Hana waited as Caleb dragged himself up the ramp to his motel room, situated along a lane next to the main hotel. The museum curator followed in his wheelchair, watching as the teenager coped with his crutches on the wooden deck.
“Youse more pathetic than me,” Will grunted, holding the wheelchair halfway up the ramp using the strength in his rippling biceps and Hana shot him a look of rebuke.
“I offered you to go up first!” she hissed. “He can’t help it.”
“Didn’t know youse’d be all day,” Will grumbled, his face scowling so that the dark eyes became obscured by the drooping grey eyebrows. Phoenix sat on Will’s knee in the chair, adding to the ballast.
“I’ll push you,” Hana offered, switching Mac to her left hip and reaching out for the wheelchair handle with her right hand.
“Don’t!” Will snapped. “I got no legs. Me brain works fine. Last time I let you push me anywhere we ended up in the bushes.”
Hana withdrew the proffered hand. “That wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know the ramp would be icy.”
A ranch slider hissed on its runner as it drew back, disgorging the guest in the far room. The man strode out and seeing the ramp filled with people, changed direction and leapt the low railing enclosing the widow’s walk in a single fluid leap. He landed on the gravel below and moved towards the knot of bodies with a blank look on his angular face. “What’s up?” he asked, directing his question at Will.
Hana pursed her lips and ignored Logan’s new stable manager, still seething and embarrassed by their last encounter.
“Kid’s moving in next door to you,” Will grunted, smiling to reveal neat, pink gums. “The missus likes her staff all broken.”
Hana glared at him, resenting his reference to her tendency to ally with those whom the rest of society wrote off without a second glance. “You’d know,” she muttered, avoiding the sight of his trouser legs tucked beneath his stumps. The low chuckle Will emitted shook his body and Phoenix perched on his knee, joining in the merriment without understanding. Will reached out an arm and spanked Hana’s thigh, realising the stupidity of the movement as the released wheel slewed backwards, arcing him towards the safety rail and bushes beyond. Phoenix’s eyes opened wide in horror and she gripped Will’s thighs in a pinch which made him roar.
The stable manager moved with incredible speed, leaping the rail and snatching up the wheelchair handle just in time to yank it back into line. The chair stopped its horrible backwards descent and Phoenix let out a peel of laughter which sounded maniacal on the quiet terrace. Will gave the tall man a look of gratitude and then yelled at Caleb as the teenager made his tortoise maneuver. “Get a bloody shifty on, boy!” he shouted. “I got no legs and I get on better with crutches than you! I could’ve got to Auckland by now!”
“When can it be my turn on your knee?” Wiri asked with a whine in his voice.
“Sorry!” Caleb exclaimed. He leaned against the side of the building, his face pale and sweat beading on his forehead. “It hurts.”
“Just stand there,” Hana said, pressing her hand against his chest. “Let Will go past before he bursts a blood vessel.”
With the stable manager’s help, Will hauled himself up the rest of the ramp and wheeled to his motel room, stopping half way along the deck. He retrieved the key from his breast pocket and ignored Hana’s presence, speaking to Phoenix and Wiri, as the little boy bounced up and down next to him. “Let’s get inside and see what old Will’s got for you in his fruit bowl.”
Hana glared at the curator’s back, a look which also took in the new stable manager, his spine ramrod straight as he pushed the chair into the room and disappeared. She looked at the teenager as he let out a sigh. “Sorry,” Caleb said. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass.”
“You’re not.” Hana transferred her hand from his chest to his upper arm, fearful he might plummet south onto the wooden surface. His hands shook on the crutches and a greyness entered his pallor. As the first of the crutches went out from beneath his trembling body and he began to slide down the wall, Hana screamed for help. “I can’t hold him,” she shouted, balancing Mac and trying to hold Caleb upright. His slender body felt like a dead weight slumping against her, dragging her down with him. Hana’s brain took in the sharp edges of the weatherboard and the deck rail, knowing she’d hurt Mac if she fell sideways. “Help me!” she wailed, feeling Caleb become weightless as strong hands pushed between them, alleviating her burden.
The stable manager dipped his tall body and shoved his head under Caleb’s arm, lifting him over his shoulder like a fireman. Out cold, the boy grunted and the crutches fell away with a clatter. “Where’s he going?” the stable manager demanded and Hana forced her shocked self to react. She reseated Mac on her hip and darted past Will’s open door to unlock the ranch slider of the next room.
“In here,” she said, shoving the door aside and watching as the man carried Caleb over the threshold.
The stable manager spun on his feet for a second, rejecting the lounge and its two seater sofa in favour of the double bed in the room behind. An expanse of white cast dangled from Caleb’s knee like a millstone, pulling one leg longer than the other. The man lay Caleb down with surprising care and stood back. “Not good,” he muttered, He put his hands up to the teenager’s throat and Hana tensed, watching as he undid the zipper on Caleb’s jacket and rested a hand over his chest. “He’s still breathing,” he said. “But he’s unconscious.” Worried eyes darted back towards Hana. “An ambulance will take ages. Call the local doctors and get one of them to come out here.”
Hana looked down at her mobile phone and her heart sank at the lack of signal. The motel unit telephone sat on a sideboard and she reached for it and dialled zero for reception. She tapped the carpet with the toe of her boot, waiting for the receptionist to answer. Will’s wheels made a steady rumble along the deck as he travelled down to investigate and Wiri’s anxious face appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Marla.” Hana exhaled with relief as the phone gave a click and the receptionist’s voice came through the handset. “Could you find my brother, Mark?” Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, he’s still out? Then call Dr Seuli’s surgery please?” She gave a brief explanation and one last instruction. “Ask for Dr Francis.”
Hana disconnected and placed the phone back on its charger. Her mind raced, hoping the gentle elderly doctor made the home visit priority. She winced at the thought of him pootling through the mountains in his tiny shoebox of a car, counting down the days to retirement and arriving confused about why he was there. A moment of panic visited at the same time she realised perhaps Dr Seuli might visit instead; Dr Seuli who made a statement to the cops which inferred she was crazy and implicated Logan in a murder. Hana closed her eyes and prayed for Dr Francis and his octogenarian bedside manner.
“What’s up, Linc?” Will’s face peered through the door, Phoenix still riding in his lap like the queen with her legs crossed and arms folded. Wiri held two bananas, one in each hand.
The stable manager glanced back at the door and shook his head. “Take the kids away,” he said. “He might throw up when he wakes.”
Will nodded and nudged Phoenix. “Hop off kōtiro,” he said. “It’s Macky’s turn.” As Phoenix rolled down the front of the chair grumbling, Will ignored Wiri’s protestations of fairness and held his arms out for Hana’s baby. “We’ll go to the swings,” he stated, brooking no argument and the objections halted, replaced by childish whoops of excitement.
Hana handed Mac over, settling him on the old man’s knee. He got eye contact with her, promising he’d be careful. She held her breath until she heard his chair grinding over the gravel, the ramp safely navigated.
“Won’t that baby fall out of his wheelchair?” the stable manager asked as he stripped Caleb’s body out of his jacket and lifted his scruffy tee shirt.
Hana shook her head and rushed over to help. “No, Mac’s ridden with him since he was born. He knows to hold on.” Together they pulled the tee shirt over the boy’s head. Caleb groaned and Hana stroked his cheek. “It’s all right, love. Help’s coming.” She squatted next to the bed and glanced over at the imposing man in the process of running water onto a cold flannel in the ensuite bathroom. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I think he’s reacting to the antibiotics,” the stable manager said. He bathed Caleb’s hot forehead with the flannel, a frown on his face. “How long does it take to get here from the surgery?”
“It depends who’s coming,” Hana said, chewing her lip. “Dr Francis could be ages. I thought my brother, Mark might help but apparently he’s still out with Alfred.”
“Where’s the medication he’s on?” the man said.
“In the car. I’ll get it.” Hana’s boot heels clicked as she ran along the deck and down the ramp. The gravel scrunched underfoot and she sped along the lane to the main car park and unlocked the passenger door. The white pharmacy bag lay in the foot well where Caleb dropped it and she snatched it up and locked her car before powering back to the motel room. Her companion spewed the contents onto the bed next to Caleb, an array of boxes and bottles bouncing on the comforter. He sorted through them with deft hands, throwing the pain killers aside and examining the antibiotics.
“Could he be on something else?” he demanded, squinting to read the tiny writing ordering Caleb to take two tablets every six hours with food. “A drug you don’t know about?”
“I don’t know,” Hana said. “I only met him the other day and that wasn’t conducive to questions about addictions.” She hissed with annoyance at herself, wondering if she’d bitten off way more than she could chew. “Look, he’s been in hospital for days, so anything he’s got on him came from there. I doubt he’s got other drugs or the energy to take them.”
“Bloody stupid bringing someone you don’t know around your kids,” the man bit, his tone barbed.
Hana swallowed, feeling his chastisement and turning the guilt into defensive anger. “I don’t know you!” she spat. “Maybe you should leave.”
The brown eyes turned in her direction, sparkling in challenge with lighter flecks gathered around the irises. “Your husband knows me just fine,” he replied.
“Lucky him,” Hana muttered. “But I didn’t think he employed assholes.”
“Equal opportunities,” he said, his tone lighter. “I’m in a minority group.”
“Whatever!” Hana stroked Caleb’s hot forehead and felt the dampness left from the flannel as the stable manager went to soak it again.
“Lincoln,” the man said, placing it on Caleb’s forehead with care. He stepped back and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“What?” Hana’s brow furrowed in confusion as she reached for Caleb’s floppy hand, wondering what a South Island city had to do with her current predicament.
“My name.” The stable manager stuck out a damp hand and Hana stared at it. Big knuckles and a bent index finger moved closer and she let go of Caleb and stood. “Lincoln. It’s my name. I’m not an asshole and I’d like to start again with you.” His lips twitched with a nervousness he managed to keep hidden most of the time and he jerked his hand. “Come on, put me out of my misery. Please.”
Hana stared at the giant hand and then raised her own, allowing it to be enclosed in the warm, damp palm. “Hana,” she said. “I’m the spokesperson for the asshole jury and I’m afraid they’re still out.”
The tanned skin around the brown eyes crinkled in amusement. “Nice to meet you, Hana.”
“I’m gonna chuck!” Caleb’s slurred speech caused them to leap apart and Lincoln dragged the limp teenager to the ensuite, holding him up over the toilet as he threw up for the best part of twenty minutes.