“Meaning,” Rhys said slowly, “that I should give her perspective, maybe.”
Jenna smiled at him approvingly. “Yes. That would be helpful. Gentle perspective. You don’t . . . shove their noses in it. You sort of slide in sideways. Reading is good, for example. Stories, so they can make the connection. Do you read?”
What, was he literate? What did she think? She laughed and said, “I mean, do you read with her, ever.”
“Oh. Yeh. At bedtime. We’ve read a dinosaur book, though, mostly.” They’d read a dinosaur book always. He should’ve bought something else, he realized now. He still thought that social worker should have given him a brochure. There should be a rule book. Everything else had rule books, and kids were trickier than anything else. You needed guidelines even more, and you had exactly zero. He’d buy a parenting book, maybe. Heaps of time in hotel rooms to read it.
“That’s a good thing, that you’re already reading,” Jenna said, which meant he’d done something right, anyway, even if it had happened by accident. “You could read books about mothers and kids, maybe. Fathers and kids, too, though those are harder to come by. She’ll be worried about you leaving. Tomorrow may not be easy for her.”
“I know she’s worried,” he said. “She asks if I’m coming back every time I leave.”
“And you do come back, which is the most important thing. But . . . hang on a second.”
She jumped up and headed into the other room, and Rhys lifted his brows at Finn. Finn said, “She has a plan, mate. No worries, she’ll tell you what it is. She’s brilliant at this.”
Jenna came back holding a hardback book. A slim one, with not many pages to it, and with—what else?—rabbits on the front. She handed it to Rhys. “This one. Borrow it. You may have to read it more than once. Kids like to hear their favorites every night. It’s meant for younger kids, but I’m guessing it’ll work for her.”
He read the title aloud. “The Runaway Bunny. You must know Casey. We got rabbits today. Four of them. She has a bit of a thing about rabbits.”
“Even better,” she said. “Look for more bunny books, then. Or better yet—I’ll send you a list. And you got rabbits for her? That was a great thought. Are you surprised that you’re such a good dad?”
His hands stilled in the act of opening the book. “I’m not a good dad.”
“Oh,” she said, “I think you are. Anyway, it’s the baby bunny who talks about running away in this one, but the mother bunny tells him, over and over again, that no matter where he goes, she’ll be there, too, because he’s her little bunny. That security message is one kids need anyway, and for a girl who’s lost her mother and is in a new place with a new dad, especially if she’s been in foster care, the way Finn said? It’s a message she’ll need to hear even more. That you’ll come back, and that she’ll never be alone.”
“Thanks.” He tried to think of something else, but he didn’t have it. “If you have other ideas, other books, definitely let me know. A parenting book, I was just thinking. Is there a Fatherhood for Dummies? That’s the level I need.”
“I do have another idea,” she said. “This is a good one. Why don’t you and Zora bring Isaiah and Casey to us this evening, after dinner, say, and let them stay over tonight? That could help, too, for when you’re gone, to know she has other people besides you and Zora. A rugby team’s a family, too. She won’t know that, but if she comes here and stays with us, she’ll find out.”
“Wait,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow, but I should bring her to another new place tonight?”
“With Isaiah,” she said. “He was so sweet at the game. When she had to go to the toilet, he took her, and he held her hand so she wouldn’t get lost. He’s her buffer, and her guide. So, yes, I think so. I think you should bring them over, and pick them up in the morning, and show her again that you’ll come back.”
Finn closed the door behind Rhys, then headed back into the kitchen. Jenna had the mixer out already, was pulling out her measuring cups, but he got in there early, coming up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her neck. She jumped, laughed, and sighed, and he smiled and pulled her down into his lap and kissed her neck some more. He palmed a breast, too. It was right there, and it was one of his favorite things to hold.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said. “Is it nap time yet?”
She was humming. “Half an hour.” She sounded a little breathless.
“Also,” he said, because it wasn’t nap time yet, “I’m expecting to hear exactly why it’s a good idea to have six kids here tonight. That explanation made no sense.”
She turned around so she could see him, wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed his jaw, and smiled at him. He did love his wife. “Because they’re dying for each other.”
That distracted him for a minute. “Who? Drago and Zora? She’s his sister-in-law.”
“Mm-hmm. Doesn’t matter. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and she couldn’t look at him. Something’s going on there. Rhys is a volcano. Everything’s under the surface, but it’s about to blow, and I think it needs to. So—he’ll either get an evening to be serious and prepare more, which he needs like a hole in the head, if you ask me, or he’ll grab his chance and let the explosion happen. I can’t tell which it’ll be, but I can offer the opportunity. I like Zora. I like her a lot. I think she’s had a rotten time, and I think Rhys is a lot like you, which means he just might be the man she deserves, and vice versa. Sometimes it takes two tries to get it right.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he said. “I can’t argue with any of that, in fact. Not a volcano, though. A dragon. Been holding his fire, you think?”
“What was he like, really?” she asked. “Dylan?”
He made a face. “Not too bad. All show and no go, that’s all.”
She eyed him soberly. “Did he cheat?”
“Yeh.” Not a subject he enjoyed discussing with her. She trusted him, like he trusted her, but still . . . not something you brought up.
“Did Rhys?”
“No.”
He didn’t realize what he’d said until she asked the question. “So whose is Casey?”
His head came up, and he stared at her. She said, “You knew the answer to that one already.”
“I was his roomie on that tour,” Finn said. “And I knew him. I know him. Then and now. He won’t want anyone to know, though. Not something that little girl needs to ever find out.”
“Not with the abandonment issues she has to have already, no. Or Zora.”
“No. Or Zora.”
She was silent a moment. “And what I’m seeing between them? Is that from before? Or is it new?”
“It’s not from before. That’s not Drago. Not possible. At least, not acting on it, however he felt. He looked out for Dylan. He was the big brother.”
“That’s what I thought. And by the way—l love you.”
“I’m pretty fond of you as well,” he said, and then laughed and gave her a slap on the bum. “Or I’m over the moon about you. One or the other. I’ll tell you tonight, when it’s dark and I’m not embarrassed to say it. When I have six kids in my house, because my beautiful wife can’t help but try to make everybody’s life work out better.”
“What do you think,” she asked, not in any kind of rush to get up again, which he appreciated, “about having another baby?”
“I think I’d enjoy trying.”
She laughed, but said, “Seriously, Finn. Too many? Ridiculous? I said four, remember.”
“And I said six. If we’re going to breed a team of All Blacks, we’d better get our skates on.”
“Hmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his and kissed his mouth with the kind of enthusiasm a man had to enjoy, worked her way across to his ear, took the lobe between her teeth, then whispered, “We could have to add on to the house again.”
He laughed out loud. “Fortunately, I know a builder.”
The sound of running feet, and Lily and Ethan came skidding into the
kitchen. “Oh,” his daughter said. “Kissing again.”
Jenna smiled and stood up. “Because Daddy’s leaving on his trip tomorrow, and I’ll miss him very much, so I have to kiss him now.”
“Because you love him soooo much,” Lily said, and she may have rolled her eyes. Could four-year-olds roll their eyes? He had the sauciest daughters in the world.
“That’s right, “Jenna said. “That’s what mummies and daddies do. Now. Who wants a glass of milk before nap time?”
If Zora had been tired this morning, she was giddy with it now. Also—confused. Was she ever confused.
At six o’clock, while Isaiah was eating his breakfast-for-dinner, which was a nice way of saying that she’d fixed him five minutes’ worth of eggs on toast, she gave up and rang Hayden.
“Matricide is illegal,” he announced the second he picked up. “Just to forestall you.”
“I’m over it,” she said. “On to a new problem. I need advice, and you’re the only one I can trust. Also, you can’t tell anybody I asked.”
“I am not telling you how to give a good blow job,” he said. “Awkward.”
She held the phone away from her face, then put it back. “No. That’s disgusting. I need to know what to wear to go out with Rhys.”
A long silence. “I think I prefer the blow job.”
“That’s the problem. Exactly. You’re thinking I’m doing something, or he’s doing something, and you’re going to have to tell me not to. No worries. Nobody’s doing anything. I need to let him know that I know that nobody’s doing anything. The kids are going to a friend’s house for the night, that’s all, and Rhys suggested that we could have dinner. To discuss things. Casey. The house. Rabbit care. Et cetera.”
“You need advice on what to wear to discuss rabbit care?”
“You’re enjoying this. Stop it and listen. He’s leaving tomorrow, and he suggested he and I should go out to dinner, because we always make dinner at my house. Or he stays for dinner with me, or whatever. Family time, with the kids. So he said, let’s go to a restaurant instead for once, let somebody else do the washing-up, and I said fine, and he said, I hear The Grove is nice. Suit you? And I said—”
“You said, ‘So you do want to do the horizontal tango with me, and it’s not just my imagination, even though it’s practically incest, but since I want the same thing, and I’ve got a dangerous appetite for hot Maori rugby players, let’s go, boy.’ Except that you didn’t say that. You want to be ladylike, in case somehow you’ve read it wrong, and he just wants to give you a sisterly treat. I can set you right there, anyway. He’s not giving you a sisterly treat. Or rather—he is, but that’s not the one he has in mind.”
“Never mind. I knew I shouldn’t have asked you. I’m hanging up. I’m not going to be ready no matter what I do. At least I don’t have Casey, because Rhys collected her from school. He only rang me a few hours ago, though, and it’s my busy day, so I only got home forty-five minutes ago, and there was Isaiah’s dinner and getting him ready to go and taking a shower, and . . . Also, you realize he cheated on Victoria.”
“Did he?” Hayden wasn’t laughing anymore, at least. “You sure?”
“Well, obviously. Casey.”
“They weren’t . . . taking a break, or something?”
“No. They were engaged.”
“Oh. Huh.”
“Right. So what I want to know is—what in my closet is appropriate for not being a date, but going someplace flash? A trouser suit, obviously, but I don’t own a trouser suit. I haven’t done my makeup, even. Tone it down, right? Pink lipstick. No, peach. No, nude.”
“You don’t own a suit at all,” Hayden said. “Which is oddly fortunate. I can see you marching out there in your navy trouser suit and sensible court shoes, hair pinned up in a French twist and peach lipstick on, killing his buzz stone dead. Also, I’m looking up The Grove, since nobody’s ever taken me there, and it’s not sisterly. Not possible. Seven-course degustation with premium wine pairing? Five hundred thirty dollars for two. I’m telling you that, because I’ll bet you twenty dollars that he’s not going to let you look at the menu to see. He’ll be wearing a suit, though, I’ll bet. What is it about a hard man in a suit that’s so hot? No tie, the shirt won’t be white, and the top two buttons will be unbuttoned. He’s putting a jacket on for you, though. I’ll give you another tip—he doesn’t do that for his sister. A straight man wears a suit to dinner because he’s hoping to get laid.”
“Oh, God.” She sank down on the bed and buried her head in her hand. “See, that’s exactly what I can’t do. He’s not the right man, he’s my brother-in-law, he’s Casey’s dad, I’m caring for her, he’s paying me . . .” She wished she had a paper bag to blow into. “And everybody in Auckland will see. Tell me not to drink wine. I’ll offer to be the designated driver.”
“About forty people in Auckland will see. It’s a small restaurant. I’d ask you how he got a booking with no notice, but I know how. He’s Rhys Fletcher. He’s not going to let you be the designated driver, either. He’s going to turn up in a taxi, and he’s going to give you that smoldery look over his wine glass and tell you you’re beautiful. You’ll be lucky if you make it into the house and aren’t doing it against the wall. If you want to send a message, tell him you’d rather go out for a kebab. Otherwise, you’re never going to hold out. And, no, you cannot wear the red dress. How long do you have now?”
She looked at her watch. “Twenty-five minutes.”
“Right. Switch to your camera, open up your closet, and let’s go.”
Rhys headed up the walk in the slanting shadows of late evening, holding Casey’s hand, and told himself, Slow down, boy.
He hadn’t meant to do it like this. He’d meant to be casual about it. When he’d rung Zora and told her the sleepover idea, she’d been on the road, making her deliveries, and had sounded startled, or distracted, or something. He’d needed to go down to Queen Street and buy Casey the thing he had in mind, pick up the parenting book before he collected her from school, and then spend some rabbit-intensive time with her. He’d needed to pack for the trip and change his sheets for Zora, too. Instead, he’d been going online and checking out restaurants. And, somehow, choosing a flash one had rattled her again.
It made perfect sense. They needed some quiet time together to talk about the things Jenna had said today, about his schedule for the next couple weeks, about anything she might need him to do for her around her house before he left. You needed a quiet place for that, not to be screaming at each other in some Viaduct bar, before you downed a hamburger at a table half a meter from your neighbor. And if he wanted to give her a better night than the plastic surgeon had? He was a competitive bloke. That wasn’t news. Besides, she didn’t get much pampering these days, from what he could see, and he’d swear she’d given up on expecting it. The plastic surgeon had been her first date, and she hadn’t seemed to know exactly how to go about it. He was giving her some practice. Safe practice.
Isaiah answered the door. “Hi,” he said. “Mum’s still getting ready. She kind of screamed when you knocked, and slammed the bathroom door, so I don’t think she’s very close.”
“No worries,” Rhys said. “We’ll wait for her. Hang on, and I’ll pop out and tell the driver.”
“We came in a different car,” Casey told Isaiah, “even though our real car isn’t even broken down.”
When Rhys got back, Zora still wasn’t out of the bathroom, and Isaiah and Casey were sitting on the couch. Isaiah was shuffling a pack of cards with a deceptive lack of expertise, like an octopus blending into the sea floor, making itself look harmless to its unsuspecting prey. “D’you want to play poker while we wait?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” Rhys said. “I want to board the plane tomorrow with money in my wallet. What other games do you know?”
“We could play Go Fish,” Isaiah said. “That’s a kid’s game, though.”
“Well, as you’re a kid, that works.”
Ten minutes later, Casey was asking, “Do you have any fours?” and Isaiah was saying, “You asked that two times ago, and you know Uncle Rhys probably doesn’t, because there are only four fours in the whole deck, and he only took two cards since you asked him. Ask him if he has any twos or sevens, if you have any of those. That’s what he asked for the last two times.”
“Oh,” Casey said. “Do you have any twos?” she asked Rhys. He handed them over with a sigh, and she smiled happily, set down her four twos with a flourish, and said, “I’m beating you so far.” And Zora came out of the bathroom.
She wasn’t wearing the red dress, but she was wearing the chocolate-brown shoes again, with a blue dress this time. High in the neck, but the sleeves barely covered her shoulders, it nipped in very nicely indeed at the waist, the skirt ended in a couple layers of flounce and was short, and her lipstick was a deep, pinky red. All of which worked for him.
He wondered what color her toes were tonight. Her toenail varnish, he was beginning to suspect, was a signal to her state of mind. And, possibly, the state of her heart.
“Hi,” he said, and stood up.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.” Her cheeks were flushed, or she was wearing makeup so they looked that way, but he thought they were flushed. Because she was rushed, or because she knew she was beautiful. Her eyes were shaded with smoky brown, and her hair had that rumpled-bed look he loved.
“Never mind,” he said. “It was your busy day, and my easy one. I like your dress.”
“It’s one I wear to weddings. You look very nice. Suit, eh. You shaved, too.”
“Yeh.” Gray suit, blue shirt. Appropriate, he’d thought. Looking like he’d made an effort.
“Are we going?” Isaiah asked, looking from one of them to the other. “Because otherwise, we should finish our game.”
“Yeh, mate,’ Rhys said. “We’re going. Pretend you already won. Bring the cards, if you like. Ask Finn if he can teach you to play poker. That seems to draw the suckers in.”
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