Page 31 of Bay of Plenty

“I’m sorry to hear this,” Declan said. He looked genuinely troubled and leaned closer to Dad. “That sounds tough.”

How at ease he was when someone talked about emotions and conflict. In contrast, I always turned twitchy and terse.Seems like I’m a lot like my mum.

Dad shrugged. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, being a fitter and turner at the mill wasn’t bad. It wasn’t my life’s blood, and working shifts all your life is tough. But I made a lot of good mates who’d do anything for me.” He pointed at the mass of flowers and cards on his dresser and a table in the corner. “Still, on the graveyard shift, I’d imagine myself sitting in a corner of my store, surrounded by that wonderful smell of new books.”

Declan’s face brightened as he mirrored Dad’s smile.

“I saw you have loads of biographies at the house,” Declan said. “I love those too.”

“Fascinating to get into the minds of other people and cultures, isn’t it?” Dad said. “Takes you out of yourself.”

We’d talked about mysteries when I was a kid, and he took me to the library every Friday night. We texted about them now. But this was a surprise. I’d never seen him as curious. I always got the impression that he and Mum thought ofjournalism as nosy and embarrassing and that I was making a nuisance of myself.

Dad had always left for work, his lunch or dinner packed, whistling a tune or with a smile on his face. I hadn’t considered whether he liked his job or that he’d dreamed of another life. Was this something more than simply being a normal kid who thinks of their parents as just parents, not people? Had I done to him what I felt everyone in the town had done to me? Judged and categorized?

Dad patted my hand, and his eyes rested on me.

“See, Isla?” he said. “That’s why I was keen to loan Snow money for the winery, to give him a steady income so he could build his dream of having a surf school.”

He’d learned, and Snow got the benefit of his learning.I pushed the jealous thought from my mind. I had to stop brooding about this; it wasn’t helping.

Declan and I exchanged a quick glance, his eyebrows raised at Dad’s naivete, a very different expression from when he was being supportive of Dad a moment earlier. What winery provided a steady cash flow?

“Thank you for getting me to talk about that, Declan.” Dad sniffed, his eyes watery. “Sort of sad in a way, I suppose. I’d hug you both if these damn tubes would let me.”

I reached in carefully and hugged him as best as I could, given all the tubes. Declan did the same. When I drew away, my vision was blurry.

“Isla, you’re lucky to have found such a good man,” Dad said, blinking quickly, like he was trying to get rid of the tears before Mum returned. Amid my mess of emotions, I felt dreadful about our deceit. “So chuffed about that, whatever happens with me.”

Declan said simply, “I’m the lucky one.”

He pressed his lips together tightly. He looked uncomfortable, which I hadn’t seen before, and I wondered if he was feeling as guilty about this as I was.

I clutched at Dad’s hand, both of us shaking. All I could think about were the risks.

“I love you, Dad.” I tried to smile, but my lips were trembling so much I was sure it looked more like a grimace.

“I love you too.” He looked frightened.

Why was this the first time we’d said this to each other?

He couldn’t leave us now. I’d just found out how similar we were.

I patted his hand. “Hey. I’ll start that mystery Kui got for you so we can discuss it tomorrow after the operation.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” His voice was wobbly. “That’s a definite.”

Mum arrived back with the tea. Later, Declan put one arm around me and the other around Mum as we walked out, silent, as we had this morning. Something had shifted in me. My eyes traced his profile as we drove home, his hand over the console, holding mine. His compassion made him seem… even more attractive.

It was almost impossible to believe he was acting toward Dad. Or with me. I so wanted to believe it wasn’t part of the ruse. But I couldn’t fall into this trap.

*

“Bloody nora! Have you seen Declan do those push-up clappy thingies on the beach? That man is ripped.” Rosemary gaped out our window, jaw slack.

I rose from the sofa. Declan was working out on the beach, bare-chested, every muscle on his back defined, sweat flying off him.

“Yep.” I stood with her, appreciating his body.

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