Page 74 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

Wait. Love? She doesn’t love me. We’ve spent two nights together. That hardly constitutes a lasting relationship.

And yet, despite its brevity, I know I already feel more deeply for her than I ever did for Ginger. I was fond of Ginger—she was bright and funny and made me laugh, and she was ambitious and smart, but she was also sharp and cutting, which I didn’t like, and she could even be nasty when the mood took her. Hallie doesn’t have a nasty bone in her body. I know it means sometimes she’s on the soft side, and it can make her overly gullible. She’s also too self-critical, and she lacks confidence. But it makes me want to show her how amazing she is, so gradually those traits dissipate, and her confidence and courage can shine through.

This time she was already braver in bed, more willing to take a chance and try something new, without the fear of being criticized or mocked. I can only imagine what she’d be like if we were together permanently. If I encouraged her to let go and explore her sexuality with me.

What fun we could have.

She’s asleep now; I can tell by her deep, rhythmic breathing. Her back is to my chest, and my arms are tight around her. I dip my head and kiss her temple, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair, thinking about how she was this evening, moving amongst the guests like a hummingbird from flower to flower. She was so beautiful, her whole face lighting up every time she smiled.

Oh God, I think I’m in love with her.

I sigh. Fucking idiot. Me, not God.

Not that it matters. Nothing can happen between us.

Briefly, I wonder whether, if we were to have a relationship, we could keep it secret from Whina, in fact from everyone else at work. If she were to keep to the conservation room, and I stayed away… If we always sat apart in meetings… If, at social occasions, we made sure not to interact…

But I’ve done that before, and it’s no fun. Initially, yes, it’s exciting, snatched kisses and messages making secret assignations. But after a while, it becomes tiresome. Part of being in a couple, after all, is showing off your partner, and sharing moments with them.

Plus, people talk. Unless we never went out in public, someone would eventually see us, and soon the word would spread. Whina would find out, and that would be that. The only way for us to be together is if one of us were to leave the museum.

I could leave. But even as the thought enters my head, I feel a wave of sadness. I love my job, and I’ve worked hard to make the museum what it is. I don’t want to leave.

Hallie’s younger than me, and in a less important role. She could probably get a position somewhere else. But I know she loves working with Zoe and Elora. And I have no right whatsoever to ask her to leave. If I want to be with her, I have to be the one to move on. And I can’t give up my job, my whole career, for a woman I’ve only slept with twice.

I know what my father would say—I’m thinking with an organ other than my brain. Again. When I eventually told my parents about my affair with Ginger, he didn’t scold me, but the weight of his disapproval and disappointment crushed me like a fallen menhir in Stonehenge. I’ve spent the past year trying to rebuild his faith in me, and to re-earn his respect. And announcing I was giving up the directorship of the museum is not the way to do that.

I look at Hallie, at the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips beneath the duvet, at the pearly shine of her skin in the moonlight. If I was ever to give up everything, it might be for a woman like Hallie.

I close my eyes, and within minutes, I’m asleep.

*

The next day, we’re on an early flight back to Wellington, so unfortunately there’s no time for sunrise sex or a lazy breakfast in bed. We indulge in a few kisses, but I reluctantly return to my room to shower and get ready, knowing that if I shower with her we’re going to get distracted, and by nine we’re at the airport and boarding the plane.

We’re both quiet on the journey back. Hallie concentrates on her phone, reading an article, she says, on the conservation of an eighteen-thousand-year-old male puppy found in theSiberian permafrost in 2018. I leave her to it and pretend to read on my phone as well, although I spend most of the journey looking out of the window, lost in thought.

The upcoming conversation I must have with Whina about Isabel looms large in my mind, and I feel unusually morose, even though it’s a beautiful morning, the clouds like a white sea below us. I’ve suffered from depression a few times in my life—as a teen, again after Elora’s assault, and after I broke up with Ginger. I don’t like the dark moods, and I don’t want them now, but it’s impossible not to feel a growing sense of despair at the thought of my future.

Hell, if the museum can’t get funding, it’s going to close, so maybe Hallie and I will end up together anyway.

But I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want my foolishness to be the cause of the museum’s demise, or the reason that we can be together.

So I slide slowly into the pit of melancholia, and this time Hallie isn’t able to use her body to lift me out.

When we land, we collect our cases and head outside into the sunshine.

“Are you going straight to work?” she asks.

I nod. “Lots to do. You?”

“I’m going to drop my case off at the apartment,” she says. “And then I might call in and see my mum, if that’s okay?” She looks uneasy. It’s the first time she’s reminded me that she works for me.

“Yes,” I reply, “but be sure to make up the time tomorrow.”

She flushes and nods. “Of course.”

Jesus. “Hallie, I was joking.”

---