“You know it’ll be hard,” he whispers, face pressing into my neck, as though scared to look at me. “Even with how careful Mum is about taking her medication, there are still serious wobbles.” His rocking turns slower, a gentle bob on the ocean waves. “There’ll be periods, maybe months or longer, where I won’t be able to help you at all. Times where I’m more of a drain on your time and energy than our daughter will be.”
“Right.” The warning isn’t anything I haven’t already overthought a hundred times in the middle of the night. I thought being free of Wilbur would curtail some of those mental gymnastics but so far, I’ve just found additional worries to fill their spaces.
Instead of addressing it directly, I tease, “So, my tiny collection of cells is now a daughter, is it?”
“If you’re doing your job correctly.” He blows a soft raspberry against my neck, something that shouldn’t send nearly so many tingles racing along my spine as it does. “And if we’re placing orders, I would like a miniature version of yourself, minus the attitude.”
“But it’s the attitude that sells it.”
Caylon wrinkles his nose, but a smile soon breaks through. “Yeah. It kind of does, doesn’t it? Okay, a miniature with a full helping of attitude and the smartest mouth in the South Island.”
“Most of which she’ll get from her daddy.”
“Yeah.” His gaze turns distant, and I close my eyes, happy for him to set his thoughts free and let me know later what they find.
In my mind’s eye, I don’t see a little girl. What I see is a tiny boy trying to follow in Caylon’s overgrown footsteps. I can imagine him running after his dad, the stamp of frustration when he doesn’t get everything right the first time, the balled fists that soon soften into cuddles because he knows he’s safe. That he’ll always be safe.
“Whose financing all these staff? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Are you trying to imply I’m not capable of being a breadwinner?”
“So, your dad, then?”
Tickling Caylon might be off limits until his injuries heal but the opposite is not true, something he puts to immediate effect. When my gasps of laughter grow so loud someone will surely soon come and investigate, I slap a hand over my mouth and push a warning finger into his shoulder.
“Stop it,” I whisper once I’ve wrested control of my vocal cords back. “We don’t want everyone thinking I’m the most callous daughter in the country, laughing at my mother’s funeral.”
“Who cares what they think? I’m sure she’d much rather you be unceremoniously happy than miserable.”
“Yeah.” I still slip out of his lap to sit beside him again, straightening my clothing so if anyone wanders around the back of the hall, we’re presentable.
“This is a nice place,” he muses, eyes scanning the horizon where fields full of crops give way to pastures full of livestock. To our right, a straggly herd of sheep huddle together for warmth, despite their thick woollen layers. In just a few months, they’ll be joined by dozens of lambs, jumping or chasing their mothers around the paddock.
A little swirl of joy nestles into my belly, and I press my hand flat against my abdomen, imagining what it will be like when it thickens and swells.
“Hey, guys. Been looking for you,” Ratty calls out from the corner and I wave him over. He stands awkwardly next to us rather than taking a neighbouring seat on the bench. “Maz and I were about to head out, but we just wanted to check on you beforehand.”
I stand and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for speaking today. Mum would’ve loved it.” While he turns red, I link my arm through his. “I’ll walk back with you. I guess I should say hello to a few people before everyone heads away.”
Caylon brings up the rear as we move back into the throng of people, most of them now fed and telling stories that definitely shouldn’t be repeated anywhere ever again. I make small talk and get and receive more hugs than I can remember having in my entire lifetime before.
Some volunteers help us distribute the last of the food and pack away the tables, leaving the hall as tidy as we can make it for the cleaners who’ll come through next.
“Are you heading off or coming home with me?” Effie asks as we hang around, waiting for the stragglers to get the message. “There’s a gigantic tub of rocky road in the freezer if you’re game.
“Maybe we should add a cook to the list of staff we need,” Caylon mutters and a fit of the giggles hits me, made worse when he pretends to look shocked at my inappropriate behaviour.
“Sorry,” I say as they wind down. “I don’t mean to laugh.”
“It’s an emotional day,” Effie says with the firm conviction of someone who’s given the matter a lot of thought. “People always pretend that emotions come along singly or in small clusters, but I find they all turn up at once, elbowing one another aside to get their turn in the spotlight. Funerals should be full of laughter and anger and joy and grief. What else is a lifetime of memories made up of?”
“Maybe we should order in something a bit more substantial for you,” Caylon says as we slowly wander in the general direction of the car. “There are probably a lot of essential vitamins and minerals we should track.”
Effie’s eyes sparkle as they track his conversation, a mischievous grin lighting her face. “Sounds like you two have been planning. Take it from an expert, you don’t need to worry about all that food mumbo-jumbo. Stay away from raw things and you’ll be okay.” She catches Caylon’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, giving it a wag. “This one was fed on nothing but gummy lollies and gingernuts for six months and he turned out just fine.”
“I’ll remember to tell Dr Urdahl that while he’s adjusting my medication. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to rule out environmental factors since you took such good care of me.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you? What more do you want?” She waves goodbye as she breaks away to get in her car since we travelled to the hall separately.
