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“Depression is common in people with M.S.,” Alice says, “because of the pain and the fatigue and constant complications. We work hard to focus on the positive things in our lives, but she has days where it all gets too hard for her. And she hates that she’s holding me back from living a normal life. When she’s really bad, she cries and says it would be better if she wasn’t here. I find that hard to handle.”
“Of course you do. I’m so sorry.”
“Her dark moods don’t tend to last long because she knows they upset me. I try to keep little treats for days like those. We go out in the car to the waterfront and look at the statues of Captain Cook and Young Nick—he was Captain Cook’s cabin boy, and he was the first person on the Endeavour to spot the New Zealand coastline.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, Mum’s quite into Kiwi history. Sometimes we go to Dad’s grave and sit there and chat about him. Or we go to the Eastwoodhill Arboretum and just immerse ourselves in nature. I’ll make us something special for dinner, or get out a box of chocolates I’ve saved, and we’ll eat the whole box while we watch an old movie. Things like that, to try and take her mind off it all.”
We’re both sitting back on the pillows, finishing off our coffees. I’ve opened the sliding doors onto the terrace outside, and I can hear traffic way off in the distance, but here it’s quiet, with just the sound of birds in the nearby trees, and the rustle of the tulle nets as they blow in the breeze. Alice’s hair is nearly dry, shining like a halo with the afternoon sun behind her. I know she’s no angel, but she certainly has the heart of one.
“You don’t think she would feel better to know that you had a normal life,” I say gently. “A home of your own, a husband, children?”
She rests her head on the headboard, her blue eyes bright as the summer sky behind her. It’s just another minute in our day, another moment together, but I realize my heart is racing as I wait for her answer.
“Maybe,” she says slowly. “But I can’t have those things and look after her.”
“I understand. What about some sort of compromise? If we could find someone to look after her that she got on with?”
“She’d hate that. And it wouldn’t change the fact that I live in Gisborne.”
“Would you consider moving to Wellington?”
She looks into my eyes, and maybe she also realizes now what we’re discussing.
“I can’t ask her to move out of the home she shared with my father,” she says gently. “And the place where his grave is. She would never leave. And anyway, this is only the second time you and I have slept together. We can’t make such big changes in our lives for each other.”
“Maybe not yet,” I add. “But this won’t be the last time we’ll have this conversation. Just so you know.”
She looks into my eyes, her brows drawing together. “Don’t make me choose,” she whispers.
“I’m not. I won’t.” I put my arm around her, and she snuggles up to me. I kiss the top of her head. “You’re the sweetest girl I know,” I tell her simply, “and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
“Let’s just concentrate on today,” she says, looking up at me. “On what we have right here, right now.”
“Okay.” So I kiss her, moving my lips slowly across hers.
But I don’t care that this is only the second time we’ve been together. I know I want her, and I’m used to getting what I want. And I’m not going to give up easily.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alice
“Red or white?” Saxon asks.
It’s Sunday evening, and we’re at Saxon and Catie’s house, about to have dinner. She’s baked some focaccia, and we’re currently dipping chunks of it in olive oil, salt, and dukkah.
I look at where he and Catie are sitting opposite me and Kip at their dining table, noting that neither of them has a wine glass in front of them, and say, “I’m happy to stick to soft drinks.”
“Aw,” Catie says, “I don’t mind if you have a glass of wine. I’m living vicariously at the moment. Saxon won’t let me have mayo, soft cheese, alcohol, or too much coffee. He’s like Hitler with food and drink at the moment.”
“Harsh,” he says. “But probably true.”
Kip chuckles. “I’m happy with Sprite, too.”
“All right,” Saxon replies good-naturedly, and he pours us all a glass from the bottle he brought out for himself and his wife.
“So,” Catie says, picking up her glass and sipping it, “what have you two been up to this weekend?”
