“He’s on the Vogelsong project,” Roger said impatiently.
“Well, then, I guess it’s up to me. Unless you want to take some of this.”
“I have enough to do,” he said. “You have no idea what my workload is. Having to check everything you and Sean do, as well as my own assignments. Not to mention the reporting.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then. Because I think Ryan has a question about the project too.”
Roger turned, saw Ryan standing behind him. “Right, then. I expect to see those drawings first thing Wednesday, though, so I can look them over. I don’t want any surprises.”
It was amazing that she still had a tongue, as many times as she’d bitten it this past year, since Roger had been promoted. She should have had the job, when Mike left. She was the best, and she’d thought, naively enough, that that would have counted. She knew why it hadn’t. She was too young, too pretty. And had too many ovaries, she thought bitterly. And now, instead of a tolerable job that she didn’t always enjoy, but that at least paid the bills, she dreaded every day.
Roger moved off at last, and Ryan came to take his place. “Guess I don’t have to ask you how my drawings are coming along,” he said with a smile. “Looks like Roger already did it for me.”
She made a little face. “They’re getting done, no worries. Do you have a spec change for me, or something?”
“Nah. But I do have a couple tickets to the Yanni show at the Vector Arena, Saturday night. And I thought you might like to come along.”
She’d rather poke herself in the eye with a sharp stick, actually. She hated Yanni. “Sorry,” she said instead, offering Ryan a smile. “Thanks for the invitation, but I have a date Saturday night with my son.”
“Pity,” he said, recovering fast. “He’s taking his mum out, is he?”
“He is. To the Blues game.”
“Didn’t know you were a rugby fan. Or a Blues supporter.”
“Shows what you know about me, doesn’t it? I’m full of surprises.” She was enjoying flirting a bit now, watching his eyes light up in response. It had been a long time, and it was a whole lot nicer than being bullied by Roger. “I enjoy it, actually. And Zack loves it.”
“You really are a dream date,” Ryan said with a flash of teeth. “Beautiful, talented, and you like rugby. Maybe next week, then.”
“Maybe,” she said with a smile of her own. “We’ll see.”
“Ouch,” Emma said at once when Nic stepped into the entryway that evening, delivering Zack again after another session of rugby and hamburgers. She reached a hand toward the swollen red mass that was his left cheekbone, let it fall again without touching him. “That looks awful. Do you want to come in for a minute, while Zack’s in the bath? Cup of tea? Tell me how it went, tonight?”
“Yeh. Cup of tea’d be good,” he agreed.
“OK, then. Just a minute. Wow, you’re a mess too, sweetie,” she said to Zack, hanging up his jacket. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Nic was in the kitchen when she returned carrying Zack’s backpack. She removed the crumpled school uniform and lunch bag, then set the plastic containers in the sink to be washed.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, handing her a mug. “I made myself at home.”
“Thanks. Sit down. But here.” She went to the freezer, pulled out a soft sports icepack. “Put this on. Cover it up, anyway, so I don’t have to look at it. How did I miss that happening? I don’t remember you being injured.”
“This isn’t injured. Just a bit of a knock. And it didn’t happen during the game, is why you didn’t notice.”
“Then what? You didn’t have training today, did you?”
He shook his head. “Last night. Outside that Belgian pub in Vulcan Lane, you know the one?”
“You got in a fight?”
“Not much of a fight,” he said with a rueful grin. “I was standing there with Claudia and a couple friends, saying goodbye. And this bloke ran up to me, gave me a good whack, and ran away again.”
“What? Why?”
He shrugged. “Who knows why? Because I’m an All Black. A tall poppy, by definition. Because he had a bet on. Because he was pissed, and one of his mates dared him. Any of those.”
“But couldn’t you do something about it?” she asked in outrage. “Have him arrested, or something? He can just come up to you and punch you, do that to you?”
He smiled around the icepack. “Not likely to dob him in. That’d go down well, wouldn’t it. Be a laughingstock then. What I would’ve done, if I weren’t smarter than that by now, is chase him down, sort him out myself. But that wasn’t on.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t you be able to retaliate, if somebody hits you?”
“Because then there’d be an inquiry,” he explained patiently. “And I’d be another brawling footballer. Drama, my name in the papers, a trip through the courts, most likely, and the All Black selectors looking at me askance, wondering what happened to my cool head, whether they should find another fullback for the Championship. Not to mention the World Cup.” He shuddered. “Not taking that chance. Even if I weren’t suspended. I can’t afford it, in any sense. It’s not worth it.”
“But that’s not fair,” she protested.
“Like being a gunslinger in the Wild West. Fair game for anyone to challenge.”
“That’s not a challenge. That’s just cowardice,” she snapped. “I don’t care how well known you are. I wish I’d been there. I would’ve gone after him. Nobody should be allowed to get away with that.”
He got up, handed the icepack back to her. “Next time I go out, then, I’ll have to get you to come along, be my bodyguard. My enforcer. I’ll pop my head in, say goodbye to Zack on my way out. See you next week.”
No question, Emma decided on Saturday. She’d take a rugby game over a concert any day. At least a Yanni concert. She was sitting with Hannah again, watching the Blues take on the Highlanders, the southern team offering its usual stern challenge.
“They sure grow them tough down there,” she said, wincing as Nic was pulled down in mid-stride by a particularly bruising tackle from one of the big Highlander locks. She breathed a sigh of relief as he bounced up again, seemingly none the worse for wear.
“How do they do that?” she asked. “Go down that hard, and come back up?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah confessed. “Or even how they tackle that hard, and keep getting up. I look at Drew the next day, and yeah, he’s sore and bruised. But I’d be in a hospital bed.”
Both women sat back in relief at the halftime whistle. “I wanted to ask you about something,” Hannah said. “Do you think you’d be interested in coming in and discussing a CAD operator job with our technical manager? I’m not sure if we have an opening right this minute, but if you send me your CV, I’ll pass it along.”
“That would be amazing,” Emma said, her heart beating hard. Could it be this easy? “I’d love to have the opportunity.”
“It’s not my department,” Hannah cautioned. “So I can’t promise anything. But I’m asking because it’s not easy to find qualified people, so we do like to snap them up when we have a chance. I don’t know that it would pay as well as what you’re making now, but I think you might find it more interesting. And who knows, other opportunities might come up as well. The company’s growing, and we do promote from within.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” Emma told her fervently. “Because I’d love it. Where should I send my CV?”
“I’ll give you my email address, at work,” Hannah said.
Emma pulled out her phone and entered it at Hannah’s dictation. “Even if it didn’t pay as much,” she told Hannah, “it’d be great to be someplace where there was room to move up. When you’re in engineering, and you’re not an engineer, there’s really no place to go, you know?”
“I can’t promise,” Hannah warned again. “But I will pass on your CV, and suggest that Madeleine might want to
talk to you.”
“That’s plenty,” Emma assured her. “If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t.” But she’d do everything she could to make sure she had the best possible chance, she vowed to herself. “And could I ask you a big favor?” she asked hesitatingly.
“What is it?”
“When I send you my CV. I’ll work on it before I send it to you, and I’ll have my sister look it over, too. She’s an intermediate school teacher. But if you see anything that doesn’t look quite right? Would you let me know, before you send it on? I’m not asking you to edit it, or anything,” Emma said hastily. “But just, if you notice. Would you tell me, and give me a chance to fix it? You’ll know what they’ll be looking for.”
“Of course I will,” Hannah answered, and Emma marveled again at her generosity. “But I’m sure what Madeleine will care about most is your CAD skills, not your writing skills. And your interest in knitwear, which I’ll be happy to vouch for. Just watch out for the typos and spelling errors, and you should be fine.”
“I always like coming here,” Nic said, accepting the inevitable cup of tea from her on Monday. Zack was already in bed, but Nic was lingering tonight. “It’s so cozy.”
“Well, thanks,” she said with surprise. “I thought you disapproved of our modest accommodations.”
“I don’t mean I won’t be glad to see you and Zack in something better. And that reminds me. Oliver says we should get the notice of the paternity determination soon. This week, maybe next. So you’ll want to look out for that.”
“OK,” she said, taking another sip to calm herself. “I didn’t realize it would be that fast.”
“Fast as I can make it. And then we can get the maintenance sorted. I know money isn’t that important to you,” he went on hastily. “But I’ll be glad.”
“Why would you think money isn’t important to me?”
“You have your priorities right, I mean,” he explained. “You realize money doesn’t matter.”
“The only people who think money doesn’t matter,” she said, “are people who have enough. Of course money matters. If you don’t have it, it sure matters.”
“But it doesn’t make you happy,” he argued. “Look at you and Zack. What you have here.”
“It may not make you happy to have as much as you do. I wouldn’t know. But I do know one thing. It can sure make you unhappy, when you don’t have enough.”
“What’s enough, though?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “I’ll tell you what’s enough. Enough is when you aren’t lying awake at night, thinking about the electric bill. And then thinking about Zack’s school uniform, and wondering how you’re going to pay for both. Not to mention when the car is making that noise, and the Warrant of Fitness is due. And . . .” she broke off. “Never mind,” she muttered. “You obviously don’t get it.”
“What about your parents?” he asked. “I thought they were both . . . teachers. Something like that. Haven’t they helped?”
“Not like you mean. They paid for me to take the CAD courses, when I found out I was pregnant. They helped with my rent, the first couple months. But they said I needed to learn to stand on my own feet. That if they helped more than that, I would never become a responsible adult.”
“When you were pregnant?” he asked incredulously.
“They have strong opinions,” she said ruefully. “They were disappointed in me. And who knows, maybe they were right. I did mess up a lot, when I was younger. Failed a few exams, in high school. Couldn’t decide what I wanted to study, at University. They thought I was flaky. They still do.”
“But I’m glad, you know? In some ways,” she mused. “Because if they had helped me more, if they were helping me now, I’d have to listen to them about those things, wouldn’t I? They’d be criticizing what I did spend money on. Telling me where to live. Telling me I should like my job. And as it is, they can’t.”
“Don’t they help at all?”
“They’re retired now,” she said. “Down in Hokatika. They’re on a fixed income, and they’re careful with what they do have. Yeah, it would have been nice if they’d helped more, before. It’d be nice if they helped more now, for that matter. Maybe I wouldn’t be on the edge of disaster all the time. I like to think I would’ve behaved differently if my child had been in that kind of trouble, but like I said, they were disappointed. They thought I needed to grow up. And I don’t mean they don’t do anything. They’ve paid for rugby camp, these past couple years. Which would’ve been quite a stretch. And they give Zack money for Christmas and his birthday. All that’s helpful, and I try to be grateful, and not wish for more.”
“Soon as we get this maintenance sorted,” Nic promised, “that’ll all be a thing of the past. I’ve got Oliver working on it now. So you should be thinking about a new place.”
“Time enough for that. I’m just thinking about that electric bill,” she said, a half-smile developing. “I’ve done my best on the money thing, but it’s not my strong suit. Especially when Zack wants something, and I can’t afford it. I hate that. But for me too. I wish I could say that I don’t care, that I’m more enlightened than that, but I do. I try not to be impulsive, but when I see some really special yarn, or some shoes that are a really good deal, even if I know I shouldn’t buy them, it’s so hard to resist. I’d love to be able to go into the MAC store in Britomart, and just buy what I want. I’ve never been,” she said wistfully. “I look in the window, the way it’s all packaged, all those eyeshadows, and think, better not tempt myself.” She sighed. “I do love pretty things.”
“Well, now you won’t have to exert quite so much of that tricky self-control,” he said with a smile of his own. “You’ve done without long enough, seems to me. And so has Zack. But it’ll take a bit more time. And a couple weeks till I can see him again,” he reminded her. “Two weeks in Safa.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll lose that day getting there, then you want to get over the jet lag. Least we’re not playing at Bloemfontein till the next week. That altitude, playing on the Highveld, that’s a bugger. By then we’ll have the body clocks acclimated, anyway.”
“It’s a short week as well, isn’t it?”
“Yeh. Saturday one week, Friday the next. Last game of the season. And I want to ask you something,” he went on, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, leaning forward to look at her, his heavily lashed brown eyes raised to her own. “I’d like to take Zack for the Queen’s Birthday weekend, when I’m back. Sunday and Monday, anyway,” he qualified. “We won’t be back till late Saturday.”
“Alone, you mean? To your house, with Claudia? He hasn’t had that many sleepovers. I’m not sure . . .”
“Camping,” he said. “Fishing. I go every year, with my brother and my dad.”
“He doesn’t know how to fish,” she said doubtfully. “And overnight? Nic . . .”
“One night. With three adults,” he pointed out. “And we’ll teach him. How d’you think I learnt?” He smiled suddenly, the serious mood lightening. “He’s a Kiwi boy, you know. Which means he needs to learn to fish. Your own dad hasn’t taught him, I guess. You don’t have a brother, right?”
“No. And you’re right, my dad’s not a big outdoorsman.” She couldn’t help smiling back. She’d never been able to resist Nic’s smile, the way the corners of his mouth creased and his eyes lit up.
“Then we’ll introduce him,” Nic promised. “To being a real Kiwi bloke.”
Chapter 14
“How was it, going out last night?” Lucy asked, the following Saturday evening. She was sitting against the head of Emma’s bed in her pajamas, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in her hand.
Emma turned around on the embroidered stool of her floral-skirted dressing table where she was sitting in her underwear, finished wiping her eyeliner off with a cotton square. She reached for her nightgown on the bed, pulled it over her head, and crawled up to sit beside Lucy, picking up her own glass of wine f
rom the bedside table. “Pretty good,” she told her sister, wriggling under the covers and taking a sip. “Nice to go out for once, anyway. And considering I couldn’t stay long, and I could barely have one beer, since I was driving home.”
Ryan would have been glad to buy her another, she thought now. And to have continued the evening, too. It was gratifying, she admitted, to have somebody so obviously interested, though she’d decided to play it safe, go out with the group first instead. She’d worked with him for two years now, but she still didn’t feel she really knew Ryan. Last night had been fun, though. He’d walked beside her to the pub where the younger members of the firm repaired after work, had poured her a beer from one of the pitchers on the table, laughed and flirted.
“I like the things you wear,” he’d told her, leaning close to her ear to make himself heard above the din of conversation and music in the noisy bar. “You always look so soft. Not like an engineer.” He took a honey-colored curl lightly between his fingers. “You don’t even have serious hair.”
“I wouldn’t make a very good engineer, would I?” she asked. “It’s more than the hair. Not serious about the subject, I’m afraid.”
“I’m glad,” he told her with a smile. “Wish we were someplace else, though. Someplace I could really talk to you. Too noisy in here.”
She smiled back, took a piece of pizza from the pan on the table and bit into it. “Mmm,” she said as the warm cheese hit her mouth. “Good. You want some?”
He was staring at her mouth, she realized. She licked into the corners to check for stray strands of cheese, grabbed for a serviette from the pile. “Do I have it on my face?” she asked him.
He shook his head, and she finished her pizza as they continued to chat—if you could call bawling into each others’ ears chatting. She took a final swallow of beer, then leaned over to tell him, “I have to go. Can you slide over?”
He stood at the end of the bench, took hold of her elbow as she slid out and stood up. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.
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