by K T Bowes
Chapter 44
Hana didn’t hear the vehicle whine up the drive, too busy in the kitchen with her paintbrush. The loud knock on the front door made her start and jab the brush into her cheek. Her hands shook and she rested her shoulder against the wall, balancing on the draining board with one foot on the counter. The Honda sat on the driveway next to the porch, giving her away. Bodie took a key and said he’d be ages and Marcus texted from Invercargill to say he’d landed. Hana panicked.
“What can I do?” she hissed, reaching for the chair she used as a ladder. She glanced at the kitchen door standing ajar and knew the caller would see the muted light through the front windows. “Hide,” she told herself. “Hide in the pantry.” The cutlery drawer came into view as she reached the chair and Hana pictured the knife she’d grab. No mistakes this time.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she almost overbalanced trying to retrieve it, smearing paint from the wet brush onto the draining board. Her phone slipped in her wet fingers, reflecting the impressive shade of oilskin brown on the cupboard doors. Hana groaned as her fingers smeared the sticky mess across the screen and buttons and the phone stopped ringing. “No, no!” she hissed, watching her only lifeline disappear. She rubbed the screen against her pants and it stared up at her. Dead.
“Hana!” Logan’s voice sounded urgent as he hammered on the door and Hana’s heart lurched. “Are you okay? Hana!”
Logan smiled with relief as Hana pulled the door open. He’d positioned himself side on, ready to do battle with her front door. She wiped at the brown smudge and spread it across her cheek. “Sorry,” he said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I didn’t want to break the door down but figured I’d have to.”
“Why didn’t you want to?” Hana stood back so he could pass. She stroked the glossy navy wood. “Because you’d mess up my door?”
Logan shook his head as he slipped off his cowboy boots. “No, wahine! My hand isn’t mended yet.” He held up his fingers, the knuckles still raw and painful.
Hana’s eyes moved from the cracked, bruised skin to Logan’s face. “But you would’ve?” she asked, her voice small. “If I needed you to?”
His slow nod offered reassurance. “Course,” he replied, grey eyes raking her face. He smirked and prodded his own cheek. “Painting?” he asked. “Yourself or the walls?”
“Neither.” She padded into the kitchen without replying, giving her nerves time to settle. Logan followed, issuing a low whistle of appreciation.
“Wow. This looks different. The brown is perfect for the cupboards. Logan spun around, nodding his head. “You’ve a good eye for colour.”
“Thanks.” Hana picked her brush out of the sink and laid it on the upturned lid of the paint tin. Her eyes strayed to the half-painted pantry door. “Would you like coffee?”
“Yeah, but I’ll make it.” Logan nudged her out of the way. “I’ll stay for a while and help you paint. Leave that door near the window; it’s too high. I’ll finish it.”
“Are you sure?” Hana eyed the pristine black jeans and casual sweater. “You’ll ruin your clothes.”
Logan shrugged and flicked the switch on the kettle. “It’s just stuff, Hana. All replaceable. I’d like to help.”
“Thanks.” Hana placed her hand over her heart, feeling the frenetic beating slow to a dull throb. “The knock on the door scared me. I hate feeling this way.”
“I can imagine.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “How can I help?”
Hana jerked her head towards the pantry door. “Just paint that bit near the ceiling for me. I didn’t like balancing on the draining board and my hands are sore.”
His smile halted her instructions. “I didn’t mean the painting. I’ll do that anyway. But your security bothers me. How can I help with that?”
Hana swallowed. “I don’t know, Logan. Bodie’s paid for an expensive gate and they’re installing it next week. He thinks it’s impenetrable.” Hana shrugged. “Other than that, I don’t know. I’ll be happier when I have control over who rocks up on my porch, but I can’t stop that blonde man finding me in town, at work or anywhere else for that matter.”
“But they’re public places,” Logan assured her, cocking his head and folding his arms. “That’s not gone well for him so far. The cops are watching out, so that limits him. If you get your home secure, the rest is easier.”
Hana shook her head, doubt crossing her eyes. “Not really. He can run my car off the road or any number of things I’ve no control over. If he wants me dead, it won’t prove hard.”
The scar under Logan’s right eye puckered as his brow furrowed. “But he doesn’t want you dead, wahine. You have something he wants. Killing you makes no sense.”
Hana rubbed her eye with her knuckle and winced. “But I don’t know what it is; otherwise I’d give it back.”
“I believe you.” Logan’s words struck a chord deep in her soul and emotion filled Hana’s chest.
“Nobody’s said that.” She inhaled, flaring her nostrils to stem the tears. “It’s on me. The cops look at me as though I’m the guilty one. Over and over again they ask me if I’ve offended anyone, taken something belonging to someone else, dated someone unsavoury.” An ironic smile crossed her lips. “Fat chance. If you’d asked the same question last year, I’d say my husband died eight years ago, I go to work and home, have no social life and don’t know anyone outside my church friends.”
“What changed?” Logan cocked his head and his eyelashes remained unblinking.
Hana rolled her eyes and her laugh sounded jaded. “I still go to work and home and don’t have a social life. But my best friend slept with a student, my boss thinks I knew and said nothing, I’ve changed house and car and seen more of my son in the last few months.” Her eyelashes flickered. “And I thought I dated you.”
“So, not all bad then.” Logan’s sarcasm forced a laugh from between Hana’s lips and she relaxed.
“No. Not quite. But I still didn’t take something from a crook.”
“I know.” Logan winked at her and turned away. “What am I making here? Tea or coffee?”
Three hours later and Logan finished painting the thirteenth cupboard door. “Half way there.” He stood back to admire his work and glanced at Hana. She looked up at him and smiled, brown paint on her left cheek, forehead and the end of her nose.
“I bought some wrought iron handles which look gothic. Do you think they’ll match?”
Logan looked around the room and nodded. “Yeah. I love that you didn’t just rip it all out. Nobody appreciates the original stuff anymore.”
Hana stood, grimacing as her knees creaked. Logan consigned her to the lower cupboards after witnessing another near tumble from the draining board. “Do you think the colour saps the light?” she asked him, worrying at her lower lip. “It’s darker than it looked in the shop.” She wiped her hand across her forehead and left another streak of paint.
Logan stepped back and looked at the difference between the finished doors and the old pale blue ones behind him. “I like it,” he replied. “The wall paint will correct any lighting problems.”
“What lighting problems?” Hana’s eyes opened wide with dismay.
“No lighting problems, there aren’t any. It’s fine, don’t worry.” Logan laughed at her. “Geez, you’re a sensitive artist, wahine. I’m not an expert.”
Hana’s green eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you messing with me, Du Rose?”
Logan’s gaze darted to the brush in her hand. “No! Don’t even think about it!”
“You have paint on your nose.” Hana’s eyes glinted.
“No, I don’t.” Logan squinted to peer at the end of his nose, seeing Hana move forward. His head snapped up and he raised an eyebrow in warning. “I’m wearing good clothes.”
“You said you didn’t care.” Hana smirked, her lips quirking upwards. The brown brush dangled from her right hand and she still protected her left wrist, carrying it like a broken wing close to her body. Her gi
ggle sounded childlike and Logan grinned.
“You’ll lose.”
“Yep.” Hana’s eyes sparkled with resignation. “Don’t I always?” She lurched and Logan put his hand in front of his face, defending against her attack. Hana aimed for his sweatshirt and when he grunted and turned, she slotted the brush beneath his arm and drew a wonky line on his forehead. “A mono-brow!” she squealed with delight.
Logan’s eyes narrowed, keeping watch as she skittered to the other side of the room in a hail of giggles. He bent in an exaggerated pretence of loading his brush with brown paint. Hana shrieked and ran around the table, laughing as he followed. Logan’s long legged stride gained him ground as he shoved chairs out of the way. He pinned her against the kitchen door and she squirmed and giggled as he threatened her with the wet brush. “Where do you want it?” he asked, pretending to examine her face for the best location. “Your face is pretty full. Not much room left.” His eyes narrowed with humour as he zeroed in on the gentle sweep of her neck and rounded curve of her breasts. He patted the empty brush around her collarbone and Hana screamed and writhed away.
Logan kept her pinned to the door with his body and raised the brush above her head. He formed an arch over her, his pupils dilating. “What now, Ms McIntyre?” His loaded question cut through the air.
“I don’t know,” Hana whispered, her eyes wide.
Holding her tight with his right arm snaked around her waist, Logan lowered his lips to hers. Even messing around with her drove him crazy. He kissed her with deliberate slowness and Hana relaxed under him, her body betraying her. She responded to his lips trembling against hers and the sensation of his fingers straying from her waist to the back of her neck. The kiss grew heated and urgent, the painting forgotten amidst their rising passion. The spectre of Caroline crashed to the floor with Logan’s paintbrush.
The click of the front door closing made them jump apart. Hana’s inhale sounded ragged. By the time Bodie removed his gleaming black shoes and padded across the hall, Logan stood at the sink washing his brush under running water. Hana leaned against the bench top with a guilty expression on her face.
“Hi.” Bodie acknowledged Logan with a terse greeting and bent to kiss Hana’s forehead. He stopped at the sight of her paint-streaked face but said nothing. He switched his attention to the altered room. “This looks great, Mum.” His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t drive that car I hope.”
Hana swallowed and waved her hand towards the paint tubs lined up on the draining board. “What do you think? Oilskin brown for the cupboards and cream for the walls. I think it matches, don’t you?”
Bodie nodded. “Yeah, but did you drive? And what did you stand on to do the high cupboards?”
“I did all the hard stuff.” Logan tapped his brush in the bottom of the sink and turned to stare at Bodie. The men locked egos and Hana cringed in a herald of the future. “Your mum’s got good taste.” Logan smiled at Hana and she peered at him from beneath her lashes.
“Fine.” Bodie jerked his head towards the hall. “I’ll get into casuals and help.”
Hana exhaled as he left the room, taking the dark atmosphere with him. Logan brushed his hand across his forehead and smirked at her. “Did you ever imagine getting to our age and being caught snogging?” he whispered and she barked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. The corners of her eyes crinkled and she shook her head. “Do you want me to leave?” Logan’s brow narrowed at the question and Hana sobered.
“Not really,” she admitted, glancing towards the door and lowering her voice. “Do you want to?”
“No.” Logan smirked.
“Then don’t.” Mischief infused Hana’s smile and Logan turned back to the sink to dry his abandoned brush.
Having lost both her smaller brushes, Hana cracked open the wall paint and applied it with liberal sweeps over the scarred walls. The slight sheen in the paint hid a multitude of defects in the ancient plasterboard. “I love this,” she said, standing back and admiring her work. Logan and Bodie grunted from opposite ends of the room, their backs to each other. Hana rolled her eyes and wondered what might happen when they met in the middle.
The room took shape, the cupboards and walls blending with the rimu floor as though old friends. Even the metal bench tops seemed to fit. The yellow light from the single bulb bounced off each surface and the house settled with a sense of relief at finally experiencing love. The ceiling proved the worst job of all and the men took turns, interchanging in silence when they suffered neck ache. Every surface received a coat of paint and some of the luckier ones, two.
Around ten o’clock, Logan looked at his watch. “I need to make tracks to the Gordonton house,” he said, his body language showing reluctance. He glanced at Bodie’s rigid back and shrugged at receiving neither thanks nor argument. Hana followed him out onto the porch.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with Bo,” she said, the apology whisked away by the cold breeze on the porch.
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Never apologise for others, Hana,” he said, pulling her into him and kissing her cheek. “It’s his burden, not yours.” His lips felt warm over hers and Hana sighed into the kiss.
“But he seemed fine with you the other night. Grateful even.” She inhaled and shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know what changed.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” Logan’s thumb caressed her bottom lip and Hana shivered against him. His chest felt warm against her cheek. “I don’t intend to get involved in how you deal with your family.”
Hana nodded. “About Caroline,” she began, gnawing on the inside of her cheek.
Logan shook his head. “She doesn’t feature, Hana. I told you the truth.”
Hana swallowed, her heart filling with dread and every ounce of good sense abandoning her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Then do nothing.” Logan’s arms felt good around her shoulders and he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Especially don’t dump me.”
“I feel as though every time we reach some kind of comfortable place in our relationship, the whole barrow tips over,” Hana complained, feeling Logan sigh against her.
“I know.” He stroked her hair, his fingers snaking through the curls and following them almost to her waist. “I should stop trying so hard.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “But I’m scared.”
Hana saw fear mix with sincerity in his eyes and nodded. “Me too.” His stubble grazed her cheek and neck as he kissed her and darts of pleasure zapped through her stomach. The creak of chair legs dragging across the floorboards in the kitchen made her giggle. “I feel like a teenager. I expect my mother to appear and wag her finger at me.” She grinned up at Logan and he kissed the end of her nose.
“When can I see you again, Ms McIntyre?” he whispered. “When are you next allowed out?”
“I’m not sure.” Hana fluttered her eyelashes. “Please can we take it slower?”
“Okay.” Logan caressed her cheek with the back of his right hand and gave her a reassuring smile. He glanced at his truck. “I think I can get her out without asking your son to move his car.”
“Perhaps best.” Hana took a step back and Logan released her with great reluctance. He climbed into the truck and started the engine. A few tight turns and he’d faced the Hilux downhill, saluting her with the side of his fingers to his head as she’d seen him do on the farm. He left, the heavy vehicle lumbering along the driveway, taking Hana’s heart with it. Her chin stung from the roughness of Logan’s stubble and her body tingled with his remembered touch. She ached to do it all again, but Caroline’s snarky expression haunted her. Logan might claim not to be interested in the other woman, but Hana sensed it wasn’t mutual. Caroline didn’t follow him all the way to Hamilton just to stand aside without a fight. Hana sat on the porch steps and shivered against the cold, knowing she’d lose because she always did.
“Why are you sitting out here?” Bodie demanded, his tone one of surprise. “What did
he say?”
Hana looked up at him and used the banister to haul herself upright. “Logan? Nothing. I’m enjoying the peace.”
Bodie scoffed. “There’s no peace with that guy, Mum. You need to kick him into touch.”
“Why?” Hana’s brow furrowed. “What do you know?”
Bodie pursed his lips and adopted a pious expression. “I can’t tell you. But get rid of him.”
Hana glanced across the river at the many car lights bouncing along the main road. She imagined one set might be Logan’s as he headed south east. A dull ache began in the base of her skull and she sighed. “He’s a good friend,” she said, dismissing Bodie’s harsh advice. “And I liked his family when I met them. They’re good people.”
“You met his family?” Bodie’s eyes widened in horror. “When?”
“A while ago.” Hana hugged her arms around her to stave off the cold. “That weekend I told you I’d be away.” The thought of Logan’s serious grey eyes, long dark lashes and his full lips pressing against hers, brought a warming rush of colour to Hana’s cheeks. “I need to go inside,” she said, pushing past Bodie as he blocked the front doorway.
Hana made tea in an old brown pot, responsible in part for her colour choices. She sat down at the table, trying not to cringe when Bodie sat opposite, wishing to continue his third degree interrogation. An old sheet covered the tabletop and Hana plonked her mug down, catching it as it tilted on something hidden beneath the shroud. “I’m tired Bo,” she said, her tone pleading. “I haven’t slept since the move.”
“But what will you do about Du Rose?” Bodie demanded, his eyes narrowing. “He’s bad news.”
“Says who?” Hana snapped and her son recoiled. “Does he have a criminal record?”
“No.” Bodie shook his head. “But he’s got links to the Auckland underworld. There are whispers about him.”
“Where? Who’s whispering?” Hana felt her patience grow thin. “He’s a school teacher, Bodie. According to Angus, he comes with a great pedigree and lots of experience. Unless you can give me hard facts, I won’t do anything about him.”
“You said he cheated on you.” Bodie went back to the old ground and Hana closed her eyes.
“I thought he did. His ex fiancé turned up at work and is trying very hard to get under his skin. I misread something that happened.”
“You mean he told you that you’d misread it?” Bodie sneered. “There’s something very wrong about him, Mum. I don’t want you to have regrets over this.”
“Regrets?” Hana’s face hardened. “Haven’t we been here before, Bo?”
Bodie’s cheeks flushed and he looked embarrassed. Hana didn’t understand the words he muttered in response. She stood. “I don’t want to argue. It’s amazing having you here to help. Let’s not ruin it?”
He nodded. “Okay. If you insist.”
“I do.”
He sighed and nodded, allowing Hana to escape. His conversation at the police station weighed on him, the detective’s attitude towards Logan’s involvement concerning. He also mulled over his discussion with Marcus at the airport over a different matter, running over the awkwardness and his friend’s stunned reaction.
Frustrated and confused, Bodie picked up his brush and reloaded it with paint. He continued long into the night, adding a second coat to cupboard doors already dry and another to the walls and ceiling. The faded blue and yellow became a distant memory as though it never existed. Hana’s phone disturbed him after midnight, vibrating itself around the table in a musical rendition. He snatched it up before it launched into its second phase.
Izzie’s tearful voice wailed from the device and Bodie held it away from his ear. “I want Mum,” she sobbed.
Bodie sighed. “She’s asleep, Iz. Have me instead.”
“How could you be so mean?” Izzie wailed. “Marcus turned up with an airport teddy for Beth and a pregnancy test for me.”
“Oh.” Bodie swallowed. “I assumed he’d be more subtle but hey, you know Marcus.”
Izzie sniffed. “I thought I did.”
“Yeah, you do.” Bodie smiled at the thought of his best friend’s poleaxed expression as he mentioned the possible reason for Izzie’s unusual temper and inability to cope in recent months. “He loves you and he means well. Where is he? Hiding? Or did you bury his body under the house?”
Izzie blew her nose and sighed. “I picked him up from the airport and dropped him at the hospital.”
“That sounds rather mean, Iz. Or did you cut out the middle man and just send him to the morgue?”
“Mrs Jones died and her husband asked for him.”
“Oh.” Bodie pulled out a chair and sat down, examining the brown paint under his fingernails. “So you’re home alone and brooding about whether to do the test or wait for him.”
“I did the test as soon as I got home,” Izzie said. “Now I don’t know what to do.”
Bodie licked his lips. “It’ll be okay, you know. It always is.”
Izzie snorted. “Not like you to be the eternal optimist. You’re usually the little rain cloud on the picnic.”
“Not always.” Bodie swallowed. “And I’m hoping it’s true, that things do always work out okay.”
“Any particular reason?” Izzie silenced, sensing tension across the huge physical distance. “What’s happened?”
Bodie took a deep breath. “I’ve messed up, Iz. I’ve messed up bad.”
“Work or personal?”
“Both. I’m trying to sort it out, but I’m years too late, Iz. I don’t know if I can.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“Maybe. But not now. I feel raw. I can’t sleep. Mum went to bed hours ago and I’ve almost finished painting her kitchen.”
He heard his sister’s smile in her voice. “Being busy helps, bro’. Take it from someone who knows. I’m here if you need me.” She spoke to someone in the background, her voice sounding muffled and far away. “Marcus got a lift from Mrs Jones’ son. He says he misses you already.”
“No, he didn’t.” Bodie smirked. “You made that up.”
“Yeah, I did.” Izzie sniffed again, her emotions returning to their tumultuous state. “I’d best go and have a very difficult conversation. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Bodie said, meaning it. “If you find you’ve more than you need, send some back for me, please.”
“Always. I love you, Bo.” Bodie closed his eyes and imagined Isobel’s gentle olive face, black hair pulled into a ponytail with wisps surrounding her face. She reminded him of his father and he felt for the familiar ache in his gut, missing them both.
“Love you too,” he said and ended the call.
Hana woke to a finished kitchen and a tired Bodie. She sent him for a nap while she cleaned up paintbrushes and spilled paint. A heaviness seeped into her bones at the thought of his impending departure and she pondered his animosity towards Logan. She regretted involving him in her disastrous relationship, casting Logan in a poor light because of her antics. Her casting of Logan as a serial cheat stuck and formed the basis of Bodie’s harsh judgement. Or so she believed as she blamed herself.
When Bodie woke, he drove them to a cafe in Huntly and they ate and chatted through their last hour together. The cheerful blue walls and farming images contrasted with Bodie’s dark mood and Hana resisted probing for answers. She ate her macaroni cheese and focussed on a lichen encrusted post and rail farm gate, affixed to the wall to add to the atmosphere. Hana imprinted the moment in her memory, grateful for their strengthened relationship and aware it might revert to strained at any moment.
Bodie leaned back, stuffed after his lasagne and garlic bread and stifled a belch behind his hand. Hana grimaced. “You’ll never get a girlfriend,” she jibed and he laughed, although she sensed it sounded false.
“That’s what you think, Mum. My women do bigger burps and farts than me.”
“Eugh!” Hana gave a mock shudder. “I’m sure there’s a nice gi
rl out there for you.”
Bodie raised his eyebrow as though in warning, shutting down the conversation. Hana knew from experience to steer towards safer topics. He drove her back to Culver’s Cottage and then left for Whangarei.
“Hello, Johal,” said the detective in charge of Hana’s case. “How can I help you?” His voice sounded tinny through the car speakers as he raced towards Hamilton and not Auckland as he’d told Hana.
“I can’t rely on my mother to update me,” Bodie snapped, moderating his tone with difficulty. “She doesn’t want to worry me. She let slip how the blonde guy sat outside her old house for weeks. She thinks you’re not interested.”
“Did she take the registration number of the vehicle?” The detective sergeant’s tone sounded clipped.
Bodie sighed. “Check Shelley’s voicemail. Mum said she called it in a few times but nobody rang back.”
“Okay. Thanks.” The man rang off and Bodie shook his head. His gut told him there was more to the story than two men terrorising his mother.
“What a mess.” Bodie ran a hand through his dark hair and felt a stab of pain as he passed the sign for Hamilton. “Not long now,” he promised himself, knowing his imminent return would shock many people, one in particular.
Bodie pressed his fingers to his lips and suppressed anxiety at the forthcoming meeting. It may not go well for him. He cruised through the familiar suburb and parked, knocking on the door of a house he swore he’d never return to. The paint peeled beneath the rusty knocker and wet rot ate the bottom of the doorframe. Nothing like he remembered.
Surprise and dismay flashed across the face of the slender girl who opened the door, her short blonde hair tousled and dark shadows beneath her eyes. She gaped in shock, but her greeting sounded harsh. “What do you want?”
Bodie put his hands behind his back to hide the trembling of his fingers. “I’m in town for a few days. I didn’t want to pass through without saying hi.”
Her face curled into a sneer. “It’s never bothered you before.”
“Amy. I need to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you!” She pushed the door against him and Bodie reached out a hand to stop it closing.
“Please, Amy. It’s important.”
“It’s always important to you, Beauden. Nobody else’s problems are though.”
“That’s not true.” He stepped across the threshold and she put her palms against his chest in protest.
“I’m a charge sergeant,” she said, her voice wavering. “I can drop you right where you stand.”
“But you won’t.” Bodie took her chin in his fingers. He closed the door with his heel and pulled her in towards him with strength and purpose. One arm wrapped around her back and the other cradled her head, stroking the soft blonde curls and listening as she steadied her breathing. Bodie felt an old ache leave him as they stood there for the longest time, neither wanting to break the spell.
Bodie relaxed his hold and felt for her left hand, untangling it from the back of his shirt. Bringing it closer, he examined the space on the third finger of her left hand, where the wedding ring once chided him. “Sorry,” he whispered, wiping away the tear which dripped from her chin. “I didn’t know. I would’ve come back for you.”
Her eyes filled, turning her blue irises into a lake. Bodie studied the familiar freckles and the lips that fascinated him once. Her lips never belonged to him, but to someone else.
“Mummy?” The little voice sounded half whisper, half sob and echoed in the cold hallway. Amy inhaled and whipped around, wiping her sleeve across her wet face.
“Yeah baby. I’m coming.”
“It’s hurting.”
“I know. Come and get medicine.” Amy held out her hand and Bodie watched as the child pushed his fingers into her palm, staring at the stranger over his bare shoulder. Wavy, jet black hair framed his olive face in stark contrast to his mother’s blondeness and his eyes were darkest brown and almond shaped. His lips pursed in suspicion.
“Who’s that man?”
“Nobody. Don’t worry.” Bodie’s chest clenched and he set his jaw, standing by the front door like a piece of unwanted furniture. “Hop up.” Amy held out her arms and lifted the child onto the draining board, steadying him with one hand while she reached for a bottle of pink liquid. Sleep tousled, his little body wore a pair of blue underpants. Chickenpox sores marred his delicate frame.
Amy’s attention switched to the child and she concentrated on his needs, kissing his nose and muttering endearments. Keeping his thumb in his mouth, the child stared through the open door at Bodie, breaking the connection only for a second while a white medicine spoon replaced his thumb. Swallowing caused the child to wince, but he let Amy scoop him onto her hip and carry him away afterwards.
Bodie heard her speaking to him and the boy complaining in reply. He remained sentry-like by the front door, not knowing whether to leave or stay and say his rehearsed words. His nerve deserted him, trickling away minute by minute. Then he heard it. Just a word, a name, but he heard it and woke up from his stupor.
“Jas, lie down,” came Amy’s soft voice again. “Go back to sleep so the spots leave and you can get better.”
As a white woman married to an Indian, Hana fought many battles and lost. Bodie’s surname of Singh represented one of them. Deepak’s chosen Sikh name for his first born grandson was another, his middle name the cause of a family rift. Beauden Jaspal Singh Johal. Hana consigned his heritage to the middle of his self, safely hidden apart from moments when officialdom exposed it.
“Jas, lie down,” Amy pleaded. “I need to get rid of the man.”
Like a wave crashing over him, Bodie felt her rejection. The child shared Izzie’s unruly locks and Vik’s eyes. The tiny face resembled a miniature version of the one which stared back at Bodie from the mirror as he shaved and readied himself for his empty, work driven life.
In that split second he knew he’d stay, trapped in position to the left of the front door, the streak from Amy’s tears drying on his shirt. Stay, say his piece and see what happened.