by K T Bowes
Hana stared through the window for the hundredth time, turning as she heard Logan snuffle. He moved his head and his voice sounded hoarse and urgent. “Han! Han!”
Less than a metre away, she rose from her seat and gripped his hand. “I’m here,” she replied and kissed his fingers.
“Where am I?” he demanded and pity rose in her chest, doing battle with overwhelming relief.
“Hospital,” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear. “You got sick last night, don’t you remember?”
“No, no, no, oh not again. Take me home; don’t leave me here, please? They don’t understand, help me get out.” Logan struggled to surface, fighting the drowning lure of drugged slumber. “I need to tell you,” he rasped. “You have to listen to me.” The words wouldn’t come. They slipped from his mind and he plunged back into the abyss.
Hana sighed and rested her forehead against his hand. The cast gripped the skin, reminding her of the beginning of the whole sorry mess. His other hand looked like a battleground, scarred with needle marks from IV lines and awful black bruises. Streaks of blood stained his wrist, so much blood for just a few needles. “You do have things to tell me,” she whispered against Logan’s fingers. “But will it be the truth?”
Hana closed her eyes and napped with her face pushed into the mattress. In calling for her when he woke, Logan allowed her to obliterate Caroline’s influence for good. If he’d called for his former lover even in confusion, she didn’t know if she could let it go. But he didn’t. He wanted her.
A nurse popped her head round the door. “Mrs Du Rose, your son’s here. Shall I send him through?”
“Yes, please.” Hana sat up and looked at her watch. Visiting hour waned and dread snaked its fingers around her heart. When it ended, they’d force her to leave. Bodie appeared in the doorway, looking drawn and tired. His uniform shirt rumpled around his waist. “They wouldn’t let me in this morning,” he said, his dark lashes fluttering in distress. “I brought some clothes and a toothbrush. They wouldn’t pass it on.”
Hana let go of Logan’s hand and hugged Bodie, feeling the tension in his shoulders. “It’s okay,” she said, “I know.”
“I came back in uniform.” He rolled his eyes. “But visiting hour started so they don’t care now.” Bodie focussed on the streaks of blood around Logan’s mouth and wondered how to fill the void which opened up around them both. “Mum, we stayed at the house. Was that okay?”
Hana nodded and smiled. “It’s fine.”
Bodie swallowed. “Jas spent all day making a card for Logan. Amy persuaded me to come up with them. He saw you both get into the ambulance and cried himself to sleep.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t know they could get like that. Kids.”
“Things affect them,” Hana replied, her voice soft. “Sometimes big things and other times, almost nothing at all. Jas seems like a child who forms attachments quickly. He likes Logan.”
Bodie’s jaw worked, creating lines through his cheek. He sank into the other visitor’s chair and hoisted a bag from next to his feet. “Amy packed stuff for both of you,” he said. “I hope it’s what you need.”
“It will be.” Hana accepted the bag containing clothing and toiletries. She sighed. “Yesterday’s shower seems a long time ago.”
“Your phone’s in there too. You left it behind. Izzie rang me in a panic. They gave her a scan yesterday.”
“On a Saturday?” Hana’s eyes grew wide and frightened. She put a hand up to her mouth.
“It’s okay, Mum.” Bodie stood and went to her, taking both her hands in his. When he squatted down in front of her, Hana went into panic mode. He raised a hand to force her to listen. “It’s important, Mum. Don’t go off half cocked. Izzie didn’t feel great, so they admitted her for a scan. But the baby’s absolutely fine, it’s perfect.” Hana’s hands moved within his, sensing Bodie hadn’t finished. “There was something not right though. It explained the sickness and bloating and why she’s so darn grumpy. She’s having twins.”
Hana’s jaw dropped and she waited for the punch line. Despite the smile on Bodie’s face, she saw no teasing. A hysterical giggle rose in her chest, birthed by stress, fear and relief. “What a really bizarre weekend,” she snorted. A month ago, I had one grandbaby and now I have four. Twins?”
“That’s our Izzie,” Bodie said with a hint of pride in his voice. “She does nothing by halves.” He gave a cackle of laughter. “Marcus is walking around with a stupid grin on his face. He thinks it’s proved his manhood.”
Hana snorted and imagined the scene. Marcus always wanted a big family, but accepted it wouldn’t happen. The news buzzed through her frazzled, tired brain, slowing her reactions and exchanging some of the fear for hope.
“What’s all the fuss?” Logan’s voice sounded hoarse and he hissed through his teeth. His lips cracked with the effort of speech. Hana jumped to her feet and reached for his hand.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she whispered. “Glad you could join us. Izzie’s pregnant with twins.”
Bodie nodded to Logan as the older man’s eyes tracked towards him. “Hey Grandpa,” he joked. “I don’t think I’ve got to visit the hospital this many times in a week before.”
Logan’s eyes looked glassy, but he fought to stay awake and smiled at Bodie, a gormless, uncoordinated grin.
“I’m due on shift,” Bodie whispered to Hana. “I’ll come back later.” He patted Logan’s leg through the covers, the only part he dare touch for fear of hurting him. He left with a wave.
Hana drew the chair up closer to the bed and held Logan’s hand. “You want some water?” she asked and he nodded. She found the straw from earlier on, but he sipped without taking much. He slumped against the pillows and fear stopped her altering the bed in case she damaged his fragile body. His face looked grey against the white sheets.
“I can’t believe I’m back here,” he groaned, lifting his cast to rub his eyes.
“It couldn’t be helped.” Hana tensed with the effort of defending her actions. “Get better and I can take you home again.” She gripped his fingers and forced him to look at her. “And start telling me the truth about how you really feel. Then we won’t keep ending up in emergency situations!”
Mr Singh walked through the door at the tail end of Hana’s sentence. He nodded in agreement. “I concur,” he said and jabbed a finger at Logan. “Your wife speaks sense and I’m sick of patching you up.” He stifled a yawn with a brown hand, looking only marginally less exhausted than Hana.
“When do you sleep?” she demanded, covering her own yawn.
He waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, you know, they stand me in a corner and recharge me like Frankenstein.” His laugh sounded weary and Hana pitied him. Mr Singh peered at the scribblings on the clipboard at the end of Logan’s bed, making more sense than Hana did earlier. He perched on the side of Logan’s bed. “So, from what I just overheard, you have no comprehension of the reason for your admission last night?” He peered over his glasses at Logan and Hana sank into the visitor’s chair, relieved someone else seemed willing to pick up the battle.
Mr Singh eyed the monitors surrounding Logan as they clicked, pinged and dripped. Then he pulled back the covers from Logan’s stomach with a sigh. “Perhaps I can show you.”
Yellow ink stained Logan’s abdomen and chest and a fresh line of stitches hid beneath the dressing. The doctor pulled the pack aside and wrinkled his nose at its blood soaked state. Hana half rose to survey the damage, seeing the original wound ten centimetres longer than before. The whole area looked bruised and swollen. Mr Singh clicked his tongue and watched Logan’s reaction. Nothing. Hana’s heart sank as her husband eyed the doctor with an impassive expression, not allowing his words to touch him. “You know,” Mr Singh tutted, “if you told your wife you hurt occasionally, things like this wouldn’t happen. She thinks you ate well and yet I discover a stomach filled with blood. That tells me you faked it. I’m thinking you mus
t have vomited blood for days. There’s no shame in admitting you hurt.”
Hana watched Logan’s face and received the revelation as though he scrawled it on the wall. Admitting to pain invoked more shame than he could bear. She ached for him but couldn’t remain a prisoner to his masked emotions. She experienced a flash of sympathy for Caroline, remembering Logan’s lack of expression towards her. He’d stared at her hand on his wrist as though it meant nothing, yet he’d once taken her into his bed and produced an engagement ring. Hana stood, surprising both men. “I can’t do this,” she announced. “I can’t live like this.”
The doctor turned to Hana and his eyes widened in sympathy. “Mr Du Rose, are you comfortable for me to talk about your health with your wife present?”
Logan’s jaw flexed. “Not really.”
Mr Singh sighed and looked at Hana. She raised her hands in defeat. “Hey, don’t mind me. I haven’t slept properly since my wedding. I’ve spent most of my time here with a man who can’t even tell me the truth. Just give me a moment to leave. I’m bushed anyway so I’ll go home.” She pressed a finger to her temple. “Oh, that’s right. Silly me. I can’t. I got here in an ambulance.” Tiredness leaked from Hana’s soul and she stepped over the doctor’s feet, trying not to stand on his comfortable shoes. “Excuse me,” she said and strode to the door, closing it behind her.
Once outside, Hana sought a change of scenery. She found a water heater and coffee cups in a tatty day room at the end of the corridor. Mr Singh found her there, sipping a tepid drink. “Mrs Du Rose,” he said, sitting next to her. “It must be bad if you’re drinking hospital coffee.”
“It is.” Hana took another sip and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what to do.”
The doctor blanched. “You need to speak to your husband.”
Hana shrugged. “You saw him. He doesn’t trust me.”
“It’s not that simple. Give him a chance.”
Hana voiced her worst thought. “Whatever’s wrong with him, can I catch it?”
“I promise you can’t.” Mr Singh patted her hand. “Absolutely not.” He stood. “Talk to him.”
Hana returned to Logan, her nerves frazzled and her mood plumbing the depths of misery. He didn’t trust her and perhaps never would. “Logan, can we talk?” she asked, her lips forming a tight line.
Logan shook his head. “Later?”
Hana shrugged and took her seat to sit out the rest of visiting hour. Logan fell asleep again and she sensed he would stall as long as possible. She used the public bathroom to change her clothes and freshen up, returning to find him still sleeping. Hana watched Logan, studying him as she never could during his waking hours. Fingers never free from fidgeting lay in peace on the starched sheets and Hana stroked them, counting the cuts and scars until they numbered in the twenties. Logan’s serious eyes remained shut, black lashes flickering against flushed, olive cheeks. “I love you, Logan Du Rose,” Hana whispered. “Even if you are as stubborn and arrogant as one of your stallions.” She stroked his cheek, feeling the dark stubble under her fingers and noticing how it grew lighter either side of his chin. Sadness filled her chest cavity with regret. She knew how it felt to be mistrusted and it hurt.
Nursing staff ignored Hana, working around her as she stayed through two sets of visiting hours. She sensed they wanted her gone but remembered her fuss from before. Bodie arrived after his shift and insisted she leave with him. She returned to Culver’s Cottage to find Jas sitting by the fire in his pyjamas. He read a storybook while Amy made a scratch dinner from the contents of the fridge. Hana walked into the living room, halting in surprise at its newly decorated state. “I forgot,” she murmured. “Yesterday seems a lifetime ago.”
“Dinner won’t be long.” Bodie pushed her towards the child and the fire. “I’ll shout you when it’s ready.”
Jas watched Hana’s progress across the room, his expression serious. Then he patted the rug. “Sit with me and read my story, Hanny.”
Tiredness ignited Hana’s bones into a numbing ache but she didn’t have the heart to reject him. “Okay,” she said, hearing her knees creak as she sank into the soft threads of the rug. “Just until dinner.”
“Good,” he remarked with a satisfied nod. “I’ve waited all bloody day.”
They sat around the kitchen table eating the leftovers of Maihi’s stew. Amy used her culinary skills to turn them into a pie and jacket potatoes. Hana hadn’t eaten for over twenty four hours, but the food refused to go down and she quit half way through. Amy looked at her in sympathy. “Why don’t you grab a shower and relax?” she suggested. “You might feel like toast later.”
“Thanks.” Hana rose and pushed her chair underneath the table. She reached for her plate.
“I’ll clear away,” Bodie said, glaring at Jas as he grumbled under his breath.
Hana smiled her gratitude and took herself to her bedroom on leaden feet. She heard Jas voice his complaint and shook her head, allowing a smirk to lift her lips. “I don’t get toast later when I don’t eat my dinner!” he exclaimed. “I don’t even get dessert!”
Hana closed the door against Amy’s hushed recriminations.
After a disturbed night’s sleep, she used Bodie’s BMW to drive herself to the hospital. Queuing with the other visitors, Hana realised she didn’t bring a gift, unless she counted toothpaste. Just before the ward doors swung open, she heard someone call her name.
“Hana!” Alfred waved to her from the back of the line and she motioned him forward. The woman behind her set up a fuss and Hana glared at her until she silenced. Alfred kissed her on the cheek and gave her a bear hug. “It’s this bloody curse,” he hissed into her ear. “The boy can’t help it.”
“Help what?” Hope burgeoned in Hana’s heart as Alfred’s lips parted and it seemed he might enlighten her. He shook his head and closed them again. “What’s wrong with him?” she demanded and Alfred pinched his lips together and ignored the question.
Logan flicked an accusatorial look in Hana’s direction at the sight of his father and her irritation grew. “Don’t look at me, I called no one,” she replied. “Don’t mistake me for someone who knows what’s going on.” Logan narrowed his eyes and she avoided his gaze.
Alfred loped across with his uneven gait and embraced Logan, plonking a bunch of squishy- purple grapes on the bedspread. “I needed to see how you’re doing,” Alfred said. “Is it like the other times?”
Logan shot a concerned look in Hana’s direction and Alfred silenced. Hana bridled and considered abandoning them to their ridiculous conspiracy. “I’ll fetch coffee,” she snapped. “I’ll whistle on my way back and you can change the subject.”
Alfred sighed in her wake and Hana heard him say, “You need to tell her, son. This ain’t fair.”
Hana gritted her teeth and made a vow to herself. “Oh, you’ll tell me, Logan Du Rose. You’re not making a fool of me any longer.” She returned with two coffees, one laden with the four sugars Alfred requested.
“Where’s mine?” Logan asked and Hana shrugged and ignored him. His eyes bored into her temple but when she stole a peek at his face, she saw his lips quirk upwards in approval at her spirit.
“How did you find us?” Hana asked, sipping the awful brew and wishing she’d handed it to Logan. Served her right.
Alfred jerked a finger at Logan. “He called me on a number I didn’t recognise the other day. Tama did this fangle dangle thing with the buttons and found Logan’s number. I got no reply.”
Hana raised her eyebrows. “Tama?” Her lips curled backwards. “He’s at your place?”
“He’s whānau,” Alfred replied in warning and Hana blanched.
Logan changed the subject. “I don’t know where my phone is.”
“Probably dead in your dressing gown pocket. I took it home last night.” Hana struggled to regain her composure and still the feelings of hatred invoked by Tama’s name.
“I called it again las
t night and a lady answered. She said you went to bed and she told me they took my boy to the hospital in an ambulance. I set off early this morning.”
“Amy.” Hana gave a slow nod. “She didn’t mention it, mind you, Jas occupies most of her attention when he’s awake.”
Logan jerked his head upwards. “She’d tell you a guy called and you’d panic, anyway. She’s probably still working out how to say it.”
Hana rolled her eyes in mock self-deprecation. “I know. It’s such a drag. You should take the ring back and call it quits.”
Logan’s jaw dropped open in dismay. He formed words and then swallowed them down. “Whatever,” he replied, sounding hurt.
Alfred battled on in his deaf oblivion. “Yes, Mother sends you both her love.” He delivered the second-hand affection with a smile and Hana grimaced. She bit back the question about Miriam’s whereabouts. She sent her love but not herself.
As Alfred sipped his hot drink, two nurses arrived mob handed to monitor Logan. They consigned Hana and the old man to the smelly visitors’ room with the broken television. Hana sank into the ripped seat with a groan. “Welcome to my life,” she muttered, closing her eyes.
“This is stupid!” Alfred complained. “Damned useless health system. What does it take for them to let me sit with my son a couple of hours after he nearly died?”
“They do what they like here,” Hana replied. “They tell me nothing and pen me up in here.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I suspect Logan’s at the back of it.” She stood. “He married me for better or worse. We might not have said the words, but that’s how it is. I deserve to know what’s wrong with him.” With a look of alarm, Alfred excused himself and walked to the nearest public toilet. “Traitor!” Hana muttered at his bent and retreating spine.
It took the nursing staff half an hour to refresh Logan’s dressing and change his sheets. Afterwards, his mood seemed foul and Alfred squeezed himself into a corner seat and pretended to fall asleep to avoid recriminations. “I want to go home,” Logan started and Hana sighed.
