Page 135 of Under Southern Stars
Madison’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Good. Because Emma already promised to keep coaching me, and that would have been super awkward if you guys were still mad at each other.”
Laughter breaks the tension, and conversation resumes around the table. I help myself to the gorgeous spread—fresh pastries, fruit, eggs prepared three different ways, bacon that puts American versions to shame.
“So,” Helen says, setting down her teacup with deliberate precision, “what are your plans now, Jackson? Will you be extending your stay in New Zealand?”
Jack glances at me. “We haven’t really discussed details yet, Mum.”
“Well, you must have some idea,” she presses. “The harvest begins tomorrow. Your father could use your help, even if it’s just for a few days before you…return.” The slight pause before “return” carries volumes of disapproval.
“Actually,” Jack says, his voice steady despite the tension I can feel in his body, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh?” Helen’s eyebrows rise expectantly.
Jack takes a deep breath. “I’m going back with Sophia and Madison. To America. To my job.”
Helen’s teacup clatters against the saucer. “But surely now that things are…resolved,” she flicks a glance at me, “you’ll reconsider this paramedic phase. It’s gone on long enough, Jackson. It’s time to take your place here, with the family business.”
“It’s not a phase, Mum,” Jack says firmly. “It’s my career. My calling. And I’m good at it.”
“Of course you’re good at it,” Helen dismisses. “You’re a McKenzie. You’d be good at anything you put your mind to. But that doesn’t mean you should waste your education, your heritage, running around in an ambulance when you could be making a real difference here.”
The dismissive way she refers to Jack’s work—work that saves lives daily—makes something snap inside me. Before I canthink better of it, I find myself speaking. “With all due respect, Mrs. McKenzie, Jack makes a ‘real difference’ every single day. Just yesterday, he helped deliver a baby on a boat and saved its life when it wasn’t breathing.”
Helen looks startled, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “Well, yes, that’s very admirable, but—”
“And last month,” I continue, warming to my subject, “he recognized the signs of an aortic dissection in a patient that three other responders had missed. That man is alive today because of Jack’s training and instincts.”
Jack squeezes my hand in silent gratitude, but I wasn’t finished. “Your son is an exceptional paramedic. He’s respected by his colleagues, trusted by his patients, and absolutely vital to our community. It’s not a hobby or a phase or a rebellion—it’s who he is. And it’s one of the many reasons I love him.”
A stunned silence falls over the table. Helen’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Michael is watching me with newfound respect. The sisters are exchanging glances that range from shocked (Charlotte) to delighted (Emma) to quietly proud (Lily).
Jack clears his throat. “There’s something else,” he says, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “When Sophia and I return to America, I’m thinking of taking her name.”
Helen’s coffee cup, which she’d just lifted to her lips, freezes mid-air. “What?”
“If things continue to progress between us,” Jack clarifies, “and we reach that point, I’m open to becoming Jack Mitchell. Or Mitchell-McKenzie, perhaps.”
The coffee cup hits the table with a splash, liquid sloshes over the rim. “YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS,” Helen exclaims, all pretense of decorum abandoned. “Give up the McKenzie name? For what? To drive an ambulance and play at being a working-class hero?”
“Helen,” Michael cautions, but she isn’t listening.
“Four generations of McKenzies have built this legacy, Jackson,” she continues, her voice rising. “Your great-grandfather William came back from Gallipoli with a shattered leg, after half the Otago Battalion was lost at Chunuk Bair, and still transformed this valley into something lasting. Your grandfather James fought at Monte Cassino and El Alamein, returned home, and expanded the vineyard when everyone said it was madness. Your father took that legacy global—put the McKenzie label on the same tier as Napa and Bordeaux. And now you want to throw it all away to become…what? An ambulance driver?”
“Paramedic,” Jack corrects calmly. “And yes, if that’s what it takes to show Sophia I’m serious about our future together.”
“This is absurd,” Helen declares, turning to me with flashing eyes. “Surely you’re not encouraging this madness?”
All eyes swivel to me. Madison is watching the exchange with wide-eyed fascination, like a tennis match where the stakes had suddenly skyrocketed.
“Actually,” I say, matching Jack’s calm, “I think it’s a wonderful gesture, but completely unnecessary.” I turn to Jack. “You don’t need to change your name to prove anything to me, Jack. McKenzie is part of who you are, part of your heritage. I would never ask you to give that up.”
“But I would,” he insists. “In a heartbeat.”
“I know,” I say softly. “That’s what matters.”
Helen makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. “This is ridiculous. You barely know each other.”
“I know her,” Jack says with quiet intensity. “I know her character, her heart, her strength. I’ve seen her handle emergencies that would make most people crumble. I’ve watched her raise an incredible daughter while working one of the most demanding jobs in healthcare. I’ve seen her forgive a betrayal that many would find unforgivable.” He turns to face me fully. “I know that I love her, and that I want to build a life with her, whether that’s here or in America or anywhere else in the world.”
