Page 56 of Graciously His

“Right you are. There’s nothing like it, girl. Tiredness inside every single muscle, every movement felt like a strain.” She gives a shudder. “Eileen had me do some more tests, and those results were not perfect. She changed my meds and here I am,” Mihi gestures at herself, encompassing the strong quads visible through her jeans, “feeling as good as I look.”

The conversation makes me think of Mother, of all the tests she had done before she finally gave up on finding the underlying cause of her hair loss.

“Did your hair thin, when you were on the other meds?”

We reach the end of the beach, and Mihi sits herself down on a boulder by the tidepool. “Oh yeah. But you’d never know, with this big mop of mine.” She points at her thick hair, sprinkled liberally with grey.

“Do you still see Eileen?”

“Sure, when I need to.” Mihi smiles into the morning sun. “Just to make sure things stay good. And usually they do.”

We sit in companionable silence, broken by Shep barking at the black-backed gulls hunting for breakfast in the shallows. After some time in the sun, we turn back, our steps sinking into the soft sand, my mind already on the oncoming appointment.

“Hadley made the appointment for you, eh?” Mihi asks as we draw within sight of the house again.

Nate isn’t waiting for us on top of the cliffs this time.

“That’s right,” I say. “We had our first video call yesterday, and she’s coming out this morning for some bloodwork.”

Mihi steps a bit nearer. “Hadley’s a helpful sort, but his help tends to be a bit much. I told him straight up to ask me next time he lined up a new doctor to see me, and I had to force him to let me pay for myself.” I peer into her eyes, shocked, and she nods. “That’s right. He’s a generous man but he’ll control everything around him if he’s allowed to. Set some lines down, girl, then make him respect them.”

I look up, seeing the curving line of the house. “I don’t think that’ll work. At least not for me.”

“Oh, you’ll handle him,” Mihi says, patting my shoulder, “mark my words, you will. He’s a willful kind, but the healthier you get, the thicker you’ll draw those lines.”

“Maybe.” My toes are getting cold in the wet sand. “He’s helping me get better, but I don’t think he’ll ever stop. He wants to take care of everything.”

“That’s fine and good,” Mihi states, and I stare, incredulous. She laughs, drawing close and sideswiping me into a hug. “Let him take on the hard things, Grace, just put down those lines. When you’ve had enough and he oversteps,” she cuts her hand firmly between the two of us, “stop him. Yes?”

I shrug, though I wish I could answer in the clear affirmative she’s after.

“Same time tomorrow?” I ask instead.

“I’ll be here,” she confirms.

***

After my walk with Mihi and Shep, I sit myself down at the desk in the bedroom to modify my bullet journal. Instead of confessing the truth to Nate—that I need my pens to continue filling the spreads and charts—I decide to use the high-quality fine liners I found in a drawer. I’ll journal in greyscale rather than my usual pastels and jewel tones. Normally, I do monthly spreads with an accompanying theme; this time, I won’t wait until the month is out to start a new chapter. The break will mark the end of my life with Nick in Dunedin, and the beginning of my life here. I’m sure that, once he notices, Nate will take issue. But I think of Mihi as I perfect my designs on scrap paper. I need to set lines down and get behind them.

I get started, filling in the last few days with patterns rather than colours. Spirals for orange. Hearts for turquoise. Hashes for purple. Squiggles for blue. Tiny dots for green. And wee stars for yellow. I’m using the edge of a business card to trace a new pain tracker when I hear Shep’s distant barks from outside. I snap the journal closed, put the pens away in their box, and take the lot with me.

I’m just making my way up the curved corridor when I walk right into Nate.

“Whoa, love,” he says, his hands coming down on my shoulders. He peers into my eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I say, looking past him, eager to greet Eileen. It’s been just the two of us in the house, and I want to see how the space feels with someone else in it. “Where’s the doctor?”

“I told her to wait in the lounge.” He steps close, backing me into a small alcove beneath a high window, one of a few that line the curving hallways for air circulation. “How was your walk with Mihi?”

“Fine.” I try to push past him.

“What’s that in your hand, Grace?”

I show him the journal and pens, then gesture forward. “I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“You’ve been journalling this morning?”

I finally meet his eyes. They’re blank. Dark. Keeping our negotiation last night in mind, I close my lips, refusing to answer. He’s already trying to infringe on my brand new lines, as Mihi might put it. It’s my journal and it’s private.