by Lark O'Neal
I wave him away. “I will.”
My dad looks at the card. “They’re legit, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was in the papers the other day.”
“Partly, but I just don’t want to think about anything like that right now.” I lift my shoulders. “I really do just want to hang out with you.”
“Good,” he says with a grin. “Me, too.”
My bag shows up just fine. He buys me a coffee and a “slice” of dense, thick, delicious carrot cake I gobble down as we walk out under a series of awnings to the parking lot, where he opens a giant umbrella to protect us from the rain as we cross the open blacktop. He stops by a MINI Cooper, blue with white stripes, and clicks his key to open the back. “This is us.”
I gape a little. “This is your car? Oh my gosh. I’ve always, always wanted to ride in one.”
“It’s pretty sweet, I won’t lie. Hop in.”
I head for the passenger side and then I realize—oops—it’s on the other side. He just waits while I figure out the right side has the steering wheel. I laugh and round the car, then get in, and it’s as hip and retro as I would have imagined, with the big round speedometer in the middle of the sleek dash.
My dad gets behind the wheel and buckles up. “Ready?”
And we’re off. It’s a little dizzying, being on the wrong side of the road, and at first it gives me a sense of vertigo, or maybe like we’re going to crash any second. The rain hides most of the landscape, but I catch glimpses of the sea. “Is that the ocean?”
“It is. We’re surrounded, you know. On a sunny day we’ll have a picnic, how’s that?”
“I love it.”
Outside the city, we loop through open farm country that slowly turns to vines, with winery after winery touting their brands. “Lots of wine.”
“Sauvignon blanc grapes are one of the top exports in New Zealand. Lots of pinot noir, too, but I’m sticking with my favorite.” He glances at me. “You’re knackered, love. Have a nap. You don’t have to keep me company.”
“That’s okay. I want to stay awake.”
He chuckles, and that’s a familiar sound, too, as familiar as his voice. I lean back. The car is warm. My coffee is gone. The radio is playing classical music that’s quiet and pleasant, and I do fall asleep again, waking when we turn onto a narrow dirt road winding between two fields of grapevines. In a wide open area he stops the car, and I peer through the windshield curiously. There’s a tall white house with a deep porch. Across the drive a carved wooden sign says “Long Cloud Winery Tasting Room,” with an arrow that points down a path.
“This is it.” He reaches into the back seat and offers me the umbrella. “You run on up to the porch. I’ll grab your bag.”
“You’ll get wet.”
He winks. “I’ll be all right.”
I open the car door, and a sweep of water smacks me before I can spring the umbrella open, but I finally get it up and over my head, then dash through mud puddles to the porch, which is wide and painted white. I see only my feet landing in a puddle, soaking my tennis shoes, before I leap under the shelter of the roof and nearly into the body of another person.
“Gotcha,” says a woman’s friendly voice. “Let me take that.”
She relieves me of the umbrella and holds out a strong, wide hand. It’s my dad’s wife. Her picture on Facebook made her look a lot plainer than she is in person. Her face is rosy and open beneath a tumble of auburn curls. She’s tall and broad through the shoulders, and I don’t know why, but something in me lets go, looking at her. “Hi, Jess. I’m Katy.”
I’m glad that she didn’t add “your step-mom,” which gives us a little space to decide what our relationship will look like. “Hi.”
“I bet you’re famished. Why don’t you come inside? Let’s get you to your room so you can have a little wash, and then we’ll have supper.”
“Thank you.”
My dad hauls the suitcase victoriously onto the porch. He’s soaked and laughing, the sound robust and somehow trustworthy, his hair dripping down into his beard. He leans in to kiss his wife very casually, cheerfully. “Here we are.”
“Ugh,” she says with a laugh, wiping her now-wet face. “Go get changed while I show Jess to her room.”
We all troop into the house and strip off our shoes in the entryway. I catch a glimpse of wood floors and lots of cool gray light before we head up a set of stairs. “All the bedrooms are along this hallway, and, unfortunately, there’s only one loo. We have one in our room, but you have to share with Kaleb and Darcy.”
“Are they your kids?”
She laughs. “Oh, Lord, no! They’re my sister’s kids. She’s had some hard times, so they’re staying with us for a bit while she gets on her feet. Kaleb’s twenty-two, thinks he might want to learn the wine business from Keiran… He’s been a big help to us.” We reach the top of the stairs, and she swings around the railing. “Darcy is my niece, just gone twenty, so you’re the same age. She’s not as happy to be here as her brother is. She wants to be with her mum, but—well, anyway, that’s a story for another day.”
Mum. The word whispers over my nerves, my memory, in a murmuring hush, then it’s gone.
Katy stops in front of an old-fashioned carved door, painted a glossy white, and pushes it open. “Here we are.” She gestures for me to enter.
It’s a big room, with three long windows letting in the gray rainy light. A high iron bed with a patchwork quilt sits against the wall, along with a bureau and a rocking chair with a blanket draped over the arm.
“Oh!” I halt and look back over my shoulder. “This?”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful.” I fold my hands over my heart. “I can’t believe I get to sleep here!”
Her smile is kind. “Good. Make yourself at home. The bathroom is at the end of the hall, and you’ll find piles of towels and toothbrushes and whatever you can think of in there. Have a shower if you like and come down whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
She pauses by the door, her hands folded as if to keep them to herself. “We are so glad you’re here, Jess. You have no idea how happy your dad is.”
Our eyes meet. “Me, too.”
“Right, then. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, just ask.”
A shower sounds like heaven. I unzip my suitcase my dad delivered, find clean underwear and clothes, and the bag of toiletries, and pad down the hall in my socks. It’s quiet up here, with two doors open to show the rooms within. One must Darcy’s. There are scarves hung over the door and mirror. The other is militarily neat, with nothing personal visible.
I head into the bathroom, and close the door, sighing as I put my stuff down. There’s a single wall of glass at the edge of the shower that only goes halfway across, but no door or curtain. Different. I hope I don’t get water all over the floor.
If I can turn it on, that is. It has a strange combination of buttons and levers that don’t work in any way I can make sense of. I try pushing. Turning. Pulling.
Nothing. I don’t know if it’s my travel-dead brain or what, but I desperately want to wash my hair and I can’t seem to figure it out. They’re going to think I’m an idiot, but it wouldn’t be the first time. I have to ask for help.
Yanking open the door, I fling myself out into the hallway and nearly knock somebody down. “Oh, crap. Sorry.” I scramble back, righting myself, embarrassed.
A guy. Must be Kaleb. He’s taller than me, with black hair in loose curls. I have an impression of light toffee-colored skin and lean limbs as he reaches out to steady me. “Bad corner.”
“I was just coming to see if —”
The world suddenly shifts sideways, at first just making me feel dizzy, then hard enough I have to fling out a hand to brace myself against the wall. The guy flings an arm around my shoulders protectively, one hand on top of my head, and it’s both alarming and thrilling. The dip at the base of his throat is right at eye level and he sm
ells of something fresh and green, like summertime. I find myself breathing it in even as a noise grinds around us, under us. The floor under our feet sort of rolls. I’m clinging to his arm and the door, feeling like I might throw up. “What is that?”
His brows are pulled down as he cocks his head, listening, his hand still big and protective on my head as the noise and rocking stop. “No worries,” he says, and as if he just now realizes that he’s so close, steps back. “A bit of an earthquake, that’s all.”
“A bit of an earthquake?” I stare at him. His eyes are large, up-tilted like a cat’s, a coppery color that’s catching the light like a pearlie marble I once had. He’s looking at the ceiling, as if for cracks or something, and his lashes are so long and black they hardly look real. “An earthquake?” My voice squeaks.
“It’s over now,” he says in a thick New Zealand accent, and half grins. It’s a confident, easy-going expression, the smile of a guy who knows who he is. A ripple of awareness pushes through my jet lag. “Only a wee bitty one.” He holds up his fingers to illustrate.
“That’s tiny?” I touch my belly. “I don’t want to know what a big one feels like.”
“No,” he says seriously and absently touches a scar that runs through his left eyebrow. “You don’t.”
“Did you get that scar in an earthquake?”
The ease in his face evaporates. “Yeah,” he says, and pats my arm. “You’re fine now. Carry on.”
He turns to go, and I remember the original reason I was coming out. “Wait! I need help with the shower.”
“Help with a shower?” His gaze skims my body lightly, and that heavy brow lifts. “Shouldn’t we get to know each other a little better first?
It’s not lecherous, only teasing, and coaxes a laugh from me. “I can’t turn it on.”
He tilts his head, a faint smile edging up the corners of his mouth. “Really?”
I shake my head sadly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He clamps his lower lip under his teeth in a way that makes me realize he’s trying really hard not to laugh at me, but he leads the way back into the bathroom. “Come on.”
I follow him in, noticing how broad his shoulders are as he leads the way, how tall. “Hotter this way, yeah? Colder this.”
It’s easy, of course, once he shows me. “Thanks.”
“No worries.” He slips out, closing the door behind him. The water is running, so I strip out of my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, yank the rubber band out of my braid and shake out my hair, and step into the shower. I put my face under the spray and groan at the pleasure, let the water run through my hair and rinse away airport grime and people grime, and the miles and miles and miles of space I’ve covered. I’ve left my toiletries on the sink, but there’s soap and shampoo in the shower. I suds up my hair, then just stand under the flow and let it pour over me. Echoes of the past twenty-four hours—or however many it’s been—ping through me, bouncing off my elbows and down the drain.
I’m here. I’m really here.
* * *
The smell of meat roasting lures me down the stairs, though a small living room with a TV against the wall and toward a room sharing the same view as my bedroom. A big table is set for five, and everyone’s there but me. They’re laughing at something my dad said, and I’m suddenly crushingly shy in a way I haven’t experienced in a really long time. It used to be the bane of my life, this feeling of panic closing down my throat, making my face go red, gluing my feet to the floor.
It hits me very hard. This is a family. What am I doing here?
I stand there just gathering details. The girl, Darcy, is busty and dark-haired, with freckles covering her face and arms. In contrast Kaleb is tall and lean, with broad shoulders. He’s wearing a jade disk around his neck and the deep green of it shines against the skin of his smooth chest. I think of the moment he put his hand on my head, protecting me.
My dad pins down the head of the table, and Katy is standing at the other end, waving a big wooden spoon around. Behind her, lace curtains hang from the long windows. The floors are made of thick planks of some golden wood. I suddenly think of my old house with wooden planks on the walls, so far away now. It makes me homesick.
“There she is!” my dad says, spying me. “Feeling good now?”
“Better,” I say, and drift into the room. My shyness eases slightly as Katy waves me into my chair. “It smells great in here.”
“Roast lamb,” Katy says. “I know I like having a solid meal when I’ve been traveling.”
“Lamb?” I echo, as Katy heads for the kitchen.
“Oh, look at her face!” Darcy says. “Haven’t you ever had lamb?”
I shrug, but I’m actually kind of grossed out, thinking of little fluffy things with blue bows behind their ears. “Not that I know of.”
My dad jumps up and slides an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve had it—we used to eat it when you were a kid—but Americans don’t really eat it much, do they? I remember that.”
“Not really.” I can’t remember anyone ever serving it. I can’t recall even seeing it in the grocery store.
“The good news is, Katy’s lamb is the finest in the land.” Dad guides me into a chair across from the other two. “This is Kaleb and Darcy Te Anga. This is our Jess.”
Kaleb lifts his chin. He has that stillness of an observer about him, centered in the coppery eyes. “We met upstairs. Had any more trouble?” His eyes glitter distinctly.
“No,” I say with a smile. “Thanks.”
“Hey, Jess! We’ve been waiting for you!” Darcy says.
Everything about her is lush—almond-shaped dark eyes and juicy lips, and dark curls tumbling around her shoulders. She’s displaying a lot of freckled cleavage. A slender gold necklace dangles across the curves, drawing attention to them even more. I touch the silver kaleidoscope Tyler gave me and feel the bones of my chest.
“Somebody to do something with for a change,” she says. “I have no idea why you’d leave a city and come here if you had a choice, ‘cuz believe me, not much happens around here.”
My dad says, “Maybe Jess brought some excitement with her.” He shakes out his napkin and settles it in his lap. “Some film people want to talk to us tomorrow, maybe.”
“Maybe.” I’m still not sure about that whole thing.
“What?” Darcy opens her mouth. “Like movies, or what?”
I shrug. “I’m not even sure it’s for real, but this guy at the Auckland airport told me they were filming some tourist stuff and they need people who look like elves.” At the expressions on their faces—Kaleb looking suspicious, Darcy unbelieving—I cross my arms. “It was kind of embarrassing, really.”
“Here we go!” Katy comes back into the room bearing a platter of meat and vegetables. The fragrance of roasted everything makes my stomach growl. Loudly.
My dad laughs. “You always ate like a soldier on leave. Still true?”
It’s funny to hear this about myself, something he knows about me. Why don’t I know anything about him, about that time? I wonder if he has pictures, if that would help me remember. “Still true,” I say ruefully. “This guy I know teases me about it all the time.”
“Boyfriend?” Darcy asks, perking up. “Tell all!”
“Not exactly,” I say. “It’s a long story.”
“Darcy,” Katy says in a weary voice. “Give her time, will you? Pass the peas.”
It only takes one bite for me to get over the vision of that fluffy animal frolicking around the pasture. The meat is one of the three best things I’ve ever eaten, tender and full of flavor. The vegetables are great, too, but I don’t know what all of them are. “What’s this?” I ask, holding up a thing like a white carrot.
“Parsnip. You’ve never had parsnips before?” Darcy asks.
“She comes from another country, Darcy,” Kaleb says. It’s the first thing he’s said during the meal. “If you went to the US, you’d find food you’d
never eaten.”
“We have McDonalds here,” she says. “And KFC. Those are American.”
“Not the same,” Kaleb says.
I poke my fork into a cube of pale orange vegetable. “I don’t know what this is, either. Yam, maybe?”
“Kumara,” Kaleb says. The emphasis is on the first syllable—KU-mara. “It’s a very important veg in New Zealand. The Maori staple.”
“Everything is delicious,” I say, dipping a thick slice of white bread into the gravy on my plate. “All of it.”
Katy smiles. “Thanks. Have as much as you like. Don’t be shy.”
My brain is clearing enough that I laugh. “Careful. I’ve been told termites eat less than I do.”
Everyone laughs. My dad says, “When she was about four, we were on the beach all day long, swimming and out in the sun, you know, and we cooked shrimp over the fire. Jess ate more than her mother and me put together.”
A flash of fire, waves washing against the rocks, the taste of shrimp on my tongue, rolls out of some dusty place in my memory. “I remember that. A rocky beach.”
His eyes are sad and gentle and happy all at once. “It was a good day.”
Katy touches his hand in a way that makes me wonder if I really want to ask the questions pounding in my brain. Why did my mother leave? Why can’t I remember more of that time?
Darcy tosses her head. “I wish I could eat like that and be skinny like you.”
“Have some more, Jess.” Katy passes the platter my way, and I help myself.
* * *
After dinner the rain has stopped, so they drag me outside for a walk around the vineyards, the point being to make me stay up as long as I can and get onto local time. It’s just after four, and I can see that the sun is going to set soon.
“Once it’s dark,” my dad says, “you’re going to crash like a pile of bricks.”
“I’m not really feeling like a walk,” I say, and it comes out grumpier than I meant it to be. “This is as late as I can go.”
“Oh, no, you’ll see.” He finds me a sweater. “Kaleb, Darcy, you coming?”