Worked for him.
Yesterday, now. Yesterday had been staggering out of the plane on stiff legs, walking through the welcoming pseudo-marae gates at the entry to the terminal proper, the piped-in sound of birdsong and bone flute competing with the noises of a press of weary humanity. Seven matches in five weeks, and too far from home, but now, they’d arrived. That first sight of Aotearoa, Land of the Long White Cloud, from the air? His heart always lifted when that curving coastline came into view.
Playing was good. Winning was better. But coming home was the best of all.
Customs, and collecting luggage from the carousel. No chat now, just the noise of a hundred trolleys echoing from the hard surfaces. Coming around that last corner, and …
There. The arrivals lounge, and girlfriends and wives and kids … and more kids … behind the barrier. The kids beginning to shout, now, as their dads came into view. A pretty, dark-haired sprite of a girl, her glossy curls bouncing and her little arms waving, going straight under the barrier and heading for Marko Sendoa, who picked her up and swung her overhead, her shrieks resonating in the high-ceilinged hall. And then more kids. Gingers and blondes and brunettes, Pakeha and Pasifika or a mix of both, all focused on one thing.
My daddy.
He saw them, and the lump in his throat got bigger. Scarlett, standing still, not deigning to run, but unable to keep from smiling and waving. Duncan, jumping a little. And his wee Georgia, who broke from the pack as her sister tried to grab her and charged.
That feeling when your little girl was in your arms again, and her own arms were around your neck. When she was chattering a mile a minute about Snowball and George and cooking and diving, and he was looking over her head to that other figure standing behind Scarlett and Duncan.
Skylar, looking flushed and excited and so pretty. The bouncing red-gold curls; how could he have forgotten how alive they made her look? The green cat’s eyes, the freckles on her nose, and her warm, wide mouth. Her body in that red shirt and the jeans he liked best, which she’d worn because theywerehis favorites.
He cuddled the kids first, because he needed to. Scarlett, who didn’t like having her hair tousled anymore but who clung to him fiercely, her body sayingI’m so glad you’re home,Dad,in a way she was too cool to express with words anymore. And Duncan, whodidlike his hair tousled and an arm around him, but no kisses, “not in front of everybody.”
And, finally, Skylar. Her smile brilliant, her eyes shining. Setting Georgia down and taking Skylar in his arms the same way he’d promised to do, lifting her off her feet, and twirling her while she clung to him and laughed. Not like a woman who was keeping her distance. Like a woman who was, just maybe, starting to believe. Especially when he kissed her.
He heard Scarlett saying,“Dad,”and the way she stretched it out to about three syllables. He just didn’t care. He kissed Skylar as well as he possibly could, then stepped back, grinned at her, and said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said, and smiled back. Looking happy. Looking beautiful.
So, yeh, that had been good. And sitting in the passenger seat while she drove them all home, as all three kids tried to talk at once, was the same lift of the heart as always, only better. Because it was the first time in five years he’d had this, and he’d missed it.
No Nan at home, because, Skylar told him, “They thought they’d wait and say hello tomorrow, before we go. They’re at my house tonight with my kids instead.”
“They’ve hardly been around at all at the weekends,” Duncan said. “They’ve been going all sorts of other places instead. They took that really long ferry ride to Tiritiri Matangi to look at the birds, because they’re mad about birds all of a sudden. And the Auckland Art Gallery allday,and they even went to Aussie! They went toMelbournelast weekend.Without us!”
“Because they mostly wanted to look at art,” Scarlett said. “Which would have been dull, so I don’t care as much. It’s all birds and art and exercise class now, though, and Nan says she’s hardly cooking when it’s just her and Mr. Bulstrode,because they’re taking it in turns. She says she’s retired, and she’s never been retired before, not really. Because she’s had to look after us, she means.”
“But Nanlovesus.” That was Georgia, of course.
“Of course she loves you,” Zane said. “Kicking up her heels a bit just now, though, and she deserves it. Got a whole week off now while we’re gone, I guess, so she can kick them up some more. I reckon you lot haven’t starved, though.”
“No,” Scarlett said, “because we’re still doing cooking school. Wait until you see what we made for you tonight, Dad. Just wait. It’s awesome.”
“We worked very hard,” Georgia said. “And we packed our suitcases, too, because tomorrow, we’re going to Fiji, where there are coconut trees, and you can climb up and get the coconuts!”
What had that dinner been? Pulled pork, that was what, with warmed wraps and avocado and sour cream and chopped salad, which they’d made into messy burritos and eaten with their faces hanging over the plates. Skylar still hadn’t said much, because the kids had wanted to tell him all the things they’d cooked and all the things they’d done. She wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgewise. And when Scarlett had brought out an iced chocolate cake on a plate and told him that she’d made it almost completely by herself, her face had glowed with pride and he’d had to give her an extra cuddle.
“Guess what’s in it, Daddy,” Georgia had said, bouncing up and down in her chair while he took his first bite of the decadent, moist concoction. Breaking training a bit, but you had to encourage your daughter’s efforts, didn’t you?“Guess.”
“Chocolate?” he asked.
Duncan said, “Of course it has chocolate. That’s not a very good guess.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Sugar?” He looked at Skylar, who wasstill glowing, too. In fact, she looked like she had a candle inside, that was how warm and vibrant she seemed. How had he forgotten that?
“Daddy,”Georgia said. “You have toguess.”
“Meat,” he said, which made Georgia shriek. “Soy sauce. Tomatoes.”
“No,”Georgia said. “It’s?—”
“I get to say,” Scarlett said. “I made it. It’s beetroot!”
