Just Come Over

by James, Rosalind

  And then, to his wife, Kate, as his face sobered, “The plane exploded. That was too close.”

  Zora wasn’t listening, not really. One after another, the men came through the door. Twenty of them. Thirty. And after them, the training staff, the team manager, the equipment manager.

  Finn, ducking his head out of reflex, his eyes scanning the crowd, his body absorbing the impact of two bodies hurtling themselves against his legs, and another one following after. Lily, not as fast as her brother and sister.

  And, finally, the last one out. Rhys. Limping, his hair soaked, dried blood on his neck and shirt and a line of white covering his cheekbone, his eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for them. Looking for her.

  The room was full of knots of people. Crying. Hugging. Men lifting babies, kissing toddlers, kissing wives, laughing, talking. And that last man in the door, the one who’d waited to make sure everybody else was in first. The one who always would.

  Casey, running toward him, her arms stretched wide, saying the word for the very first time.

  “Dadddyyyyy.”

  Rhys was picking her up, cuddling her close, kissing her cheek, but his eyes were sweeping the whole time. Looking for Isaiah. Looking for her.

  The man you’d want with you at the very worst moments, because he’d do anything to haul you to safe ground, even if it took his last breath.

  Full of mana.

  Rhys.

  It was funny, Rhys thought nearly two weeks later, how much difference a day could make. Winning a game was good. Helping with an evacuation was better, even if it had been nothing more than anybody would have done. The team had been in the right place at the right time, that was all.

  He’d said that, but other people had said something else. He suspected that Hugh had had a hand in starting that, because when they’d held a press conference the day after their exciting landing, Hugh had said, “Wasn’t us, really. It was Drago setting out our roles, making a plan, and communicating it, all in about two minutes. We executed, that was all.” To Rhys’s considerable embarrassment, Finn and the other players had all echoed that line of thought. Hugh had decided that Rhys needed the good PR, he guessed, and he’d made it happen. Hugh was going to end up as a coach one of these days, if he didn’t watch out.

  It was better for Zora and the kids, though, for Rhys to be a hero instead of the villain of the piece, so he was going to take advantage of his moment. The team had won their first game back on home soil, and after tomorrow night, they had a much-needed bye, during which Rhys was taking Zora and the kids to Nelson to visit the whanau. Past time to introduce Casey, to let the kids spend time with their cousins and to go out on the fishing boat, and to let everybody see him and Zora together. Heni Johnson, though, who’d been the person actually carrying on an affair under everybody’s noses, would be making herself scarce. He’d see to that.

  Just now, it was Friday afternoon, and he was at the park near his house, practicing kicking with Isaiah, having some one-on-one time while Casey was at her friend Esme’s house. Zora, he very much hoped, was having a long, luxurious bath in front of the windows and painting her toenails on his bed. Her parents were minding the kids tonight, in another first, so he could take her out. His elevated status was working a treat for Zora’s mum, even if her dad still wasn’t sold.

  Too bad. Her dad would come around, or he wouldn’t. If he wanted to throw away his daughter and his mokopuna, it was his loss.

  He collected Isaiah’s latest kick, jogged over to him, and said, “Better, mate. Same technique every time, that’s the idea. Have you thought about playing at fullback? You’ve got the steadiness for it, and the vision.”

  “I do?” Isaiah asked.

  “From what I’ve seen? Yeh. A fullback has to have a cool head, and you’ve got that.”

  “You can’t just change where you play, though,” Isaiah said.

  “You’re right. You can tell the coach you’re interested in giving it a go, though, and you can work on your running and your fitness and your kicking and passing with me. And for the rest? There’s no secret to it, and no magic. Mostly, it’s a bit of aptitude, and then heaps of hard work and discipline and paying attention. Being humble, eh. Being willing to listen.”

  Isaiah looked at him, then looked away. “You had spectacular on-field vision, though. That’s what this one person said. I don’t think I have spectacular on-field vision.”

  “Aw, mate,” Rhys said, letting his hand rest on Isaiah’s head, “people say all sorts of rubbish. I paid attention, that’s all, and I wanted it more. You can pay attention too. Nobody better at that, I’d say. But I’ve got something to talk to you about. Something I need your help with. Let’s sit, and I’ll explain.”

  On Saturday night, Zora sat, rugged up with the kids in coats and boots against the autumn chill, and watched the Blues play. They’d moved steadily up the table these past four weeks, and were now lying second amongst the New Zealand teams, which had Auckland very much more excited about Rhys. Fickle bastards.

  Right now, she watched the ball go from hand to hand, the forwards setting up a rock-solid platform for the backs to work their magic, and wondered what an experience like the one on the plane would do for a team.

  The players hadn’t talked about it much, and neither had the coaches, shrugging the incident off with the humility expected of them. The passengers, though, hadn’t been so reticent. Stories of players carrying wheelchair-bound passengers in their arms, of Kevin McNicholl cradling a toddler, Nic Wilkinson holding a teenage girl’s hand, Koti James charming a scared twelve-year-old flying alone . . . well, they warmed her heart, and she was used to it. It wasn’t just a winning moment for the team with the public, though. Surely, coming together like that would strengthen the ties that bound the group.

  Your teammates were your brothers, Dylan had always said, and that was what she was seeing on the field now. Will Tawera chipping a little grubber kick through, reading the bounce, reacting faster than you’d think possible, and picking it up himself, then pitching it back to Koti James without looking, five meters out, because he knew he’d be there, and because it wasn’t about who scored the try, it was about the team. Koti stepping, fooling one South African, then going straight through another one, dotting down with a smile on his face and springing up again with his hands crossed over his heart as the crowd rose and cheered the effort.

  That gesture would be for his wife. There was something else that kind of experience did, too. It let a man know exactly how much he wanted to go home to his family. And for his partner? It let her know how much she needed to see that one special person come through the door. The one who’d been made just for her.

  Rhys had taken her out last night, had kissed her in the car, and had made love to her so slowly and with so much tender attention that her body had hummed all night long. But he hadn’t said anything more, hadn’t made any declarations or suggested any plans, and as she watched Will slot the kick between the posts, converting the try, she admitted that she was wondering why not.

  She’d said, at first, that they should wait, but now, she couldn’t bear to wait anymore. She knew how much she’d needed to see him come through that door, and she needed to know he always would.

  She and Isaiah hadn’t moved out of his house again, but they hadn’t exactly moved in, either. And, yes, she knew that she could bring the subject up herself. It wasn’t as if Rhys hadn’t asked her to marry him. Three times. It also wasn’t as if she hadn’t answered, because she had.

  It was just that—maybe she didn’t want it to be a logistical discussion, a rational talk. She’d told him she didn’t need the big gesture, and she’d meant it. At the time. How did you take that back?

  Tomorrow, she decided, she’d say something. The Blues had a bye, which gave them the time to do it. They’d take a . . . a walk, or something. With the kids, but there’d be some period in there where the kids would run ahead, and she could say something. Bring it up.

>   Somehow.

  Seventy-five minutes gone, and the Blues up by ten and still holding the ball, which meant she didn’t have to watch that closely. Her toes were cold, and she curled them under in her boots and thought about possible openings.

  So, about that thing you said. About us getting married. Or maybe, Did you want to wait a while for the marriage bit? Or should we do it now? Pity they both sounded like you were discussing replacing the washing machine.

  Maybe she should ask him out to dinner herself and offer him a wedding band across the table. She had to laugh at that one.

  “What’s funny?” Isaiah asked.

  “Nothing. Just a silly thought.”

  Isaiah said, “Oh,” and fidgeted. He hadn’t paid much attention tonight. Could he be feeling off-balance again? They’d talked about staying at Rhys’s house before they’d done it, though, and she’d taken care that she did her early-morning flower-market runs alone with him, when Rhys was home, to give him his Mum time.

  She’d talk to him tomorrow anyway. Get him to help her fold the washing, maybe, and have the discussion.

  Seventy-nine minutes and thirty seconds, then, finally, eighty minutes. Will kicked the ball into touch, and the game was over. A win. She was standing, clapping with the others, her heart lifting, as always, when she saw Rhys on the field, shaking hands with the Stormers’ head coach, having a word, then congratulating his players, his intense expression not giving much away. The same man after a win as after a loss. A good man, and a solid one. Her man.

  People were standing, shuffling out of their rows, when the music suddenly swelled over the loudspeaker, a fanfare of trumpets, startling everybody, or at least her. The torches at the sides of the field belched out gouts of flame, and the scoreboard, which had been displaying the score, changed. A blue-and-gold dragon appeared on the screen, its tongue out, roaring. Or maybe that was a taniwha, the Maori version of the dragon. A new team symbol?

  The departing crowd paused, people looking around, looking confused.

  Words on the scoreboard now, and Isaiah beside her, bouncing up and down in his seat, pulling on her arm, saying, “Mum. Mum. It’s you. He really did it. He did it.”

  I love you, Zora Fletcher, the scoreboard flashed in huge letters. Will you marry me?

  The players weren’t moving off. They’d come to stand behind Rhys, and they were clapping. Isaiah was pulling on her arm some more, saying, “Come on, Mum. You too, Casey. We have to go down there.”

  Rhys, in his blue suit, standing strong, looking up into the stands. Looking straight at her. Her hand was on her chest, and she was laughing, and then, as Isaiah continued to pull on her arm, going down the stairs to the field. Rhys was there, was lifting her over the barrier, setting her on her feet, then reaching for the kids.

  Isaiah was practically jumping up and down. Casey was saying, “What’s happening? What did it say?”

  “He’s doing a proposal,” Isaiah told her. “Like to get married. It’s a surprise. He’s been planning it all week long.”

  Zora was wearing the following: Black leggings, a puffy jacket, not-very-stylish boots, a woolly cap, and a Blues scarf. She hadn’t spent twenty minutes on her face, either. She hadn’t spent five. Her mum would watch the footage of this and be mortified, and she didn’t care. She was laughing, and Rhys’s face had lost all its hardness. His jaw was black with scruff, the latest scar on his cheekbone still showing pink where he’d been stitched up after the plane, but there was nothing but tenderness on his face as he pulled the box out of his pocket.

  She said, “Rhys,” then tried to think of something else to say. “I don’t . . . I said I didn’t need a . . . big thing.”

  “I heard you, baby,” he said, “and I thought maybe you did. Maybe you needed to know you’re special. Maybe you needed to hear that you’re my light and my life. Taku toi kahurangi. My precious jewel. Maybe I need to say the words the right way, give you something to remember.”

  He knelt down, and she put a hand over her eyes, because she was going to cry, and then took it away again, because she needed to see him.

  “I love you, Zora Fletcher,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

  She’d have said she didn’t need much of a ring. She needed this one. An intricately carved Art Deco design, paved with diamonds on either side of the frankly enormous solitaire. It made her heart happy, and if he’d looked at every ring in the world, he couldn’t have chosen anything more perfect.

  “Yes,” she said, because she couldn’t manage anything more. Her mouth was trembling, and she was crying in front of other people. She thought he might be, too, a little. He slid the ring onto her finger, then lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, not one bit embarrassed to do it in public.

  Around them, the crowd was cheering, clapping, and so were the players. She didn’t care about that. She was pulling Rhys to his feet, throwing herself into his arms, and laughing.

  Which was when Koti James called out the words and the team formed up into rows. When Rhys pulled her into his side, and they turned and watched as twenty-three men in blue uniforms crouched low, then began to slap their thighs and stamp their feet like they could shake the very earth with their conviction.

  Koti, pacing between the rows, issuing the commands in a voice that carried past the noise, and the team chanting, loud enough and low enough to be heard all the way up in the stands, or all the way through the soles of your feet. Hands slapping against forearms, feet coming down hard.

  A celebration. A song of praise. And a launching. A haka for the coach, and for her. A haka to remember.

  “Hi aue hi!” They yelled out the final words and stood there, sweating and spent, fierce, then came forward to shake Rhys’s hand and give him a slap on the back. The crowd was making some noise around them, but Zora barely heard. She pulled Casey into her, crouched down, gave her a cuddle and a kiss, and told her, “Now we really get to be a family. Always.”

  Rhys had his arm around Isaiah, who’d clearly been in on the whole thing, and the team was surrounding them, shaking her hand, now. Overwhelming her. Putting a stamp on it forever.

  You didn’t need public approval, no, but if you got this moment? You took it.

  Finn was there, too. He gave Zora a kiss and slapped Rhys one more time on the back, a blow that would have sent another man flying, beamed, and said, “Congrats, mate. When you get a haka like that to seal the deal, I reckon she knows you mean it.”

  “Uncle Rhys always means it,” Isaiah said. “He’s like Horton the elephant. He meant what he said, and he said what he meant.”

  Casey was very nearly jumping up and down. She said, “You are, Dad. You’re igg-zackly like Horton!”

  Rhys lifted her into his arms, and Zora’s heart filled so much, it could have lifted her off the ground. Casey threw out a hand like the pint-sized drama queen she was and declared for the cameras, “He meant what he said, and he said what he meant. And he’s always faithful. One hundred percent!”

  A few notes about Maori pronunciation:

  The accent is normally on the first syllable.

  All vowels are pronounced separately.

  All vowels except u have a short vowel sound.

  “wh” is pronounced “f.”

  “ng” is pronounced as in “singer,” not as in “anger.”

  ABs: All Blacks

  across the Ditch: in Australia (across the Tasman Sea). Or, if you're in Australia, in New Zealand!

  advert: commercial

  agro: aggravation

  air con: air conditioning

  All Blacks: National rugby team. Members are selected for every series from amongst the five NZ Super 15 teams. The All Blacks play similarly selected teams from other nations.

  ambo: paramedic

  Aotearoa: New Zealand (the other official name, meaning “The Land of the Long White Cloud" in Maori)

  arvo, this arvo: afternoon

  Aussie, Oz: Australia. (An Australian i
s also an Aussie. Pronounced “Ozzie.”)

  bach: holiday home (pronounced like “bachelor”)

  backs: rugby players who aren't in the scrum and do more running, kicking, and ball-carrying—though all players do all jobs and play both offense and defense. Backs tend to be faster and leaner than forwards.

  bangers and mash: sausages and potatoes

  barrack for: cheer for

  bench: counter (kitchen bench)

  berko: berserk

  Big Smoke: the big city (usually Auckland)

  bikkies: cookies

  billy-o, like billy-o: like crazy. “I paddled like billy-o and just barely made it through that rapid.”

  bin, rubbish bin: trash can

  binned: thrown in the trash

  bit of a dag: a comedian, a funny guy

  bits and bobs: stuff (“be sure you get all your bits and bobs”)

  blood bin: players leaving field for injury

  Blues: Auckland's Super 15 team

  bollocks: rubbish, nonsense

  boofhead: fool, jerk

  booking: reservation

  boots and all: full tilt, no holding back

  bot, the bot: flu, a bug

  Boxing Day: December 26—a holiday

  brekkie: breakfast

  brilliant: fantastic

  bub: baby, small child

  buggered: messed up, exhausted

  bull's roar: close. “They never came within a bull's roar of winning.”

  bunk off: duck out, skip (bunk off school)

  bust a gut: do your utmost, make a supreme effort

  Cake Tin: Wellington's rugby stadium (not the official name, but it looks exactly like a springform pan)

  caravan: travel trailer

  cardie: a cardigan sweater

  chat up: flirt with

  chilly bin: ice chest

  chips: French fries. (potato chips are “crisps”)

  chocolate bits: chocolate chips

  chocolate fish: pink or white marshmallow coated with milk chocolate, in the shape of a fish. A common treat/reward for kids (and for adults. You often get a chocolate fish on the saucer when you order a mochaccino—a mocha).