Page 113 of Kiwi Gold
“But we’re only halfway done!” Amira said. “We need to make a very big house like Olivia’s! With fireplaces and a swimming pool!”
“Fifteen minutes, then,” I said, and wondered what to do. I had a feeling my dad needed privacy. On the other hand, itwasa very big house. I headed into the back garden and began pulling chairs back into their usual places, and a couple of minutes later, my dad came through the open doorway and saw me.
“I wondered where you were,” he said. “And I’ll do that.”
“I had time,” I said. “We’ll go soon, though. Did Philippa leave, then?”
“Yeh.” He got both hands on either side of a big glass table, flipped it sideways, and carried it like that, and I marveled once again at his strength. He’d seemed like a god to me, growing up, but he wasn’t a god. He was just a man.
He adjusted the table, started arranging the chairs around it, and said, “We’ll be having dinner next Saturday night, Philippa and me. I decided—in for a penny, in for a pound. It’s been a long time, though. Not sure I still know how to take a woman out. Also, she’ll argue with me.” He grinned. “That, I’m counting on. There’ll be storms, but who wants sunshine every day? Boring, eh.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, and meant it. “She’s a strong woman, and a beautiful one. Like Mama.”
He adjusted chairs that didn’t need adjusting and said, “I didn’t think of her like that when I was married to your mum.”
“Baba.” I had to laugh. “I know. How could I not know how much you loved Mama? I saw it every day. In fact …” I hesitated, then thought,Go on. Why not?“That may have been one reason I wasn’t cautious enough about Kegan. I thought that’s what marriage looked like, what it would naturally be, that thing you and Mama had. I didn’t realize how often it looked like Philippa and Peter instead. And I know I’ve been too defensive about admitting it, but you were right about Kegan. In every way. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
“Useless git,” Baba said. “Show pony. You knew divorce was allowed, even under Islamic law, and we aren’t living under Islamic law. Why didn’t you get one?”
“That one’s easy,” I said. “Because I didn’t want to admit that I’d failed, and that I didn’t have the marriage you’d had. I thought it was because of me, that I didn’t have what it took to make Kegan love me that way, and I was ashamed. So I tried harder instead.”
“You have what it takes.” Baba’s voice was still gruff, but then, it usually was when he was emotional. “He was a selfish fool.”
“I’m starting to think it’s possible to have that, though,” I said, “and that’s partly because of Lachlan. I know you’re not thrilled, but somehow—it seems I love him. He’s like you. He’s steady, and he knows how to be there, and he’s … he’s so much more. He’s gold. It hasn’t been long enough, and—I know.”
I thought Baba would argue with me, but instead, he said, “I’m willing to wait and see.”
I stepped into him, then, wrapped my arms around his waist, and felt his big arms coming around to hold me, too, in the most secure embrace a woman could feel from her father. “This time,” I said, “I’m aiming higher. And you haven’t reminded me nearly as much as you could have about my bad judgment, so I’m going to do my very best to believe you love me and to adapt to this, too. This thing with Lachlan’s sisters, who are also your daughters, and with Philippa. I don’t know whether they’ll ever feel like your daughters, in their hearts, or how Philippa will feel about it either way. It could be different for each of them, but I’m guessing that on some level, they’ll want you, because you’re …”
The hot tears were welling up despite every effort to stop them. Too emotional and too exhausting a week, maybe. A week when my world had tipped on its axis.
I ignored the tears and said, “You’re the … the best dad. You always have been. You’ve been there for me through all my hardest times, so I’m going to be here for you now in the same way. If you want to talk to me about it, if you want me to be there when you see them—I’ll be there. All you have to do is ask.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it had softened. A Viking and a protector, the man for whom my mother had given up everything, and the man to whom she’d devoted her life. And a man who still had more life to live. I said, “Besides, you could need my help. There could be more of them out there. We could have a whole ginger cricket team.”
I had to laugh at the thought of my perfect, strong, endlessly sure father, standing there helpless with babies floating down around him, each of them holding a balloon with the date on it.1995. 1998. 1999. 2001.And the bonus year, with four of them arriving at once. “Reckon they told you it would stay anonymous,” I said. “Good thing Mama didn’t know. I keep thinking—that would’ve been a royal barney.”
He was silent a long moment, and I thought I’d gone too far, that I’d been wrong to mention her again. But surely it was right to do it. Surely this secret had weighed too heavily on him, all these years.
Finally, he said, “I told her. When she was ill. Told myself I couldn’t let her die without being allowed to judge me for what I’d done, but the truth was probably that I couldn’t let her die with that on my conscience, and on my soul. Selfish, I know now. Giving her pain when she was already suffering, just so I could suffer less.”
“Dad.” I’d stepped back and had my hands on both his arms now, unable to bear the pain on his face. “I’ll bet she forgave you. No, Iknowshe forgave you. She loved you. In her eyes, nothing you did could be too wrong. And knowing she was helping you, that she was absolving you … that wouldn’t have been pain. That would have been joy, because she loved you more than life.”
His tough face crumpled. The secret of my dad was that he did cry. My mum had seen it, and so had I. And, I was pretty sure, nobody else. Now, though, he stood on the patio of the house my mum had designed, and he cried. Big shoulders shaking, massive chest heaving. Fully lost.
There’d been an emptiness behind his eyes when my mum had died. He’d tried to hide it from me, and it had been impossible. Half his heart had been buried with her, but now, maybe it was alive again. You couldn’t feel pain like this unless you were alive.
He shook, and I stepped into him again and put my arms around him. He wrapped his around me, sobbed twice more, sniffed enormously, stood back, shoved a hand across his eyes, and said, “Right. I’m done.”
I got him a wodge of Mum-tissues from my purse, and he took them from me and blew his nose mightily, wiped his eyes, and said, “Right, then. You’ll think what you think, but I need to go on, however this works out, with the …”
“Daughters,” I said. “And with their mother. You’ll try to do the right thing all down the road, and so will I. My version may not always line up with Islam, though, fair warning. I’ve been evaluating some things, religion-wise.”
He said, “You know I’m not happy about that.”
I got on my toes, pulled his head down, and kissed his cheek. “I know. And I’m doing it anyway.”
I’d thought he might roar. Instead, he got still, then said, “Not sure I have much of a leg to stand on here.”
