One Heartbeat

by Bowes, K T

  Hana swung on her heel and opened the front door. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m worn out. Your son was hard work for me and the parasite, which you’d know if you paid him any quality attention. Goodbye.”

  Hana held the door open while her son walked nervously past her.

  “Oh,” she said abruptly, running back and seizing the envelope of photographs from the table. “Don’t forget your wonderful memories will you. I wouldn’t like you to miss out on reminiscing over the lovely life you think we had!”

  As Bodie reached the bottom step, Hana slammed the door after him and burst into tears, crying until she was sick. Tama returned with her baby and found her inconsolable in the bathroom, having used up a whole roll of toilet paper. “Oh, Ma,” he whispered, kneeling down and balancing the baby on his hip. Phoenix took swipes of Hana’s hair, yanking handfuls of it and trying to put it in her mouth.

  Hana fed her daughter under her shirt, grateful for the simple maternal pleasure of giving sustenance without rejection. Phoenix beamed and flapped the shirt over her face, playing more than feeding. Tama plonked a cup of tea in Hana’s hand and took the baby, winding her over his shoulder and smiling at her contented singing. “He’s gonna screw that kid up,” Tama declared.

  Hana nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “When we were at the swings, Jas started crying. He adores Uncle Logan and hates his rapid slide down the food chain. He doesn’t understand but knows his dad hates even the mention of Logan’s name. Apparently Bodie and Amy argue about his attitude all the time; stupid idiot doesn’t recognise security and happiness when it’s in his hands.” Tama sounded wistful and Hana reached out and stroked his thigh, balancing her cup on the arm of the sofa.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she breathed. “But yelling at him and throwing him out probably didn’t help.”

  Tama smiled. “You’re a helluva woman, Hana Du Rose. Uncle Logan’s lucky to have you.”

  Hana wrinkled her nose. “Not really. A mother’s supposed to back her children first. I never understood women who took the step parent’s side over the child.”

  “He’s not a child!” Tama sounded incredulous. “I totally agree if you’re a mum with small kids who don’t like their step dad but Hana, he’s twenty five years old!”

  “Twenty six,” Hana acknowledged. “Fair point.”

  “Hell yeah.” Tama patted the baby’s back and listened to her suck her fist.

  “I didn’t hear you come in last night. How did it go with Logan? I don’t think he’s talking to me.” She sounded sad and pursed her lips together.

  “Don’t be daft. He’s very distracted by the body in the veggie plot and his row with you. He was philosophical about me leaving college but I decided not to rock the boat by telling him I took you to see your father.” He winced and his eyes implored her with the impossible.

  Hana sighed, wondering how the Du Roses attracted so many damaging secrets purely by default. “You know I’ll have to tell him eventually,” she said. “I always think I’ll be able to keep secrets from him but I can’t survive that way. He’s like a human lie detector.” Hana patted Tama’s thigh. “Don’t worry though; I’ll take the blame and say I made you.”

  Hana played with her daughter, fed her more rice and a breastfeed, bathed and dressed her and laid her in her cot before six o’clock. There was still no sign of Logan and her heart grew heavy. Tama watched TV and made himself tea. Hana wasn’t hungry and laid on the double bed, praying over her dire circumstances and complicated relationships, eventually dropping into a miserable sleep. She dreamed she was riding in a shaky boat and it tipped. She grappled for the side but it kept tipping. Fearful of the dark water below, she held onto something and heard it complain as she dug her nails in. Hana heard her name called as she plunged into the cold, murky waters and recognised Logan’s voice. Swimming hard to reach the surface, she found air and light, gasping and panicking as she realised she wasn’t drowning. She struck out with her arms, hearing herself whimper as Logan’s strong arms pinned her to the bed and she held on tightly, waiting for the pounding of her heart to stop being so painful in her chest and ears. “I couldn’t save myself,” she sobbed.

  “It’s ok,” Logan said and Hana tried to believe it would be.

  “I’m so sorry,” she blurted and he soothed her, telling her it didn’t matter. “I didn’t know,” she sobbed, “I didn’t know he called you that.”

  Logan stroked her hair and his kindness made Hana cry harder. After a while she felt awake enough to hold a rational conversation but in the light from the bedside table lamp, noticed the blood on the front of Logan’s expensive shirt.

  “What happened?” she cried, seeing it on his chin and cheek.

  “It’s fine,” he soothed, “I just had a hell of a nosebleed and couldn’t leave until it stopped. I think it was the pressure in my head and from keep taking that medication for the blood disorder. They said I was overusing it and I think this is what happens. I’m fine. I’ve got a headache, that’s all.”

  Hana stroked his cheek in concern and gently kissed the jagged scar under his right eye which started it all. The spiteful gossip of Ethel Bowman about Logan’s injury made Hana cross enough to throw caution to the wind and sit next to the new head of English after a particularly bad morning. “I love you,” she said. “Bo’s an arse; I told him so.”

  Logan shook his head. “You shouldn’t have,” he said, his voice level. He’d made a skill of not getting between Hana and her children and it looked as though he’d done it anyway. “It’s how he feels,” Logan said gently. “But hearing he calls me that just accentuated how I feel.”

  Hana sat up and looked at her husband in amazement. “Seriously? I never made you feel like a spare anything.”

  “Not intentionally.” He struggled to qualify his comment. “But I don’t talk about my ex-girlfriends or Caroline because you wouldn’t appreciate it. Yet I have to face your marriage to Vik every single day. He’s in photos around the house and your memories of the last twenty odd years relate to him. I don’t want to see his influence on your life any more than you want to see Caroline’s on mine, but I get reminded constantly. When Bodie and Izzie are here, I see his face in theirs and when you talk about their childhood, there he is again. If I talked about Caroline half as much as you talk about him, you’d have an absolute fit! It makes me feel jealous and insecure. It can’t be helped but I’m struggling to find my place at the moment. Getting Bodie into trouble last year didn’t help matters and I know he’s suspicious of me, no matter what I do. It’s why I’m so happy at the hotel because Vik can’t come with us there.” Logan sat up and ran his hand across his top lip. A line of blood transferred to the back of his fingers. It was fresh.

  Hana didn’t know what to say. It felt like a knotted ball of knitting wool. She didn’t know which strand to pull first to undo the mess. “I get it,” she said to her husband softly. “I totally get it.” She put her arms around his neck, feeling him relax underneath her. The blood from his nose seemed to respond to the sudden calm and stemmed. Hana kissed her husband with tenderness, getting his blood on her cheek, feeling the wetness but not caring. “I love you, Logan Du Rose,” she said into his ear. “I didn’t know what real love was until I met you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in my lifetime and I won’t stand by and listen to you being denigrated by anyone.”

  Logan smiled but his face held fear. He didn’t want Hana to choose between her children and him, instinctively knowing he’d be the loser. “Don’t worry about Bodie,” he said generously, “let him thrash it out. He’ll come round eventually. I’ve known what he thought for a while and mostly I don’t let it bother me. It must be hard for him.”

  Hana shook her head. “No,” she replied. “He needs to grow up. I’ve withdrawn your kind gift of the wedding reception at your hotel. That will bring him to his senses, ungrateful boy! I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he breaks the news to Amy that his
mouth just cost him twenty five grand! I’m sorry, Logan, but I’m so sick of him lately. I think it was a mistake him moving back to Hamilton. I didn’t realise how much he took advantage when I was on my own. It was always on his terms and we keep coming back to that same fact, over and over again; I’ve had enough.”

  “Izzie’s lovely,” Logan tried to say, putting a positive slant on the discussion. But it took the conversation down a route he hadn’t banked on.

  “Yeah, about that,” Hana piped up, “Bodie said something about a car.”

  Logan sank into the sheets and groaned, pushing his face into the pillows and leaving a trail of blood that would be difficult to remove.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Logan’s nose still bled and his face had swollen beneath his eyes. Hana drove him to the clinic in town with Phoenix in the car seat. Tama lounged around at the unit. “He’s up to something,” Hana muttered as they sat in the waiting room, Logan holding a wad of tissue under his nose. They both looked exhausted, dark circles ringing their eyes and only half Hana’s hair brushed.

  “I don’t care right now,” Logan grumbled. “I’ve got my own problems.”

  “You should’ve let me bring you here last night,” Hana said, brushing her fringe from her eyes. “I lost count of the number of times you choked on the blood in your throat; it was terrifying.”

  “Sorry.” Logan looked sideways, his eyes over the white tissues pitiful.

  “It’s ok.” Hana rubbed his thigh with her palm. “But I hope nobody sees our bedroom until I’ve been able to change the sheets. It looks like the scene of an axe murder.”

  Logan sighed. “My head’s pounding,” he complained, his voice muffled. “But he’s doing ok, Tama, he’s doing fine. Don’t worry about him; I know about the fire service stuff and told him I’d support him.”

  “It’s just he keeps borrowing the Honda and disappearing,” Hana whispered as a family sat next to them. She tried not to snigger at a four year old wearing a terracotta flower pot on his head. Blonde hair stuck out of the hole at the top like a clump of blonde grass. The child swung his legs and chatted to his concerned father, his voice echoing in the pot. Hana’s voice wavered with laughter as she tried to continue her conversation about Tama. “He comes back looking guilty and it worries me. He’s on track now and I don’t want him detonating again.”

  Logan struggled to put his arm around Hana but the tissue slipped in his other hand and blood dribbled down his face and onto the floor with a splat. Several people in the waiting room looked alarmed and a few covered their curious children’s eyes.

  “You’re looking really sick,” Hana hissed, worry in her voice. She clutched Phoenix on her hip and approached the counter.

  “We’re very busy,” the receptionist said, with a note of apology in her voice. “Your husband’s on the list.”

  Hana leaned forward, trying not to begrudge the $80 Logan paid an hour earlier as a starting fee, prior to treatment. “But I’m guessing my husband didn’t mention the fact he’s a haemophiliac, did he?”

  The receptionist opened her mouth to utter the usual patter about not discussing patient details with third parties and Hana held her hand up to save her the bother. “Ok,” she said and smiled, before returning to her seat, her mission accomplished.

  After a decent interval of whispering behind the counter between a few members of staff, Logan’s position on the list was accelerated and a nurse called him within minutes. Hana followed them along the corridor carrying her baby, not caring if Logan wanted her there or not. The nurse took his blood pressure, fitting the cuff over the tattoo on Logan’s upper arm. “That’s beautiful,” she said, admiring the stylish italics at the bottom which represented his whānau, his family. “Very unusual.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow, ignoring the attempt at conversation and Hana shook her head in despair.

  The embarrassed nurse released the cuff and tutted at the results. “Your blood pressure and pulse are low; I’ll fetch the doctor now.”

  The doctor arrived minutes later, already drawing fluid into a syringe. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” he asked as he pressed the needle into Logan’s upper arm. He raised his eyebrows at Logan and Hana’s husband groaned.

  “I don’t have time for that today,” he complained. “It takes hours.”

  “I guess you know the risks?” the doctor asked him with a serious expression and Logan nodded.

  “I’m not familiar with the risks,” Hana said, her face worried as she stepped into the situation. Logan narrowed his eyes but Hana ignored him. His face looked sore from keeping the tissue under his nose and blood liberally spattered his shirt and jeans.

  “Well,” the doctor began, thrilled by a willing audience and regaled Hana with a twenty minute lecture on what could happen if her husband refused a Factor 8 infusion again.

  Despite his protests, Hana drove Logan to the state run hospital. The doctor called ahead and directed them straight to the blood unit where Logan led his family along a familiar route with a stomp of annoyance to his gait. The nurses knew him by sight and settled him into a side room, hooking him up to a drip.

  “You know the drill,” a dark haired girl said as she inserted a needle into his raised vein. “Any tingling, headaches, nausea; you need to call someone. It’ll be a slow infusion so we can withdraw if something goes wrong. Ok?”

  Logan nodded and looked fed up already. He wasn’t good at inactivity and watched the dripping bag as if hoping it would suddenly evacuate into his body. It hardly altered its volume and he irritated Hana with his constant humphing and sighing.

  “Why don’t I find a coffee vendor and magazine stand and get you something?” Hana suggested and Logan nodded with a look of gratitude.

  While Hana waited for an extra special coffee for her husband, she made some calls from her cell phone. Angus was understanding and kind, telling her he’d cover Logan for a few days to give him a chance to get over his episode. “This is fairly standard for him so make him stay away for a few days at least.”

  Hana thanked the principal and ended the call, a frown on her face. “Why am I always the one in the dark?” she grumbled to her baby. “It looks like he’s a regular; how come I never knew?”

  Tama was slow answering his phone and when he did, Hana knew instantly he wasn’t at home. “What’s that funny drilling noise?” she asked, confused.

  “I’m in town,” he replied, sounding cross. “You guys didn’t come back with the car, so I walked.”

  “His nosebleed turned out to be a sign of something more urgent,” Hana said, hating the whining quality in her voice, but Tama brushed it off. “I’ve sat with him a few times during those drip-things and he’s not the nicest patient. He always leaves it too late because he hates them so much and by the time he gets there, he’s in one hell of a temper. It’s like trapping a wasp in a matchbox and having to keep peeking inside.”

  It was such a good description of Logan it made Hana laugh out loud. “I’m getting him a coffee and a magazine,” she said and Tama snorted.

  “Ok, well, drug the coffee and get him a car magazine,” he advised. “I need to go.” Hana heard the drilling noise resume as the phone went dead.

  “What’s he up to?” Hana mused. “He’s just nineteen and I fear for his ability to make it to twenty.” But he’d come this far alone, so she sighed and decided to deal with him later.

  Heading back to Logan with two coffees, a magazine and a wriggling child was no easy feat and Hana struggled. It was little wonder she missed the relevant overhead signs and got lost. Finding herself in the general surgery department, she searched for an information board, hopelessly lost. “Oh, Phoe, what shall I do now?” she whispered and her daughter gave her a gummy smile of acknowledgement. “Daddy always says I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag and he’s right.”

  Spotting a familiar face at a vending machine, Hana greeted the doctor with a look of worry. “Hello, Dr Si
ngh,” she said. “I’ve got myself lost.”

  The doctor removed his chocolate bar from the machine, but stared at it, waiting for a fizzy drink which didn’t come. “Bloody thing!” he complained, aiming a kick at the bottom of it. “I always forget about the cameras,” he said, glancing around conspiratorially and Hana laughed.

  “Take my coffee,” she offered. “I haven’t drunk any and I’m struggling to carry it anyway.”

  The doctor protested but eyed the coffee hopefully. Hana handed it over, resettling her other burdens more comfortably and ditching the cardboard coffee carrier Phoenix was lurching for. The doctor wore his turban and looked dashing, dark eyes with long eyelashes and black hair in the complicated white wrapping. He asked after the family and admired the baby, just a slight bump last time he saw Hana.

  “Logan’s in the clinic having an infusion,” Hana said, pulling a face.

  Dr Singh tutted and shook his head. “Your husband’s a law unto himself,” he griped. “I bet he’s isn’t doing any of the things he’s supposed to. He seems to ‘get by’ and this disease has a habit of getting its own back if you do that. Getting a dose of factor eight should help though. He’ll be walking on air for the next few days. He’ll be invincible!”

  The doctor said the last word in a very Indian accent and Hana laughed. He sounded like Vik’s father for a second. “Can you tell me how to get back there, please?” she asked and he pointed along the corridor, waving his hand as he indicated left and rights and more left and rights until Hana’s eyes glazed over. Then he bowed majestically, seeing the misery on her face.

  “In exchange for the delightful coffee, I’ll walk you part of the way there.”