“We’re all afraid of things,” Sarah adds.
I snort and look at her over my arm. “Not you.”
“Well, not me, but most everybody.”
My chuckle eases the rigidness of my body, and I force myself to straighten, to let go of my husband, to kiss my children’s heads, one, two. “Thank you. I’m good.”
Simon’s hand lingers on my upper back. “Get yourself a cup of tea. I’ll finish breakfast.”
I used to protest, but a counselor finally told me that the more I resisted the emotions of my PTSD, the worse it would get. To overcome it, I have to be present with it. So I head inside and pour a fresh cup of tea. The screen of my memory flashes with images from the earthquake that gave me the scar on my face—the noise, the screams, the blood everywhere from the wound on my head and the wound in my belly. All of it.
I stare into my cup of milky tea. On the surface, my kitchen window is reflected in a white rectangle interrupted by the line of pots along the bottom. I force myself to take slow, even breaths. Same in as out, one-two-three in, one-two-three out, and slowly my trembling eases. The voices of the children, lilting up and down, smooth the gooseflesh on my arms. I sigh, letting go.
Simon, frying bacon, a bibbed apron around his body, gives me a smile. “Better?”
“Yep. Thanks.”
We eat normally, and Simon loads the children in the car and turns to me. His gray eyes are filled with concern as he brushes hair away from my face. He knows I suffered through a massive earthquake, though I lied about which one it was. “Take the day off.”
“I’m hiking with Gweneth and then meeting Rose at Sapphire House to make some more notes.”
“The walk will be good.” His palm cups my cheek. “Go to the CBD and visit the cat café or something.”
I give him a grin. “Maybe. I really think I’m all right.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering a second longer than usual, then squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve got the swim fund-raiser tonight, don’t forget. The kids and I will be late.”
Our division of labor means I don’t have to participate in the swim stuff, which I find stultifying—the long, long hours; the drives to various places; the chitchat with all the other parents. I know women knit and read and whatever, and I do show up for the big meets, but Simon loves it madly, and I don’t. In return, I do a much larger share of housework and laundry and shopping, which he loathes.
But I had forgotten about the meet tonight, and a little knot sticks in my throat as I lift my hand and wave them off, the three of them in a single car, the only things in the world that really matter to me. Maybe I’ll call my friend Nan, see if she wants to meet for dinner in the CBD.
A good plan.
I met Gweneth on the ferry. I was pregnant with Leo, irritable in the summer heat, tired of Christmas in the summer, suddenly longing for family now that I’d be adding to it. I missed my father, weirdly, after so long. I’d found myself imagining how my mother’s eyes or sister’s mouth might look on a baby, if I would see my family in the hands or laughter of a child. I even grieved the fact that my mother would not be there when the baby was born, but perhaps all woman feel that way. Pregnancy made me so emotional, in fact, that it frightened me. I constantly worried about the dire things in the world, what might befall a child I loved so intensely even before it was born.
Simon had gently pointed me toward the city and an exhibit on the Bloomsbury Group, which both eased and stimulated me, just as he’d known it would.
Gweneth sat down next to me on the ferry, a tall, slim woman with a stylish air, and offered me an ice cream. “Hokeypokey,” she said. “Can’t go wrong.”
“As far as I’m concerned, no ice cream goes wrong.” I paused. “Except coffee.”
“You’re American!”
“Canadian, actually.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you all say, though, isn’t it?”
I laughed and stuck to my made-up story. “I grew up on the west coast of British Columbia. Vancouver Island.”
“Hard to take the island out of the women,” she said, nodding. “I saw you at the exhibit. Which one is your favorite?”
“Vanessa, completely. That earth mother vibe. I want to go live in her farmhouse. You?”
“Duncan. I’m madly in love with him, of course. I know exactly why Vanessa loved him.” She licked her ice cream. “I’ve been to that farmhouse. You can feel her in every room. I wrote a dissertation on the farmhouse itself, as a design idea.”
I fell right under her spell. We talked art and artists, then books and writers, all the way back to our respective homes, hers only four blocks away from mine, and we’ve been fast friends ever since.
This morning, she’s waiting for me in our usual spot, near the water. Her long blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a tank and NorShore leggings that show off her long, lean figure. “Earthquake this morning—did you feel it?” she asks.
I give a curt nod. No one outside my family knows how badly I react to tremors. “Did you hear where it was centered?”
“Offshore.” She gestures at the water sudsing restlessly, splashing hard against the land.
“Good.”
“Mm.” We set off at a brisk pace, hands swinging. Sometimes we can walk a long way without talking, but today my news is so momentous, I can’t wait. “So we bought a new house.”
“Already! The last project was only finished last week.”
“Right. But Simon heard through the grapevine that Veronica Parker’s sister died.”
She stops dead, her mouth open. “No.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yes. You are looking at the new owner of Sapphire House.”
“You’re joking.” Her face is both blank and blazing.
“No. It’s done. He bought it outright.”
“Good God. He’s even wealthier than I thought.”
I take her upper arm and move her body toward the trail that circles up a mountain on the north head of this finger of land. “His father still owns great gobs of land.”
“Oh my God!” she cries. “You know I love her so much. You have to take me inside!”
“Of course. I want your help.”
“When can we go? Not today. I have tons of work to do. But this weekend?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I told the kids we could go over there too. You can come with us.”
“Are you flipping it?”
“No.” I pause as we start walking up the hill. The sun is bright and hot on my shoulders. “We’re going to live there.”
“No, you can’t!” Gweneth flings her arms up. “I need you here.”
“It’ll take a while.”
“Oh, but then you’ll be way over in Mount Eden, and I’ll never see you anymore.”
“No. We’ll make a date and meet in some fab coffee shop in every neighborhood in Auckland once a month.”
She takes a sip of water from her bottle. “All right. And you’ll have to have grand parties in that house.”
“I will. I promise.” We start to climb seriously and focus on our breath while we acclimate.