About Hana

by K T Bowes

Chapter 42

  In the absence of furniture, the three men leaned against the bench tops in the kitchen. They chatted about irrelevant issues and Marcus got stuck into the chocolate. Logan turned to Bodie. “Dude, I didn’t realise who you were when you brought the truck back.” A sense of guilt mixed with relief passed across his handsome face.

  Bodie nodded. “You hurt my mum.”

  Logan scuffed his boot against the linoleum floor. “Yeah. I gather she thinks that. It’s not true.”

  Bodie shrugged and narrowed his eyes into a macho challenge. “If I thought you did, you wouldn’t be standing here.”

  Marcus pushed a chocolate into his mouth and closed his eyes. He dribbled as he spoke. “You two gonna fight? Can I keep these first?”

  “They’re for Hana!” Logan lurched for the box and missed.

  “You’re diabetic, you idiot!” Bodie caught it and Marcus’ face crumpled with misery.

  “I didn’t find the Turkish Delight!”

  Bodie peered into the box. “You found everything else. Geez, man!” He pointed towards the door. “Go check your insulin levels and I’m telling Izzie!”

  Marcus sloped off and left Logan and Bodie eyeing each other. “Look,” said Logan, spreading his hands. “It’s getting dark and I presume Hana’s up there on her own?”

  Bodie squirmed with discomfort. “Yeah, we came home for the stupid cat.” He glanced at the door Marcus left through. “I should check on my idiot friend.”

  Logan nodded. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Half an hour later, Logan headed north to Ngaruawahia with two sleeping bags and sleeping mats which Bodie retrieved from a box near the back of the garage. The other two men relinquished responsibility for Hana while Marcus recovered from his sugar overload. Bodie planned to spend the night looking for whatever Hana’s attackers wanted; not yet knowing he’d come up empty handed again.

  Logan rang the Gordonton house from his mobile on the way up to Culver’s Cottage and met with resistance. “You promised!” he shouted down the phone.

  Pete sounded far away. “It’s Henri’s last night before she goes to the South Island.” Logan heard the sulk in his voice. “She’s cooking my favourite dinner.”

  Logan sagged in his driver’s seat. “You dick! Hana won’t let me in by myself. Please mate.”

  “No.” Pete hung up and when Logan dialled again, he got no reply. Logan glanced down at the bouquet on the front seat and his confidence wilted.

  Hana placed her phone on the kitchen counter with a sigh. Bodie’s text said to expect Pete and one other. She hoped it might be someone who could light a fire, as she couldn’t trust Pete with responsible, grown-up activity.

  When a sharp knock sounded twenty minutes later, she walked into the hall and peered through the window next to the front door. Nothing happened when she clicked the switch for the outside light. The visitor looked too tall for Peter North and Hana groaned as he turned to face the front door. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she hissed.

  “I know, I know!” Logan held his free hand up, palm outwards in supplication as Hana pulled the door open. “Pete bailed at the last minute.” He stepped over the threshold and dumped two sleeping bags and mats on the hall floor. “I can leave if you want.” With him came a blast of Antarctic air and Hana struggled to close the door after him.

  “What happened to Bodie?” she demanded, her face pulled into an unattractive sulk.

  Logan winced. “He’s with Marcus. His blood stats went haywire.”

  “How haywire?” Hana narrowed her eyes. “He looked fine earlier.” Understanding flooded her expression. “Chocolate? He’s gorged on something naughty.”

  “Something like that.” Logan looked around the hallway and gave a slow nod. “Floors look amazing. And you’ve fixed that ruined plasterboard on the ceiling. Well done.”

  Hana sighed and her eyes took on a hard glaze. “Yeah. All the things you planned to help me with.”

  Logan exhaled. “Hana. I tried to speak to you countless times and I even drove up here. What did you want me to do? Break in and sand the floors for you?”

  “Very funny.” Hana glared at him. “Make a joke of it, why don’t you?”

  “Just give me something to do now,” Logan said, removing his jacket. “I’m here and willing to help. Where are you up to?”

  Hana pointed towards the kitchen. “I’ve scrubbed and bleached out the old cupboards and lined them with cheap wallpaper off-cuts. Then I started sanding the fronts. I want to paint them and change the handles.”

  Logan pulled her right hand towards him and turned it over, exposing the stitches. “How did you keep that clean?”

  “Rubber glove.” Hana flapped the yellow gloves in her left hand. “Makes it sweat. Gloves don’t help with the sore wrist though.”

  “Did you get that break checked again?” Logan reached for her other hand and she snatched it away.

  “No. I’m not going back there.” She pouted and Logan narrowed his eyes. To Hana’s relief, he said nothing.

  “Have you eaten?” His question came from left field and Hana floundered.

  “Chips earlier,” she said. “I brought the kettle and toaster from Achilles Rise. Do you want toast?”

  Logan tutted. “I bought chocolates for you, but they had an accident.”

  “Shame.” Hana looked disappointed. “I could murder some chocolate.”

  Logan followed her to the kitchen where she boiled the kettle for tea and coffee. Her new china cups from the hardware store looked cheerful against the darkness of the scene outside, white with bright red strawberries. They couldn’t alter the black tension inside though.

  “Thanks.” Logan accepted the coffee and leaned back against the counter, looking at Hana as he sipped the hot liquid. The awkward moment lasted and lasted as neither of them wanted to speak first. Hana drank her tea too fast in her bloody-mindedness and burnt her mouth. Waiting for the pain to subside she stared into the mug, twisting it and watching how a stray tea leaf stayed in front of her, even though the liquid twisted with the cup.

  Logan cleared his throat and Hana jumped, causing the brown tea to shoot upwards and splash onto the clean floor. Embarrassed about her overreaction, Hana dumped the mug on the counter and bolted.

  “No, no, Hana. Don’t run. I’m sorry.” Logan crossed the room in four strides. He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long time, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. “It doesn’t last,” he promised. “You’re bound to be jumpy but it won’t last forever.”

  Hana nestled into his chest and waited for her breathing to calm. He smelled as she remembered and his spell settled over her, muddying all thoughts outside of his influence. She wished she hated him more and tried to summon up the painful sense of betrayal and righteous indignation, without success.

  “It’s getting cold,” Logan whispered and Hana stirred. “Should I light a fire?”

  “Okay.” She pulled out of his embrace, cool air filling the vacancy left by his warm body. “The builder checked the chimney and said it’s fine.”

  Logan went outside to source wood and Hana used breathing exercises to reinstate her equilibrium. She failed. As long as she anticipated his footsteps, nothing worked to calm her nerves. When he stumbled up the back stairs with his arms filled with dusty logs and his biceps straining through his shirt, she lost herself again. “You should go,” she suggested, her fingers writhing together and an anxious expression marring her looks. “I’m fine by myself.”

  “No.” His single word answer threw her and left no clever comeback. Logan knelt before the fireplace and tipped the logs into the hearth. Hana sighed. She sat beside him and read newspaper clippings on a pretence of helping.

  “There’s a Zumba class in the community hall at Huntly,” she commented, handing the sheet over with deliberate slowness so she could read an advert on the back for heat pumps. “I should get a heat pump for here.”

  Logan sighed and
held his hand out for the paper, waiting while she finished and then scrunching it up with an irritated expression. It took ages for the paper to catch and light the sticks, instead of burning itself out after a tantalising show of temporary heat. “Done,” Logan said, sitting back as the sticks crackled and burned.

  “But is it?” Hana asked, peering at the logs on top. “You’ve said that twice. I thought you’d be good at this.”

  Logan’s eyes widened. “I am good at this, cheeky tart! I made my first fire at the age of four.”

  “I was younger,” Hana retorted, twisting her face into a pout. “But it was a gas fire and I pressed a switch.”

  “Townie!” Logan scoffed, his expression softening with humour. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. We should sleep.”

  “Okay. Turn around then.” Hana dug her fingers in Logan’s back and stood, hopping on the spot to remove the track pants. Then she slipped into a sleeping bag and pulled it up to her chin. She sighed in the warm softness and hopped towards the fire like a child in a sack race. She sat with difficulty and laid flat on her back.

  “Don’t be an egg.” Logan shook his head at her and seizing the far edge of the mat, pulled her away from the fire. “If that gets going, it might spark and burn the bag. It’s dangerous.”

  “Spoil sport.” Hana pouted. “How can it be this cold for April?” she demanded, “It’s crazy.”

  “Dunno,” Logan replied. “Want another drink before I get into my sleeping bag?”

  Hana shook her head. “No thanks,” she said. She kept her eyes half closed and watched Logan flick the light off and then undress. He removed his work pants and folded them, balancing them on his cowboy boots. His work shirt lay over the top, but he kept the tight tee shirt on, its whiteness glowing against the light from the flames. Hana’s gaze traced the outline of his long, muscular legs as he pushed his feet into the other sleeping bag, socks first.

  “I stink of bleach,” she complained to distract herself from his smooth skin and the way his shorts fitted snug to his bum. She pulled a hand free and sniffed her fingers. “It’s horrid.”

  Logan wrinkled his nose, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He jerked his head towards the sleeping mats. “Do you want yours?”

  Hana nodded and pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Yes please.”

  Logan hopped across to fetch both and butted them together, hauling Hana onto her half like a sack of potatoes. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “I assumed you’d sleep over there.” She jabbed a finger towards the other side of the room and watched Logan’s left eyebrow quirk upwards in amusement.

  “Did you?” he answered. He sat with more dignity than Hana managed and pulled himself down into the sleeping bag. His body felt solid and safe next to hers and she hissed out a sigh of mock annoyance before laying down and turning her back on him.

  Despite herself, Hana felt comforted by his presence. He didn’t just offer protection, but doubled as an unintentional draught excluder, helping her to maximise the heat from the healthy fire. He lay without touching her, but she heard him breathing and snuffling behind her. The spectre of Caroline rose and hung over them like an impending disaster, sucking any peace from the room.

  Hana heard the change in Logan’s breathing and knew he slept. Just like that, he shut his eyes and left. She groaned aloud at the unfairness which left her baking in front of a roaring fire with the suspicion she might need the toilet soon. Concentrating on the soporific assurance of Logan’s steady breaths, Hana drifted into sleep. She woke with a start as a floorboard creaked nearby, panicking and snatching at the zipper of her sleeping bag.

  “It’s okay.” Logan’s whisper felt warm on her cheek and his fingers stroked her cool forehead. “I put more logs on the fire. It damped down too fast.”

  Hana lay back on something warm, realising his arm replaced the wooden floor beneath her head. Lacking the energy to argue, she settled, pushing her body back into his and enjoying the contact. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “It’s okay.” He wrapped his other arm around her waist and tucked her in tight, creating a bubble of safety around her.

  “I’d forgotten,” she mused, her voice sleepy.

  “Forgotten what?” Logan whispered.

  “How nice it feels to listen to someone else breathe,” she said, her sentence punctuated with a yawn. “Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep unless I’m exhausted.”

  Logan’s arm pulled her closer, constricting her stomach until she levered her bottom against him. Then he leaned over and kissed her neck. He turned her in his arms, centimetres at a time until without resisting, she found herself facing him. His breath smelled of coffee and toothpaste, warm and inviting. When his lips found Hana’s in the darkness, she responded, craving comfort and the need to feel loved. They kissed like teenagers on a time limit, putting everything into their stolen minutes together. “I don’t want you thinking about sleeping with someone else,” Logan whispered, breaking the kiss as his fingers strayed inside her sleeping bag. He found the bottom of the pullover and tugged.

  “No!” Hana reacted, pushing herself backwards and knowing she’d almost fallen. Almost repeated the same mistake twice. ‘Sin in haste, repent at leisure.’ Her father’s words wounded her like tiny needles in her flesh. Embarrassment made her spiteful. “How can you say that?” she snapped.

  “Hana.” Logan’s fingers reached for her in the flickering orange glow and she slapped them away.

  “No. You can’t have your cake and eat it!” she bit. “You made your choice.”

  “What are you talking about?” Logan leaned up on one elbow, his expression unguarded for once.

  Hana shuffled away in her sleeping bag, sliding off the mat and moving nearer the fire. “Did you mean everything you said at your parent’s place?” she demanded. “Or was it lies to get me into bed and then ditch me?”

  Logan exhaled and turned onto his back. He fixed his arms behind his head and his eyes glittered in the firelight. “I meant everything I said. Nothing’s changed for me.” He paused a moment. “What the hell happened, Hana?”

  Hana shook her head. The memory of the touching scene in the car park made acid rise into her chest. She thought of how she hid behind the truck to avoid humiliation and anger replaced lust and the sense of hopelessness. Caroline’s smug expression and the intercepted text message acted as the catalyst. “Caroline happened,” she told him, her anger evident even in the darkness. “I saw you leave together. You looked like crap the next day with your shirt buttons done up in the wrong order. It doesn’t take a genius, Logan! You humiliated me.”

  “Ah.” Logan’s tone sounded judgemental. “Right. So this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about you not wanting to look a fool.”

  Hana inhaled and balled her fists. Both hands sent darts of pain up her arms and exacerbated her fiery temper. “How dare you!” she shouted. “Don’t make me the crazy in this relationship, Logan Du Rose! I know what I saw.”

  “No, you don’t!” Logan sat up and faced her, his irises glinting in the orange glow. “Yes, you saw us leave together because she threatened to tell you a pack of lies. That’s all you saw. We had a conversation and that was it.”

  Hana’s laugh sounded cruel. The firelight bounced off her red hair, highlighting it in flames of its own. “Liar!” she shouted. “I saw the text you sent her.”

  “What?” Logan’s brow narrowed. “What bloody text? I haven’t texted her since the day after our wedding when I told her to go to hell.”

  “That’s not very nice!” Hana bit, her childhood in her father’s Sunday school classes coming home to roost. “You can’t say that to people.” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “I want you to leave.”

  “Well, I’m not!” Logan snapped back. He lay down on the sleeping mat and stretched across to occupy Hana’s half, condemning her to the hard floor. “It’s late, I’m tired and I’m teaching in a few hours. Just go back to sleep.”

  “I don
’t have to if I don’t want to.” Hana stuck her nose in the air and folded her arms.

  “Don’t then,” Logan replied. He gave a sigh that almost sounded like contentment and Hana resisted the urge to put her hands around his throat.

  She lay on her side, her shoulder digging into the hard floorboard and losing the battle. Hana wondered why she didn’t drag the large rug across and lay on that, but both her wrist and her hand punished her for the day’s rough treatment.

  “Hana.” Logan’s voice came through the darkness, leeching beneath her skin and sending tingles up her spine. “For what it’s worth, I can see how it must have looked,” he conceded, “I get it.” He sighed and Hana tensed. An air of confession hung over them and she squeezed her eyes closed against it. She didn’t want to hear. “I should’ve talked to you before now, but I didn’t know how to say it. Will you let me explain something, please?”

  Hana’s heart plummeted down past her knees and dread replaced the void. She put her hands over her ears like a petulant toddler. “No. I don’t care,” she bit, raising her voice. Once he told her the thing which caught on his tongue and ruffled his confidence, they’d sleep like wooden planks cast together like flotsam in a swollen river. “Stop talking,” she pleaded, her voice tearful. “Or go somewhere else. I’ve worked it out for myself, thanks. Just leave things the way they are. It’s awkward enough at work without you making it worse.”

  Logan tried to pull her towards him but Hana resisted, snuggling deep into her bag and covering her head. Sadness drained away the anger and her tears dripped with muted plops into the fabric. She muffled the worst of her undignified sniffs but Logan heard, cuddling up behind her and reaching into her sleeping bag. With gentle hands, he stroked her hair back from her face, pulling her spine into his chest and forming a powerful rear-guard against the draught pushing beneath the lounge door. Hana fell asleep with his arms around her. Despite the physical contact, she felt more alone than ever.

  The next morning dawned grey and cold. Hana’s pale complexion looked ghostlike and every bone in her body ached from sleeping on the floor. A draught slipped through the rimu boards from beneath the house and she rued the need for under floor insulation. The fire lay cold and dead in the grate, a pile of ashes beneath the iron basket the only evidence of its nocturnal activity. Logan slept on, his face pressed tight into the back of her neck. As Hana moved, he inhaled and roused himself and his grip tightened around her. She wriggled against him and he groaned. “Stay,” he whispered and his tone sounded urgent.

  “No,” she bit. “Thanks for staying but it’s time you left.”

  Logan snorted. “Oh, Hana! Why won’t you let yourself trust me?”

  “What, because you’re trustworthy?” she retorted, yanking herself free of his grasp and backing out of the sleeping bag.

  Logan sighed and rolled onto his stomach. Hana saw him glance at his watch, registering the time. Six-thirty felt like midnight and dark shadows circled his eyes in the dawn light. She pulled yesterday’s track pants over her legs and hid in the kitchen.

  Logan padded to the bathroom in his socks, his white tee shirt rumpled and his tight shorts clinging to every muscle and sinew. Hana turned her face towards the kitchen window and pretended not to stare. She brewed coffee, attempting to be pleasant to a man she’d reduced to the status of colleague, awaiting his appearance with a dull ache in her chest.

  “I’m off now.” Logan’s voice sounded hard as he turned his shirt collar down and tucked it into his trousers. Stubble graced the lower half of his face, hardening his dark looks. His grey-eyed gaze flicked down to check his trousers and then up to rest on Hana’s blushing face. The truck keys jangled in his hand.

  “Thanks.” Hana knew the word sounded lame. She swallowed and avoided looking at him. “For everything.”

  Logan snorted and shook his head. To her surprise, his expression softened. “You really think I’ll walk away?” he asked. His tone sounded light and he leaned against the doorframe and stuck his hands in his pockets, his stature casual and relaxed. “You think it’s that easy?”

  Hana shrugged and avoided his gaze. “I don’t know, Logan. I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Then know this.” He pushed off from the doorframe and reached her in two strides, withdrawing his hands from his pockets in the same fluid movement. The pressure of his palms against Hana’s upper arms and the small shake he gave her, unhooked the feeble clasp over her heart. “You’re the one thing in this life I will not lose again.” His voice sounded hoarse and he lifted her chin with an index finger, forcing her to see the gravity in his grey eyes. Logan tilted his head and Hana swallowed. “I’m in this for the long haul, Hana. I always was. Get used to it.”

  Hana breathed out through pursed lips and he kissed her, stalling the exhale mid-way. His fingers weaved through her hair, the plasters over his knuckles snagging until he snorted with exasperation. Hana opened up to him, her whole self in the kiss, a flower released from the restrictive casing of the bud she could’ve become if her life took a different route. Logan’s pupils almost obscured his irises as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. Hana’s palms against his chest felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat and she swallowed as fear sought to wreak havoc in the fleeting sense of peace. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I can’t explain but I need to be alone.”

  She watched his eyes shutter closed but when he opened them, determination filled the space where dismay hovered before. Logan shook his head. “You’re not listening Hana.” He bowed his head and kissed her jaw. “I will not lose you.” The corners of his lips lifted into a smile and déjà vu robbed her of voice. His teenage face returned to her inner vision, serious and intense with those haunting eyes and that same shy smile. Hana’s lips parted and her resolve deserted her.

  Logan’s brow knitted and he glanced at his watch. “Gotta go,” he said, stealing another kiss.

  Hana pulled herself from his embrace, using his distraction against him. “I have to be alone,” she repeated, the futility of her words hitting home.

  “Why?” Logan cocked his head in confusion, the dimple appearing in his right cheek as he chewed his lip. “Why, Hana?”

  She swallowed and repeated what she knew, what she’d always known. “It’s what I deserve.” Her words cut through the air like a knife. She swallowed and pointed a shaking finger at the front door. “Please go, Logan. I mean it.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. Rubbing the fingers of both hands beneath his eyes, he held the pose, drawing the grey windows of his soul into narrow, curved slits. “No,” he said, as though to himself. “No.” Logan let his hands fall, his fingers stroking the side of Hana’s neck and tracing a line across her shoulder in retreat. An electric current passed through her, earthing itself to the floor through her stomach and snaking down her inner thigh. Logan reached the front door and unlocking it, he turned back to her. “You know where to find me, Hana. I love you and I’ve spent the last twenty-six years in love with you. This isn’t about me or Caroline, but about you. I know what past hurts do, Hana. They cloud your judgement, lie to you and make you run.” Logan waved his hand in her direction, taking in her rigid stance and flashing green eyes. “This is you running. So do it, babe. Do it. And when you’re done running and find yourself standing still, look behind you. I’ll still be here.”

  The door closed and Hana saw Logan pass the hall window, striding over the stairs two at a time. She heard the truck start with its familiar grunty roar like an accusation. Then it crunched away down the hillside. The silence Logan left behind him throbbed and hummed in the empty house and Hana stood right where he left her. The echo of her own jaded inner voice sought to make him a liar like all the others who trod in and out of her life just to trample the flowers. Her father, Vik, all of them. Liars.