by Diana Fraser
He ground his teeth and rose to confront her. “My family, my people, are important to me. I have a duty to protect them.”
“From people who might love them?”
“From people whose love might destroy them.”
“I’m not going to destroy anyone.”
“Maybe not. But I can’t risk it. Rules are rules, and it’s my responsibility and duty to apply them.”
“Rules are there to interpret, not to hide behind.” She picked up her bag. “Nothing’s that simple, Zane, nothing’s that black or white.”
Rachel didn’t look back. She pulled away from Amber as she tried to reach for her and walked quickly out the door and across the road to the grass domain which lay between the café and the harbor. She’d said what she had to say and now all she could do was get away. As fast as possible.
* * *
Zane watched her leave, unable to move. He felt as if he’d been felled by a pack of rugby forwards. Adrenaline had kicked in and had masked the pain, but he sensed it in the background, and knew it would emerge when the shock had faded.
He watched her step off the pavement and narrowly miss being hit by a car which alerted her with a beep of the horn at the last moment. He started, as if to run out and rescue her. But it was too late for that. She was already moving on, crossing the road to her car, fumbling in her bag to retrieve the car keys, dropping the keys before picking them up and clicking the car open and getting inside. He continued to watch as she held her head in her hands for a few moments before starting the car, and looking around, pulling out and driving off down the road.
What a mess! For a while he’d really believed that Rachel was the one for him, someone he could love and live the rest of his life with. Someone who shared his values. What a joke that was!
He rose, walked across the empty café, and reached into his wallet to pay Amber, who stood patiently watching him.
“I’m sorry, Zane. I don’t know what’s going on but I do know that Rachel is really devastated. She’s not her usual self.”
Zane shook his head, unable to answer her.
“Give her time.”
He focused on entering his PIN in the machine. “Sure. She can take as much time as she likes.”
Amber looked pained and bit her lip. “Surely you’re not… splitting up with her?”
“I think she did that all on her own.” He began to walk away and then stopped and looked back at Amber. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care, though. Whether I should or not, I do care. And if I can’t be there for her, can you make sure she’s okay? Please, Amber? You and Gabe? Be with her and make sure she’s okay?”
“Of course. We Connellys are always there for each other. Don’t worry about that. But—”
“No.” He blinked and turned away. “I have to go.”
He walked off without taking his receipt and was outside before she could remonstrate. He hesitated and then turned and walked toward the school. It was school holidays but some kids were playing in the playing fields, kicking balls around. He stopped and watched. Etta wasn’t there but some of her mates were. He caught glimpses of their bright faces caught by the sun, laughing at something they’d done, whooping with delight when they caught the ball and ran past their opponent. They were full of life and happiness and trust in their world and that’s what he wanted to keep for them. They’d have time enough when they were older to learn of life’s hardships. It was up to him to make sure that that time came later rather than sooner. How could that be wrong?
But then he glanced in the direction of Belendroit, where Rachel would be arriving about now. She’d be going home, no doubt to pack, send emails, make arrangements. But she was hurting. He knew that much about her and he not only knew it, but felt it. He’d made a mistake—not in his decision about Etta, but in chasing Rachel. He’d trusted her and let down his defenses and had fallen for her. Hard. And it had shattered his black and white world, as she called it, fractured it like sunlight in rain, splitting it into so many different colors that he felt disoriented, unbalanced, for the first time in his life.
Was falling for Rachel the mistake, or had he been too blinkered by his past to misjudge his work? Was she right?
Whether Rachel was correct or not, one thing was plain: he’d protected one loved one only by hurting another.
“Rachel?” asked Jim Connelly, who sat impatiently tapping his glasses on the side of the chair. “Are you going to tell me what happened today or am I going to have to guess?”
She glanced at him. She hardly knew what he was saying, she’d been so lost in thought, piecing together her memories of Etta, where she’d seen her in the schoolyard, the glimpse in town, putting together a puzzle to form an image which would have to see her through a lifetime.
“Sorry?”
He jumped up. “For goodness sake, Rachel. If you’re not going to answer me then I might as well go out. You’re behaving like a lovelorn teenager.”
She smiled sadly. “Maybe I’m making up for lost time.”
“What’s that meant to mean?”
“You know, Dad, I know you and Mum did what you thought best at the time. But it wasn’t the best. Not for me. And I’ve only come to realize that over the past year. I never had time to grieve so maybe that’s what I had to do. Maybe that’s what I’m doing.”
She’d never seen her father look so unsure, so sad, so upset. The different expressions swept across his face like the wind ruffling the surface of the harbor. Then it settled into a glassy stillness which reflected all the sadness she felt. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so sorry. Your mum and I, well, we didn’t know what to do. You didn’t want to marry the boy, or even be with him, and you were too young to bring up a child. You were so clever, so beautiful, you had your whole life ahead of you and we didn’t want it ruined by a child.”
“My child. My baby girl. How could she have ruined it, Dad?”
“It’s easy for you to say that, now, looking back. But you wouldn’t have had the career you’ve had. You wouldn’t have had the chances, or the lifestyle, you can have now.”
“And you know? That means so very little because I’ve never gotten over her.”
“Rachel!”
But Rachel couldn’t forgive her dad. Maybe later, but not now. Now, she had to leave and simply walk. She wanted to feel the rhythm of her body moving, walking, taking her anywhere but in that house, that bedroom, where she’d lain, watching her belly grow, imagining her future, until she’d been taken to Wellington to live with her aunt where she had her baby. Rachel’s parents had taken her baby to the marae, had argued fiercely with Zane’s gran who, like Zane, had said it’s all or nothing. Her parents had given all and she’d ended up with nothing. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive them.
She continued walking up the hill behind the house, over the pastures and farmland, wanting to be higher, as high as she could, to grab some cooler air on that warm, still night. She needed to breathe.
Suddenly she could. It began to rain and she looked around, down at the harbor below her, its starlit reflection pock-marked and distorted by the rain. Then she heard the sound of people and she looked around. Her feet had taken her to the edge of the marae. She could hear the kids playing and the sound of music, she could see a community living and breathing there, but she couldn’t be a part of it. She snatched a breath and thought of Zane.
She walked up to his house. No one was around but she could see a light was on. The rain was coming heavier now. She knocked on his door.
“Rachel!” He opened the door wide. “I didn’t expect you.”
She gave a parody of a laugh. “I hardly expected me to do this either.”
“Come in, out of the rain.”
She shook her head. “No. I won’t be long. I wanted you to know something. In the café, earlier, you said that I must have planned this, used you to get to Etta. And I wanted you to know.”
“Know what?”
The rain dripped o
ff her hair, spattering the dry floorboards and rug darkly. “That maybe at first I was interested in you because of where you could lead me.”
His mouth tightened.
“But only at first. Not later.” She stepped away from him before her faulty instincts took over and she pressed her wet cheek to his chest and held herself there until he put his arms around her. She took another step away. “Goodbye, Zane.” She ran down the steps, splashing across the puddles, before disappearing into the bush which would take her back to Belendroit.
* * *
Zane stood under the outside light, against which the moths darted and batted themselves, watching Rachel stumble across the muddy ground toward the path which led back down to the shore and Belendroit. He fought with all his strength not to run after her and help her—to stop her stumbling, to stop her hurting, but most of all to stop her from leaving him. And his strength won.
He walked back inside, automatically tracking toward the kitchen, where he gripped the bench and looked down, imagining Rachel half-running, half-stumbling back down the path toward the coast road and then on toward Belendroit. Then he looked up and out the window which looked down on the marae. Lights were on in the houses which clustered around it, and on inside the marae itself where people gathered to talk and eat. This was what it was all about, he reminded himself. Keeping his people safe. He shook his head and turned his back to the lights. Instead, he looked out the far windows toward the dark trees. Rain spattered fitfully against the glass. But who was keeping Rachel safe? And why wasn’t it him?
10
Zane passed his grandmother a cup of tea. She waved her hand for him to place it on the table beside her, not looking away from the TV screen.
“Gran! Can you leave that for a moment? I assume you asked me over for more than to make you a cup of tea.” He gestured to a couple of his nieces who were painting their nails outside on the deck in the autumn sunshine. “Something which one of the girls could have done.”
Gran glanced up at him. “Do I need an excuse to see my favorite grandson?”
“We’re all your favorites, or so you say.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a grin in response to her persuasive smile. She grabbed his hand and kissed it and, holding it tight, turned back to the TV. He perched on the side of her chair, unable either to refuse his charming gran, or to pull his hand away from her strong grip. “What’s so engrossing anyway?”
“It’s a documentary.”
He watched as teenage girls sat in a classroom. The only thing strange about this as far as he could see was that their age varied and they were focusing intently. Then the class finished and, instead of going out into the yard to gossip, the girls went to a creche where they picked up their children, nursed them and played with them. “What kind of school is this?”
“It’s a school of single moms. In Wellington. The kids go to school with their moms and are looked after in the same place while their moms can study. Cool, eh?”
“Yeah, but I haven’t heard of it.”
“Not many of the schools around. Funding is difficult for them.”
Then Zane peered forward as he listened to a voiceover describing how, apart from a small amount of government funding, the schools relied on patrons. Slowly the camera panned over the girls and focused on the person at the front of the room, doing some kind of demonstration. “What the hell?”
He received a slap on his thigh. “Don’t swear.”
He ignored her and reached for the remote control and increased the volume, and what he saw, and heard, had him frozen to the spot. It was Rachel, doing what looked like a cookery demonstration to the teenagers who were hanging on her every word, laughing, interacting and having a ball. Then the scene ended and Rachel was interviewed, telling people how important it was for people to support these girls who otherwise would have to give up either one thing or the other: their education, or their child. She ended the interview saying that no one should have to make such a choice. Then she gave a quick, uncertain glance to camera and for one moment Zane’s heart clenched as he saw the depth of pain and strength in those big brown eyes: Rachel’s eyes, Etta’s eyes.
“I didn’t know.”
“Of her involvement? Maybe she didn’t tell many people. Sure looks like what she’s doing is making a difference to these people—morale and money.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but shook his head instead. He didn’t know what to think anymore. He looked down into his grandmother’s eyes which looked up to him.
“I misjudged her, Zane. I’m a proud woman and, after what happened, I didn’t want anything to do with the Connelly family. But maybe I was wrong.”
“You were right, Gran. Then, anyway. Etta needed a secure upbringing and you gave her that. But now? I don’t know either anymore.”
“Don’t you, boy? Then you should. She’s proved herself twice over—once by coming home and making contact through the board, and twice by this.” She pointed to the TV. “Rachel’s been trying to make up for her and her parents’ decision ever since. And she has, for those girls, at least. But not for herself. Maybe it’s time to help her make peace with herself?”
He shook his head, as much as in confusion as denial. “She’s leaving.”
“Leaving? Then make her change her mind. Her place is here.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” He paced the floor. “On behalf of the board I’ve refused her access to Etta. We’re not talking now.”
The old lady watched him for a few moments before reaching around her neck and taking off the greenstone pendant she always wore. “Zane, my beautiful mokopuna.” She pushed herself off the settee and rose to her full height which barely reached five feet. Zane could never understand how such a short woman could be so commanding. “You need to do something you’ve never done before—except on the sports field—and let your instinct guide you. Life’s been tough for you, but it’s about time you loosened up a bit. Start with Rachel. I believe she’s a good woman.” She held out the pendant. “Take this taonga.”
“I can’t take that! It’s yours, it’s always been in the female line of the family.”
“And it will continue to be. I want you to take it and give it to the woman you love. It’s yours to treasure. Just like she is.”
He held his grandmother’s steady gaze as he accepted the taonga from her, as everything fell into place. “Thank you.”
Zane stood, hands on hips, facing his niece who rammed the last piece of toast into her mouth before picking up a ball and hurling it against the wall of her great grandmother’s wooden house and catching it expertly. “Why do I have to go?” asked Etta.
“Because I said so,” said Zane sternly.
“But I don’t get it.” Etta scowled and threw the ball again, caught it and threw it again with a repetitive thud which was getting on Zane’s nerves.
“You don’t have to get it. All you have to do is come with me.”
Again the dull thud of the ball. “Who else is going?”
Zane thought quickly. She’d suspect if it were only her. “A couple of others, and you and me.”
She shot him a quick look before throwing the ball over-arm this time, her lips pursing with angry concentration. “Just us, and this woman you want me—I mean us—to meet.”
Zane glanced around, and then back to his niece. Nothing got past her. “Yes.”
She bounced the ball on the ground, held on to it tight and looked at him directly for the first time, with Rachel’s eyes. Why hadn’t he seen it before? “Why?”
He sighed. Trust Etta. Direct and to the point. There was no way he was going to get Etta there without telling her something that made sense to her. She was too smart—street-smart in a way he suspected was more to do with his half-brother than Rachel—and intelligent which was all to do with Rachel. “Because… I think you’ll all enjoy meeting her. She’s a chef.”
“I hate cooking.” She threw the ball against the wall again.
&
nbsp; “Then all the more reason to meet her and learn something.”
“So I’m going because I need to learn how to cook? Because we need to cook,” she added sarcastically. “I thought you went to kitchens to do that. But we’re going to a café to eat.”
“She’s my friend, Etta. And I want you to meet her.”
“Because you’re dating?” She smiled for the first time. “That’s what the others said.”
“Whatever they said, they’re wrong.”
“How can you know they’re wrong when you don’t know what they said?”
He stepped away. He’d had enough of dealing with someone who, he suspected was capable of running verbal rings around him. “I’ll pick you up, and the others, after school on Friday.”
“Sure. It’ll be good to meet your girlfriend, Uncle Zane.”
Zane was about to deny it, then thought better of it, especially when she gave that wide grin which lit up her face, transforming the dark glower to a bright cheekiness which charmed everyone she deigned to reveal it to. He shook his head and walked to his car.
The day was misty and the sun was trying to penetrate the cloud, creating soft rainbow arcs in the sky. He’d hardly slept that night, going over and over the assumptions and beliefs that he’d held so close, lived his life by, all these years. They’d kept him safe and sane and he’d assumed they’d do the same for his family and whanau—his people. But, if that was the case, why was his heart breaking at what his decision had done to Rachel? The pain had been visible in her face that night when she’d arrived in the rain—a pain that ground deep inside, from which he knew he’d never recover.