You did it then?”

  “We got into a fight,” she said with a sigh, rubbing her eyes. Exhaustion swallowed her whole and she lifted her legs onto the mattress.

  “Yeah, I saw your idiot husband ride off.” Michael sank into an armchair near the window and observed her like a butterfly catcher watching his latest victim struggle with the pin through its chest. He shared the best of Logan’s characteristics and yet something else lurked beneath his handsomeness like a dangerous undertow. “Did he tell you I slept with Caroline?”

  The question caught Hana off guard and she floundered. “No,” she replied. “That’s disgusting.”

  Michael jerked a dark eyebrow upward. “She’s not all bad. Logan’s so closed and she couldn’t access that part of him she really wanted. She craved love and he didn’t offer it.”