Page 94 of Just Come Over
The balance shifted like the ions in the air had changed their polarity, and she felt a rush of compassion for her mum so strong, it rocked her in her heels. She said, her voice not one bit steady, “I know you protected me, Mum. I know you think that unless I follow the rules, I’ll end up humiliated and ashamed. But don’t you see how humiliated and ashamed I’ve been already? I got married, I was a good wife and a good mother, and it happened anyway. I can’t go down that road anymore. It seems like the only safe option to you, but I can’t do it. I have to go... off the road instead. I have to drive down the beach, knowing I may get stuck out there, and the tide may come in and sweep me away. Maybe Hayden and I both have too much of Nana in us to be careful, or maybe you just can’t change who you are.”
Her mother stood rigid, breathing shallowly, like if she moved, she’d crack into pieces. “I just want you to be happy,” she finally said. “With a career and a family you can be proud of, not another thing you have to hide. There’s a photo out there of Rhys having sex with somebody else’s wife in thetoilets,and it’s going to come out over and over again for the rest of his life, because that’s exactly how people are.”
In other words, Zora should have a career hermumcould be proud of, not a struggling florist’s business, and she should have a husband who spent his weekends sailing and his weekdays in an office, not a Maori rugby player who’d never set foot inside a university and had been abandoned by his drug-addicted mother. Let alone that rugby player’s notorious hard-man brother.
Zora still wanted to slap her, but another part of her wanted to hug her. Her mum, though, like Isaiah, didn’t hug easily, so instead, she searched for the right words, gave up, and said, “I know you love me. That’s why I’m going to explain it to you. I can only be happy with the wind in my hair. I can’t help it. It’s how I’m made. And as for Rhys and me? Maybe we’ll be the scandal of the decade. Maybe we’ll burn up and burn out, and we’ll both go down in flames. Another vice. Another regret. But I can’t think about that now. I’ve got no choice. He’s everything I want, I admire him more than any man I’ve ever known, I need him like a drug, and I... I love him. I do. I love him, and I’m not ashamed. I’ve wanted him for ten years, he’s wanted me just as long, and neither of us has ever done anything about it. We’ve done what’s right. We’ve waited. Rhys’s marriage is over, though, and Dylan is dead. We can’t wait any longer.”
Her mum was stepping forward, then turning, a jerky movement, and checking her makeup in the mirror. Patting her hair. Breathing hard.
You couldn’t change who you were. Your fears went too deep for that, and so did your desires. Zora picked up her purse, and she didn’t check her own hair, or the state of her cheeks. She probably looked wild. That was fine. That was brilliant, because that was how she felt. She told her mother, “‘The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care.’ That’s in a poem. My heart doesn’t care what’s easy, and it doesn’t care what people will think. It wants what it wants, and that’s all.”
Rhys wanted to turn around and watch Zora walk away. And once she did, he wanted her back. Instead, he took another sip of her Mai Tai. It was like her, spicy and sweet, with a kick you didn’t expect. After that, he got himself centered and waited for what would come next.
He’d done a couple hundred press conferences in his career. No difference. You told the truth with composure and respect, you said as little as possible, and you kept the upper hand. Subtly, if possible. Genial was always good, too, if you could manage it.
He gave their food orders to the server when he turned up, and asked, “Best New Zealand red you’ve got to pair with that?”
“You’ll want an Australian shiraz instead,” Craig said, “to stand up to the marbling in a Scotch fillet. That would be your best choice, based on what I’ve found with my own cellar. I’m guessing you’re more of a beer man.”
Rhys considered asking if Craig was actually planning a dick-measuring contest, but he didn’t, partly because he was required to be polite in public and partly because Craig was Zora’s dad. Instead, he said, turning his Maori accent up to 10, “I reckon there’ll be a New Zealand wine that’ll do the business.”
“Supporting the homeland’s always good,” the server, a thirtyish bloke with spiky black hair, said. “And a pinot noir with some body will be beautiful with the lady’s eye fillet. I’d suggest the Te Kairanga John Martin Martinborough Pinot Noir 2015. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with your own pairing, either. There’s enough fullness and richness there for it. And if the lady likes chocolate, the chocolate fondant with bourbon sauce would be a perfect match for that final glass.”
“I think it’s safe to say,” Rhys said, “that the lady likes chocolate. Sounds good. Bring us a bottle of that.” He handed over the menus. “Thanks.”
“Can I just say,” the waiter said, “that it’s an honor.”
“Cheers, mate,” Rhys said.
The fella took the others’ dessert orders, then headed off, and Rhys took another sip of Zora’s Mai Tai and bided his time.
“We so rarely get that, in our line of work,” Nils said. “Pity.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Rhys said. “It has its downside.”
“Like clueless members of the public giving you helpful advice, possibly,” Nils said, with a glint of humor.
Rhys had to smile. “It happens.”
“I wish I thoughtIcould have chocolate fondant,” Candy said with a sigh. “I’m afraid it’s a minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.”
“And I appreciate your restraint,” her husband said, and Rhys thought about Zora saying, “I am drowning in food lust.” He also thought about her gorgeous arse in a black thong, the perfect roundness of her thighs and breasts, and what Nils was missing.
Chocolate fondant, definitely. They could share it. Nothing like something rich enough to make Zora moan, two spoons, and watching the way her eyes glazed over when she was feeling too much pleasure. Once they got rid of the doctors.
He said, “About those concussion protocols.” Safer subject.
“What are you doing now?” Nils asked. “Three-week minimum suspension from contact?”
“Yeh.”
“The danger, as I’m sure you know,” Nils said, “is repeated events, particularly when the brain hasn’t recovered, and the answer is, we just don’t know enough yet. You’ve got what we call the neurometabolic cascade with each event, which is fairly short-lived, a few days, but there are other physiological effects as well. I can send you some links to studies I’ve found particularly credible, if you’re interested. The methodology can sometimes be suspect.”
“Iaminterested,” Rhys said. “Cheers.”Points for not being condescending,he thought.
“They’ll be fairly technical,” Craig said. “Your team doctor would probably be the best person to interpret them. Of course, he’s probably already read them.”
“Could be good to have an idea what the experts are talking about,” Rhys said. “That way, when the discussion happens, I’ll have a base to start from. Assuming I can read the tricky words.”
