by K T Bowes
“Head gasket went.” Tama held onto the back of Hana’s seat to lean forward. “I locked it up on a slip road off State Highway One. Can we fetch it?”
Hana glanced sideways at her husband, daring him to oblige. As Logan ran a hand across his stomach, she answered for him. “No. I’m taking my husband home to rest. You can make other arrangements.”
Tama sat back against the seat with a thud and Hana saw his look of irritation reflected in the rear view mirror. “Kuia Miriam told me you went to the hospital. I hitched into town and couldn’t find you at the Waikato. Geez man, I thought you’d died. I got upset, so they told me you moved to the Bramwell.”
Hana hissed under her breath in annoyance. She struggled to fathom why her rear seat contained the man who half-killed her husband. Anka’s attraction to him confounded her. Boyish stubble covered his chin like fine down and his scruffy appearance screamed his status as a child. Hana believed Anka trashed her marriage for a boy in a man’s body, but the teenage acne dappling Tama’s forehead challenged even that.
Tama gave an annoying whistle through his teeth as Hana turned onto the driveway and fumbled the remote to open the gate. “This yours Uncle Logan?” he demanded and Hana clamped her teeth together. She tapped an irritated beat on the steering wheel while the gate slid across with painful slowness. Logan studied her from the side, his brows furrowed with unfathomable emotion.
“He’s not staying with us,” she hissed in a singsong voice and saw Logan’s head swivel back to face the windscreen. Hana shook her head against the tide of helplessness that single action caused.
She carried Logan’s bag into the lobby and deactivated the burglar alarm. Tama’s voice chattered behind her and Hana’s impatience grew. She walked to the bedroom and flung the bag on the floor, collapsing onto the soft mattress with a groan. She daren’t tell Bodie she drove home after fainting, especially not in his expensive car.
Hana lay on the bed with anger coursing through her veins. Tama’s incessant chatter jangled her nerves, echoing along the hallway until it became white noise in her brain. Logan’s body took a beating, but their marriage bent under the weight of his bloodshed. They needed time to talk and begin the healing process. Tama’s continued presence ensured that couldn’t happen. As the minutes ticked by, Hana craved Logan’s reassurance. Her mind whirled with questions and she wondered if he stayed away on purpose. Instead of soothing her, he played happy families with a man who broke his body in a fit of childish pique and ruined the first weeks of their marriage.
Hana kicked off her shoes and pushed her legs beneath the blanket. Exhaustion claimed her within minutes and she slept. She dreamed she lay in Logan’s paddock at the top of the mountain. The sunshine warmed her cheeks and he stroked her hair, undressing her with murmurs of desire.
Hana woke an hour later, the contented feeling dissipating in the empty, darkening room. The original pinch of betrayal and rejection replaced it. Staggering up, the sickness and strange headache returned, swirling through her senses and causing confusion. Her clothes felt restrictive and she stripped them off, clambering into her dressing gown. She fought to tie the cord and stumbled to the kitchen, finding it empty. Blundering around with the grace of a small elephant, Hana discovered the men in the lounge. They looked cosy in front of the television, a roaring fire in the grate. Jealousy rose in her breast at their easy possession of her property. Logan’s passivity irritated her and she sensed he used Tama as a shield to deflect her questions about his disease.
“I’m ringing Bodie,” she said, the casual tone belying the threat. “I’ll invite him over.”
Logan kinked an eyebrow in warning and they engaged in an unspoken battle. The void between them yawned wider. Hana hovered in the doorway and tried a different tack. She crossed the room and inserted herself between the men, ignoring the wince of pain on Logan’s face as she attempted to regain possession.
A sideways glance at Tama found him ogling her bare legs and Hana recoiled in shock. She yanked the cord around her stomach, hiding her bra and knickers from view.
“Can I get you some food?” Logan asked, slipping his right arm around her shoulder. “You should eat.”
Hana’s jaw clenched in frustration. “No.”
In a bizarre role reversal, he tried to take care of her. Hana’s irritation bloomed to frightening proportions, creating a tremble in her hands as she balled them into fists. “Come to the bedroom with me,” she whispered in his ear. “We need to talk.”
She watched Logan’s gaze track sideways at Tama. He knitted his brows and shook his head in a quick action.
“Ugh, old people shagging. Gross!” Tama made retching noises and pretended to stick his fingers down his throat. Hana acted as though he lit the blue touch paper on her firework and she lurched towards him, almost upending the sofa.
“Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” she shouted in his face. Her heart pounded with an exultant surge of blood and it drove Hana to new heights of hysteria like a chemical high. “Anka’s older than me so you must be an expert!”
Tama leaned back against the arm of the sofa, making himself small to avoid her flailing arms. Hana shoved at his chest, surprised at her own strength. “Get out of my house!” she snapped. Her dressing gown tangled around her feet as she stood and she gave both men an accidental flash of matching, lacy underwear.
As she stomped from the room, she caught Logan’s low growl. “Quit being a dick, Tama! That’s your last warning, bro’!”
Hana ran herself a bath and deliberately spent ages in the bathroom, hoping to inconvenience anyone requiring the toilet. The hot water raised her blood pressure and the nausea returned. She wasted half an hour of her life sitting on the side of the bath with her head between her knees. Deciding to pull the plug, she watched the hot water and luscious bubbles gurgle down the drain. Not wanting to face either of the men, she took herself to bed.
Waking in the night, she discovered Logan snuggled against her back. She gave him a shove, desperate for him to wake up and deal with her questions. He stirred and rolled onto his back, further denying her any kind of justice.
A primitive side of her bayed for blood, wanting to fight back from the rejection and sense of betrayal. “He almost died a few days ago, you stupid girl,” she mouthed to herself in the darkness. “Now you’re thinking of smothering him with a pillow.”
She lay on her back with one hand on her stomach and the other over her heart. A magazine article suggested it helped with insomnia. Hana focussed on aligning the beats and realised how much rubbish she consumed from women’s magazines. They all lied. It didn’t work. Her starving stomach, thrilled with the attention, gurgled and put her off counting. She sucked in her stomach but holding her breath increased her heart rate and made her head swim. With a sigh of irritation, Hana abandoned the exercise.
The house felt cool as she padded to the kitchen. She moved without lights and closed the door behind her. At the flick of the light switch, a shape rose from the kitchen table and Hana clapped her hands over the scream. “You idiot!” she squeaked as Tama stood opposite her, his face streaked with tears. He wore a tee shirt and boxer shorts belonging to Logan. Without the bravado, he looked fifteen years old.
Hana softened, but wariness made her give him a wide berth. She’d seen him wield a crowbar. Skirting the table, she switched on the kettle and heaved out a sigh. She pulled the dressing gown closed enough to please a mother superior and tied the cord in a double knot. The clock ticked past two in the morning. Tama sat back in his seat, nursing a cold cup of tea. “Want another?” Hana fetched a mug from the cupboard and indicated his cup with her outstretched hand.
“Yes please.” Tama held his cup up with a shaking hand, looking so defeated she struggled to muster up the hate. Only determination fought her natural maternalism in the face of the teenage monster.
She made tea in silence and fetched the toaster from the cupboard, filling it with bread. Sett
ing two plates, knives, jam and butter on the table, she toasted the slices two at a time. Tama spread butter on his toast, watching as he put too much on and it slid onto the plate in a yellow lake. He seemed transfixed by the puddle on the smooth white surface. Hana watched him play in the yellow mess, trying not to crunch her toast. The harder she tried, the more she sounded like a horse eating a carrot. She choked on a crumb and a giggle rose into her throat. Tama stared at her and then he laughed. The tension snapped as they descended into juvenile snorts, each as bad as the other. Hana got herself under control and Tama started again. “Oh, stop it!” she giggled and Tama responded with a grin. It seemed incongruous that sniggering over crunchy toast in the middle of the night could dislodge such a powerful, mutual dislike.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I loved Anka.” Tama’s words wiped the silly grin off Hana’s face.
All humour disappeared. “So did her husband. And children. So did I once. Now we’ve all lost her because of you.” Hana thumped the table with her palm, sending tingles through her fingers.
Tama pursed his lips. “I do know that.” He sat for a moment, head down, contemplating the mess on his plate. “After it started, we couldn’t stop. We got in so deep and now it’s a mess.” He looked up and stared into Hana’s face, frightening intensity behind his grey eyes. “I’d never hurt her.”
“No!” scoffed Hana. “But you attacked my husband from behind. If that’s what you do to the people who care about you, I pity your enemies.”
Tama closed his eyes. Hana waited for a retort but none came. Shame hung his handsome dark head and prevented him meeting her gaze. Spoiling for a fight, she felt thwarted and anger bubbled in her chest. She stood and snatched his plate away, staying out of swinging range. “You wouldn’t have the guts to hit him from the front!” Liquid butter spewed onto the table and she hissed in annoyance.
Tama visibly quailed, his cowardice unveiled in all its filth. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered.
“Grow up Tama,” Hana snapped, clattering the plates into the sink and squirting dishwashing liquid into the running water. “You want to be treated like a man. You want to have affairs with married women, but then weep over the consequences.” She wheeled around, her hands soaked in suds. “You hit Logan because he prevented you bullying me into giving you Anka. The irony is that I didn’t even know where she went.” Hana balled her fists. “I can’t believe he forgave you. You don’t deserve it!”
She turned back to the sink, stunned by her own revelation. Its ugliness spread out before her and she discovered the flame beneath her fury. She couldn’t forgive. A parade of other faces drifted through her memory and she gritted her teeth against them.
“I don’t deserve it,” replied Tama. “I know I don’t. Uncle Logan is the only constant in my life and I hurt him. I’m glad he hit me at the hospital. He should’ve killed me for what I did.”
Hana found no ready retort and reached below the belt. “He treated you as a son,” she muttered, knowing the inference hit its mark when Tama sighed.
“You’re right. I wish he was my dad.”
Hana ground her teeth, grateful the disturbed young man held only the rights of a nephew and nothing more. She heard Tama’s chair scrape the floorboards behind her. “I bought Anka a ring. I wanted to marry her.”
She heard him leave the room and heaved a sigh of relief. The sight of the soapsuds on her wedding band reminded her of the irony and indicated another reason for the teenager to hate her. The door clicked closed and she turned to face him.
Tama opened his palm to reveal a small velvet box. The maroon colour absorbed the shadows in the room as he popped the lid with extreme care. Hana watched him hold his breath with sacred reverence. She leaned forward and grazed the diamond with her gaze. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her tone genuine. “And expensive.”
“I didn’t nick it!” Tama’s eyes narrowed and he closed the lid on the sparkling beauty. “I’ve worked for Alfred every holiday.” He looked so innocent standing in her kitchen in his boxer shorts, displaying his precious ring. His face reflected a mixture of pain and concentration. Tama opened his mouth to speak.
“No!” Hana cut him off. “I can’t tell you where she is. If you pester me, I’ll make you leave. Understand?”
Tama baulked at her firm tone, but conceded. “Okay,” he replied. Hana watched him and saw the lie in his eyes.
She returned to bed and her sleep offered little rest, punctuated by disturbing dreams. Her efforts to speak to Logan the next day proved stilted. “I’ll run you a shallow bath,” she suggested. “We can control the water easier than the shower and you might feel better after washing your hair.” Hana left the room before he could reply and busied herself with the activity.
Tama drifted past her in the lobby and Hana pointed to the back stairs. “Please can you go down to the garage and fetch wood for the fire? My son chopped some last week and it’s in the cupboard next to the main door.”
“Your son the cop?” Tama’s upper lip curled back in a sneer and Hana took a step towards him.
“If you can’t play nice, get out!” she snapped. “I asked you to fetch wood, not discuss my family.”
Tama shook his head and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Sensitive,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
Logan slipped off his shorts in the steamy bathroom and stepped into the shallow water. His eyes closed in pain as he lowered himself to sit in the bubbles. Hana averted her eyes from the parts of his body which stirred her and concentrated on washing the blood from his right arm and around his ribs. “Keep still,” she told him, nudging him in the back as he turned to look at her. She gritted her teeth and sponged soap along his spine. The iodine stained his skin yellow and proved harder to remove. “Try not to wet your dressings. I don’t want to redo them.”
“Get in with me?” Logan invited, his voice a whisper and mischief in his face.
“No!” Hana snapped, pushing his hand away from the zipper of her jeans. “Lean your cast on the edge of the bath and lean back so I can wash your hair.”
She fumbled with the lid of the shampoo and rubbed the liquid into Logan’s dark hair. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the massaging of his scalp. “What’s wrong, Hana?” he asked as she lifted the jug to rinse away the soap.
She gaped in surprise. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” she replied, a sneer in her tone. “You spring a disease on me and then allow your attacker to sleep in the only place I feel safe in this town. Is there any wonder I’m upset?”
Logan sighed. “No. I said I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay then.” Hana smoothed her palm along the back of his hair to squeeze out the water. “I feel great now.”
Logan tutted. “What did you expect me to do? You claim to be a Christian but don’t recognise forgiveness.”
Hana dropped the plastic jug into the water in shock. It clanged against the side of the tub and sent water into Logan’s eyes. She took a step backwards, gored by his judgement on her shaky faith.
“Don’t throw my beliefs back in my face!” she snapped, tears blossoming in her eyes.
Logan snorted. “It sounds like a pick and choose kind of faith to me.”
Hana gritted her teeth and stemmed the urge to hit him on the head with the jug. Logan unearthed the unsightly blemish on Hana’s character and she hated him for it. She swallowed and fumed.
Logan’s expression softened and he struggled to stand, distracting Hana with his nakedness. “Tama’s my whānau and he made a mistake. He apologised. What’s the problem?” Logan’s grey eyes gazed on her as dark, swirling pools of condemnation.
Hana shook her head, formulating her words in a dry mouth. “But I’m not your family, am I Logan. I will never fit in.”
Logan exhaled and reached for her, his brow knitting as she moved backwards. “It’s not like that,” he said, his tone imploring.
“Really?” Hana b
acked towards the door. She balled her fists. “Yet there’s so much you won’t share. Why does your father want you to face a man with a gun?” She narrowed her eyes. “And why does it look like you run your parents’ farm?”
Logan’s jaw tensed and he shivered in the ankle deep, cooling water. “I don’t. Dad runs it.”
Hana scented the victory of a successful hunt. “No, he doesn’t,” she said, her voice turning to a snarl. “It’s another lie. I’ve heard the way the farm workers speak to you. And Alfred can’t read.”
Logan struggled out of the bath, slipping and splashing the dressing they worked so hard to keep dry. Hana pressed her body against the door, reacting to the anger she saw in his face. “Hana!” Logan rasped. He clutched his broken arm across his stomach. “I can’t tell you everything in one go?”
“Why?” A stray tear coursed down her cheek. “Because I’ll leave you?”
Logan snatched up a towel and scrubbed the water from his body. The effort exhausted him and his pallor greyed. “Maybe,” he sighed.
“You should have told me about the haemophilia!” Hana’s tears back-lit her eyes with sparkles of reflected light and she stamped her foot. “You owed me that much.” She spread her arms wide. “I don’t know who you are.”
Logan fixed the towel around his waist and Hana saw the pink stain spreading across his dressing. “Maybe I needed to find you trustworthy before I spewed my life into your hands,” he answered through gritted teeth. Hana stared at him in horror, the hair rising on the back of her neck in warning. She grappled with the door handle without turning, her green eyes wide and gaping. Her fingers shook as she pulled the door wide and cold air rushed past.
“You should never have married me,” she sobbed, her breath coming in heaves.
“Hana, I don’t know what you want from me!” he called after her, his desperation raw. He wasted his breath as she ignored him. Running to the bedroom, she slammed the door and leaned against it. All sensible thought fled and she sat against the aged wood and cried until her reserves emptied.
