by Debbie Roome
“Maybe it could grow, Lord. Maybe I should give her another chance.”
But even while he was praying, another face filled his mind. A young woman with sheets of dark hair and soft green eyes.
Chapter Eight
My heart feels black, dead, cold. I wonder if there really is any hope. On days like this I wish I’d died with Luke.
From the journal of Sarah Johnson
Tuesday, 18th March
Tuesday morning dawned grim and grey with a penetrating chill. Sarah wrapped her robe round herself and switched the heat pump on, listening as it knocked and shook after a season of disuse. Outside, a thick fog settled across the city and the neon lights of the motel blurred softly, on and off, on and off.
An employment agent had rung the day before, and she had an interview in town at noon. She wondered if she should even go. A dismal sense of futility shrouded her after returning from Arthur’s Pass: a hopelessness and greater sense of loss now that Luke’s ashes were gone.
The time spent with Joel had affected her as well. She felt guilty for enjoying his company, minutes after saying goodbye to Luke. She thought of calling him several times, but decided not to. Rather keep him as a good memory; as someone who had shown her genuine compassion and had been interested in her as a person. If she called him now, she might discover he had no time for her.
Frustrated and moody, she crawled back into bed and picked up her journal, tracing the crimson roses and pink hearts that intertwined on the cover. She’d written in it most days since Luke’s death and it had become her companion, the one to whom she could voice her deepest fears and sorrows. She flicked it open and picked her pen off the bedside cupboard. Maybe writing would help her through the gloom and despair.
This morning is a foretaste of winter in Christchurch. A bus shelter is beneath my motel window, a gaunt skeleton of metal ribs and frosted glass. I watched this morning as passengers huddled in its shelter, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands. When the bus arrived they hurried into its warmth before it accelerated away, leaving dragon puffs suspended in cold air. I’m in a wintry mood myself. It’s one of those days when nothing seems to be good or right or noble. The black well of bitterness is still there and much as I want to fill it in, it will not allow me to. Any joy I feel is soon swallowed by its evil influence. I think I’ll hate Dlamini forever. Hate him for what he’s done to me; hate him for what he’s done to Luke and our families. I wish the death penalty hadn’t been abolished in South Africa. That’s what he deserves.
She got up briefly to boil some water and make a mug of hot cocoa, then returned to bed, where she took up her pen again.
I have an interview today. I was tempted to cancel it and book a flight home but I won’t. Luke would be disappointed if he could see me and would urge me to stay strong and to try, try again. Maybe work will be good for me. Something to get my creativity going again. I’ll put on some nice clothes and do my hair and makeup. I’ll do it for Luke and hope that I’ll find the spark, the inspiration I need to move forward.
Sarah found the employment agent’s office with little trouble. “Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Jean Paulings.”
The receptionist flashed a smile over rimless spectacles. “Take a seat. She won’t be long.”
Ms Pauling turned out to be a tall angular woman with flat peroxide curls, bony elbows and long fingers. “So you have a diploma in graphic design.” She tapped Sarah’s CV with a long manicured nail. “How much experience do you have with Adobe Creative Suite?”
“My course covered it extensively and I have two years practical experience as well.”
“And you worked for a magazine group?”
Rain beat against the window, rolling in greasy trickles to the window sill before overflowing into the gutter. “Yes. It was a large concern in South Africa, putting out two dozen publications each month.”
“You were involved with the fashion pages?”
“Mostly. I would take the raw material and photos and convert it into images for advertising and features.”
Ms Pauling gazed out the window for a long moment. “Terrible weather today.” Then she swung back to face Sarah. “How would you feel about working in the tourism field? I have a publishing company that needs a graphic designer to work on some brochures they’re putting together. You would have a choice of working from home, or they have a small office in town. I would imagine a combination would work best—pop into the office every week but work from home.” She picked up a folder on the side of the desk. “They are offering a six month contract to the right person, and pay by the job, not by the hour. If you’re interested, I can put your name forward for an interview.”
“Yes, please do. It sounds like the type of work I would enjoy.”
Ms Pauling stood, signalling the interview was over. “I’ll be in touch in a day or two.”
Sarah left her office, a sense of elation welling up, overshadowing the gloom of the morning. She had a chance, they were considering her!
Back on the street the chill factor seemed to have increased, and icy winds cut through her winter jacket. She pulled it closer and abandoned the idea of going back to the motel. I’ll go shopping for a couple of warmer jackets and jerseys. If this is autumn, I can’t imagine how cold winter is going to be.
The shops in central Christchurch were an eclectic mixture of old and new, chrome and glass, wood and stone. Sarah started off browsing through a couple of large department stores and then gravitated to the tourist shops. They had a wonderful selection of exquisitely crafted garments in the finest merino wool, but the prices were exhorbitant. It was fun looking, though, and she ran her hand over baby-soft jerseys and thick polar fleece jackets. The sheepskin slippers were tempting, too, and came in several designs. But Sarah made her find in the fifth shop she walked into: a rack of sale jerseys.
“These are real bargains,” the assistant assured her. “It’s old stock from last season and we need space for new clothing coming in next week.”
Sarah took several to try on in the fitting room and fell in love with a deep pink, long-sleeved pullover. The tone lifted her skin tone and put a little colour into her cheeks. But I’m too thin, she thought as she regarded herself in the mirror. I look like I’m bordering on anorexic. I must start eating more.
“How do they look?” The sales assistant tapped on the door and Sarah opened it to show off the pink jumper. “Very nice.” The assistant put her head on one side, admiring the colour and fit. “You won’t find it at a better price anywhere, ma’am.”
Sarah nodded. “I think I’ll take this one.” She pulled it off and followed the young girl to the till.
“Hand wash only, and don’t put it in the clothes drier or it’s likely to shrink.”
Sarah thanked her and retraced her steps to the department store, where she purchased a thick black jacket she’d looked at earlier, also on sale. That’s a good start to my winter wardrobe, she thought as she stepped back into the icy wind.
Evening was approaching and, feeling peckish, she looked around for a coffee shop or take away where she could get a reasonably priced meal. After all, I have something to celebrate today, she told herself. She walked down several streets, passing a variety of delis and bakeries as well as a cheap burger joint. Nothing looked appealing, until she reached a shop specialising in sushi. The interior was decorated in shades of bamboo and pale green, and long display counters held assorted plates of sushi.
That looks good. Sarah had always been a sushi fan, and pointed out her choice before carrying it to a table in the corner. The first few pieces were delicious, cool in her mouth with sticky rice, seasoned fish and salty seaweed. It was the last few that didn’t taste quite as good. Not as fresh and a bit vinegary and sour. She pushed the plate away and left the last two pieces untouched.
By the time she reached her car, she regretted eating any of it.
Chapter Nine
I ate some sushi that clearly
did not agree with me—in fact, it made me violently ill. In some bizarre way, it seemed to echo the sickness that has infected my soul.
From the journal of Sarah Johnson
Wednesday, 19th March
Sarah lay limply across the motel bed. The queasiness had started shortly after eating the sushi. It was mild at first, but soon progressed to violent stomach cramps. She’d thrown up more times than she could count and knew she was dehydrated. She’d tried sipping water every half hour but nothing would stay down.
Groaning, she wiped her face with a damp cloth. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so awful, and yearned for her mother. It was bad enough being sick at home, but she was in a foreign land with no family, no friends, and no clue about the local health systems. Thoughts of calling down to reception passed through her mind but she discarded them. What she really wanted was some loving care, not clinical concern from a stranger.
She pulled her cell phone across the bed: 2:40 a.m. It would be afternoon in South Africa. Maybe she should call her mom. She scrolled through the numbers even as doubts hit her. Mom would just worry and there was nothing she could do. A name popped up on the screen and she paused. Joel. “Call me anytime, day or night if you need help,” he’d said. She dropped the phone and dashed for the bathroom as the nausea rose again.
A few minutes later she stared into the mirror and saw a yellow-tinged face with damp hair and dark smudges for eyes. Her clothes were crumpled and stained and she felt like she was going to pass out.
Back on the bed she picked up the phone and pushed dial before she could change her mind.
The phone rang several times before a sleepy voice answered. “Joel speaking.”
“It’s Sarah. I met you in the mountains last week. I’m sorry to disturb you but I’m really sick. I think I need medical attention.”
His voice changed, sounding more alert and concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“I had some sushi this afternoon and it didn’t agree with me.”
“Where are you? I’ll come and take you to the 24 hour emergency clinic.”
Sarah moaned as a cramp balled up her insides. “Room 24, Pine Acres Inn.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Sarah waited five minutes before unlocking the door and pulling it slightly open. Then she huddled up on the bed and tried to get comfortable.
Joel arrived soon after and squatted down next to her. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? You look like death.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem. Do you mind if I pray for you before we go?”
She shrugged. “If you want.”
“Dear Lord ...” He reached for her hand. “I ask for strength and healing in Sarah’s body. Remove the toxins that are causing the sickness and pain and restore her to full health.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m going to carry you to my car. Do you want to bring anything with you?”
“Just my bag. It’s on the other side of the bed.” She wanted to argue that she would walk but she didn’t think she could make it as far as the car park.
He lifted her easily and carried her down the concrete path to where his silver Nissan was parked. As he set her down, she leaned over the flower beds, dry retching. Parched trickles of humiliation dribbled from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” Firm arms supported and helped her lie on the reclined front seat of his car. “We’ll get this sorted out and you’ll be fine in the morning.”
The 24 hour surgery was fairly quiet and Sarah was taken straight through to an examining room. The doctor was a Brit with fair skin and hair and the beginnings of a paunch. “You’re dehydrated. I want to get some fluids into you and I’ll add something to get rid of the cramps and nausea.” He scribbled something in her file. “Can you lift your shirt so I can listen to your chest?”
Joel turned away as Sarah pulled her shirt up. The stethoscope was cold on her skin and she shivered slightly as the doctor bent over her shoulder. “Is that scar from a bullet wound?”
She nodded.
“It looks fairly recent. Does it cause you any pain?”
“It happened nine months ago but it’s healed well.” She closed her eyes and the doctor took the hint that she didn’t want to discuss it further. “Alright, the sister will be along shortly to sort you out. Would you like your partner to stay with you?”
Joel answered before she could say a word. “I’m staying.”
“Okay. We need to put you in a side room. Will you be able to walk there?”
Joel walked over to the examination bed. “I’ll carry her.”
The doctor looked mildly disapproving. “I can organise a wheelchair.”
“No need.” He lifted her and all Sarah could think was that she felt safe and secure in his arms. He followed the doctor down the passage to a small cubicle with cream walls and hospital-green curtains. A surgical steel trolley was pushed against the wall, stacked with medical supplies. Joel laid Sarah on the bed and stepped back as a sister put her head round the curtain.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Sarah twisted as another cramp seized her midriff. Joel laid a cool comforting hand on top of hers as the sister returned with a basin and some supplies. “Your veins are quite flat,” she commented sympathetically. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
As soon as the liquid was flowing into her body Sarah felt a measure of relief. The cramps lessened and she felt a trickle of life return to dried-out tissues. “I’m sorry,” she said to Joel for the umpteenth time as she drifted off to sleep.
She awoke after six with a bursting bladder. Joel was slouched on an easy chair next to the bed, hair rumpled and jaw dark with stubble. She sat up carefully, not wanting to disturb him. She felt weak, but thankfully the awful sick feeling was gone. She slipped off the bed, unhooked the bag of fluids and tiptoed down the passage searching for a restroom. When she returned, he was stirring.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Very weak, but a whole lot better than last night.”
The sister popped her head in just then. “Your colour is a lot better.” She pinched the skin on the back of Sarah’s hand. “And you’re not dehydrated anymore. Doc will come and check you out soon.”
The doctor looked more tired than Sarah felt and signed her out. “Sister will give you some tablets to take home. You’ll need to take it easy for a couple of days. Do you need a note for work purposes?”
She shook her head. “No thanks.”
A few minutes later, Joel supported her arm as they walked slowly out to his car. “I’m taking you home with me,” he said in a voice that didn’t allow for argument. “You heard what the doc said. You need to rest and get your strength back.”
“But I need a shower and clean clothes.”
He opened the car door for her. “We’ll stop in at the motel and you can grab some things.”
She could see he was determined and the thought of a little TLC was enticing. “Alright. It’s very kind of you to do this for me.”
Joel lived in a small weatherboard house in a quiet suburban area. “It’s a typical bachelor’s pad but quite comfortable … and you mustn’t worry. I don’t bite.” He grinned at her. “You thought I did when you first met me.” He helped her inside and calmed Shelley down as she tried to jump up to meet her master’s new friend. “Sit, Shelley. You can meet Sarah later.”
The dog sat, disappointed, as Joel showed Sarah the way to the shower, and handed her a towel. It was clean but a bit thin and tatty on the edges. Sarah didn’t care and soon hot needles of water relaxed her back and soap swirled in little eddies round her feet. It felt wonderful, massaging all the dirt from her body. She stood there, soaping, shampooing, rubbing grime and sweat until it mixed in a foamy mass and circled before gurgling down the drain. It was good, but after a few minutes she was feeling dizzy again. She towelled off quickly and put on the track pants and soft T-shirt she’d fetc
hed from the motel.
Joel came through when he heard the door open. “You’re looking a little pale again.”
She nodded. “I’ll be alright once I’m lying down.”
He extended a steadying arm and led her down the passage. “You can use my bed. I promise I wash the sheets at least once a year.” Laughing at her expression, he continued, “I’ve left a glass of water and some apple juice on the pedestal. Do you feel like anything to eat?”
She pulled a face as she sank onto his bed. “Not yet, thanks.” She just wanted to lie down and relax. The bed was a double with a navy sheet and a lightweight duvet. The cover was patterned with navy swirls and green rectangles and the cotton felt smooth and cool. He tucked her in like a baby and she caught the scent of his cologne from the sheets. “Just call if you need anything. I’ll be in the room next door.”
Sarah’s eyes closed but thoughts lingered in her mind for a long while after. Thoughts about how good it felt to be in Joel’s arms.
Chapter Ten
I can’t believe I actually called Joel last night—I must have been more desperate than I remember. But I’m so glad I did. He really went the extra mile and the feeling of being cared for was just what I needed. His home suits him—comfortable, with a soppy dog!
