Page 105 of Just Come Over
He needed to call Zora.
Eleven o’clock on Sunday morning, and Rhys was descending the plane’s staircase onto the tarmac of Christchurch Airport in the blowing rain, something he’d done about a thousand times before. This time, though, he wasn’t collecting a bag, or carrying one, either. Today’s was a day trip. Two day trips, actually. This was Step One.
A stop at the car-hire counter, where the young woman said, “Here you are,” without a flicker of recognition, and handed over the keys, and he thought about fourteen years in this city, about not being able to go anywhere without posing for a photo on somebody’s phone, and didn’t mind the change a bit. Somebody else’s turn, and it had never been his favorite thing anyway.
His favorite thing had been playing. Absolutely no contest. Playing was an ice cream at the beach on a summer day, or your first time out with the girl you wanted most, when she was smiling at you and letting you know that she wanted you, too. Playing was all the best things rolled into one.
Except that days weren’t always sunny, and girls didn’t always keep smiling.
He drove toward Sumner, his windscreen wipers struggling to keep up with the wind-driven deluge. The block of exclusive townhouses where he’d lived was still perched up there on a cliff, overlooking the sea. It hadn’t been damaged too badly in the earthquakes, so that wasn’t why Victoria wasn’t living in it anymore. She’d wanted a fresh start, and she probably hadn’t been able to manage the mortgage alone, even with alimony.
Everybody had to move on, he guessed.
He didn’t drive all the way there, because most of Sumner’s retail space was still missing. Instead, he headed to Ferry Road, and the new place where Vic had asked him to meet her. It was on the water, which was good. A sea view was always better for calming the mind, and she’d feel on home turf.
His hands tensed on the wheel, and he flexed his fingers and drew his shoulder blades down his back with a deliberate effort. It was that same old thing. You couldn’t outrun trouble. Trouble had a way of catching up. If you were smart, you went to meet it.
He spotted the place through the rain. Evil Genius, it was called. New since his time, or rather, an old building made new again, weathered brick and wood. He shrugged his anorak on and headed in, moving fast and getting wet anyway.
It was a bit loud inside, and crowded, too, which was no surprise. Things were always crowded in Christchurch. Too many people wanting someplace to go on Sunday morning, and not enough places for them to be.
He found Victoria instantly, his eyes going to the right spot in the way they did when you knew somebody that well. She was sitting at the end of the bar, having a chat with the fella behind it, looking poised. Confident, and not a bit dressed up for this, in loose cotton trousers and a snug top that showed off her slim, strong figure and the muscle tone of her arms. Her blonde hair was loose, but in a casual way rather than a sexy one. Showing him she hadn’t made a special effort for him. Fair enough.
She didn’t look around. Not watching for him, then. He headed over there, waited until she noticed him, and said, “Hi, Vic.”
“Hi, Rhys.” She didn’t stand, and he thought about kissing her cheek and decided,Better not.Instead, he sat down.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “How ya goin’? The personal training going well, is it?”
“Going fine,” she said. “Going better once we’re divorced.”
All right, then. He saw wariness in the set of her shoulders, thought about the vibrant woman he’d married, and set the thought aside. She could be that woman again. She might be that woman already. Just not today.
She wouldn’t be seeing the man she’d married, either. He hoped she was seeing a better one. He suspected she wouldn’t care.
“If this is about the property settlement,” she said, “I’m not discussing it with you. That’s why you have attorneys.” She took a sip of something that looked healthy. Green and thick, and he’d bet it had flaxseed in it. Victoria was disciplined. He’d liked that about her, and she’d liked it about him. Discipline gave you a place to go when everything else had failed to function, and that was comfort.
Sometimes, though, disciplined people had trouble with barriers. Letting them down, that is. Just now, Victoria’s barriers were fully operational, which meant he needed to come out from behind his and take the flak, or there was no point to this.
Not easy.
“Can I get you something?” the fella behind the bar asked, and Rhys said, “Flat white, please. Single.” He didn’t need any more jitters.
“It’s not about the settlement,” he told Vic once the man moved off, “and it’s not about the divorce. Two weeks, and it’s done. I didn’t come to talk about that. I came because there are a couple of issues in my life that are bound to come out pretty soon in the press, and I wanted you to hear about them from me first.”
She’d been starting to take a drink of her smoothie. Now, she put the glass down, every line of her taut body saying she was holding it together with an effort.
He hated that he had to say all this. He needed to say it anyway. It was hard for him to do? It would be harder on her if he didn’t, and he owed her this much.
“What issues?” she asked.
He’d assumed he’d get something to eat while they were here. Probably not happening. “First,” he said, “that I have a daughter. Casey. She was living in Chicago, and now she’s with me, because her mum’s died. She’s six years and nine months old.”
He’d thought about which thing to discuss first. He’d decided it didn’t matter. Neither of them was going to be any fun for her to hear.
Her fingers shook on the glass, and he wanted to grab her hand and hold it. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t true, that he hadn’t just swept the rug of her life out from under her and told her that nothing about the two of them had been real.
He had to keep this secret, though. Nothing else was going to work for Casey. What would Vic have said anyway, if he’d told her the truth? If he’d said, “It actually wasn’t me. It was Dylan. He told her he was me, you see, and then he put my name on the birth certificate, and...” Who would believe that? Then he’d not only be a cheater and a liar, he’d be a coward, too. She didn’t need to think she’d been married to a coward, and he couldn’t stand to have her think it.
