Page 113 of Just Come Over
A long, narrow shape like a rounded, extended adze, carved of a vibrant, translucent piece of jade that shone with light.
“Roimata,” Rhys said. “Tears of the albatross.”
Isaiah held it tentatively. Doubtfully. “That sounds sad.”
“Not sad. Healing and comfort and positive energy. Brings you strength and centering, that’s the idea, when things get noisy and it’s hard to concentrate. That’s what your dad will have called on when he ran out in a rugby game, because he knew that strength isn’t enough. It’s your focus that matters, and knowing where to put your strength. It’s a meditation stone. Any time you need to quiet your mind, when the world gets too loud and too busy, you can put your hand on this and go inside. You can remember that an albatross can fly for hours on a single flap of its wings, and that you can do that, too. It’s all in knowing how.”
Isaiah was running his thumb along the smooth, cool surface, up and down. “I think I can feel it.” He looked up at Zora and asked, “Can you feel it, Mum?”
She laid her thumb onto the narrow shape beside his, put her other arm around him, and said, “Yeh. I can. Feels strong.”
“It’s not magic,” Isaiah said, “because there isn’t really magic. There’s only science, and the things we don’t understand yet. It’s just a symbol.”
“You’re right, mate,” Rhys said. “But symbols have power.”
Fifteen minutes,Rhys thought. You could always do fifteen more minutes. If you couldn’t, you could do one more minute, and then you could do another one, until the whistle blew.
He tucked Casey into bed and kissed her goodnight, and she wound her arms around his neck and said, “I’m very glad you came home.”
“So am I,” he said, and meant it. Then he stood up, put a hand on Isaiah’s arm, and said, “Night, mate.”
“Goodnight, Uncle Rhys,” the boy said. “Thank you for my pendant. I feel like it’s a little bit from my dad.”
One more minute.He could do it, even with his throat closing up and the tears too close. “That’s because it is.”
Finally, he was shutting the door quietly behind him, going out to the lounge, and finding Zora. She was turning the gas stove on, which was still just pressing the rocker switch, and turning the overhead light off. Even though it wasn’t really cold enough for that, it felt good.
“Did you get dinner?” she asked.
“Had a burger with my cousin. Te Rangi. I’ll get some eggs at home.”
“You went to Motueka.”
“Yeh. I did.” He checked her out. “You look tired.”
She laughed and pushed her hair back with a weary hand. “So do you. Do you want a beer? Or want me to fix those eggs?”
“Already had a beer. With the burger. What I want is to sit on the couch with you.”
“You’re cold, though. When did you get wet?”
“When didn’t I? Nah. I’m good.”
She put a throw over them all the same, when she’d curled on the couch beside him. When he had his arm around her, and she had her hand on his chest, and it was what he’d told Isaiah. When you could fly for hours on a single flap of your wings, because the weight had shifted, and you were perfectly balanced again. He stroked a hand over her hair, then did it again, felt the softness between his fingers, and thought,It’s good to be home.
“Do you want to know about it?” he asked.
“Yes. I do.”
So he told her. About Victoria, first, about her anger, and her pain. “I hated it,” he finished.
“But you did it.”
“I had to.”
A movement against his shoulder that was her laugh. “No, Rhys. You didn’t. And you did it anyway. There was no good way to say that. No good way to hear it. You did the best you could.”
His throat closed a little more tightly, and his chest ached.
