But it was. And what if they rejected her?
SEVENTY-FOUR
To quell any urge of refreshing her mail for the next ten hours, Erin sent an email from her computer two minutes before the family left for Ilam Primary. Even if Lalitha replied immediately, Erin would not check her mail for hours.
Pippa’s long-awaited Kapa Haka performance was casual. Young children sat on the floor before rows of adults in chairs. Toddlers ran rings around the auditorium and babies cooed. This was a family affair.
Pippa’s group took the stage in black lipstick and grass skirts that rattled as they walked. Masculine costumes included a bare chest with only a short black cape on top. Color block tops with thick shoulder straps completed the feminine costumes.
An adult in a similar costume said, “Waiata-a--ringa.”
The crowd quieted as the group started singing a cappella. Pippa’s hands fluttered at her sides as her smile reached Erin. Erin didn’t understand the language, but she understood the dance was of happiness and peace.
The adult on stage said, “Haka,” and students bunched together on stage. One student shouted and others responded. They stomped loudly; this was a battle hymn. A serious, fierce face replaced Pippa’s grin as she clenched her fists at her sides.
Erin’s body tensed until the song was over.
The adult said, “Whakawa-tea,” and the group spread out on stage. Pippa—Pippa!—collected her guitar from the back corner. She strummed a note, tapped her guitar twice, and the students sang.
Pippa became a calmer version of herself, chin held high as if she had accomplished something important. Erin knew Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” and the Ma-ori version was equally effective: Erin breathed deeply as peace settled within her.
Afterward, Erin had a single text from Lalitha.
Litha: If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad. ♥
Erin nearly cried. She was going to be okay. She was on her way to happiness.
Now out of her costume, Pippa ran to hug Erin before introducing her to friends.
Felicity had made fairy bread—buttered bread covered with nonpareils—and it was gone in an instant. Pippa loaded her plate with sweets from other families.
She munched a biscuit. “At the start of next term, we get to learn poi!”
“What’s that?” Erin said.
Pippa stood and looped her arms in front of her face. “It’s a Polynesian ball on a string. When you suss it properly, it’s beautiful. Every time I try it, I make a tangled mess.”
“Well, I look forward to your poi,” Erin said. “I could tell you enjoyed that. I loved watching you dance.”
Pippa beamed.
On Grandma Tea’s birthday, Erin wore a dress over her swimsuit. She stood in the middle of the cottage and asked her grandparents to share the sofa.
“First, happy birthday, Tea. I’m nine, so you’re turning sixty-nine,” Erin said. “Sixty-nine is the same right-side up and upside-down, which is cool. And it’s the solstice, naturally. Also cool. I know we’re doing your favorite hikes today. I even found a new blueberry bush a couple weeks ago and have kept it secret until today. I brought presents from home, but I want to give you this one first.”
Rapt, Erin’s grandparents waited patiently while she tuned her guitar.
“I’m going to need some help.”
Her Grampa stood to help her.
“No, no, no. I’m fine here. You’ll know what to do. Ready?”
She strummed the first few notes of “Sweet Baby James” and Tea’s eyes sparkled.
They sang right on cue.
Erin got flustered in the middle, but they made it through slowly. Her grandparents applauded when she was done.
“I was expecting ‘Happy Birthday’!” Grampa said.
Grandma Tea hugged Erin tightly. “Thank you, my girl.”
“I learned half of his songbook,” Erin said. “And played ‘Carolina in My Mind’ all over Door County during spring break as protest that we didn’t actually go to North Carolina.”
“Good for you,” Tea said. “I couldn’t be more proud.”
SEVENTY-FIVE
In the Southern Hemisphere, the end of school butted right up to Christmas, so Erin’s classmates graduated surrounded by Santas clad in fur, plastic evergreen trees, artificial snow, and twinkle lights.
Twinkle lights were less charming when the sun set at nine.
Hank’s Christmas present to Erin was experiential—a word she thought was him saying experimental incorrectly—and a surprise. As requested, she’d reserved the entire day of December twenty-second.
Erin, who envisioned a long drive culminating with a rock climb at dusk, woke well before the crack of dawn.
Hank rapped quietly before 5 a.m., and Erin tucked her present to him into her little bag; she hoped it was as meaningful to him as everything he’d given her.
She threw in some of Felicity’s biscuits, too. Felicity had left a note: Enjoy your day! See you tomorrow!
Erin loved her. She loved her for not waking up to manage the moment and for leaving a note that made her feel loved.
Erin opened the door to find Hank holding a stainless-steel cup. “Coffee?”
She kissed him before sipping the hot coffee. “Want to come in for a minute?”
“Nah, can’t. You ready?”
“Swimsuit on. Tramping boots, fleece, jacket, activewear, hat.” She stepped onto the stoop and, on second thought, ran back inside. She flipped over Felicity’s note and scrawled: Thanks! Have a great day working in the garden. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Love, E
Hank rested his hand on her knee as they drove eastward. Erin took in the quiet, dim roads and trees. Light edges of the huge sky hinted that day would soon dawn. Peaceful, Christchurch felt the way home should feel. The comfortable, easy feeling of her grandparents’ cottage. Calm. Serene. Like the lake on crisp mornings.
“So, where are we headed? Sumner Beach?” she asked.
“Close.”
She wasn’t sure what was close to Sumner. “Clifton? Redcliffs?”
“Your guess was close. We’re not going close to Sumner.”
Erin couldn’t stifle a yawn.
“Would you rather be in bed?” Careful, cautious Hank kept his eyes on the road, though yes, she would enjoy another lazy afternoon wrestling in his bed. Since that first kiss—which felt like ages ago—they had enjoyed each other for long hours on end.
She expected some naked time today.
The air thickened slightly as they approached the ocean.
“You’re taking me for a day at the beach?”
“Sort of.”
Hank parked next to a playground that overlooked a beach so vast they couldn’t see either end. “Have you been to New Brighton?”
She hadn’t.
“It’s one of my favorites. Surfing’s no good, but the beach goes on forever. And if the weather turns, the library’s right there.”
Hank handed a small bag to Erin and kept the larger one for himself. They trudged toward the water, Hank glancing between the sea and the beach several times until he’d found the perfect spot. He dropped his bag and laid out a blanket.
On the blanket, Erin kissed Hank’s neck. He turned and lost himself in her for several minutes.
“So, why the beach?” she asked.
“You said you’d never seen a sunrise over the ocean.”
“Or anywhere.”
“Over the ocean is the best. It’ll be up in—” He checked his phone. “Seven minutes.” He ran his hand from her knee to her hip and kissed her lightly. “I don’t want you to miss it.”
It was already bright enough to see everything. The sky was more beautiful than any painting she’d ever seen; streaks of pinks and purples and blues and grays laid atop each other, a colorful textured collage over an ocean of blue on blue on blue.
It was perfect. Just perfect.
A sliver of burnt orange poked into the horizon and slowl
y became a full circle. Mesmerized, Erin said, “I never imagined it rising so fast.”
Hank whispered, “I’ve always been fascinated by the sun like this. Only on the horizon can you look directly at the sun without damaging your eyes.”
Spectacular morning colors faded quickly as the sun took center stage. Hank slid his arms around Erin’s torso and they lay on the blanket.
“Thanks for giving me the whole day,” he said.
“Thanks for giving me my first sunrise.”
“You bet.” He kissed her sweetly, then less sweetly, and they rolled around on the blanket until a huge brown dog bounded onto them, trying to get in on the action. Its human called it away and more people peppered the beach, so they sat looking outward, fingers interlaced, for a long time.
Erin hadn’t much silence in her life before New Zealand. Before Hank. They talked plenty and did other stuff plenty, but he often left her alone with her thoughts. That was a gift in and of itself.
“Thanks,” she said.
He kissed her. “Good morning. Swim?”
They peeled off their clothes and walked to the chilly water’s edge.
“Better to do it all at once.” Erin walked into the ocean and dove under.
Hank said, “Not sure I’m ready for that.”
“You’ll be cold until you get your head wet. You could face the shore and fall backward.”
Hank dove under and came up shrieking.
“Are you okay? Don’t tell me it was a jellyfish.”
“No, it’s cold as a witch’s tit!”
Laughing, Erin wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her and she dunked him.
He emerged a moment later. “Now you’re in it!”
Erin dove and swam hard out to sea. Minutes later, she checked on Hank, who was swimming far behind her.
“It’s not a fair fight!” he yelled.
Erin rolled onto her back, floating in early morning light.
“I’m not that great a swimmer,” Hank said when he reached her.
Instantly alert, she said, “Don’t panic.”
“Not panicked, but I’d like to touch sand on occasion.”
“Let’s go in. Gently.”
Slowly, they swam toward shore. Erin kept a keen eye on Hank until they reached a depth where he could touch bottom
“Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking. Is this better?”
“All good.”
SEVENTY-SIX
After an hour of swimming and diving, they wrapped themselves in towels.
“Coffee?” Hank asked.
They bought coffee and pastries from a café on the beach. While the barista worked her magic, a chef handed Hank a jug of the previous day’s seafood chowder. “Don’t open it until you get where you’re going. Should stay warm for a few hours.”
Hank said, “Sweet as.”
In the car, Hank said, “I brought you a fantastic present.”
She dug in her bag before Hank handed her an ice cream punnet.
He said, “See? I know you!”
She bopped him on the head with it. “Just drive.”
They circumnavigated Christchurch before winding through the Southern Alps. Erin admired the scenery, admired Hank, and focused on the horizon as required. In late morning, they stopped at Arthur’s Pass, a national park off a well-traveled road.
Hank pointed at a trailhead. “This is when you need your layers. Wrap your jersey and your jacket around your waist. You’ll want them before lunch.”
Erin screamed as a vulture perched on her mirror. Its huge, green tail twitched slightly as it settled and cocked its head to study her. Pecking the rubber around her window, each monstrous jab disheveled its thick, gray feathers.
One of its friends tap-danced on the car roof. Two more stared from the grass. They were behemoths, determined to break into the car and devour them both.
“Fucking keas,” Hank said. “They’re the worst of New Zealand.” He slammed the car door on his way out to scare the birds … but keas don’t scare.
Hank swatted at the one on Erin’s mirror before physically pushing it away. It fought back, and he released a low, deep moan, spreading his arms out and dancing like a lunatic.
That worked, but when Erin emerged from the car, she ran to the trailhead. The keas perched in front of the car, taunting her.
Hank caught up. “You know they can get out of the parking area, right? It’s not like they live there. You may be walking into a forest full of ’em.”
She shrugged and hiked on, shaking off those particular keas. Arthur’s Pass was very New Zealand—mountains, water, tramping—but everything was more pronounced with Hank. She would forever remember him looking over his shoulder to ensure she was okay.
She was okay.
The terrain could be rocky, but spending time with Hank was easy. The conversation was easy. The silence was easy.
She chose him.
They hiked for two hours, stopping to ogle interesting flowers and trees. Their extra layers migrated from waist to torso as they gained altitude. Even in summer, mountain air chilled Erin.
Off the path, they found a sublime view and set up lunch: the thermos of chowder, ceramic bowls, genuine silverware, jugs of water, and more sweets than any two people required.
Hank’s back must have been killing him.
Sitting across from each other, it was practically a formal dinner, their legs crossed on a blanket in the middle of nature. Erin followed a deep breath with a satisfied sigh. With nothing to do and nowhere to be, she felt free.
“Thanks for this.”
He gazed down at the valley. “I feel like we got a late start. The South Island has a lot of great stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously. Today was your first trip to New Brighton. This right here is the best chowder around, and this is your first bowl. You have so much great stuff to discover.”
“I hope to come back and discover it all.”
“If you come back, I’ll make a list.”
The cooling chowder lingered on Erin’s tongue. By the third bite, she believed it was the best. Like the night sky, and like New Zealand, the chowder grew more nuanced with time. And it was packed with seafood.
She held a spoonful toward Hank. “What do you think this is?”
“Gurnard, maybe? I don’t know my white fish.”
He knew his chowder, though. And dense, crusty bread. Maybe soup was the answer to cold New Zealand winters, too. Erin could eat this chowder forever.
Or at least until Hank lay on the blanket. Bellies full, they pushed the sweets aside and discovered each other again. Between the trees, under the sun, in the middle of nowhere, even chilly mountain air couldn’t deter them from losing some clothes.
An hour later, Hank’s stomach growled. “Caramel bars in the chilly bin.”
Erin shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “Chilly bin. That’s the cutest one yet.” She opened the cooler and pulled out two caramel bars.
Hank polished off his and said, “We should get moving soon.”
Erin wanted to spend the rest of her day with him. Here.
“I have a present for you,” she said, withdrawing the parcel from her bag.
Hank turned it over in his hands. “Is it a self-help guide on how to speak American?”
“Better,” she said.
He ripped off the paper and stared at the very old copy of Walden.
“So, my Grandma Tea, who I loved more than anything in the world, wrote her thesis on Thoreau and feminism. This is one of her copies of Walden.”
Tears welled in Erin’s eyes as Hank thumbed through the pages.
She wiped her sleeve across her face. “Literature was never really my thing. I’ve always been a scientist. I was so thrilled when I learned one of Mercury’s craters was named Thoreau and Tea thought that was great. She and I met in the middle of art and science.”
Erin wiped her eyes again. “She was wonderful. I miss her so
much.”
“I think you should keep this.”
“I’ve thought about it. I really want you to have it.” She opened the book to a well-worn passage. “See all her notes in the margin? I sometimes look through her books and imagine we’re talking about them together. She was passionate about books and nature and music and art.”
He gazed at her with sad eyes. “I love it. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
They held hands for a few minutes, gazing at the sky together. Erin shaded her eyes from the sun.
“Let’s just stay here all day.”
He kissed her. “Any other day, we could. But I have something really, really important for you. I promise.”
He pulled her to standing and wrapped her in a bear hug. “You’re amazing. Want to lead down or follow?”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
In the parking lot, Hank shooed the keas away and they were on the road again.
“I’m having fun, I promise,” she said. “But it sort of feels like we’re spending the day in the car.”
“We just spent two hours getting lucky on a mountain.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “But otherwise, we’re spending the day in the car.”
“Google maps says under ten hours in the car today.”
“Now I know why you needed me on the longest day of the year.”
Grinning, Hank took a different way down from Arthur’s Pass. “Fact is, half our driving will be out of the sunlight. So, we’re only really wasting five hours of sun. And we’re already half done.”
She loved that he was a planner. He could have packed a single suitcase for five months away. He definitely wouldn’t have packed the clothes that sat unused in Pippa’s closet these past few months.
They passed a sign for Hokitika.
“Oh! Felicity was just there!”
Hank nodded.
“Arts and crafts village, right? Felicity went for Christmas presents and art. Are we doing an art walk or something?”
He said, “It’s not about the town.”
Hank drove straight to the ocean, waved at it, and headed south. They drove for miles, parallel to the surf, their road separated only by a thin strip of farmland. Not two hundred meters from the beach, herds of cattle grazed in the rare flat land of New Zealand.
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