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Ethan frowns and I stroke his scar with my thumb.
“We pick and choose memories to support the narrative we’re living in.” I swallow. “I can’t have someone I love, so I need someone to hate. I focus on everything he’s said and done that supports my theory that he’s the bad guy.” I look into Ethan’s eyes. “It’s not entirely fair.”
Ethan is quiet, waiting for me to reach my point.
I struggle to make it.
“It’s like . . . I remember wadding my t-shirt and holding it against your wound. I remember you calming me down. When I remember, I leave out Tom. But the truth is, he heard my yell. He came. It was half an hour’s walk back to the parking lot, and he heaved you into his arms and raced for the car. He drove to the hospital and when they were stitching you up, when we were in the waiting room, he shook and shook. The point is, your dad is wiser. He won’t waste time on memories where you hurt his feelings. There are far too many where you make him smile, make him proud, make him happy.”
Ethan’s breath shudders over my jaw. “Thank you for coming so fast, Fin.”
I take his hand and press it to my chest; the beat of my heart pulses between us.
In the forgiving yellow light of dawn, we stand in the bird’s nest. We’re showered, ready to jump into the car as soon as Mum’s ready and Noah comes over to look after Julia.
Ethan swings his baseball cap around one finger, gaze stretched over lines of trees toward the river.
“I heard Ford came to see you in Wellington?”
“Yes.”
“Did he . . . get what he came for?”
“Yes. And then no.”
He stops swinging his cap. “Yes and no?”
“I kissed him. But I couldn’t . . . and I . . .”
“It’s okay.” He bridges the foot gap between us, his hand falling alongside mine on the balustrade. My skin burns where we touch. “I missed you, too.”
I look at him. He looks at me.
How do you always read me so well?
Feelings on your sleeve, remember?
Ah, that’s right. Emotional and dramatic Finley Price.
It’s wonderful.
You’re wearing your feelings on your sleeve too.
You think?
How else are we having this conversation?
Ethan smiles.
The gentle curve of his lips is potent, amplified by the vast skies around us and the miles of shadow-draped landscape.
I can’t believe there was ever a time I vowed I wouldn’t like Ethan. I can’t believe there was ever a time I hated being at Mansfield.
He and this place have anchored my heart.
I bounce on the balls of my feet. A moist gust clings to my skin and Ethan’s gaze still roams over my face, so open, so warm.
I move to him. I press my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me. His cap drops to our feet and neither of us care to chase it.
Breath tickles through my hair and fluttery weightlessness grows at my navel.
I cling to his shoulders and draw my head back to look at him.
He’s flushed. His hair shines brightly, his nose has me bumping mine against it. God that kink at his chin is adorable.
His dad is in hospital.
Not the moment for asking what the hell we’re doing.
We quietly break apart. Below, Noah is coming through the shared back garden gate. I head for the turret door, and Ethan speaks. Softly. A small drop into water that ripples and stills.
“Kei te aroha ahau ki a koe.”
I love you.
Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth.
K. Mansfield, Journal
We head to the hospital. It doesn’t pass me by that Ethan has left his cap behind. It’s the one thing I can focus on, to make waiting easier.
Still, we pace. We hug Mum. We straighten every time a nurse appears. We shrink back into plastic seats when they pass.
“Ethan.”
Mum and I look over at Cress coming through the wide door with flowers. She hands them to Mum and pulls Ethan into a hug. “God, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Ethan hands her money from his wallet and sends her to get coffee for us.
When she returns, we sip and burn our lips and keep sipping.
The doctor comes out and talks to Mum. It’s touch-and-go. He’ll need surgery.
She’s crying and I’m there and Ethan is there and we’re all holding on tight.
In half an hour we can see him.
The minutes are painful. Neverending.
Cress hooks Ethan’s arm and walks around the sombre waiting area. “It’ll end up okay. It will, you’ll see.”
When Ethan leaves her to go to the bathroom, she finds me in the back row of chairs, near the corridor. We both watch Ethan’s figure disappear around a corner.
