by Karina Bliss
“I don’t want to come to you broken,” he said harshly. “I don’t want to marry you doubting my ability to make you happy. I need to believe I can slay any dragons that come up.”
“I have no doubt you can slay dragons. None.” Releasing him, Jo picked up her bag and went to the door. “I’m due at Pinehill to visit Nan so let’s cut to the chase.” Her mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “I’ll be at the church on Tuesday. All you need to do is decide whether to show up.”
She was halfway out the door before his shock wore off. “Of course I’m going to show up if you still want to go through with it.” He sounded truly appalled. “What the hell kind of guy do you think I am?”
Jo thought about that the rest of the morning. He was a good strong man who found equilibrium in action and instead fate had forced him into a passive role. Destroyed his faith in his ability to be there for the people he loved.
Somehow she had to help him rediscover that faith. Somehow she had to convince him of hers.
Deep down, Dan didn’t believe he deserved to be happy and they weren’t carrying that corrosive lie into their future together. After everything they’d grieved together, that would be the ultimate tragedy.
* * *
Midafternoon Jo drove out to the farm. She tracked Ross to the barn where Dan had set up some weights. “Should you be bench-pressing alone?”
Biceps straining, he finished his reps, dropped the weight bar onto the stand and sat up, breathing heavily. His tank top was drenched with sweat. “I stay under ninety kilos if I’m by myself.”
She handed him the towel draped on a wooden countertop and he wiped his neck.
“You missed our boy,” he commented. “He’s driven Claire and Lewis into town.”
Our boy. It was the first time Ross had acknowledged her as family, the first time he’d ranged himself on her side. All things became possible. “I know,” she admitted. “I set it up with Claire.”
While Ross dried his face, she assessed the rope of muscle across his shoulders. “So tell me, Ice-cream, do you think you’re recovered enough to take down a man weighing…oh, I don’t know…let’s say 179 pounds?”
His eyes appeared over the towel. “He said you’d agreed to the wedding?”
“I have.” Jo perched on the other end of the bench press. “But we have to get him over this crazy idea that somehow he let you all down.”
“So you want me to pound some sense into him? Believe me, if I was fit, I’d try.” He grimaced as he massaged his leg through his sweat pants. “Give me another two months.”
“I haven’t got that kind of time. We’re getting married day after tomorrow and I don’t want this hanging over us.” She hesitated. “I have a plan.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think Dan needs to be reminded that he’s capable of great things when the people he cares about are depending on him,” she began carefully. “When he marries me, I want him to have no doubts that I trust him absolutely with my life.” However long that may be. “And you said you’d help me.”
He stood. “The plan, Jo.”
Taking a deep breath, she told him. As she talked, he hauled off his damp tank top and toweled down. Even greyhound-lean through months in hospital, his frame was still powerful, muscle over bone.
When she finished he said nothing. He could be thinking it over… More likely Ross was contemplating calling for a straitjacket and having her taken away. His expression gave nothing away.
“There’s a high risk of failure.”
“There has to be. Dan won’t buy it unless the stakes are high…and real.”
Draping the towel around his shoulders Ross picked up the discarded tank top and gestured toward the farmhouse.
“And if he doesn’t make it in time, Jo?” Together, they headed across the yard. “It would make things worse, and not just for Dan. You’d probably lose him.”
She was well aware of that. “I believe in him,” she said. “And I’m prepared to stake everything on that faith.”
He was silent until they reached the stoop. “I can’t do it, Jo.”
She struggled to hide her disappointment. “Well, it was a crazy idea.”
Ross grabbed the handrail, favoring his bad leg as he maneuvered the stairs. “Even with the element of surprise, I’m not fit enough to overpower Dan.”
“No. I guess not.”
Reaching the top, Ross looked down at her. “That’s why we’ll need drugs.”
* * *
A shopping mall was a place Dan normally avoided, but Jo was right. He had to make his peace with Lewis, so when Claire suggested a quick coffee before he headed to the farm he forced himself to say yes.
She chose a table right in the middle of the food court, which intensified his uneasiness. No soldier liked to sit exposed on all sides. And what was it with these places and their acoustics? Chatter bounced off the walls and floors, amplified and echoed around the domed atrium.
Little kids raced between the inside playground and formica tables, strollers blocked throughways and retirees paused for leisurely conversations outside doorways.
What the hell were these people thinking?
While Claire and Lewis found a seat, he queued to order coffees and a chocolate thickshake and thought about Jo. She’d blindsided him this morning by doing a U-turn on the wedding, and right now Dan didn’t know how he felt about it.
No, that wasn’t true.
He was gut-plungingly, head-swimmingly relieved she still loved him—and simultaneously terrified of letting her down. His problem wasn’t resolved, he hadn’t mastered the churning emotions that kept exhausting his reserves. And that scared Dan, it scared him to death. But for Jo’s sake he’d fake it.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched Claire talking intently to a sullen Lewis. Even unable to hear, he knew what she was saying. Make an effort…be nice…. Pretend we’re okay.
Is that how life was for them all now? Pretending?
Lewis’s face got darker and darker, it didn’t surprise Dan when he flung himself out of his seat and walked off to the men’s room, where his mother couldn’t follow.
“Teenagers,” she said when Dan put down the tray. “I think you’ll be glad to see the back of us.”
They were staying with Pat tonight so this was his last chance to get this right.
“Not as glad as you’ll be to see the back of me, I’m thinking.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course not, I—”
“Claire, let’s start being honest with each other.” Maybe he’d screw this up but Dan was sick of tiptoeing around the truth. “Let me get Lewis. He needs to hear this, too.”
The teen was outside the men’s room leaning against the wall, marking time. “I’ve had enough of this,” Dan said. “Come with me.”
At the table, Lewis changed chairs to sit next to Claire. It was a poignant gesture, revealing his apprehension.
Dan sat opposite. “Lewis, you were right this morning,” he said. “I do feel sorry for you. And having you visit with your Mum hurts like hell.” Claire’s arm crept around her son’s rigid shoulders. “The thing is—” Dan kept his attention fixed on the boy’s face “—I want to make your pain go away and I can’t and that makes me feel helpless. And we guys don’t like feeling helpless, do we?”
Lewis jerked his head no.
“Nate and Ross and me, we’re missing your dad and Uncle Lee, too, and that means we’re not doing such a great job of being what you need right now. But we love you and your mom, you’re our family and always will be. I want to help you through this, mate, but you’ll have to tell me how… Will you do that for me?”
“I guess,” he mumbled.
Dan looked at Claire. “When I know, you’ll know,” she said hoarsely. “But…keep calling in the meantime.”
He smiled at her. “You got it.”
“I might go get a muffin,” she said shakily. “I’m hungry. Anyone else want one?”
“
Sounds good,” said Dan. “Lewis?”
“Nah, I’m not hungry.”
“But thanks, Mom,” Claire prompted.
Lewis rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”
When she had left, the boy looked at Dan. “Do you think that maybe I could come stay sometimes during school holidays, with you and Jo? Help on the farm like you and Dad did for Uncle Herman?” He hesitated. “Sometimes Mum and I need time apart.”
“We’d love to have you as long as Claire agrees. But, Lewis, you also need to try harder with your mom. Being sad isn’t an excuse for being difficult.”
“I know,” Lewis said, “but she can’t seem to help it.”
Fortunately he was busy unwrapping the straw for his thickshake and didn’t see Dan raise his eyebrows. Typical bloody teenager, Dan thought, never my fault. “So make allowances for her,” he suggested drily. At least he could start smoothing out some of the rough edges when the boy came to stay. His spirits lifted a fraction. Finally, something practical he could do for Claire.
“Yeah, I guess.” Lewis punched the straw through the plastic lid. “Um, Dan, will you tell me the truth about something?”
“Yes.” It would always be the truth now, however painful.
“Mom told me Dad died right away.” Lewis’s throat convulsed as he looked up. “Did she make that up to make me feel better?”
Dan managed not to flinch. “Nate was with Steve and he said your dad died instantly.” An inconsistency started niggling at the back of his mind.
“You feel bad because you weren’t there, don’t you?” The question refocussed his attention on Lewis. The teen shrugged. “I heard Ross and Mum talking.”
The truth, he reminded himself. However painful. “Yeah, Lewis, I do.”
Lewis picked up his drink and took a sip, set it down. Eyes downcast he said, “It’s hard being the one left behind, isn’t it?”
For a few seconds, Dan couldn’t move, then he reached across the table and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “That’s why we all have to look after one another.”
“Yeah.” In silence they watched the toddlers riot, teenage girls preen, harassed mothers gulp their caffeine fixes and well-dressed retirees pour tea. “Dan?”
“Yeah, mate.” He didn’t know how much more of this heartrending honesty he could take.
“I’m real glad you didn’t die, too.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dan stood in the church, the air of the vestry scented with honeycomb polish, old wood and an acrid note of incense. Father O’Malley had apologized for the chill but it was a short rehearsal and not worth heating the building, he’d explained.
The cold meant Dan shouldn’t be having any trouble staying awake.
He yawned.
“Hell, I’m…I mean, sorry, Father.” It hadn’t been a very late night. His female relatives had commandeered Jo for some prewedding pampering and a champagne sleepover.
It seemed ironic that when he and his bride were most desperate to spend time together, their wedding got in the way. Ross had forced him on a token stag night with a few mates where Baz had made another futile effort to talk him into the taupe waistcoat and cravat.
Dan didn’t think he’d drunk that much alcohol but he’d been feeling off color all morning and the hangover remedy Ross had made him hadn’t helped. He covered another yawn.
“Nerves take some people that way,” the priest said cheerfully. “My advice is to get a good night’s sleep, son. You want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Dan tightened his grip on his bride’s hand, then was glad of the support as he experienced a momentary dizziness. Maybe it was nerves.
“You okay?” Jo murmured.
“Fine.” He’d worried her enough.
The wedding party was a small one. Ross as best man. Delwyn as bridesmaid. A last-minute flower girl because his niece Tilly had begged her way into the job. Jo had decided they should walk down the aisle together.
Feeling himself sway, Dan widened his stance and tried to concentrate as Father O’Malley rambled on, catching only snippets. Flowers handed over…vows…exchange of rings.
“Ross,” said the priest, “make sure you carry the bride’s ring on your little finger, but, Delwyn, put the groom’s ring on your thumb. I can’t tell you how many are lost because the maid of honor uses her ring finger.”
Yesterday, Jo had turned down an engagement ring, insisting she was happy with the simple white-gold wedding bands he’d already chosen. On the quiet, Dan had taken hers back to have it set with three diamonds. He’d pick it up after this rehearsal.
He realized he’d zoned out again and tried to concentrate.
“Then you kiss the bride,” said Father O’Malley.
“That’s definitely worth practicing.” Dan leaned toward Jo and found himself gripping her shoulders for support. “Okay, this is embarrassing,” he said, “but I’m feeling faint and I need fresh air.”
The priest laughed. “That’s why we rehearse, son. To take the edge off the nerves. Well, there’s only the recessional now, so lead him out, Jo, and see you both tomorrow.”
Dan looked at his bride and it seemed as if he was viewing her through a pane of glass. She was watching him anxiously so he tried to smile but his mouth felt as pliable as day-old chewing gum.
“Let’s get you outside,” she said. “Ross!”
Dan found himself being marched down the aisle between his bride and best man.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to join us,” he joked but he was glad of his friend’s hand under his elbow.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this quickly,” Jo murmured.
“Shep, you bloody lightweight,” Ross muttered.
Dan realized he was leaning on Ross and straightened. “Your leg.”
“It’s fine… Jo?” Ross’s voice was casual. “Go get the car.”
They reached the top of the steps and Dan gripped the handrail. “Something’s wrong. I can hardly stand up….”
Jo’s VW Polo braked in front of them. She jumped out, leaving the engine running, and opened the back door. “Have a little lie-down, honey.”
Dan opened his mouth to argue…couldn’t. His lids wouldn’t stay open. He took a step forward and stumbled. Jo cried a warning and Ross’s arms closed like iron bands around his chest. Briefly he returned to consciousness, felt upholstery leather, cool under his cheek. Backseat…he thought. Now where’s Jo?
Then nothing.
* * *
As Jo anxiously watched Ross bundle Dan into the car she heard the sound of voices growing louder from inside the church.
“Deal with it,” Ross grunted. “I’ll meet you around the corner.”
Spinning around, she ran up the stairs, pulling the church doors closed behind her and startling Father O’Malley who was coming up the aisle with Delwyn and Merry, who was supervising the flower girl. “Why can’t I wear high heels?” the little girl complained.
“Father,” Jo said breathlessly, “I just wanted to ask…” Her mind went blank.
“Yes,” he encouraged.
“If—if you’d noticed how much weight Delwyn’s lost.”
* * *
Sound filtered into Dan’s consciousness. Birdsong. Smells. Dense. Earthy. Woody…a rustle above. Instinctively he rolled, found his nose buried in leaves and shoved himself unsteadily to a crouch, blinking to focus. Identify the enemy.
A native wood pigeon stilled in the miro tree where it had been feasting on berries, its white breast like a flag of surrender, the rest of its metallic-green plumage indistinguishable against the canopy. He blinked. Head cocked, the bird blinked back, then with a heavy whir of wings flew off the branch and disappeared.
Still dazed, he sank down on his rump, leaning against a tree while he got his bearings.
Kereru was a forest bird…he was in a forest? His blank gaze took in the surrounding trees…podocarps mostly, tawa, taraire, puriri and miro. Ancient trees rooted i
n the land. Light struggled to pierce the chill mist that cloaked the canopies in white. But he wasn’t cold.
He looked down. He was wearing hiking boots, a Swanndri bush jacket, jeans. He touched his aching head, felt a woolen beanie.
Closing his eyes, he searched his memory. Jo’s lips brushing against his. “I believe in you.”
The subdued murmurs of strangers, men. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
And Ross. “So do I, but she’s convinced…” Words lost in the louder thwack, thwack, thwack of helicopter rotor blades. Dan rubbed his forehead. No, he was confused, mixing past with present. He remembered the church, a dry throat and feeling woozy. His eyes snapped open. Dammit, he’d been drugged.
Turning, he saw a bivouac. He’d been lying on a groundsheet in front of the makeshift shelter, his head on a rucksack. He opened the pack.
Rope, a basic first-aid kit, Maglite flashlight, two-liter water bottle. Unscrewing the top, he drank deeply. Windproof lighter, water purification tablets. Sheath knife, Mars bars.
No map, no compass…no bloody indication of where he was. At the bottom of the rucksack was a tight bundle of clothing in a plastic bag. Dan unfurled it and stared. His black wedding suit, white shirt, taupe silk vest and matching tie.
There was an envelope in the breast pocket, under the taupe kerchief. He pulled it out and a yellow Post-it note fluttered to the ground. Ross had written I will act like a girl.
“Holy shit, I’m in the Ureweras.”
Years earlier, on a training cycle his team had been dropped in this rugged national park with three days to reach a designated checkpoint while remaining undetected by a pursuit team. The Whakatane river had proved the most troublesome part of the exercise and Lee had related the legend of the Maori maiden.
In the absence of the men, Wairaka had retrieved a waka—canoe—which had drifted out to sea, shouting Ka Whakatane au i ahau as she paddled it to land. I will act like a man.
In the miserable three days of training exercise that followed, it had become the team’s catch-cry with one important modification. “I will act like a girl.”