by K T Bowes
Logan sighed. “I work with teenage boys for a living, Hana. I spend my life listening to fabrications and blatant lies. Please don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I can’t!” She hid her face in the pillow. “I’m busy tomorrow.”
“Don’t push me away, Hana. I’m in this for the long haul. You don’t have to do this alone.” His words, carefully chosen and well-aimed, resonated within Hana’s psyche. He sounded desperate. “Please babe, I’m struggling here. I don’t know what to do. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Hana took his hand and pulled it beneath the sheets. She spread his fingers and lay them over her stomach. The tiny being fluttered and moved around in the unaccustomed wakefulness of the night. Logan inhaled and held his breath, connecting with his child as it halted and restarted its frantic activity. He shifted down the bed and kept his hand over Hana’s belly, holding her until they both dropped off to sleep.
Logan awoke with a start, noticing daylight filtering through a gap in the curtains. “Oh, crap!” He swore and withdrew from Hana. “I’m meeting Angus before tutor group.” He slipped from the bed and glanced back at her. “You look unwell, babe. Stay home. I’ll tell Sheila you’re sick.”
“I’ve things to do at work,” Hana complained, following him to the bathroom. The sight of toothpaste on his chin churned her stomach. She slumped onto the side of the bath. “Maybe I should stay home,” she conceded.
Logan ran around like a maniac, dragging on clothes and hopping as he put his boots on at the front door. “I’ll see you later,” he said, dragging Hana towards him and kissing her forehead.
“I need the car!” Her eyes widened in realisation. “Please don’t take it.”
Logan stopped and examined her face. “Why?”
“If I get worse, I’ll take myself to the doctor’s.” She blinked, knowing he saw straight through her fabrication.
“Okay. I’ll ride the bike.” Logan ran to the garage and slipped his leathers over his clothes, slamming his visor down to cover his suspicion.
“Be careful,” Hana said from the bottom step. She gave a small wave and attempted to smile. The noise of the engine roared over her voice. “There’s a head of faculty meeting tonight, isn’t there?” Logan gave an upward jerk of his head and steered his bike under the open garage door. He glanced backwards but Hana couldn’t read his face expression through the tinted visor. She dropped the garage door behind him.
Feeling conflicted about not going to work, Hana also enjoyed the opportunity to slow down. She took her time dressing and tidied up after Logan’s mad dash around the house. His pyjama shorts lay on the hall floor and the bathroom looked like a bomb went off in the soap dish. The nausea pursued her from one end of the house to the other, assuaged by a piece of dry toast around ten o’clock.
Hana avoided the roof garden, shying away from memories of the furry corpse. She logged onto the school server for a few hours in the afternoon, answering emails from Sheila. She clambered into the bath at two o’clock, luxuriating in the deep metal tub and ignoring the phone when it rang. The child moved around in her stomach, disturbed by Hana’s raised body temperature. She rested her palm over the tiny bump, knowing its movements would become visible soon, like the pitch and roll of an earthquake. “The doctor’s appointment will make you real,” she sighed. “You’ll be written into my medical notes and other people will know about you.”
Hana stepped out of the bath with care, pulling the plug and watching the bubbles exit. They fought their way down the plughole as though duelling for a fantastic prize instead of being first through the smelly pipe to the septic tank. She dried herself and dressed in clothing a doctor could poke around in, giggling at the lewdness of the thought. Twenty-seven years earlier, a naïve Hana stripped almost naked at her first antenatal appointment. Her sleeves proved too long for a blood test and her dress ended up hiked to her ribs. “Trousers and a blouse this time,” she said, drawing a jacket over her shoulders.
Hana bent to collect her handbag from the floor next to the front door, shrieking in shock as the gate alarm sounded. Headlights bounced up the long slope and she looked around for somewhere to hide. When the house rumbled with the motor from the garage door, she peeked from behind the lounge curtains with one shoe on and one off.
“Hana?” Logan strode along the hallway in his boots, searching the rooms for her. She limped into the lounge doorway.
“Hi.” She wrung her hands and guilt passed across her face.
“Are you leaving me?” He jerked his head at her outdoor jacket and single shoe, biting into his bottom lip. “I don’t want you to.”
“Did you flag the faculty meeting?” Hana slid past him and chased the other shoe with her toes. “I’m just nipping out.”
Logan snorted. “What do you think? Of course, I flagged the meeting. Where are you going? I rang and you didn’t answer.”
Hana exhaled and muttered her destination. Logan stepped in front of her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Where are you going, Hana?”
Her body sagged. “To the doctor’s.”
“You got sicker?” The concern in his eyes exacerbated her guilt.
“No. I need to get my pregnancy confirmed and set up antenatal appointments.”
“Oh.” Logan dropped his hands and stepped back. “And you don’t want me there?” He swallowed and pain marched across his handsome features.
Hana felt the sting in her heart and held out the Honda keys. “Please would you drive?”
The doctor’s surgery in Ngaruawahia heaved with patients and Hana missed the days when men offered their seats to women. The receptionist eyed Logan with dread and inspected him for a broken bone or hemorrhage.
“I have an appointment,” Hana told her, offering her credit card before the woman could object. They lurked in the corner next to a fish tank and Hana watched the colourful bodies swim in lazy circles. When she snorted, Logan looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Rent a Tank,” Hana said with raised eyebrows. “Is that like fish prostitution?”
Logan pursed his lips and looked away as thirty other patients turned their gaze in Hana’s direction. His eyes laughed at her and she grinned like a child. “Is it?”
Hana grew irritated as the time ticked by. She grabbed Logan’s arm and sought his watch for the fifth time. “My appointment started half an hour ago,” she grumbled, fidgeting with the cord for the window blinds. The stopper came off in her fingers and her eyes grew round and frightened.
“Stop fiddling!” Logan rebuked and tied it back on. When a seat came free, he forced her into it and plonked a women’s magazine in her lap. “Behave,” he hissed.
When the doctor appeared and called Hana’s name, she leapt up like a game show contestant. Logan hesitated, not knowing whether to follow or wait. Hana turned and read uncertainty in his furrowed brow and pursed lips. “Come on,” she whispered and beckoned with her hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked, glancing sideways at the doctor.
“Yes.” Hana offered him a smile and Logan nodded and followed her into the office. He bowed to allow his head to pass beneath the lintel.
“How can I help you?” The Indian doctor looked tired, dark circles underlining his brown eyes. “Sorry for the delay. Friday is always like this. Nobody wants to pay the weekend fees.”
“I’m pregnant,” Hana began. “And old.”
The doctor threw his head back and laughed. “Those things aren’t synonymous.” He dipped his hand into his desk drawer and pulled out a tube. “Do a urine sample and we’ll test it and take it from there.”
Hana walked into the room after squeezing out another wee, finding Logan and the doctor chatting about soccer. “That was embarrassing,” she grumbled. Logan turned to greet her and his eyes widened at the sight of the frothy mixture in the tube. “The lid went down the toilet.” Hana pouted and handed it over. “And it wouldn’t all fit in. Everyone in the
waiting room watched me drip it across reception.”
The doctor performed a dip test on Hana’s sample over the basin. He retained some for testing. Logan watched with interest. “Is it like making homebrew?” he asked and the doctor laughed. Hana glared at her husband, expecting a degree of decorum now she’d let him into her pregnant world.
Washing and drying his hands, the doctor invited Hana over to the bed. “Congratulations, it’s positive. Let’s take a look at you,” he said.
Hana lay on the bed and lifted her blouse so he could palpate her stomach. “How is it going?” he asked.
“I’m still sick,” Hana admitted. “I guessed at twelve weeks but it can’t be more than that.”
“Okay. Does this hurt?” The doctor prodded her kidneys and Hana groaned. The curtain at the end of the bed moved and Logan slipped between there and the wall. He jammed himself into the tiny space and glared at the doctor, daring him to elicit another groan from Hana. “There’s blood in your urine. You might have an infection. That would cause excessive sickness.” He pressed her stomach again, walking his fingers around her uterus. “It feels like the end of the first trimester,” he commented. “I think twelve weeks is about right. The midwife will book you in for a scan.” He pressed harder and Hana’s eyes widened as a bubble of wind worked its way through her tubes. She feared she might let rip under the force of the doctor’s fingers and give Logan’s hair an unexpected parting.
Stepping back, the doctor pulled Hana’s blouse over her stomach. “Sit up when you’re ready,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.” He swished the curtains closed behind him. Hana sighed and pulled up her zipper, standing and shoving her feet into her shoes. She glanced up at her husband.
“Are you coming?” she whispered, concerned at the curious expression on his face.
“In a minute,” he replied, looking uncomfortable.
Hana sat in her seat and rested her hands in her lap. “I can’t remember the drill,” she admitted. “I had my older children over twenty years ago. You might have to explain things.”
“Let’s wait for your partner.” The doctor glanced at his watch.
“Logan?” Hana turned in her seat when Logan didn’t appear. She shot the doctor a curious look and walked back to the curtain. Yanking it aside, she discovered Logan fiddling with something on his leg. “What are you doing?”
Logan’s body sagged. “I’m stuck.”
The conversation degenerated as the doctor wasted time cutting a hole in Logan’s work pants. “How did you do this?” he demanded, lying on his stomach with his face just centimetres from Logan’s groin.
“There’s a metal spike on the bed,” Logan grumbled. “My pants got caught.”
“I don’t know why you went in there!” Hana paced the tiny office, watching her appointment time go past her allotted twenty minutes. “They’ll make me pay extra out there. That receptionist is a pit bull.”
“She’s my step daughter.” The doctor pursed his lips and Logan squeezed his eyes closed with the effort of not laughing.
Hana huffed and put her hands on her hips as Logan’s pants ripped under the knife. The doctor cursed. “It’s bleeding. I hope you don’t have hepatitis.”
“Nope. Not that,” Logan replied, darting a look of mirth towards Hana.
“I must do an accident report.” The doctor slid from the bed, pink splotches on his cheeks. His form filling occupied another half an hour.
Outside in the waiting room, an angry crowd gathered. They glared at Hana as she paid an additional bill for hijacking the doctor’s time. She walked to the front doors without getting eye contact with anyone else, stuffing her prescription for antibiotics into her jacket pocket.
Hana drove home, watching as Logan kept his fingers over his pants leg. “How bad is it?” she asked and he shrugged.
“I liked these pants,” he grumbled.
“Damn!” She slapped the steering wheel. “After all that, he didn’t give me the name of the midwife.”
“Sorry.” Logan remained silent for the rest of the journey home.
Hana boiled the kettle in the kitchen and watched the outline of the bush through the darkened window. Her fingers scrubbed potatoes under the tap and plonked them in a pan on the stove to boil. Logan went straight to the bathroom and didn’t emerge. His coffee chilled on the kitchen table and Hana grew concerned. She padded to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Logan? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” His voice sounded muffled, so Hana pushed against the door. It opened and she pressed onward.
“What’s the matter?” The blood on Logan’s leg drew her immediate attention. “Oh, goodness! You didn’t say it was that bad.”
Logan dabbed at the cut on his thigh, toilet roll sticking to the hairs. “Sorry,” he said, sounding sad. Hana crouched in front of him and inspected the jagged cut.
“Why didn’t the doctor stitch that?”
Logan shrugged and dabbed more. “I said it wasn’t deep. He just wanted us gone.”
“I’ll take you back there.” Hana stood and Logan grabbed her shin.
“Please don’t. That bloody receptionist looked at me like I might have a body part hanging off. I’m not going back to prove her right.”
“You’re a worry.” Hana sank to her knees and watched the blood pool on the tissue. “Will it stop?” She rested her hand on his leg and Logan nodded.
“I used my spray. Can you do butterfly stitches?”
Hana’s eyes widened. “With a needle? No! I suck at embroidery.”
“With tape, you egg!” Logan cracked a smile and it reached his eyes, crinkling the skin at the edges. “I superglue it and you cross tape over the top.”
“Okay.” Hana sounded dubious, but managed a decent enough job. She got the skinny tape stuck everywhere except where she meant to put it and sat back with a frown.
“Thanks.” Logan stroked her fingers and yanked stray tape from her blouse.
“At least they gave you a tetanus jab in hospital,” she remarked, leaning forward to examine her handiwork. “Not bad for a beginner. I always used Band Aids on the children.”
Logan nodded and then paused, his face pulling into a frown. “What’s that noise?”
“The potatoes!” Hana got up and ran to the kitchen, groaning at the splattery mess over the hob. “Why me?” she grumbled.
Logan hobbled into the kitchen in his shirt and boxers and found Hana attacking the starchy mess with a cloth. He confiscated it. “You’ll burn yourself. I’ll do it once it’s cooled.” He dumped the half-melted rag in the dustbin.
Hana leaned her back against the draining board. “Burned potatoes and beans?” she asked, quirking up an eyebrow.
Logan nodded. “Yum.” He wrapped his arms around her and for once, she didn’t push him away. “Sorry about ruining your doctor’s appointment,” he said. His voice sounded cowed and filled with regret. “Sorry about everything else too. I need you to trust me more than you can imagine.”
Hana exhaled and closed her eyes against his shirt. “Everyone I trusted let me down, Logan,” she sighed. “What makes you different?” She felt him shrug, his body nudging hers with the action.
“I’d die for you.” Logan’s fingers strayed to Hana’s stomach and he caressed the sensitive skin. “I’d die for both of you.”
Hana nodded and felt him relax. She pulled away to look at his face, following the curve of his sensuous lips and the regal angular nose. “You looked a right prat,” she whispered. Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she fought the grin. “Standing there with your pants welded to that bed and the doctor cutting you loose.” She sniggered. “His face was right near your rude bits. I kept imagining someone walking in.”
“So did I.” Logan closed his eyes and pursed his lips. “I want to be part of everything, Hana. This won’t happen again.”
She turned away, releasing herself from his arms. Her heart sank with the weight of
the impossible pregnancy. She daren’t say the words, terrified of stealing her husband’s dream. But the responsibility cowed her. Hana turned back to her pan, stabbing the potatoes with a sharp knife and watching them slide along its hilt. “Maybe they’re not burnt,” she mused, stabbing another.
Logan let his fingers slide down her back, recognising the portcullis crashing over her emotions. He retreated to the kitchen table and examined the blood seeping through the tape.
“I want to let you enjoy it.” Hana didn’t turn around, speaking to the darkness outside the window. “But what if I can’t do this? What if we both get attached and then I lose the baby?” Her voice shook and she didn’t hear him move. His arms wrapped around her from behind.
“We can’t predict the future, Hana,” he whispered into her hair. “Atua numbers our days and I’ve squandered enough already. Let’s enjoy what we have in our hands today. Planning for loss doesn’t lessen the sting. It only makes you suffer before you need to.” Hana sighed as Logan pushed his fingers beneath her hair. He loved feeling the curls shift like water and caressed her nape with gentle fingers. “Kaua e mate wheke mate ururoa.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t die defenseless like an octopus, die like a hammerhead shark. A Du Rose always goes down fighting, Hana. We are warriors.”
Logan dipped his body and collected Hana into his arms. She inhaled in surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck. In silence, he carried her through the lobby and into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with his foot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hana slept late on Saturday, not stirring until after nine. She reached across the bed and her fingers contacted cold, empty space. Signs of a hasty breakfast included crumbs on the table and she wandered around the house looking for Logan.
As she reached the garage, Hana heard the gate alarm sound overhead. She hid on the stairs and watched the automatic door lift. The Honda swept down the slope and into the garage and she stood in her fluffy dressing gown and slippers feeling foolish.
