by Del, Lissa
I double-tap the mouse before I can change my mind and Kat’s message pops up on the screen in a new window. It’s short and to the point.
I still think this is a bad idea, but I know better than to argue. Questions are fine – good luck finding someone who doesn’t think you’re bat-shit crazy right at the outset.
P.S: Pinot Grigio is on special at Liquor Town.
I read the email twice, then a third time, but I’m no closer to deciphering it. I scroll down to find a short message from Evie, sent to Kat the previous day.
Interview attached – what do you think?
Frantic, I glance at the top of the mail, but there’s no attachment. It would have been lost when Kat replied. Feeling more and more like a traitorous bastard, I click into Evie’s sent items folder and find the initial mail she sent to Kat. Bingo! Clicking on the small paperclip icon, I feel my mouth go dry, but there’s no going back now. It takes a few seconds for the document to open – Evie stores most of our family pictures on this laptop and the memory must be almost at capacity. I drum my fingers against the smooth surface of the desktop and cast a furtive glance through the window which offers a clear view of the street outside.
INTERVIEW QUESTIONNAIRE.
I stare at the bold text at the top of the page. That’s it? A cursory look at the first few questions confirms that this must be the questionnaire Evie prepared when she was interviewing nannies. I scroll down, skimming the questions out of curiosity. The first few are generic – can you drive, do you smoke, do you have childcare experience, basic first aid, have you ever been convicted of a felony? That last one makes me smile. The list goes on, the questions becoming more specific as Evie asks about ballet and music, spaghetti and meatballs. The question “Who would win in a battle – Arthur or Mordred?” has me laughing out loud. I keep skimming, part-amused, part-heartbroken.
Can you sew a button onto a pair of pants?
The question brings me up short. It’s a long-standing joke between us that Evie has never once sewn any item of my clothing. If a button falls off, she buys me a new pair of pants.
I squint at the screen.
Do you know how to make Boeuf Wellington?
My pulse quickens. Evie can’t stand Boeuf Wellington and neither can the kids. Well, technically we don’t know if the kids can’t stand it because they’ve never tried it. It’s my favourite, but we never eat it.
I want to stop reading, but, like a blind man groping in the dark, my eyes are drawn back to the list. On and on the questions become more personal, seemingly nonsensical, to anyone but me. Me and Evie. Oh Jesus. No wonder it took her so long to find the right person. Evie was never just looking for a nanny. The words she spoke at the hospital echo tauntingly in my head.
“Nick, you’re going to be okay. I’ve made sure of it.”
I’m going to be sick. I shove my chair away from the desk and stumble back into the hall. My blood thunders through my veins, pounding in my head. I make it upstairs, but my brain is in hyper-drive, memories pushing through to the surface and demanding I finally pay attention.
“Please just try to get along with her. For me?”
“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I might not always be here. I think it’ll be good for the kids to form a bond with someone else.”
I cannot sit still, Evie’s words washing over me, making so much sense now, and yet I was blind to what she was doing.
“You don’t need to show Mommy. She saw me,” Casey had said after her ballet recital. And Evie had been sad to miss it, but not nearly sad enough. A bark of harsh laughter scrapes out of my throat. Evie would never have missed it, not even if it meant it was the last thing she’d ever do. An image blooms in my mind, of Evie, huddled in the dark, watching Casey’s headband falling off, watching as she brought the entire performance to a halt and reduced the audience to tears. That had been the first time Julia had taken her place but it hadn’t been the last. Had she really masterminded all of it?
I pause outside Julia’s bedroom. The door is open, the bed neatly made. I scan the room and my eyes fall on a bottle of perfume on the dresser. I don’t hesitate. I cross the room and snatch it up, yanking off the lid and bringing it to my nose. You didn’t have to get me anything else, Evie. The perfume is more than… Julia never finished that sentence. Evie cut her off, so quickly I hadn’t given it any thought, but as the scent assaults my senses, I realise why being near Julia was so difficult. This perfume evokes memories of sex, nostalgia and bliss. Evie wore nothing else when we were first married.
I slump onto Julia’s bed the bottle still in my hands.
“Oh Evie,” I groan, another jagged splinter ripping through my already shattered heart. “What the hell did you do?”
44
Evie
Kat’s head appears around the door. I catch only a glimpse of her dark glasses and then she’s slinking around the frame like a cat. It’s not even close to visiting hours.
“How did you get past the nurses’ station?” I’m not surprised, just curious.
“I waited until one went to the bathroom. The other took advantage of her absence to call her boyfriend. The last thing I heard when I slipped past was her telling him what colour underwear she was wearing, so I figure if she comes in here and tells me off, I’ll just tell her to keep her lilac panties on.”
I laugh and my chest shrieks in protest at the slight movement.
“That bad?” Kat asks, tossing her glasses carelessly into her handbag.
I nod. Kat ignores the visitor’s chair and sits on the bed beside me. Her creamy-pink painted fingernails pick at the starched sheet.
“I don’t think they’ll kick you out,” I say. “They seem to relax the rules when they know you don’t have much time left.”
Kat doesn’t contradict me. Instead, she pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of a white Honda Civic. Someone has drawn a perfect cock and balls on the rear windscreen. I don’t need to check the registration to know that it’s Mary-Anne’s car and I clutch my chest as I start to laugh again.
“She came to see me this morning,” I say. “She and David – together.”
Kat’s perfectly shaped eyebrows disappear into her fringe. “Are they reconciling?”
“No,” I shake my head. “But I think, for the first time, they’re actually getting along. I don’t think either of them has been happy for a long time.” I give Kat a sheepish look. “She’s actually not that bad.”
“Are you saying I should stop pranking her?”
“No. To be honest, I think she enjoys it. How did she take the cock and balls?”
“She didn’t notice at first. I watched her drive up the street toward Grace’s house. I can only imagine what the bridge ladies must have thought.”
“Probably turned them on, the stuffy old goats.”
Kat picks at the sheet again. “I’ll miss having you as my wingman.”
“You have a new one,” I point out.
“I admit you did well,” she concedes. “Better than I ever expected. Julia’s great.” A pause. “But she’s not you.”
“She’s the new and improved me. And she looks better in a bikini.”
“Yeah, but you have better hair.”
We both laugh at that, but somewhere in the middle it all goes wrong. Tears spill from Kat’s eyes and cut a trail through the foundation on her cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry. Not when her first company went into liquidation, not when she went through her first break-up, not even when her father died, although granted, they hadn’t spoken in over a year because he’d borrowed money from her for rehab and blown it all on the bottle.
I reach for her hand. “Kat.”
She squeezes my hand so tightly I wince. “I’m fine,” she sniffs, turning her head so I can’t see her face. “Just give me a minute.”
It takes a little longer and her grip doesn’t relent. Eventually, she swivels to face me again, her eyeliner smudged, a watery smi
le fixed on her face.
“I’m sorry to abandon you like this,” I say.
“You should be.”
“We had a good ride.”
“The best.”
There’s nothing left to say. Kat stays, her hand still gripping mine, but more gently, letting the blood flow back into my fingers. I want to stay with her, in this moment, but the pain is rising, rearing, and my free hand itches to reach for the small button connected to my IV which will release a fresh dose of morphine into my system. I fight the urge, knowing the oblivion will pull me away from her, even as the agony becomes unbearable. Kat smiles, sadly, and leans over to kiss my forehead. When she pulls back I see the white box in her hand.
“I love you, Evie,” she whispers, before pressing the button.
I have no idea how long I sleep, but I wake to the sound of rain. It’s a cheery drumbeat, my favourite sound in the world. For a moment, I think I must have fallen asleep outside, on the patio sofa, but then reality reasserts itself and I feel the scratchy hospital linen across my legs. I open my eyes to Nick’s beautiful face. My gaze drifts down to his fingers, drumming on the side of the visitor’s chair. It’s not raining.
As if he senses my eyes on him, he raises his head to look at me. “Hey.”
I try to speak but my tongue is once again thick and clumsy, my mouth stiff and unresponsive. For a moment, I know a moment of pure, unadulterated terror, and then a bout of coughing frees my lips.
“Hi,” I manage to croak.
“The kids are waiting down the hall,” he says. He’s holding a piece of paper in his hand. It’s creased, as if it’s been folded and unfolded a hundred times while he waited.
“I found this.” He holds it up for me to see. I only need to read the first two words to know what it is. And what he knows.
My cracked lips sting as they stretch into a smile. “I would say I’m sorry but I’d be lying.”
“I figured as much.” A pause. “Were you going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
He regards me intently, searching my face for any sign that I’m being dishonest, but he finds none. “You really are a stubborn wench, Evie Danvers.” He’s letting me off the hook. I can see how much he wants to say, but we both know it would change nothing.
“I know,” I whisper. “And you love me for it.”
“I do.” He lets the paper fall and gets to his feet. Strong, familiar arms reach for me, and I breathe in the smell of him, the smell of my past and my present, the smell of a life well-lived. “I love you,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath hot against my cheek, his words deep, filled with emotion and sincerity. “I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you and I will love you forever, long after this shitty world is done with both of us.”
I cling to him, pouring out my very soul and a piece of my own heart, and praying that it will be enough. I don’t ask him about Julia, about whether or not my plan worked, because it doesn’t matter anymore. I underestimated him, all along, this man – this lion-hearted, courageous man, who will be more than enough for our children and who will be strong enough to weather the storm all on his own.
“I love you, Nick,” I whisper, feeling the hot tears on my face. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
The children are almost my undoing. Almost, but I keep it together because I’m also strong. Like calls to like, and I married a man who was my equal. It’s not easy, but I call on every ounce of strength within me not to cry. Casey and Dylan settle on either side of me. Dylan is more subdued than usual, but Casey is determined to tell me exactly what I’ve missed – at once, and without interruption. I listen, letting the sweet lisp of her voice wash over me as I run my hand up and down Dylan’s back. Jesse hovers near the bed, his bruised eyes taking in every tube, every piece of daunting electronic equipment and every laboured breath I take.
“Come here, Jess,” I beckon. He doesn’t move. My throat chokes up and I try again. “There’s room for one more.”
He shakes his head, lips trembling.
“Give your mom a hug, Jess,” Nick is pleading, but I shake my head at him, telling him to let it go.
“I need a wee,” Casey announces eventually when she’s run out of stories to tell. Nick takes her from me and Dylan hops down off the bed to tag along. I wait until the bathroom door shuts behind them before turning to Jesse.
“You can stand over there, Jesse Knight,” I say, casting a sceptical look at his feet, “but there’s something you should know.” A puzzled frown, but it erases some of the fear etched on his face. I know my son and I know what this is doing to him. Jesse cannot heal because he hasn’t had to face his worst fear yet. He cannot slay the dragon of despair until he actually has to face it, and as long as I’m here, he’s living in a perpetual state of grief. Jesse will only begin to heal when I’m gone. It’s time for me to say goodbye, to let go, so that my family can grieve. So that they can grieve and then finally begin to heal.
“What?” Jesse whispers, rousing me from my heart-breaking revelation. “What do I need to know?”
“Oh, nothing,” I shrug, ignoring the stab of pain it induces. “Just that the floor’s lava.”
Without thinking, Jesse bounds forward, not toward the door, but away from it, right onto the bed, right into my waiting arms.
45
EPILOGUE
“Nick!” Julia’s voice is breathless, carried to me on the wind. I jog over to her, my feet digging into the warm wet sand. “Is this it?” she asks. Her eyes dance with excitement.
I glance down and smile at the rock at her feet. “No,” I shake my head. “That’s not it.”
The fire in her eyes fades as she scowls at the harmless stone. “It looked… I really thought...”
I cock my head to one side. “It actually looks a bit like a…”
“Goat!” Casey announces, appearing between us. “That looks like a goat.”
“Or a dog,” Dylan adds, his wet hair clinging to his forehead.
Jesse frowns, walking a tight circle before his blue eyes rise to meet mine. “It’s a cat,” he says. “Definitely a cat.”
My lips part, a smile tugging up the corners of my mouth and my heart swells with emotion.
“It is a cat,” Julia agrees, pulling Jesse against her. Dylan and Casey have already lost interest, and they race away flicking up sand as they go. The sound of their laughter fills me up inside.
“Dad, do you wanna play ball?” Jesse asks.
“You think you can take your old man?” Jesse gives me a knowing look. “Okay,” I tease, “but don’t cry when you lose.”
He sprints back toward our basket, a short way down the beach.
“I really wanted to find it,” Julia says softly, her eyes downcast.
I drape my arm around her shoulders and she smells of salt, and sea, and Julia.
“I know you did. But she wouldn’t have wanted you to.”
She peers up at me through dark lashes. “She would’ve wanted you to find this one,” I explain. “Because this one is yours. Only yours.”
Evie’s final gamble didn’t pay off the way she planned. It’s been a year and Julia and I are not together – not in that way – but she is my best friend in the whole world and she still lives in our house. She drops the kids at school on the way to college and she makes Boeuf Wellington every Friday night. The kids eat it too. She’s a mother and wife in every way but one. We haven’t laid a finger on one another, but, looking at her now, her pink lips pursed in an adorable pout, the swell of her breasts above the modest cut of her bathing suit, I feel a flutter in my chest and wonder if perhaps Evie did know best after all.
I pull my phone from my pocket and Julia smiles, stepping to the side so that our feet are perfectly spaced beside the cat-shaped rock as I capture the moment – a brand new memory.
Dylan and Casey are back, circling like a pair of hysterical vultures, and Jesse is throwing the ball up into the air and catching it, taunting me as only a pre-t
een can.
“Uh-oh,” Julia warns suddenly, her voice low and meaningful. We all freeze. Jesse lets the ball drop to the sand, his face splitting in a grin and I toss my phone down beside it. Casey and Dylan look like they’ve just stepped up to the starting-block.
“The floor’s lava!” Julia yells, but we’re already running, all five of us, hurtling toward the surf.
Also by LISSA DEL
CONTEMPORARY WOMENS FICTION:
Riven
Rainfall
SPECULATIVE FICTION:
The Clock Keeper
GUARDIANS OF SUMMERFELD SERIES
The Cathedral of Cliffdale
The Fight of the Fallen
The Hope of Hawkstone
The Balance of the Blood
TRAVELER SERIES
The Traveler (Book 1)
The Survivor (Book 1.5)
The Saviour (Book 2)
LEGACY SERIES
The Legacy
The Legion
The Legend
About the Author
Lissa Del is the author of a range of contemporary women’s fiction titles and the pseudonym of award-winning author, Melissa Delport. She graduated from the University of South Africa with a degree in English Literature and now lives with her husband and three children in Hillcrest, KZN.