by Bowes, K T
“Ooh, sorry,” the woman said, taking a step back and smiling at Mac’s sleeping face. “Thanks so much, doctor,” she gushed to the man, waving a stack of papers in her hand. “Everything all right?”
“Yep.” He jerked his head backwards to the waiting room. “I’ve collected my next patient but don’t know what to do with the others. They’re all for Nathan. Can you sort them out?”
“Yes, yes. Admin will get someone else to bring up the notes for this afternoon’s clinic. They’re not sure what’s gone wrong. Oh!” The woman reached into the stack of papers and dragged out a stapled set. “Here’s the referral for this young man,” she said, handing it over. With a blur of paisley skirt and wiggling hips she moved away, resuming her position at the front desk.
With a deep breath which came from her diaphragm, Hana followed the long legged walk of the doctor, scuttling behind as he made a left turn and stopped at an open door. He nodded and paused to tuck his shirt back into his trousers, reminding her of Logan’s constant battle to keep his long torso in check. Something about him seemed familiar and Hana paused before accepting his invitation. “Do I know you?” she asked.
He peered at her. “Perhaps.” His easy smile displayed nice front teeth and Hana nodded, allowing the feeling of déjà vu to slip away from her. She stepped through the doorway, her heart heavy with dread and the weight of her son’s head numbing her collar bone. Gritting her teeth, Hana willed herself not to cry but knowing despite her best endeavours; she would.
Sweating in a visitor’s chair near the window, Hana cradled her son in her arms and watched his peaceful, sleeping face as the doctor read her referral letter from Fiona Haines. When he laid the paperwork on his untidy desk and moved to sit next to her, she felt her terror hike. “Your GP says your son’s paternal great grandfather and maternal grandmother both suffered from profound deafness,” he said in his gentle Irish lilt. He reached out a bony finger and slipped it into Mac’s hand, smiling at the sleeping grip reflex. “He’s a sweet wee man. Let’s start at the beginning.”
The doctor kept hold of Mac’s hand, sitting back in his seat with one leg crossed over the other and the laces undone on his black shoes. Hana took a gargantuan swallow and began her story, fixing her gaze on the man’s psychedelic socks and listening to her robotic voice.
Ten minutes later her chest heaved and the doctor handed over a box of tissues, waiting while she took one. “There’s no evidence to suggest that a shotgun blast would make your son deaf,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Hana’s shaking head. “So stop blaming yourself. Prolonged sounds such as aircraft engines or machinery can cause difficulty, but it sounds like you protected him best you could under the circumstances. Did Logan cry out in shock at the blast?”
“What?”
“Your son, Mrs Du Rose. Logan. Did he cry out when the gun went off?”
Hana swallowed. “Sorry. We call him Mac and no, he didn’t.”
“But he cries normally at other times, when he’s hungry or needs his nappy changed?”
She nodded. “Yes, he grizzles like his sister did and I can differentiate between the cries he makes. But he doesn’t hear other noises.”
The doctor cocked his head. “I would suggest your son’s lack of reaction to a gunshot nearby as a newborn means he already had the issue at birth. So, take yourself off the list as a contributor. The genetic history is something else and we may never determine how significant that is. What we need to do is run tests on Mac and see what we discover. Science is a different game from your mother’s day and Mac’s hearing may be salvageable. Do you sign with him?”
Hana nodded. “Yes. He understands me and tries to emulate my hand signals.”
“Good.” The doctor looked pleased. “Then you’re ahead of many mothers already. You have a universal method of communication which facilitates interaction. What about other family members; how do they deal with it?”
“Various ways.” Hana swallowed a sense of hopelessness. “My daughter pulls Mac’s face towards her when she’s speaking to him. I haven’t said anything; she just seems to know to do that. Our older boy waits until Mac’s looking at him.”
The doctor nodded and reached backwards over the table for the papers. “You’ve three children?”
Hana sighed. “Three children live with us but only two are ours. But I have a son and daughter from a previous marriage.”
“No hearing difficulties with any of the others?”
She shook her head and hiccupped from crying, embarrassment flushing her cheeks with a pink glow. “No, they’re all fine.”
“Do you have a supportive family?” The doctor’s brown eyes drifted over Hana’s face as he waited for an answer. She thought about her fractured relationship with Bodie, the physical distance between her and Izzie and the mess of Du Rose egos. She wanted to ask him to define the term supportive.
“My husband’s great.” She blew out through pursed lips. “When he speaks, I’ve noticed Mac puts his hand on his father’s chest or throat. I think he likes the vibrations.”
The doctor nodded with a smile. “Awesome.” He jerked his head towards the comatose baby. “It’s time I met the wee chap myself. How about it?”
Mac behaved with his usual inimitable charm, taking a few moments to wake up, rubbing his eyes and nose against Hana’s shoulder and straightening his legs. He became interested in the doctor once the stranger caught his attention with bright, colourful toys and a shape with moving parts which swivelled around a central pillar. He followed the Irishman and his array of gadgets with his eyes, but when the doctor hid behind Hana, Mac contorted his body to see and when he couldn’t, grew bored. The baby bent himself double to play with his socks and didn’t respond to the squeaky toys behind Hana’s right ear or the rustling of metallic paper which the doctor rubbed right behind Mac’s head. Yet when he tapped the baby on the right shoulder and offered a plastic rabbit, Mac squirmed around with a look of curiosity and reached for it, grabbing it by the ears and poking it straight into his mouth.
Hana’s pulse rate picked up as the doctor strolled to his desk and wrote quick notes about his findings. “Observations indicate significant problems.” He wrote and spoke out loud, confirming what Hana knew in her heart as the medic spewed long Latin terms into the air and onto the page in his slanted scrawl. When he looked up and caught her gaze, she felt her stomach drop into her toes and despite valiant efforts, failed to contain the sob which rocked her whole body. Macky flopped backwards onto Hana’s stomach, driving the air from her lungs in a whoosh. He stared up at her through huge green eyes and grinned around the rabbit in his mouth, shiny wet lips and a look of innocence so pure, it hurt Hana’s soul. He patted the toy against his tongue as the Irishman delivered his verdict and Mac’s tiny existence filled an A4 sheet of paper in a medical file.
Chapter 43
Strange Coincidences
Hana reached for her phone, fingers shaking as she took a seat at a table in the downstairs cafe. The barista worked behind the coffee machine, creating Hana’s order of espresso with artistic flourish. Mac lolled in her arms, his eyes half closed in an attempt to reclaim his ruined nap and unaware of the doctor’s verdict or the hitching of his mother’s chest. Hana made the call, knowing he wouldn’t answer but the reassuring sound of his voicemail comforted her. “Logan? Please call me back,” she begged, feeling her resolve crumble in the face of overwhelming odds. “I know you’re teaching but please call me.”
Cradling her son brought calm into her tumult and Hana closed her eyes and kissed the red, downy head below her chin. When her phone rang, she jumped. “Logan?”
“Hey, babe. I’ve nipped out of class. How’d it go?”
“Awful.” She felt her chest tighten. “Just like we knew.”
“But what did the doctor say? I’m sorry, Hana. I should be there. Do you want me to come?”
Hana gave herself a mental and physical shake. “No. Stop beating yourself up. It was too short no
tice. The doctor made an appointment for another kind of test. Macky sits on my knee with headphones on and then there’s another one a few weeks after that where he needs to stay asleep with electrodes on his forehead. I need you to come to those. I don’t want to do it on my own.”
“Oh Hana.” Logan’s voice reached out to her across the city, their shared sadness linking them in a gossamer thread of pain. “I’ll be there even if I jack this job to do it. Nothing’s more important than you guys. If Cruella hadn’t already seen me, I could’ve faked sick.”
Hana snorted. “You’re never sick.”
“Are you kidding me?” Logan’s voice lightened. “I went for so many Factor 8 infusions my first year here, I’m amazed Angus kept me on the payroll.”
“That’s different.” Hana smiled at the barista and took her coffee with a muted thank you. “Hemophilia isn’t sickness. It’s a medical condition.”
“So is deafness, babe. I love my son and nothing will change that. It’s not about imperfection or disability. I’ll learn the signing thing I’ve seen you do and we’ll make sure Mac achieves everything he needs to. I’m still leaving him and Phoe the mountain when I die, so he’ll just have to work a bit harder than her at communicating. We both know he’s quick and intelligent. It’s not like the lights are on but nobody’s home. He’s in there raring to go.”
“I know.” Hana sipped her coffee and looked around at the busy hospital. A man caught her eye, tall, mousy haired and familiar. She missed Logan’s next sentence. “What? Sorry.”
“I said I’ve got a free period last so I’ll come home early. It’ll be okay, Hana, you know that, don’t you?”
“I do. I love you.” She raked the milling bodies for the man’s figure, not seeing him and convinced she’d mistaken someone else for him.
“Love you more.” Logan’s sultry voice pushed through Hana’s misery and she smiled.
“Probably.”
He laughed and ended the call, leaving her happier than before he rang. Her heart pricked with gratitude with his ability to make her feel safe. Nothing seemed impossible around Logan Du Rose.
Glancing at her watch, Hana realised she had time for one last errand. Kissing Mac’s cheek as he flopped over her shoulder, she sipped coffee and followed the orange line through a maze of corridors until she reached the mental health unit. Dumping the empty cup in a bin outside, she walked through the sliding doors and approached a reception area. A harried looking woman greeted her with a forced smile. “Hi.” Hana tried not to listen to the mumbled rantings of a scruffy looking man who paced back and forth next to the reception window. “Is it possible to see Anahera Du Rose?”
The woman sighed and smiled, forcing herself to ignore the man who turned on his heel and walked into a plant pot. “Are you a family member?”
Hana nodded. “Sister-in-law.”
The woman’s eyes strayed to the man as he picked himself up and began pacing again. “Yes, that’s fine. She’s not in the secure unit anymore.” She consulted her computer screen. “If she’s in with the counsellor, you can either wait in the visitors’ lounge or come back here.”
Hana glanced sideways as the unhinged man lectured the rubber plant about something in gibberish. “Yeah,” she replied, not committing to waiting anywhere. Despite the pleasant surroundings and efforts made at making the environment feel like home, an air of unpredictability shrouded the building in a spirit of fear.
“Room 5,” the receptionist said. Losing patience, she stood and pointed at the pent-up man. “Kenneth! Sit down or wait for Dad outside. He said he wouldn’t be long.”
Like the flick of a switch, the man sank his bottom into a nearby chair, resorting to foot tapping instead. The receptionist relaxed and went back to her computer screen; order restored.
Hana gripped her son harder to her body and proceeded along a carpeted hallway, her gaze flicking from one laminated number to the next. Someone smiled and waved from Room 4 and she halted in confusion as a snowy haired old man beckoned to her and pointed to Mac. He sat on the edge of a bed and beamed without a tooth in his head. Advancing with caution, she entered the doorway and stood ready to run if the man lurched towards her. “It’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I’m completely sane.”
Hana’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment at her uncharitable thoughts and she allowed herself a smile. “Then you’re more than I am,” she joked.
The man grinned, olive skin crinkling around his eyes. “He’s a little whitey, isn’t he?”
Hana laughed and nodded. “Yes. Like me. My husband’s Māori and when he first saw Mac, he kept calling him orange.”
“Karaka.” The man chortled a deep, low sound like tumbling rocks. “Funny.” He flapped his hand towards the doorway. “You don’t have to stay, kōtiro. Thank you for stopping by and letting me see your boy. He’s waiwaiā.” He translated for her benefit. “Beautiful. He’ll bring you much joy.”
Hana nodded and inhaled. Of course he would. She turned to leave, but the man spoke, forcing her to face him again. “You looked so sad. I wanted to encourage you.”
Her body stilled, eyes filling with salt water. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I am.”
Kindness radiated from the wise brown eyes. The stranger sat on the edge of a hospital bed in a mental health unit; driven there by forces unknown. Yet he’d noticed a woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders as she hurried through unfamiliar territory on a reluctant mission. “Don’t be,” he said, crinkling his eyes. “Things are never as bad as they seem.” His final smile dismissed her and he bent to pull up his socks, humming a Māori tune in a gentle, lyrical tone. The familiar sound filled her soul with thoughts of Logan, his strong, scarred fingers strumming the strings of his battered guitar as he sang of an abandoned world of folk lore and ritual. It comforted her and she left the man, more confident footsteps steering her across the corridor to a room opposite. Hana stared at the crinkled number five clinging to the doorframe and took a deep breath. Her phone nestled in her pocket, photos of Wiri meant to encourage Anahera to let her son visit and Hana reached out a hand and felt the rectangular shape through the fabric of her trousers. Wiremu needed his own mother; not someone else’s.
Raising her hand to tap on the open door, Hana stepped beneath the doorframe and froze. The couple sat on the bed with their backs to her, a strong male arm wrapped around Anahera’s emaciated frame. Her long dark curls tumbled down over his forearm and their heads touched. His voice sounded low and cajoling, Anahera nodding like a toy as they whispered shared secrets. Hana tried to withdraw backwards, not wanting to disturb them. Mac grunted in his sleep and she froze as the man swivelled his head and looked her in the eye.
“Sorry,” Hana gushed. She backed into the corridor, tangling with a medicine trolley in her haste. Pressing her hand against Mac’s slender back she hurried towards the main doors without looking back.
The nurse pushing the trolley called out to her. “Sorry, that must’ve hurt.” Ignoring him, Hana limped through reception and outside into the fresh city air, disbelief making her chest hot. The walk back to her car seemed endless with Mac flopping like a dead weight over her left shoulder. The change bag filled with nappies and a flask of warm milk dangled from the crook of her right elbow and dragged her down, making her count each footstep. She validated her parking ticket and parted with cash by the lift. But the sight of Leslie’s car nestled between a pillar and a ute caused Hana to hurry and she reached it breathless and exhausted as though she’d run a race to the finish.
Mac continued to sleep as she loaded him into the car seat and stowed the bag in the foot well. Once in the driver’s seat, Hana examined her ruined right heel, mopping up the blood from a deep graze with a stray tissue. Her knee, thigh and hip felt bruised and she sat for a moment and caught her breath. Licking a piece of tissue and gluing it to the cut, Hana tried not to worry about what Leslie might have used the tissue for. The back of her sock looked blood soaked and the heel o
f her shoe scored and spoiled. “Should’ve worn my boots,” she muttered into the rear view mirror. The dashboard clock told her it was lunchtime and Hana dragged out her phone, fingers hovering over the keypad. She knew Logan would be in the gym, snatching a forty-minute workout between classes. She sent the text anyway, hoping he read it before his next teaching session and wondering what he’d say.
‘Went to see Anahera. I think she’s having an affair with Lincoln Haines.’
Chapter 44
Expect the Unexpected
Mac snoozed in his cot after lunch as Hana chopped potatoes for dinner, wondering where Leslie disappeared off to with Logan’s ute. She watched through the side windows as a posse of young men practiced at the cricket nets, swinging wooden bats through the air at nothing and occasionally, each other. The empty house relaxed around her with a creak of settling boards and the odd groan as the old building reshaped itself. She’d searched for Caleb on her return but found him missing, his bag of second-hand clothes still on the floor of his bedroom.
A knock on the door sent her to dry her hands and Hana flung it open, expecting to see a young man on crutches or an old woman wielding shopping bags. “Go away.” She kept her tone level and swung the door closed, failing as Asher pushed his way through the gap.
“No.” He strode into the hall and looked around him, ducking his head into the lounge and clicking his tongue with annoyance when he found it empty. “Where is he?”
Hana left the front door wide open and ignored Asher, striding into the kitchen and hoping he got the message. She heard his feet scuffing on the floorboards as he searched each room for Caleb, the drugs or both. “Fine!” he shouted, his tone arrogant. “I’ll look upstairs.” Heavy footsteps slammed against the stair treads as he moved to the upper level. Fear bridled in Hana’s heart at the thought of her sleeping baby and her eyes darted towards the monitor sitting next to the pile of naked potatoes. She didn’t wait to see if Asher would dare accost her infant, flying up the stairs and running to the bedroom where she barred the way with her body, arms outstretched across the frame. Asher clumped down from the attic level, his lips curled back in a spiteful grin. The handsome Du Rose features lost their devastating effect against the twistedness of his heart.