by Karina Bliss
* * *
“I can’t believe Dan was so insensitive,” Delwyn complained over the phone. “He ended up taking Wayne’s side, can you believe it? You’ll be pleased to know I’m not helping him marry you anymore.”
You were still helping him? “I’m glad to hear it,” Jo said mildly. By the light of the full moon, she was clearing the weeds around the gone-to-seed parsley. “Anyway, I’m sure you two will work something out.”
Once the parsley was weed-free, she moved on to the mint. It was nice to be outside for a change, to feel the chill on her bare legs under her dressing gown, to smell the wet grass and admire the stars.
Nan had settled early tonight.
Aided by techniques suggested in Contented Dementia, it had taken Jo only thirty minutes to put her grandmother to bed, instead of the usual hour. She could see herself managing again.
“No,” said Delwyn, “Wayne doesn’t deserve me. You and I will be spinsters together.” Jo heard a gulp.
She made a mental note to call in to the garage on her way to work and talk to Wayne.
Someone somewhere had a fire burning, she could smell it faintly on the breeze. Winter was coming with its late dawns and early dusks, with cold feet and a slap-you-awake chill when you stepped outside the house. Jo shivered. I’m alive, alert, awake, she reminded herself silently. And stopped before enthusiastic. Sighed. “Go to bed, Delwyn,” she said. “Things won’t seem so bad in the morning.” One day at a time, don’t look too far ahead and you’ll be okay. They exchanged good-nights, Jo took in the stars one last time and turned toward the house. For a few seconds her brain couldn’t process what she was seeing.
Through the downstairs window flames illuminated one corner of the dark kitchen. She started to run.
Inside, light flickered on the hall walls and smoke hung in the kitchen doorway like a gauze curtain.
“Nan!” Bursting through it, Jo took in the room in one frantic glance.
The frying pan blazed with burning oil. Flames licked up the tiles behind the stove and around the edges of the range-hood. Three feet away from the fire, Rosemary was a wraith-like figure in her nightgown, poised to throw a jug of water.
“No!” Diving forward, Jo tackled her grandmother’s legs. The plastic jug flew into the air, splattering water as they both fell heavily to the floor. A few drops hit the fire and it roared and shot higher.
Scrambling to her feet, Jo half dragged, half carried her grandmother into the hall. “You’re hurting me,” Rosemary whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” Jo gasped, but didn’t loosen her grip until she’d hauled the old woman to safety.
Propping Nan against the banisters, she wrenched open the fuse box and cut the power then raced into the kitchen, raising her hand against the blast of heat. Jerking the fire extinguisher away from the wall she thrust it at the blaze and pulled the nozzle.
Nothing.
Jo shook the canister, then frantically pulled again. “Do something, do something!” Still nothing. On a sob she remembered the pin, fumbled to remove it and tried again. A shot of foam hit the fry pan. Smoke billowed.
Coughing and shaking, Jo swept the nozzle left to right, keeping it low. The fire died, but she kept spraying until nothing came out, then flung the canister away. Her legs gave way.
On hands and knees she crawled to her grandmother. Rosemary lay curled on her side, cradling her left arm. “It’s an air raid…get me into the shelter.”
Jo smoothed her grandmother’s tangled hair. “It’s over,” she rasped. “The all-clear’s sounded. You’re safe.”
“My arm hurts.”
“I’ll get h-h-help.” Teeth chattering—from the shock, she imagined—Jo went outside, found her cell where she’d dropped it and rang the emergency line as she raced inside. “I n-n-need…an ambulance.”
As she gave the operator the address she pulled coats out of the closet and covered Nan, then sat beside her and stroked her frail shoulders while her grandmother moaned and cried.
“It’s okay, I’m here. Everything’s going to be fine.” Repeating the words over and over in a smoke-dry rasp until her voice cracked and faded.
Out of the dark, came a thin accusatory voice. “You broke my arm.”
* * *
Jo let him hold her; that’s how devastated she was.
Dan kept his embrace gentle though he wanted to crush her into his very bones with the enormity of his relief.
Her head on his shoulder, they sat on the hospital sofa waiting while the doctors x-rayed and set Rosemary’s arm, which Jo had broken during the tackle that saved the old lady’s life. Oil and water didn’t mix but Nan had forgotten that. Thank God Jo hadn’t or they’d both be in the burns unit right now—or worse. His hold tightened.
He’d coaxed Jo into showering and changing into the clothes he’d picked up at her request. His gut swooped remembering the kitchen—the charred wall behind the stove, the floor swimming in foam and black ash.
He’d opened all the windows before he left. Despite the shampoo, her damp hair still reeked of smoke. Dan resisted the urge to bury his face in it only by leaning his head against the wall so hard he could feel a bruise forming.
Jo stood up. Hands jammed in the pockets of her jacket, she walked up to the glass partition separating the small waiting room from the bustle of reception and scanned the corridor in both directions. “What’s taking so long?” Her face was pale, the circles under her eyes smudged bruises.
“They want to do a good job.”
“Yes, of course.” She sat down again, taking the chair opposite. Withdrawing from comfort she felt she didn’t deserve.
She had no reason to blame herself but she did. For relaxing her guard after settling Rosemary for the night. For being outside when her grandmother got up. For forgetting to turn off the master switch on the stove. “I’m being punished for not keeping my promise to Nan,” she’d said when she phoned for his help.
She hadn’t raised the subject since and neither had Dan. He understood Jo couldn’t talk about this right now if she was going to hold herself together. Understood that was why she’d called him and not Polly.
“Are you staying overnight with her?” He kept his tone matter-of-fact.
She nodded. “And then at Pinehill until she settles in.” Jo dropped her gaze. “She can’t go home with the house the way it is.”
“Stay at the farm.”
“No. You and Polly were right. It’s time, Dan. I was selfish—I put my feelings before her personal safety…. Please don’t disagree. It’s true.”
She wasn’t going to listen, so he went and sat beside her, not touching her, just being there. After a few minutes, she lifted her head and forced a smile. “So, what’s the latest on your folks?”
“Herman’s still at the farmhouse.” Casually he took her hand and warmed it between his. “Mom’s saying she should have asked for a divorce years ago.”
She entwined their fingers. “Do you think they’re better off apart?”
“If they are, then I’m in trouble. Herman and I work fine together on a temporary basis but I’d run the place differently…no question.” Hearing footsteps hurrying down the corridor, he paused. Jo’s grip tightened. An orderly walked by without glancing in. “There is one good thing come out of their separation,” Dan continued. “Dad’s so grumpy that the dogs are finally changing loyalties.”
Jo managed a weak chuckle and he felt like he’d won something.
“Jo?” Doc Stone entered the room and she shot to her feet. “All fine,” he reassured her. “A simple closed fracture, it should heal without any trouble.”
“Can I see her now?”
“Yes, of course, follow me.”
Jo turned to Dan. “You don’t have to stay.”
He hated to be shut out again. “Is there anything else I can do?”
Her gaze pinned his. “Only one.”
Dan looked away. “Give Nan my love.”
Without another
word Jo followed the doctor. Dan loosened the fists in his pocket and headed out to the brightly lit parking lot.
She was angry and he didn’t blame her. He should ease off the wedding while she dealt with Rosemary. But he broke into a cold sweat even considering it. He felt like a marathon runner five miles out from the finish line. Putting one foot in front of the other. What happened at the tape, Dan had no idea.
Wearily he unlocked the ute and climbed into the cab. Jo might see any concession as a lack of resolve on his part. He couldn’t risk that.
She’d called him tonight because no one in this world understood her better than he did. When it mattered, they were always there for each other.
Hopefully she’d remember that on the day.
Chapter Ten
Three days later, from her position behind a beech tree, Jo listened to Nan conversing with Mrs. Smith. The two old women sat on a bench in front of the goldfish pond in Pinehill’s half-acre garden. “You know the secret to setting jam?” said Nan. “Methylated spirits.”
“I like a tipple myself,” said Mrs. Smith. “Scotch and ginger ale…about five.”
“Five? No, five pounds of sugar is too much…unless you’re making double quantities.”
The two lapsed into a companionable silence. It was a sunny day, warm enough to sit outside in this sheltered spot.
Jo became aware of bark scratching her cheek and jerked upright before she fell asleep. For seventy-two hours she or Polly had shadowed Nan through her transition to Pinehill, stepping in to troubleshoot when necessary.
“Do you think two hippos could share?” Mrs. Smith, who had big plans for turning Pinehill into a zoo, gestured to the goldfish pond. “I know it’s only big enough for one but two would be company for each other.”
“Yes, why not?” said Nan, plainly humoring her. “As long as they don’t damage the trees.”
Mrs. Smith opened the pictorial natural history book in her lap. “How do you feel about meercats?”
“I love cats. They stop rats nesting in the compost bin.” Nan leaned forward and picked up her handbag, slinging it over the green fiberglass cast on her forearm. “Well, it’s been lovely visiting but I must be getting home.”
Jo trailed her grandmother into the L-shaped redbrick building, nodding to the supervising nurses’ aid.
She hadn’t approved when her grandmother chose Pinehill. As an outsider it had struck her as untidy and disorganized. Now Jo knew better. Cushions were strewn higgledy-piggledy because Mrs. Moreland, who’d been a window dresser, constantly rearranged them. And magazines lay open on every chair because Mr. Fairley, who’d been a newsagent, preferred them that way. Pinehill’s philosophy was simple and effective. Every resident was treated as a trusted adviser on “how things should run around here.”
Seeing how well Nan had settled in only deepened Jo’s guilt.
Nan paused in front of the reception desk where several nurses were in the middle of a shift handover. “You have too many flowers in your garden. You can’t eat flowers.”
One of them, Fiona, came out from behind the counter. “Perhaps you could give us some tips on starting a vegetable garden?”
Some of the hostility went out of Rosemary’s tone. “Well, you need potatoes…but they can’t be grown beside tomatoes…” She lost her train of thought. “Well,” she said after a pause, “I must be getting home.”
“What I’d really love to grow,” commented Fiona, “is bananas.”
Nan faced her. “Bananas are my favorite fruit. They weren’t available through the war. Only apples and pears.”
A bell rang from the dining room. Fiona looked at her watch. “It’s twelve o’clock. How nice that you’re here for lunch.”
“Am I?” Rosemary looked uncertain.
“Yes, because I particularly need your advice. I’m having such trouble getting my jam to set.” Fiona held out her arm.
Nan took it. “You know what my secret ingredient is?” she confided as they strolled toward the dining room. “Methylated spirit.”
“We’ll see you after breakfast tomorrow, then,” called the charge nurse after Jo, who had begun to leave. It was time for her to drop down to daily visits, scheduled around Nan’s most unsettled period.
“If she gets distressed…”
“We’ll phone you, I promise. And you can ring us anytime, day or night.”
“Thanks.” Jo collected her overnight bag and walked outside. She felt like a mother leaving her child on the first day of school. Dan pushed himself off the verandah post.
“I told Polly I’d pick you up.”
She should have been annoyed by his high-handedness in changing her arrangements, instead Jo felt pathetically grateful. Polly would have expected a postmortem. “Nan settled in really well,” she said, smiling. “I don’t know why I was so worried.”
“That’s great.” Dan took her bag. “Since your kitchen’s full of workmen, how about we get lunch before I drop you home?”
In the intensity of the past three days, she’d accepted his offer to organize repairs. At least workmen meant she wouldn’t be going home to an empty house.
Jo hesitated.
“I’m not going to bring up the wedding,” he said quietly.
“I wasn’t worried about that,” she lied. “And I’m fine about Nan now, honestly. Lunch would be great.”
She’d eat, catch a nap and then go into the Chronicle. Bring herself up to speed for work tomorrow. With Nan getting settled at Pinehill, she could concentrate on CommLink again. Maybe it was being in an environment full of lateral thinkers but Jo now knew exactly how to find out whether Chris was bluffing. As she’d told Kev, it was simply a matter of looking at the problem from another angle.
Jo glanced at Dan. After CommLink she’d knock this crazy wedding scheme on the head once and for all.
“Shaker’s okay?”
“Perfect. I’m in the mood for steak.” Something not on the menu at Pinehill, which took into account its residents’ increased difficulty with chewing and swallowing.
I hope someone’s keeping an eye on Nan when she’s eating.
“So,” she said brightly. “What’s been happening in the outside world?”
Dan shot her a sidelong glance then launched into a discourse on the latest skirmish between Labor and National over education policy. Slowly, Jo’s anxiety dropped to a manageable level.
Over the entrée their debate about global warming grew heated; over dessert she wagered forty bucks on the All Blacks winning the Rugby World Cup and called Dan a traitor for favoring Australia’s Wallabies.
He seemed tired, too, she noticed. Since he’d kissed her, she’d been scared to really look at him. Scared of seeing him differently. “How are Ross and Nate doing since Afghanistan?” she said over coffee. “We haven’t had much opportunity to talk about them.”
“Ross is driving himself too hard in rehab…but that’s par for the course. Nate’s resettled in the States. He’s finding it hard to cope.”
“I’m sure you all are.”
“There’s no comparison,” he said curtly. “Ross and Nate were there—I wasn’t.”
She said slowly. “Do you think you could have changed the outcome? More likely you’d have been killed, too.”
“Probably.” He gestured for the waitress. “Listen, I should get back to the farm…Herman’s in Auckland for a few days. And you need sleep.”
“You’re right,” she admitted. “Even a double espresso isn’t keeping me awake.” She knew when she was being stonewalled. Would they ever return to their easy friendship? God, she hoped so.
Tradesmen’s vans blocked her driveway. When Jo opened the passenger door, she was assaulted by a cacophony of buzz saws, hammering and an FM station blasting classic rock. “So much for a quiet nap.”
“Why don’t you come to the farm? Herman’s staying in Auckland for a stock auction and I’ll be planting saplings along the creek. You’ll have the place to yourself.”
“I have to do this sooner or later,” she said.
“You’ll be better equipped after a couple hours of sleep.”
That was true. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll check in with these guys, then follow in my car.” No harm in having an escape vehicle.
The house smelled very faintly of smoke beneath the fresh paint and plaster. Inside the kitchen, plasterers were finishing the ceiling and walls around where the stove used to be. The tiles had been scoured clean, as had the rest of the kitchen. The singed countertops either side of the oven space had already been removed and the framing laid for the replacement counters.
“I can’t believe the progress,” she told the builder.
“Dan and Kev organized a working bee before we got here to clean the place up,” he said. “Half of Beacon Bay showed up. The Chronicle’s helped a lot of community groups through the years.”
She didn’t know what to say. “It’s all right, love,” the builder said gruffly. “You go on now, get some rest.”
Jo didn’t need telling twice. At the farmhouse she found a note taped to the front door. “Make yourself at home. Bed’s made. See you around five.”
Three hours. She’d make sure she was gone by then. Still, Jo hesitated before turning the handle. Bypassing Dan’s bedroom door she walked down the passage to the spare room. Clothes lay folded neatly on the bed and a bookmarked Tom Clancy novel lay on the floor beside it. Herman’s space. Reluctantly Jo returned to Dan’s bedroom.
She always teased him about his soldier’s neatness but there was a heap of discarded clothes on the bedside table. Jo suspected they’d recently been on the floor because she found a sweater puddled behind the door when she closed it.
“Too busy planning this damn wedding,” she muttered. Picking up the sweater, she hung it in the wardrobe.
He’d remade the bed with clean sheets; the old ones overflowed a laundry basket. The top corner of the duvet was folded down. His thoughtfulness brought dangerous emotions too close to the surface. Kicking off her trainers, Jo pulled off her sweater and, in her jeans and T-shirt, crawled into the crisp sheets. The new mattress was just right.
