Found (Not Quite a Billionaire Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  I hadn’t seen her for nearly two weeks, and I’d been shocked when I’d held her, especially once I’d lifted her. She was wearing her familiar jeans, but they weren’t nearly as snug as they should have been. Her collarbones, too, were much too prominent under her long-sleeved white tee, although her breasts were clearly larger. All things that might have been there to notice two weeks earlier, if I’d paid more attention.

  “I’m not sure what there is at Koro’s,” Hope said, confirming my suspicions. “Not for all three of us to eat.”

  “We’ll stop by and pick something up, then,” I said, reaching the car and holding the door open for her. “Do a bit of cooking. What do you fancy?”

  She laughed, just a breath of sound. “That sounds so normal. Sorry. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all this. Figuring out how to be.”

  “Right now,” I said, “you don’t have to be anything. We’ll make it up as we go, eh.”

  All she was able to think of to eat, once we were back in Katikati and walking the endless aisles of Countdown, was, “Potatoes. But Koro probably has potatoes. And yogurt.”

  “Tummy?” I asked.

  “Yeah. And I just . . .”

  She trailed off, and I said, “Chicken, then.” I picked up a packet of prepared boneless chicken breasts marinated with a bit of herb. She needed protein. I didn’t have to be a doctor to know that. “I’ll cook you a potato, no worries. Some kumara as well. Vitamins.”

  “You don’t have to baby me,” she said. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. It’s been a long few days.”

  “If I don’t have to baby you,” I said, “I can’t think why else I’d have been put on earth.”

  The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wished them back, but Karen said, “Why would you have to baby Hope?”

  I looked at Hope, but all she said was, “You didn’t tell her? I would have, but I thought you should know first.”

  “Tell me what?” Karen asked. “I wish somebody would tell me something. Hello? I’m sixteen, not ten?”

  “I’m pregnant,” Hope said, and I saw her take a deep breath as if the word had scared her.

  Karen was saying, “Get out. So that’s why you’ve been so weird,” but I barely heard her. I took Hope’s hand instead.

  She stopped, right there in the chill of the meat aisle, looking all her questions at me, and the tenderness was squeezing my heart so hard, it nearly hurt. I said, “I’ve never told you how I’d feel about that. I should have done. I’m over the moon. I’m . . .”

  I was the one who had to stop then. Harden up, boy, I told myself, but I couldn’t. I was choking up instead, and somehow, the tears had risen again, were waiting just behind my eyes.

  Koro in hospital, and Hope growing our baby. The worst thing, and the best. All I could do was reach for her, and all she could do was come to me. I was still holding the plastic basket in one hand, but the other arm was around her, and I was kissing her hair, holding her to me, and thinking . . . I couldn’t have said what. Thinking nothing. Feeling everything.

  Karen said from behind me, “Whenever you’re done, could I hug my sister? Because I’m going to be an aunt. How great is that?’

  I let go of Hope and stepped away, and Hope hugged Karen, and Karen said, “I’d ask how come being pregnant meant you left, because that seems totally stupid to me. Not to mention why you didn’t tell me. I would, except it would end up with me having to go away again so you guys could have a Big Important Angsty Talk. I’m probably too old to go on the horsey ride in front of the store, and there’s nothing else to do here except read magazines about celebrities I never heard of. Plus, I’m hungry.”

  Hope laughed, though I could tell her own tears weren’t far away, and said, “I’ve missed you too, sweetie. Let’s go home and cook dinner.”

  We didn’t go for a walk after all that night, and we didn’t have a chat, either. We cooked a quick dinner and ate it, and Karen told Hope about her upcoming driving lessons, and Hope smiled and asked questions, and I considered mentioning Noah the Buddhist but decided it could wait until tomorrow, along with everything else. And I thought about how good it felt to eat dinner with them, and how little I’d done it back in New York.

  Hope and I did the washing up, because Koro’d never taken to the idea of a dishwasher, and when we were done, Hope said, “I’m sorry, guys, but I think I’m going to have to take a shower and go to bed. Jet lag, I guess.”

  “Too bad you didn’t come in Hemi’s jet,” Karen said. “Those seats fold down into beds, did you know that? It’s like being a rich person. Oh, wait. It is being a rich person.”

  “Mm,” Hope said. She looked at me, hesitated, then said, “I don’t know if there are sheets on Karen’s bed. And I wonder . . . I hope . . .”

  “Karen can take care of her own sheets,” I said, and my heart had started to hammer. “She’s sixteen, not ten, eh, Karen.”

  “Yeah,” Karen said. “And I guess I’m going to go watch TV and read a book. Not that there’s anything to watch. New Zealand seriously needs to get some better channels.”

  “You could just read instead,” Hope said.

  “Too boring,” Karen said. “Multitasking is my life.”

  When she was gone, I looked at Hope and said, “You wonder what?”

  Easy, boy, I told myself. Don’t rush her. Don’t push her. Even though self-control had never come harder.

  “I know I left,” she said slowly. She’d been looking at the tea towel in her hands, folding and refolding it, but now, she looked straight at me. “I was right to leave. I know that, too. But I still want to sleep with you. It would feel so much better, even though I should be too tired to care. I’m too tired for sex, and I know you probably want it, and that you’re so angry at me for leaving. But from now on, I’m going to try much harder to tell you what I feel and what I need, and it seems . . .” She stopped and laughed a little, trying to make it lighter, to make herself less vulnerable, and hung the towel carefully over its rack. “It seems what I need most is to fall asleep with you holding me. So I’m asking for it.”

  I had one chance here. I was going to get it right. “From now on,” I said, “I’m going to try much harder to listen. Go take your shower, baby. I’ll come hold you.”

  While she was in the bathroom, I unpacked my things into the bedroom that had been the site of my most lurid teenage fantasies, not to mention some sex with Hope that had exceeded anything I could have imagined. Tonight, I was going to get none of that, and I didn’t care.

  She came into the bedroom again wearing a pair of pink pajamas and looking about sixteen herself, and I didn’t kiss her, hard as it was not to do it. I was pretty sure we weren’t there yet. Instead, I said, “I need a shower myself. Now, you see, if I’d been a billionaire, I’d have one on my jet. With gold taps, eh.” Which made her laugh and lose some of the tension, and I smiled at her and said, “Five minutes.”

  I normally didn’t wear anything to bed. Tonight, I did. I took the world’s fastest shower, then pulled on a pair of black sleep pants. I could hear the TV in the lounge when I came out of the bathroom, and I hesitated, then headed in there and told Karen, “Don’t stay up too late. We’ll be off to see Koro first thing in the morning.”

  She looked up from her program and her book, both of which she was somehow taking in, and said, “Thanks for bringing me. I kind of needed to come, you know?”

  For once, she didn’t sound stroppy. I bent and kissed her forehead. “I kind of needed you to come myself. It’s better for us all to be together.”

  “Do you think you can make it up with Hope?” she asked.

  “I’ll die trying.” Once again, the words were out before I could recall them. “Starting now. Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

  When I got back to the bedroom, the dim light on my side of the bed was the only one on, and Hope was curled up under the covers. I thought she was asleep already, but she turned when I came in and said, �
�I should have kissed Karen goodnight. I should have told her how glad I was to see her.”

  “Never mind.” I came over to sit on the bed beside her and brushed the hair back from her cheek. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. Besides, I did it. Told her I was glad she came, and kissed her goodnight as well.”

  “Oh.” She sighed under my hand. “Good.”

  “Bit hard,” I guessed, “to juggle everybody. To pay enough attention to everyone you love. Koro. Karen. Me. Even the baby, eh. Could be you lose yourself a bit in all of that.”

  “Now,” she said, “if you get that, why do you have to be so unreasonable?”

  I laughed out loud. “Dunno. Hardwired, I reckon. We could talk about that tomorrow, maybe.”

  I went around to my side, then, climbed in, switched the light off, and settled the duvet over myself. The bed was too small for two, especially when one of them was my size, but that suited me. I moved closer to Hope, and she moved back into me, and when I wrapped my arm around her from behind, she sighed again.

  “That’s the best,” she said. “It’s so much warmer when you’re here.”

  “For me, too,” I told her in the darkness. Her slim body was soft against mine, but her flesh was cool, and I kept my arm gentle around her. A shield, I told myself. Not a prison. “Could be that even a strong woman needs somebody to keep her warm.”

  I think she slept well that night. I know I did.

  Hemi

  Saturday morning, and we were all at the hospital again. I’d risen while Hope had slept and gone for a long run to clear my head and regain my optimism and fill my lungs with the clean air and endless space of my homeland. Hope and I still hadn’t talked, and I still hadn’t even kissed her, but things were easing between us already. Once we had a chance to work it out, they’d be that much easier. That much better.

  You couldn’t love somebody this much and not have it work out. It wasn’t possible. Not even for me.

  Koro was a bit brighter this morning. Auntie Flora was with him, and he was watching the morning news and talking back to the set. Looking more like himself.

  “Right,” he said when we appeared, clicking the program off with a snort of disgust. “You can go on, Flora, now I’ve got these three. Too big a crowd.”

  “I’m happy to stay,” she said. “Morning, Hemi.”

  “Too early for the deathbed scene,” he said. “All I have is a sore shoulder and a bit of an ache in my head. No help for that but time, and time’s what I’ve got heaps of. You don’t. You need to go to work.”

  She got up, kissed his cheek, and said, “See you tonight, then,” then gave me my own kiss and cuddle. I was back with the whanau, and that was good.

  When she’d gone, Koro said, “She chats too much. And I need to get out of here. Nurses in and out every five minutes, so I can’t get a wink of sleep. Old men need their own beds. The doctor says tomorrow. Why not today? I’m ready, I can tell you that.”

  I said, “You’ll need someone with you when you go home, you know, with your arm in a sling and you dizzy and all. The doctor told me about that, so there’s no use denying it. We can’t have you falling again.”

  He glared at me, and I said, “Besides, who’s going to plant your garden? September’s only a few weeks away, and the doctor’s telling me six weeks for the arm, and probably that long for the head, too.”

  “Tane and the kids will do it,” he said. “You know they will. You won’t get me like that.”

  “Will they come weed it the way you want it?” I asked. “Water it?”

  He closed his eyes again. “You talk too much as well. You never used to do that.”

  Hope was laughing and bending down to give Koro her own kiss, and he opened his eyes and said, “You’re all right. You can stay.”

  It was all going better, you see. Until my dad walked into the room.

  I hadn’t seen him for nearly four years. I didn’t want to see him now. He smiled at me, showing off a newly missing tooth at the side of his mouth, and his bleary eyes filled with tears. His once-powerful frame looked shriveled to sinew, and he appeared nearly as old as Koro, though he was barely sixty.

  “My son,” he said. “Hemi.”

  “Dad.” I didn’t move, and somehow, Hope was beside me, sliding her hand into mine. I held it like a lifeline. I didn’t want to need it, but I did.

  Koro said, “Good you’ve come, Daniel.”

  “How you goin’, Dad?” He came forward, then, and bent to give Koro a hug. I wondered how strong the vodka would be on him. He drank it not because he liked it best, but because he thought nobody could smell it, and nobody would be able to tell. He was wrong. We could all tell. Every employer he’d ever had had been able to tell, too, which was why he’d never held a job longer than a year. He’d start out full of good intentions, and then he’d fail. Always.

  “I’m better every day,” Koro said. “Don’t know why I’m still in here, but it’s good to see you.”

  “I’d have been here sooner,” my dad said, “but I couldn’t get time off work.”

  “Too many people in this room,” Koro said. “Too hard to focus. Karen can stay. The rest of you go and have a chat.”

  “I just got here,” my father said.

  “Yeh, and I’ll see you again,” Koro said. “But not just now. Go talk to your son. Go meet Hope.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion. I said, “We’ll have a coffee, then,” and walked out of the room, still holding Hope’s hand, while my dad trailed after. I could tell that Hope was looking up into my face, but I didn’t look at her. Instead, I found the cafeteria, ordered a coffee for me, one with extra sugar for my dad, and a cup of herbal tea for Hope, and we went and sat down in front of a window with a view of a courtyard filled with fern trees and low-growing vegetation. Shades of green, meant to be soothing, but it was going to take more than that.

  I was nearly vibrating with tension, so I took three long, slow breaths in and out, the way I’d learned to do long ago. I didn’t have Hope’s hand anymore, but she was sitting so close, her side was nearly touching mine. Her left hand was on the table beside me, and my ring was still on her finger, shining out a promise I was going to keep. No matter what, because I kept my promises. That was the difference between me and my father. One of them.

  Get through it, I told myself, and said to my dad, “This is Hope Sinclair. My fiancée. This is my dad. Daniel Te Mana.”

  “Heard you were having some trouble with that,” my dad said. “Not divorced from Anika after all.”

  “That’s true.” I kept my voice measured. I was controlled. I was calm. “But I will be soon enough. It’s only a matter of weeks.”

  “After your money as well, I hear,” he continued. “Pity.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “She won’t get it.”

  “What a first-class bitch she was, eh. Still is, I reckon. Marry a woman like your mum, they say. Ha. You did that, all right, and you’re still paying the price, just like I did. Hope you’ve done better this time.”

  Another breath in and out, and Hope had hold of my hand now. “I have,” I said. “And I’m not here to talk about my mum. Or Anika.”

  The coffees came, and we sipped them for a minute while I kept my control, wrapping it tight and close around me. Finally, Hope said, “I’ve wanted to meet Hemi’s parents. You must be very proud of him. He’s pretty special, isn’t he?” As if she hadn’t heard any of the rest of it, or as if it didn’t matter.

  “He’s done well,” my dad said. “I’d have come to meet you sooner if I’d known about you. As it was, I’m the last to know. Had to hear it through Flora instead, just like I heard about Dad. I’d have turned up sooner this time, too, like I said, but I finally found a new job a couple months ago, after everybody else told me no, no matter how much experience I had. At least he took me on, though he’s a hard man, gives me the dirtiest work. Panelbeaters. Not too good, but all I could get, just because of a couple of mistakes.”

  “Ca
r repair,” I told Hope. “Body shop.”

  “Yeh,” my dad said. “Better than the mattress factory, though. So you see, it all worked out well in the end. All for the best. I’m on the road up now.”

  “Are you sober?” I asked, and his head snapped back, the anger flashing in his eyes for just a moment. The anger he’d shown so often when I’d been a kid, and not since. Not since I’d had money.

  “Yeh,” he said. “Have been since I got out of the program. Six months now. I’ve started again.”

  I’d believed that too many times already, and been disappointed every time, until I’d stopped believing. It hurt too much to have the belief shattered, and I couldn’t afford to hurt that way. Not ever again.

  My dad told Hope, “Hemi paid for the program. Four months inside, getting sober. He doesn’t think I’ve been such a good dad to him, maybe, doesn’t understand how life can knock you down, but he paid anyway. At least there’s that.”

  “That’s good,” she said.

  “He’s a good man,” my dad said, and I tried not to let myself hear that, tried to remember why he’d be saying it.

  “Where are you living?” I asked.

  “Got a room in Onehunga. Car’s still running as well, but it’s not too flash.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Haven’t even asked, have I.”

  I stood up fast, and after a second, Hope scrambled up to join me. “You don’t have to,” I said. “I can hear it coming down the pike. I’m glad you’re sober, if it’s true, but the answer’s still no. I’ve paid enough. I’m done paying.”

  I would never be done paying.

  Hope

  I walked out with Hemi, and he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask. I held his hand as he headed back toward his grandfather’s room, and finally, he said, “Sorry.”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t be sorry. Hey, my dad never even came back again. I’ll bet he’d be there in a heartbeat if I had hundreds of millions of dollars, though.”