Page 91 of Fierce

“No,” I decided. “It’s perfect. I love that it’s red. And where are we going?”

“Stinson Beach. You said you’d never seen the sea, not as it’s meant to be. Not wild and empty. I checked, and that seemed like the closest we could get.”

Effort again. He knew he wasn’t getting anything else out of the trip, and he was willing to be here, to do this. So I wasn’t going to pout like a little girl who hadn’t gotten her way. I was going to enjoy the day, enjoy his company. Nothing had changed. All he’d done was tell the truth.

And besides, the ocean was beautiful. We drove along a winding coastline with the breathtaking expanse of the Pacific below us until we got to the top of a crescent of sandy beach that stretched into the distance, and I saw what Hemi’d meant about space. He parked the car, and we took off our shoes and walked near the water’s edge with the wind fresh in our faces and the sand gritty and cool under our feet. A Labrador bounded into the surf after a ball, every line of its body radiating joy, a wetsuit-clad surfer caught a wave and rode it to shore.

I watched it all and felt better, felt perspective returning and was glad of it. So everything wasn’t going to work out the way I wanted. When did that ever happen? Right now, I had this, and this was good.

“Is it like New Zealand?” I asked Hemi after a while. “Being here?”

“Yeh, nah. The sea is. The long beaches like this. But not as many people there. And more bush on the other side, normally. More...wild. And then, when you’re out of it, in town again...not the same at all.”

“Uh...Hemi. There are maybe twenty people around us.”

“Yeh. What I said. Not as many there. Because there are only a few beaches here. There...it’s everywhere, the sea. You can always find an empty place.”

“And you miss it.” He’d taken my hand as we walked, had threaded his fingers through mine despite everything we’d said. Now, as the wind picked up, I dropped his hand and took his arm, moved in a little closer, and he tightened that arm around my hand as if he wanted me there.

“I do,” he said. “I miss the sea. Miss the bush as well. Miss the green, and the birds. Miss waking in the morning and hearing the tui and the bellbirds, miss looking out over my Koro’s front garden, down over the paddocks to the sea. Miss being able to ride my bike to the beach anytime I fancied. I miss everything that meant I had to leave, because the pace is too slow, and the opportunities aren’t there. You could call that irony, I guess.”

“Your...koro?”

“My grandfather. I lived with him when I was in high school. In Katikati, on the Bay of Plenty. Best part of my childhood, you could say. Before that—it was South Auckland. Not so good.”

He didn’t go on, and I didn’t press, because this time, he had shared, and I wanted to respect that. The last thing I wanted was to destroy the mood by pushing for more. “How old were you when you came to the U.S.?” I asked instead.

“Twenty-two. Got an internship out of Uni—university—to New York. Boy from the wop-wops in the Big Smoke. Thought I was tough, and I wasn’t one bit tough. Not then.”

“And sometime in there,” I said, “you got on that show.”

“Yeh. Launched my career, didn’t it. Even if it was just the Maori bit. The tattoo and all.”

“Mm.” I’d read the articles and seen the clips. I knew what a sensation he’d been. His spectacular body and face, the accent, the tattoo that the producers had taken care made an appearance at every opportunity. He hadn’t even won. He’d come in second, but the fashion reality show had made him a star all the same. “And then you started buying things.”

“Eventually. Because that’s what I’m good at. Deciding.”

“Deciding?”

“Most people can’t decide. They faff about, worrying and wondering and regretting. If you’ve got enough discipline to gather the information, decide, act, and move on, that’s half the battle.”

He stopped speaking, raised his other arm to point, but I’d already seen them. A line of heavy bodies, huge wings outstretched, flying low in a V formation over the water.

“Geese?” I guessed.

“Pelicans.”

We watched as they came closer on wingspreads so wide they didn’t have to flap. They caught the air currents and soared, never breaking that perfect formation. And when they flew overhead, they were so low that I could swear I heard the rush of their passing.

“Beautiful,” I said.

“Yeh. They are. Birds are special.” He sounded a little abstracted, and I wondered if he were thinking about that idea again. That new line of his. About the tui and the bellbirds, whatever those were. And if nothing else, I’d helped him think of that. Or at least I’d been there.

But then he asked, “And what about you?” So maybe I’d been wrong about what he’d been thinking of.

“Me?” I started walking again. “What about me? You know all about me.”

“I know your mum died. I know you took care of Karen. I know you worked for Vincent. I don’t know your...your dreams.”

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