Page 12 of Catch a Kiwi
“I should be able to,” he said. “Unfortunately, it’s not working. I’ll collect your things for you in the morning, like I said.”
“Excuse me. Where am I going to be in the morning, in your scenario?”
“In a hotel, I assume.”
“And they’re going to give me a room because …”
“Because I’ll pay for it.”
“Oh.” I digested that. “You’ll loan me the money?”
“For one night in a hotel room? I reckon I can just about manage that.”
“Oh.”What about after one night?Not his problem. Mine. In the morning, I’d think of something. The consulate idea. That was the lifeline. And I could always leave the country. We’d needed return tickets to get in. We could use them and …
And go where?
The nurse came in again and said, “Doctor says you can leave, so let’s get that IV out. No police yet, I see. You reported your accident, though?”
“I did,” Roman said, “but as I didn’t have the plate number and so forth, it’s not official. Never mind, she can ring them again once she’s got herself sorted.” He looked at his watch. “It’s likely to be tomorrow by the time we get her settled.”
“You’re taking them, are you?” the nurse asked. “Just like that?” And studied him before she ripped the tape off the back of my hand and started taking out the IV. It hurt, but not more than anything else.
I tried not to be tired at the thought of trying to manage a hotel room. Wash our clothes in the sink and put them on damp in the morning? Unappealing, but better than being covered in mud. Or maybe the place would have a washerand dryer. It would have a shower, anyway. That would have to do.
“Yeh, I’m taking them,” Roman said, “unless you’d like to. The van’s on my property.”
The nurse looked at me some more, seemed to come to a conclusion, and told me, “If you need a place to stay for a couple of nights, my husband and I have a caravan on our section.”
“I could ask who’s a dodgy character now, offering help,” Roman said.
“I’m a nurse,” the woman—Daisy—said. “Automatically trustworthy. And we’re used to refugees.”
“Odd,” Roman said.
She put a wad of cotton and some tape over the IV site and asked me, “Did you ask him for his ID?”
“Uh …” I said. “He showed it to me, yes.” Well, if Delilah and I ended up dead, she had his name, right? Wait, why wasn’t I saying yes to the nurse? That made so much more sense. Maybe because I didn’t want to be in somebody’s house, or on their land. Beholden. I could pay back money. I couldn’t pay back that kind of favor. “So you’ll bring my stuff to me in the hotel?” I asked Roman. “It would have to be a nearby hotel, or that’s a lot of driving.Isthere a hotel—a motel—anywhere near your house? In O— O-whatever, maybe? There must be, I guess, if it’s any kind of holiday spot. I’m going to need a washing machine, too.”
A stitched hand. Delilah, with her concussion. We hadn’t had dinner, or anything for lunch except a few mandarins and half a packet of store-brand gingernut biscuits, as my stomach and my lightheadedness were reminding me, and then there was breakfast. What about the hospital’s charges, for that matter? I’d be covered by the New Zealand health scheme, because I had a UK passport and the two countrieshad a reciprocal system, but what about Delilah? How was I going to pay for that?
Stop panicking. Swallow your pride and ask to borrow money for food. As for the hospital, what can they do to you, hold you here until you pay? If they did, they’d have to feed you.
Roman said, “I’ll think of something.”
“You’re hating this, though,” I said. “Don’t pretend you’re not.” I told Daisy, “Maybe the caravan would be better. Sorry, I didn’t even say thanks. I just—” My face started to get rubbery, and I did my best to control it. “It’s just—my van’s there, and all my things, and …”
She said, “No worries. I’m giving you my number, though. If you do get desperate, ring me.” She grabbed a pen and scribbled her name and number on my discharge instructions.
Well,thiswas a first. Kiwis were friendly and helpful, but surely there was a limit. Unless she really did think Roman was sketchy. Wait,Ithought he was … well, annoying, anyway. Didn’t I? What should I do here?
Roman grinned, the first time I’d seen him smile. It changed his whole face, made him look younger, less … well, less scary. His eyes slanted down a little at the outside corners, which gave his face a sort of sadness. Soulfulness. Something at odds with the hardness and decisiveness that seemed to be his go-to. They probablywerehis go-to, and his true self, because your personality couldn’t possibly show in the shape of your eyes! When he smiled, though, multiple crinkles formed around those jade eyes like a collection of parentheses, and the sadness changed to something almost … well, almost charming.
“Can’t decide why I’m still offering,” he said. “Except that ‘If you miss the present moment, you miss your appointment with life. That is very serious!’ Thich Nhat Hanh.”
“Whatever.” It was what Delilah would have said, but too bad.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go collect Delilah and get out of here.”
