Page 35 of Catch a Kiwi
“Ha.”
“I’m—” She seemed to be casting about for something to say. “Fine,” she finally managed, in a clear attempt to recover her dignity. “I could say that youaren’t exactly slaying me with your wit and charm, either, but I won’t. Because you’re my employer and I don’t want to get fired, that’s why.”
“I’m not your employer. We’re doing a trade.”
“Face it. You’re my employer. I won’t even mention the ute.”
“You just did.”
She didn’t say anything to that. It should have been frosty,driving up to Dunedin like that. For some reason, it wasn’t. She was more comfortable fighting, it seemed, than giving in.
Did I like that? Well, yeh. Partially. I wanted her fighting.
And then giving in.
My communicationwith Summer for the next five days consisted of the following:
1) A text of exactly five words.My new phone number. Summer.
2) A second four-word text.What kind of food?To which I answered,Anything you like.Three words. I won.
3) A series of receipts for all the equipment she’d hired and bought, with no message at all attached to them except a running total of what she’d spent. More businesslike than most anyone I’d ever hired, except, of course, Esther.
4) My second text to her, which was,What about the wreckers?And her answer:I paid for that. It was my van and my responsibility.Annoying me again, because how much had that cost, and how low were her reserves now?
My communication from Delilah consisted of a bit more.
First, there were about twenty photos of electronic equipment I recognized, sent without a word, then another text.Whoops. I meant that to go to my fence. Worried yet?Which made me smile and text back,Worried for the man who marries you, maybe.To which she replied,How extremely sexist of you. Maybe I’m like Summer and don’t have sexual feelings. Interesting how she says that instead of “I’m asexual,” don’t you think? Almost suggests she’s not asexual. Or, of course, maybe I’m like you and just plan to use the guy and toss him aside.
I replied,How do you know what I do?And she answered,Google is my friend.
I believed the two of them were related, anyway.
Two days later, I got another Delilah text.You’re probably gnashing your teeth all day, wondering what Summer’s doing and whether she’s divined your control-freak instructions for cleaning up your house. No worries, she’s driving both of us like mad on it. It’s not going to take two weeks, though, hate to tell you. She won’t slow down, and what am I supposed to do when she’s heaving soggy Oriental rugs around and staggering under piles of baseboards that she’s carrying with her bandaged hand just so she can hold a hairdryer on another section of your wall?
I answered that one with,I appreciate your hard work,to which she replied,Ha. You know you want me to slow her down.Delilah might only be eighteen, but she wasn’t stupid.
And finally, the text I got on Friday morning.She got a job. Waitressing at night, so she can work on your house during the day. She says that this way, she can pay you back for the truck that much sooner, and you know Summer can always get a waitress job, especially in a bar, because men spend twice as much when she’s there. You should’ve charged her six thousand, since you were lying anyway, because she’s panicking. Means I’m on dinner duty tonight. Don’t expect much.
That one, I stared at. I had a meeting in four minutes and no time for staring, but here I was. Finally, I typed,Where?
The Lambing Shed,Delilah answered.In Owaka.
Right.
Summer
I wove my way between tables in the wood-paneled dining room with my tray, then did the Server Dip to deliver a ribeye steak with chips and steamed vegetables, which didn’t tempt me, and another plate of maple-cured salmon, asparagus, and kumara in a Thai curry sauce, which did. I hoped there’d be leftovers of the salmon at the end of the night.
“Cheers, love,” the woman with the salmon said. “You’re busy tonight, eh.”
“Even though there’s no rugby on now,” I said.
The man laughed. “You’ve cottoned on to that, have you? How long have you been in En Zed?”
“Over ten months,” I said. “So far so good.” I could’ve stood there and chatted, but I could see more plates on the service hatch, so I smiled and left. The smile wasn’t for the tip, because there wouldn’t be a tip. It was because I liked serving, at least in New Zealand. I’d never done it growing up, but it beat cleaning motel rooms. Not too different from being Barbie, really, or Cinderella. Helpful and cheerful, that was me.
I was carrying another tray, of drinks this time, with my unstitched hand, feeling proud of my balance and my strength, when I caught sight of Roman coming through the front door.
