Kiwi Rules (New Zealand Ever After Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  This sounded better. “Tell me.”

  “My talismans.” She touched the ones in her left ear, one at a time. With her left hand, her heart hand. “Hope said, when she gave them to me on the day I graduated from college, that they were to remind me of everything I’d done, and how I’d kept going even when it was hardest. That they were in my head to remind me of how strong my brain was, even under pressure, and how I was bright enough for anything. And that they were in my ears so I’d always hear her telling me how much she loved me.”

  I said, “I’m suddenly feeling much less satisfied with my own speech.”

  “And I thought,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard me, “exactly what you said. Talisman. I don’t believe in magic, and I don’t believe in destiny, but I believed in that anyway. I still do.”

  “Just because you can’t see the love,” I said, “that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Holding you up. Holding you close. Maybe that’s what you felt. And maybe she thought you needed the reminder.”

  “See?” she cried out. “See? It’s the same thing. You just gave me goosebumps again. So tell me why my rubies are a talisman.”

  I now felt incredibly stupid. I was the one who’d used the word, and I was going to have to say this. “Maybe just that if I ordered them, you’d be there to wear them. Call it an investment in the future.” I’d already said that, basically. I was all good.

  She waited a minute, and so did I, and finally, she said, “I decided how I feel about the expensive-present, going-too-fast thing.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “I decided I don’t care what the rules are. The law of averages is a fallacy. Famously a fallacy.”

  “Uh . . . pardon?” I liked the not-caring about the rules part. I wasn’t sure about the rest.

  “Just because something’s statistically likely,” she said, “that doesn’t mean it’s inevitable. Statistics aren’t individuals, and just because the roulette wheel’s landed on red the last three times, it isn’t any more likely to land on black the fourth time. The odds are still exactly the same. Fifty-fifty. In other words—who cares what moving too fast means in somebody else’s life? In most people’s life? We’re not most people. We get to make our own destiny, and we get to make our own rules. But I’m still not letting you tattoo my butt. Not if you don’t even know how.”

  Karen

  Jax had smiled, after I’d said that, and hadn’t said anything else, and I’d pulled out again, driven the mile or so up to Koro’s, and parked in the drive.

  He was in his chair. Debbie was over in the flower border, presumably searching for snails or something appropriately ducklike, and the dog was following him around.

  Koro didn’t get up, which was unusual. I came over and hongi’d him, and when we breathed in together, my heart eased the way it always did. I stood up, and he said, “Come on, mate,” and gestured to Jax. Something about seeing Jax lean down, lay his palm lightly on Koro’s shoulder, and Koro’s own old hand on Jax’s shoulder, made my throat tighten, and when they touched foreheads and noses, I may actually have teared up.

  Respect. It was a thing.

  I gave the dog a pat, since he’d come wagging over, bouncing some, with his tongue out and his brown eyes bright, and then I patted Debbie, who wasn’t one bit happy about being second in line and basically elbowed the dog out of the way. Debbie was not a polite duck. After that, I sat down beside Koro, and he told Jax, “Go grab a chair from the kitchen, mate. There’s a plate of sandwich buns in the fridge that Vanessa made from the leftover roast, when we knew you’d be coming. She’s in the back with the baby. We won’t bother her. You could bring them out, maybe. Make a cup of tea as well, if you like, and one for Karen.”

  “I’ll do that,” Jax said. “Can I get you one as well?”

  “Yeh,” Koro said. “That’d be good.” And Jax headed off, seeming not one bit put out at finding his own way.

  “You like him,” I said to Koro as we watched Jax disappear through the front door.

  “Not much not to like,” he said. “Takes care of you. Good to his sister, too. Hemi says he’s all right as well, and he’s a hard judge. Did you have a good brekkie?”

  “Yes,” I said. “That was a lot of kids, though. Did they stop by, Hemi and Hope and the kids? They’ve flown out by now, I guess. It was a long way to come for a hangi.”

  “Stopped by on their way down to meet you,” he said. “And never mind. I reckon Hope needed to come, and Hemi needed to come with her. She’ll be feeling better now, able to rest easy, knowing you’re in good hands.”

  “You’re sorry to see them go, though,” I said. “And you’re tired today, huh. Too long a day yesterday?”

  “Nah. A good day, and I don’t spend much time anymore being sorry. Better to spend my time being happy for what I’ve got.”

  “I wish I could be like that.” I stuck my legs out in front of me, kicked off my jandals, wiggled my toes in the green grass, then rubbed the dog’s belly with my foot, since he’d decided to flop down at my feet. He really was cute.

  “Could be you have to be ninety-five to do it,” Koro said, and gave a wheezing laugh. “Could be a downside, eh. Nah. You’re passionate. That’s nothing but a good thing. Got that passion to give to your work, and maybe to that fella as well. You put it where it’s needed.”

  I’d bent down to scratch the dog around the neck, and he was wagging his fluffy tail so hard, his whole back end wiggled. “It’s so soon, though.” I’d said I didn’t care, but maybe I still did, a little. “And Jax said the ‘passion’ thing, too, this morning. He gave me rubies for my birthday. I tried to be bothered by that, that it’s too much too soon, but I just feel . . .” I sighed. “Just . . . delighted, you know? Like—cherished. Is that dangerous?”

  “Yeh,” Koro said. “It is.” And my heart sank. That hadn’t been one bit the answer I was going for. He went on, though, “Living all the way’s always dangerous. Heaps of things are dangerous. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do them.”

  I leaned my head lightly against his shoulder, and his rough hand with its paper-thin skin came up and smoothed my cheek. I asked, “When did you know it was right, with your wife? When did you decide? Did you know her a long time, or not? What sort of . . . tipped you over the edge?”

  I’d never met his wife—she’d died when Hemi was a teenager—and I’d never asked Koro about her. I’d never asked him so many things I needed to know. Why hadn’t I taken every minute I had to do it? It wasn’t like I didn’t know that you could lose people you loved.

  He said, “We went to school together. I didn’t see her again, though, for a few years after that.”

  Jax came out of the house with three cups of tea, set them down on the little table between the chairs, said, “Back in a second,” and took off again.

  “So,” I said. “You saw her again. What was her name?”

  “Airini. A pretty name, and she had the prettiest hair of any of the girls. Had some red in it, and it curled. First time I saw her with her hair down, when I came back, which was that first day . . .” He sighed. “I thought—that’s what I want. She had a smile, too, and a light in her eye. I needed that light, then. I needed that smile.”

  Jax again, with a chair and the plate of sandwiches. He looked between us and said, “Want a minute?”

  “Nah, mate,” Koro said. “Sit down. I’m just telling Karen about how I knew my wife was the one for me. Old men’s stories. All you really have in the end are your memories, eh. You can have all the precious things, take them out of their box, think about what they cost, maybe, but if they don’t have memories attached, they’re not good for much. Taking a memory out of that box, now . . . that’s different. That lasts.”

  Jax handed me the plate of sandwiches, and I took one and said, “So tell us. It had been a few years, and then you saw her again.”

  “Yeh.” Koro lifted his mug to his lips with a trembling hand. “Just back from the war, I w
as. Seen too many things, maybe, and I needed to see something good. That’s what she was. Something good.”

  “Which war?” I asked.

  “World War Two,” Koro said. “With the 28th Battalion.”

  Jax’s head had come up, his gray eyes sharpening. “The Maori Battalion. That’s a proud history, sir. A tough one, too. Fifty percent casualty rate.”

  “It was,” Koro said. “Reckon you know that it can be hard to sit with afterwards. Not that we weren’t on the right side of it, or that it didn’t have to be done. Too many good mates left behind, though. Too many bad dreams.”

  “Yeh,” Jax said. Quietly.

  “When we came home,” Koro said, “they gave us a parade, here in Katikati. She was there. Airini. They did a dance, the girls, and some songs. In their flax skirts, and her hair was down. She could sing, now.” He sighed. “She could sing. Seemed like I hadn’t heard anything as good as that song since I’d left home, and I hadn’t seen anything as good as that saucy smile of hers, or that light in her eyes. I asked if she wanted to go for a picnic, and she said yes.”

  “And how did you know?” I asked. “That she was the one? Or did you just want to get married?” Jax looked at me, a half-smile on his face, and I said, “Whoops. Not tactful.”

  “Could be I did,” Koro said, “but that wasn’t how it felt. Woke up one Friday morning, that was how, after a month or so. I had a job by then, down in Tauranga, doing mechanic’s work. I woke up with her on my mind, thinking that I was going to see her that night, because we were going to a dance, and how happy I was about that. I thought that next day, maybe we’d go fishing off the rocks.” He took another slow sip of tea. “And I realized that I couldn’t think of a day when I wouldn’t want to see her face, and I couldn’t think of a future that didn’t have her in it.”

  Jax

  We didn’t take the dog.

  I offered, and the old man said, “Nah, mate. Vanessa will look on the computer, see if he belongs to somebody. She had him into the vet already this morning, though, to get his jabs. He’s a bit skinny, the vet says, under the hair. Probably been missing from someplace for a while, or dumped, maybe. Anyway, seems like he fits around the place. Could be we needed a dog. Sometimes, the thing you need comes along.”

  “I wonder what kind he is,” Karen said. “He’s pretty funny-looking.” She threw a stick, and the dog tore after it, with Debbie hustling along behind with no hope of catching up.

  The old man said, “Border collie and miniature poodle in there, the vet says.” The Nameless Dog trotted up with the stick in his mouth, dropped it at Karen’s feet, and stood staring fixedly at it as if he could make her throw it via thought-rays. “Maybe a few other things as well. That’s why he’s got so much hair on him. Take him to the groomer’s, she said, and get it cut off him, and he’ll be more comfortable. Vanessa will see to that, too.”

  I said, “Let me help with that, anyway,” and pulled out my wallet.

  The old man waved a knobby hand. “Nah, mate. Hemi gives me more than I can spend, and he keeps it coming. May as well spend it on grooming a dog. It’s not doing me any good in the bank. Besides . . .” He smiled, showing off those spaces where teeth had once been, “you could need to buy Karen something else, eh. Save your money for that.”

  “I told him about my birthday present,” Karen said. There was a little color in her cheeks. “How you went overboard in the generosity department. It’s not like I’m broke, you know. I got something when they cut me loose.”

  “Nah,” the old man said. “Reckon he needed to do it.”

  “Reckon I did,” I said.

  “Right, then,” Karen said. “I’ll go on and take my car back to the airport.” She leaned over the old man and hongi’d him one more time, and when she stood up, there were tears in her eyes. “I love you. I’ll come see you again before I leave New Zealand. I’m not sure when that’ll be.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” the old man said. “I’ll be here.”

  Karen

  I cried all the way to the airport.

  I never cried, and somehow, I kept doing it anyway. I wanted my old self back, please. At least they weren’t heaving sobs this time, just a steady stream of tears that wouldn’t stop, like a river overflowing its banks because the water had no place else to go. Like the emotion had to get out somehow.

  Jax was behind me in the Power Car, and I glanced in the rearview mirror every thirty seconds or so, just to see him. I couldn’t even have told you what I was thinking. Koro, and how much I loved him. Jax, and how much he felt like a resting place. Like my resting place. And maybe, with both of them, the thing I wasn’t allowing myself to look at. How I’d feel when they were gone.

  By the time I pulled into the lot, I was a mess. I found a spot in the right aisle, pulled in, opened my door, and Jax was there. He looked startled, as well he might. “All right?” he asked.

  I waved an arm. “Oh, you know.” I wiped my face on the inside of my T-shirt again. It was fairly soaked, and fairly disgusting, too. I sure knew how to show a guy my best side.

  “Go on and get in my car,” Jax said, and popped the lock for me. “Give me the key. I’ll take it in.”

  “You have to get the . . . odometer reading.” I was still crying. Well, this was awkward.

  He smiled. “Could be I knew that. Maybe you should just get in the car and assume I can handle it.”

  “Bossing again,” I said.

  This time, he laughed. “You can tell me how you feel about that. Later.”

  When he came back, I’d finished crying, at least. I asked him, as he pulled out onto the street, “Are your grandparents still alive?”

  “On my dad’s side, no. On my mum’s side, yes.”

  “In Dunedin?”

  “Yeh. They live not too far from my parents, in fact. My sisters and I used to go there after school, because my mum and dad were both working in the business. That was a good place. A warm place. And right now, I’m feeling like an inadequate grandson, so you know. Feeling like I need to sit with them more, ask them to tell their stories.”

  “It’s weird, of course,” I said, “because Koro isn’t even really my grandfather.”

  “Maybe he is, though,” Jax said, “in all the ways that count. Pretty sure that if you asked him, he’d say he was. Maybe it’s time to stop thinking of yourself as that lonely mountain, and start thinking of what you really are instead. Loved beyond reason.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said, escaping into the collar of my T-shirt. “You made me start up again. Well, this is . . .” I sniffed. “Extremely attractive.”

  He smiled. “Maybe we should take a shower together when we get home. Wash all that away.”

  “You probably need a massage. Also exercise. Why do I feel like I want to go to sleep again?”

  “Because you got out of hospital forty hours ago?” He pulled into the entrance to the parking garage, and then into his spot. He turned the car off, unclipped his seatbelt, leaned across the car, took my face in his hand, and kissed me. My nose was probably red, and my cheeks were probably blotchy, and he didn’t seem to care. He stroked a thumb down my cheek and said, “I was thinking something else about us, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I did my best to haul myself back under control. “I’m still not letting you tattoo me.”

  He laughed and kissed me again. Still taking his time. “No. About birth control.”

  I tried to give him some side-eye. It wasn’t easy, not when he was kissing me like he had all day, and the warm tendrils were curling down inside me, tingling every place they touched, like he was in my very veins. His thumb was on the side of my neck now, because he was holding me there, his fingers brushing the hair at my nape. “If you want to insert my IUD,” I said, when he let my mouth go enough that I could talk, “that’s also not happening. It’s already in, and I’m not letting you practice medicine on me, either.”

  I could feel the curve of his lips against my neck, because that
’s where he was kissing me now. I had my hand in his hair, and he had his hand up my shirt, stroking a lazy path northward. The warm tendrils had some silver streaks in them now, and they were going right there. Zing. Zing. Zing. I might be having some trouble with my breathing, and I also might be doing some moaning.

  He said, “I don’t want to put in your IUD. I could want to take it out of you, but we’ll talk about that later. Right now . . . I want to be inside you without a condom.”

  Oh, boy. Talk about moving too fast. I said, “Even though I’ve been crying? You’ve got weird . . . taste. And I’m, uh, good. I got . . . tested.” It came out on a gasp, because he had his hand under my stretchy cotton sports bra, he was teasing my nipple, and I didn’t care that we were in a parking garage. I wanted to do it now. “In case Josh wasn’t just a . . . wanker.”

  He kissed my neck some more, and then he sucked on it, and my hips were already trying to move. “Do you trust me?” he asked. Low and soft, against my neck.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I want you to . . . do it.” You could say that. “Would you . . . stop talking and take me upstairs?”

  This time, he laughed. “You’re meant to have this conversation beforehand. So there’s no pressure.”

  “Other than that you’re already . . .” I couldn’t say anything, because his mouth and his hand had both found exactly the right spots. In another minute, he was going to be taking off my clothes right here in the car. In another minute, I wasn’t going to care.

  In the elevator, then, fortunately not with anybody else, because the second the doors had closed, he’d grabbed me again. Getting down the hallway, somehow, with his hands around my head and his mouth on mine, and in the door. The second we were inside, he had his hands on my T-shirt, pulling it over my head, taking care over my arm, and when he got to my shorts, he popped the button right off and basically ripped them down my legs along with my bikinis. I could swear I heard fabric tear. I’d dropped my jeweler’s bag, and I had my back against the wall again and was getting his shirt off, too.