Don’t forget the most worrying. Not that being pregnant was troubling, but what came afterwards was. Being a full-time mother, making all the decisions regarding her daughter and praying she got them right. There was no one to fall back on when she needed reassurance. Once she’d have had her parents but really they now had too much to deal with to need their daughter demanding help with a problem she’d caused. No, she was on her own for this ride.
Nothing in her life had undermined her confidence as pregnancy had. The stack of books on the bedside table about caring for a baby underscored that. The contents list on her internet screen highlighted that. She soaked up all the available information, ignored her colleagues’ comments that nurses worried too much, and read some more.
‘I’ve totally confused myself. For every expert who says do one thing there are as many saying the opposite.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Jess kept telling her. ‘The moment I place your baby in your arms it will all come together. Believe me. I felt the same before Nicholas was born.’
Which did nothing to bolster her confidence. It wasn’t as though she could go bang on the doors of the experts who got it wrong and give them a telling-off. She didn’t know who was right or who was wrong.
She sighed. ‘Grady’s shown up and all these unwanted needs are ramping up inside me.’ Another sigh, softer this time. ‘He kissed me goodnight.’ Her finger traced her lips. Never in all the intervening years had it occurred to her she’d receive another Grady kiss. She should’ve rammed the car in reverse and shot out of his yard faster than a 747 on take-off. But she hadn’t. Because? That kiss had sneaked up on her. It had been wonderful. Exciting, caring, hot. Grady. Did he regret leaving me?
He’d said something about wanting to come back. To her. That didn’t make sense when he was planning to sell the house. Had he been testing the waters? Or had he been consumed with the need to taste her, to find he’d done the right thing when he’d left her?
Her fists banged down on the mattress. ‘Go away, Grady. Take your kiss with you. Climb back in your box and leave me alone. Please.’
‘Please,’ she whispered again. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Relax. Arms first. Fingers uncurled, hands loose, lower arms. Upper arms. Toes.
The urge to roll on her side and face the empty half of her big bed was relentless. Refusing to give in, she stared at the ceiling, her hands clenched at her sides, and breathed deeply. Uncurled her fingers, shook her hands loose.
Imagined Grady in that space next to her. His long legs reaching to the bottom of the bed. His wide chest covering more than his share of the mattress. His head sunk into the pillow beside her. If she rolled over she could move into the warmth of those strong arms he’d placed around her earlier. His hands could splay across her back, holding her safe. That beautiful mouth on her skin. Tonguing her into a frenzy.
She rolled sideways, her hand reaching across the gap to touch—cold, harsh reality. That side of the bed was empty. Chilly. No warm, male body. No Grady.
Grady was not real to her any more. Really? He was hardly an overactive figment of her imagination. Those hands that had held her shoulders earlier had been warm and strong and real. That mouth that had smiled and grinned and grimaced and kissed her had been real.
Her eyes filled, the tears burst over her eyelids, flooded her face, her pillow, her dreams. ‘Real or not, I can’t give you my heart again, Grady.’
Grady finally went back into his box.
*
Every muscle in Sasha’s body complained of fatigue, as it had all day long. If she didn’t get some decent, deep sleep tonight she’d be toast tomorrow. If this was what a couple of less-than-perfect nights did to her then once Flipper arrived she’d be hopeless. Until now she’d never had trouble sleeping.
‘That’s because I always exhausted myself physically throughout the day. Can’t do that at the moment. And if I turn up at work overtired too often, Mike and Rory are going start asking questions about my ability to do the job.’ Fear bounced down her spine. This job was very important. Without it she’d have to leave the bay and head to Nelson. Away from her mother at a time she needed to be here. That made her feel cold just thinking about it. ‘So I have to sleep a full eight hours tonight. No argument.’
Rubbing her aching back, she reached for her medical bag and headed up the mud-and rock-strewn driveway to Campbell McRae’s bungalow. Behind the outbuildings the high peaks of the Wakamarama Range sent chilly shadows over the surrounding paddocks, keeping the ground damp and cold. Hopefully, at this time of the year trampers weren’t walking the Heaphy Track. Too easy to slip over on the muddy track and suffer serious injuries.
The bungalow’s front door swung open as she stepped carefully onto the uneven veranda. Bracing for her next call, she smiled. ‘Hi, Sadie.’
‘Hello, Sasha. Campbell’s in a right old snot today.’ The middle-aged, squat woman scowled. ‘He thinks we should all be at his beck and call.’
Sasha wiped her shoes on the not-so-clean doormat. ‘What’s bothering him?’
‘Just about everything you care to think of.’ Sadie had the fortitude of a saint. Her brother’s situation made him very bad-tempered, which was completely understandable, but not nice.
‘Have you been changing the dressings like I showed you?’ Campbell’s leg had been amputated above the knee four weeks ago due to complications with his diabetes.
‘When he lets me near him.’ Sadie slammed the door shut. ‘He’s in the lounge.’
Sasha headed down the narrow, dark hallway, trying hard not to trip over any of the myriad objects lying on the floor. ‘Afternoon, Campbell.’ She’d learned right from her first visit not to say good afternoon as Campbell would instantly dispute the good component.
‘You’re late. I’ve been waiting for ages.’ The forty-four-year-old grizzled from where he sat by the grubby window, his crutches lying nearby. ‘You parked in the wrong place. I’ve told you about that before. One day that goat’s going to run its horns down the side of that fancy wagon of yours and then you’ll come complaining to me.’
She’d forgotten about the goat. Blame her jaded brain on a certain man back in Takaka. He’d been following her around in her head all day. ‘How’s that leg been? Are you doing those lifting exercises I showed you?’
‘A fat lot of good they do. It’s not like I’m going to be out running around after the stock, is it?’
In other words, no. Sasha explained what she’d explained often. ‘You need to keep those thigh muscles moving. You want them strong for when you’re fitted with your prosthetic leg.’
Campbell had the grace to look a tiny bit sorry. ‘I know you’re right, but I don’t see the point. Wearing a tin leg won’t make it any easier to get around the farm. I can drive the tractor but how do I get on it in the first place? Huh?’
She recognised the self-pity for what it was, and didn’t blame him. Who would be happy in his situation? A lot of self-doubt as well as fear went on in an amputee’s mind until they accepted their new way of life. Leaning down to remove the dressing from his stump, she asked, ‘Have you thought about buying a four-wheeled farm bike? More manoeuvrable and lower to the ground than a tractor.’
‘Do you know how much those things cost? I’m no millionaire.’
‘You might be able to find a second-hand one. Go on line and see what’s around.’ Did he have a computer?
‘Go on line? That’s the modern answer to everything.’
‘Yes, it is, and it’s not going to change any time soon.’ Sasha smiled at him, refusing to let his mood affect her. Carefully touching the wound with glove-covered fingers, she was pleased to see last week’s redness and puffiness had gone. ‘This is healing nicely. That infection’s improved.’
Grunt. ‘Jessica stood over me until I swallowed those bullets she calls pills. She’s bossier than you.’
Good for you, Jess. Her friend had covered her rounds while she’d been in Christchurch. Sasha cleane
d the stump and placed a new dressing over it. ‘Okay, Campbell, show me those exercises. I want to see you do them twice before I go.’
Campbell looked away. ‘I’m too sore.’
Sasha crossed to a chair, removed the magazines and knitting to sit down. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Her patient glared at her. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn?’
‘All my patients.’ She continued smiling, but she was worried. Campbell appeared more belligerent than usual. ‘Is something other than your leg bothering you, Campbell?’
His mouth tightened as he stared out the window. ‘I’ve lived here since I was a nipper. Don’t know any other way of life.’
‘It’s the same for Sadie.’
‘Yeah, but she can leave any time she likes. Nothing to keep her here.’
A man’s man now reduced to hobbling around on crutches. Eventually he’d be able to walk again but he’d never be chasing up the hills and through the valleys with his working dogs the way he used to.
‘I’d say Sadie has the same reasons for staying as you. Family, history, the comfort of knowing this place and the land.’ Those things had brought her back home when the going had got tough. Was she saying the right things? Should she shut up and go back to the medical centre, get Mike to arrange an appointment for Campbell with a counsellor that he’d never keep?
‘You reckon?’ His belligerence backed off a little. Then he shifted his butt and, gripping the armrest, lifted his thigh off the chair. Put it down. Lifted it again. His face contorted with the effort. ‘Weak as a kitten,’ he said, self-disgust clear in his voice.
Sasha stood up and crossed over to him. ‘What’s that wrapper you’ve stuffed under your backside?’
Campbell’s thigh dropped to the chair and stayed there. ‘Chocolate.’
‘I’ll check your glucose level before I go.’ She wanted to shake him, tell him he was putting his life in jeopardy, but he knew that better than her. He was already dealing with the consequences of not watching his diet carefully, of having allowed his diabetes go uncontrolled because he’d refused to accept it existed.