by K T Bowes
“Hey, babe.” Logan leapt from the car, seizing her in a hug and kissing her forehead. He smelled of fresh air and exuded triumph.
“Where did you go?” Hana wrapped her arms around herself, ready for his rebuff. Instead, he walked to the rear door of the car.
He produced tins of paint which clattered on the concrete floor. “Look,” he said, smiling in pleasure.
Hana crouched and stared at the tint label, relieved to see a delicate eggshell textured cream. “This looks nice. Is it for the bathroom?”
Logan shook his head. “I thought I’d turn the room next to ours into a nursery,” he said, his face searching for her approval.
Hana took a step back, shaking her head. “No, Logan! It’s too soon. Stop pushing me!” Betrayal sent a stab of pain into her heart and ready tears collected behind her eyelids. She let him in and he stamped on her caution like the proverbial bull in a china shop.
Logan grasped her forearms and held her still as she wriggled. “The doctor said you survived the worst part. I want to get ready. Six months isn’t long to prepare a house and our lives for a baby.”
“You told your mother, didn’t you?” Hana’s top lip drew back in a sneer. She jabbed a finger in Logan’s chest. “I asked you to respect my wishes.”
“I told no one.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “We made a deal.”
Hana shook herself free and stalked off to bed, sinking beneath the covers in her dressing gown. She found a tissue beneath her pillow and sniffed into it. Logan’s boots sounded on the hall floor and Hana waited for the thud of him shifting his purchases into the empty room. Instead, he poked his head around the doorframe. “Can we talk?” he asked. “We’re at crossed purposes.”
At Hana’s reluctant nod, Logan shed his jeans and crawled into the bed. His fingers sought hers, not allowing her to snatch them away. Hana sighed in frustration. “I’m forty-five years old with a history of Down syndrome in my immediate family. There’s so much that can go wrong and you have no clue about the worries and fears circulating in my head.” A sob punctuated her final sentence and Hana pulled a hand free and rubbed her eyes. “I feel old, Logan. I’m middle aged and a grandmother. What if everything goes okay and I carry to full term and then can’t cope? What then?” She let out a shaky breath. “I’ve encased myself in this bubble of protection because it’s safer, but then I end up so damn lonely. It’s an impossible situation.”
Logan’s face worked through myriad emotions, his grey eyes somber and his irises strangely light. “Caroline’s accusations can’t have helped. Are you ready to talk about it?”
“Don’t! Don’t even speak her name around me!” Hana pushed the covers away and tried to stand, tangling her legs in the bedspread and almost falling. “She’s everywhere I look, Logan! Her influence over you makes me want to throw up. She’s in my marriage and turns up at work whenever she chooses. I can’t escape her and I won’t do this again. I hate liars.”
“What do you mean?” Logan sat up, his brow furrowed. “I haven’t lied to you, Hana. I don’t always tell you stuff, but I’ve never lied.” The sheets tumbled away from his chest, the muscles hard and defined through his tee shirt in the dull light of a grey morning. Hana stared at the logo on his left pectoral, fighting the urge to press her face into her husband’s strength until she forgot everything else. She slid sideways, heading for the door.
“Where did you go the night I came home and told you what that woman said?” Hana’s jaw worked as she gritted her teeth and mentally left the room before her body followed. Already her attention turned elsewhere, expecting only lies.
Logan lay back against the pillows. “I needed to see someone.”
His lame words grabbed Hana’s attention and she focused, her feet level with the end of the bed as she sought escape. “You went to see Caroline?”
Logan shot up again, the sheets tumbling to the floor. “No! Geez is that what you thought?” Recollection and realisation came together. “Oh, crap, Hana. No, I’d never do that to you!” Hana dived towards the bedroom door, her feet still tangled in the trailing cover. She held onto the bedpost to extract her toes and Logan reached her before she escaped. “I didn’t go to see Caroline. I should have stayed, I’m sorry.”
“Where did you go?” Hana’s tone sounded accusing and Logan swallowed.
“I’m having business problems. It’s nothing to do with psychotic women and phantom pregnancies. I promise. I invested in something and I’m trying to keep an eye on it.”
Hana’s jaw worked in her cheek. She wanted to believe him badly enough to let it go. Tiredness turned her bones to lead and reminded her how hard solo parenting was. “Is that where you keep going, to this business?” Her body felt rigid against his.
Logan nodded. “Mostly, babe. I have assets I need to protect. When everything is straightened out, we’ll talk about all of it.” He rubbed her back. “It feels minor compared to this other stuff at the moment.”
Hana let her husband enfold her in his arms and breathe reassurances into her hair. “I want to believe you,” she whispered. “I’m so tired of doubting you.”
“Come back to bed,” he replied. “Let me love you.”
Tired, miserable and lacking the energy to fight, Hana allowed Logan to untangle her feet, pick her up and lay her on the bed. He banished everything else from her mind, all but the essence of him.
“I need to get that medication,” she sighed later. “I’m not sure if I want to go back to the pharmacy in Ngaruawahia. They might remember me from last time.”
“Where’s the prescription?” Logan asked and yawned.
“In my jacket.” Hana struggled up and Logan pulled her back into the bed.
“I’ll get it,” he promised. “You stay warm.”
He returned with the prescription and a confused look on his face. “There’s something else,” he said, putting two papers in Hana’s hand. “This looks like an order for blood tests. Why would he want those?”
Hana swallowed and slumped back, her new found peace gone. Her colour paled and Logan climbed into bed and held her, waiting for her explanation. “He wants to check for irregularities. They do that anyway, but I’m an older woman so the risks are higher. This is the start of finding out.” She ran her fingers over the black tattoo poking from Logan’s sleeve, tracing the indelible strands and patterns. Her child would become part of his whakapapa. He or she already was.
“It’s my baby.” Logan savoured the words on his tongue. “I’ll love it, anyway. Won’t you?”
Hana nodded and relief surged through her. “Yes,” she promised. “I will.” She felt the dreadful weight in her heart lessen as Logan took up the slack and for the first time in weeks they pulled together.
“It will be fine,” he promised, pressing his lips against her temple. “We can do this.”
As Hana showered and dressed, Logan put his head around the door. “Hey, the lab at Rototuna is open until four today. Why don’t I run you there to get the bloods done?” Hana felt a chill in her soul. Her silence made Logan venture further into the room. “Let’s just get it over with,” he said, raising a knowing eyebrow at her.
“Okay,” she conceded. “It might help me regain control.”
They climbed into the car and Logan reversed from the garage. “This is the plan,” he said, reaching for Hana’s fingers after putting the gear lever into drive. “I’ll use the back roads to Rototuna and park away from everyone else. The blonde guy won’t expect to see us around there so if we’re vigilant, it should be fine.”
Hana watched the side mirrors as Logan drove, seeing few other cars on the foggy route. Her anxiety hiked as Logan parked behind a fast food restaurant. “Are we allowed around here?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Logan shrugged. “There are no signs to the contrary. We shouldn’t take long.”
Hana looked around her. “It’s nice and secluded,” she admitted.
A door clanged and an employee
emerged, dumping rubbish into a skip. He glanced across as Hana emerged from the car and squared his shoulders. “You can’t park there,” he began, striding towards the car. Logan stepped from the driver’s seat and the man’s face changed. “Oh, hi sir. I didn’t see you there.” His tone became kind. “You here for food?”
Logan gave him the kiwi upward nod of acknowledgement. “Hey Shaun, we need to nip over there. I fancy a burger though. Is it okay to park the car here?”
The young man pulled himself up to his full height. “Awesome sir and miss, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it for you. The manager lost his stereo in the main car park last week when someone smashed his quarter light. I let all my mates park round here.” He bristled with importance. “Hey, if you want food, give me a yell.”
Logan smiled and shook his hand. “Thanks Shaun,” he said. “See you in a while.” The young man walked towards the door, giving a little wave as he went inside. The door slammed behind him. Hana released her breath.
“I thought he might force us to move the car,” she said, fear making her teeth chatter. “The last thing we need is a big fuss.”
“Nobody makes me do anything,” Logan answered, his tone harsh. “He’s a nice kid actually, writes awesome poetry.”
Hana peeked back at the door of the restaurant as Logan led her away. Nothing about the young man in the red uniform screamed ‘poet’ or ‘lover of literature.’ She shook her head to clear her brain and stifled a smirk.
They took a circuitous route in and out of parked cars, avoiding open spaces for as long as possible. Hana heaved a sigh of relief as they stepped through the automatic doors into the medical building. Logan peered at an information board. “Which is the pathology lab?” he asked.
“Over there.” Familiar with the building, Hana used the first door on the right and read the notice. She placed her form face down in the tray. “Now we wait,” she said with a wan smile, sitting in a red, plastic chair. She ignored the magazines scattered on a table nearby, choosing instead to hold Logan’s hand. His capable, calloused fingers stroked calm into hers.
“Hana Du Rose?” A man wearing scrubs emerged from a nearby room and snatched up Hana’s form, surprised to see customers on a Saturday. “This way,” he said, inclining his arm towards the door. Logan’s eyes widened and he assessed the male with a soldier’s perception. Hana saw as he dropped his gaze to his hands, his face anxious and sad. Rejection oozed from the slump of his body as she stepped into the small office.
It comprised a small, white room with a man-sized giraffe taped to the wall. The phlebotomist busied himself at the counter with tubes and needles, indicating with a flick of his hand that Hana should sit in the only other chair. Hana sat, regretting her decision to leave Logan outside. The man affixed the sharp to the flexible tube, jumping in surprise as Hana ran from the room, abandoning her handbag. “Hey!” he called after her.
“Logan!” Hana reached him at a run, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked the tension from her spine. “I’m pretending I’m not scared, but I’m terrified. Please can you come with me?”
Having established Hana’s return, the phlebotomy technician went back to his bottles and tubes, sizing up Hana’s paleness and anticipating difficulty. He twisted his lips at her narrowed veins. Logan’s teeth grazed his bottom lip as anxiety rose to the surface. He stood in the corner of the tiny room, watching Hana’s blood pool in the tubes with frustrating slowness. Everything about their relationship tested the concept of polar opposites, even their blood giving. Hana’s vein swelled and the technician wrinkled his nose and removed the needle. “You’re not generous with your blood, are you?” he complained. He used a sphygmomanometer to confirm her low blood pressure.
“Sorry.” Hana licked her lips and looked sick. Logan crouched next to her and rested his hand on her knee as the technician dug into another vein. By the time he finished, she bore two sore arms and a swimming sensation in her head.
“I suggest you drink sugary tea and eat something.” The technician narrowed his dark brow at Hana’s pale complexion. “The doctor’s surgery is open next door if you feel faint.”
“I’m fine.” Hana stood and yanked her sleeves over the tape, reeling a little as she bent to retrieve her handbag.
Logan led her from the building, checking the car park for the blonde man. “It’s safe,” he said, fixing his arm around her shoulders. He crinkled his nose. “You’re actually in more danger with me here.”
“Why?” Hana stopped between two cars, trailing him with their fingers linked.
Logan jerked his head to indicate his tall body and rolled his eyes. “I’m quite distinctive, Hana. You got rid of your red hair but they’ll recognise me.”
Hana sighed and her lips quirked upwards. “Ever thought about going blonde?”
Logan settled her in the fast food restaurant under Shaun’s watchful eye. He ordered her a sweet tea and jogged to the nearby pharmacy for Hana’s prescription. He returned shrouded by cold air and ate chips and some dubious looking chicken nuggets.
“All good, sir?” Shaun asked, clearing a nearby table.
“Awesome mate. See ya Monday.” Logan gave him a warm smile and the teenager blossomed under Logan’s approval.
Hana leaned forward in her seat and stole a chip. “The boys love you, Mr Du Rose. What makes you different?”
Logan shrugged. “Boundaries. Boys need them. The devil makes work for idle hands.” He waggled his eyebrows and Hana sensed his influence stretched further than his simple reply. Mana rolled off him in waves, creating a sense of awe. His dark, brooding expression gave him a mystique which made him someone that people wanted to impress. Few would succeed.
“I’m glad you chose me.” Hana swallowed, wrinkling her nose as her stomach objected to the fat coating the chip’s surface.
“Are you?” Logan peered at her from beneath black eyelashes, his grey eyes sultry and inviting. “Wanna go home and show me?”
Hana smirked. “I’m a little weak right now.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip. “You might need to do all the work.”
They slipped into Ngaruawahia, careful to check behind for any vehicles following. They fell into the wide bed and Hana used the last of her energy reserves. Exhausted, she lay back against the pillows, noticing how twitchy and unsettled Logan seemed. “Start the baby’s bedroom if you want to,” she conceded, conscious of his desire to keep busy. She soaked up the peace of the house and closed her eyes. Logan played the radio in the room next door and Hana dozed off to the muted strains of music. She enjoyed the unusual sensation of sleeping during the daytime and gave herself permission to move in and out of consciousness without guilt.
She woke as darkness pressed around the house. The tape and cotton wool from one arm stuck to her forehead and she pulled it off with a grimace of disgust. Her stomach gnawed on itself and she shivered in the icy cold of the house. Dragging a robe around herself, she stumbled next door. The door resisted her, jammed in place by an old sheet protecting the rimu floorboards.
“Hang on,” Logan called, yanking the cloth free from beneath the door. He grinned at her, paint on the side of his nose and staining his hands. “What do you think?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her into the room. “I’ve painted the ceiling and two walls so far.” His eyes creased in pleasure with his progress. He led her around the portable radio which played to itself on the floor.
“It looks amazing.” Hana rubbed her eyes, comparing the cheerful cream surfaces to the brown plaster and filled cracks of the other walls. “I didn’t imagine it could feel so warm. I love it.”
Logan’s grin widened. “I’m glad.” His brow furrowed. “It feels like a little bit of me in the house. You did it all when I couldn’t.”
“Oh.” Hana held her breath. “I never realised you felt that way.”
Logan shrugged. “No matter. As long as you like it.”
“I do.�
�� She exhaled. “But can we wait to buy furniture, please? I’m not ready.”
“Deal.” Logan reeled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head with paint-spattered lips. “This is a good day, Hana. Hold on to the good days.”
Hana nodded against his chest, a flicker of doubt in her mind reminding her how fast life could spin into chaos. She inhaled Logan’s masculine scent and felt peace descend over her soul. A passage from her Sunday school days rose to obscure her fears. Her father’s voice spoke the words and they brought comfort as long as she didn’t dwell on their last meeting. “For only a penny, you can buy two sparrows, yet not one sparrow falls to the ground without your Father's consent. As for you, even the hairs of your head have all been counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth much more than many sparrows!”
“Matthew,” she whispered, seeking the scripture’s origin.
“Na,” Logan replied. “That’s not a Du Rose name.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “But we’ll talk about that another time.” His lips felt soft and warm over Hana’s. “I lit a fire in the lounge. Let me clear up here and we’ll cuddle up on the sofa together.”
Hana pottered in the kitchen making sandwiches. Logan joined her in the lounge and they watched television until it got late. After Hana clambered into bed, Logan continued work on the baby’s room, finishing the other walls and adding a second coat of paint to the ceiling.
The next morning Hana went across country to church. She bickered with Logan about possible safe routes and rejected his offer of giving her a ride. “You won’t come in,” she grumbled. “You’ll sit in the car outside.”
“So?” Logan put his hands on his hips, not seeing the problem.
“You can drive me if you come into church.”
Logan shook his head. “Na, thanks. I’m catholic, you know that.”
Hana jabbed a finger in his chest and laughed, masking her annoyance. “Scared you might implode?” she snorted.
Logan waggled his eyebrows. “Hell yeah! That bolt of lightning will come straight for me.”