“You’ve got to go back,” Hana urged over breakfast the next morning at her parents’ modest house in Napier on the North Island, situated on the placid harbor. “You’ll never be at peace with yourself,” she counseled. She leaned forward across the table. “You’ll always be wandering and wondering.”
I smiled wryly to myself. “All last night I kept thinking what it would have been like to have found this out when my daughter was two, or ten, or a teenager, or . . . But to find it out now, after all these years, I’m not sure how I feel. She’s a grown-up, her adult life has already begun.” I widened my eyes and raised my head to keep from tearing up again. “She’s getting married, for God’s sake.”
“It’ll worm itself into you and gnaw at your soul for the rest of your life if you don’t meet her,” Hana said.
“But how do I explain not wanting to have her?”
“Her mother wanted her, and that’s all that matters to her.”
Hana’s father, Frank, came in, interrupting us. He was a stout man with the identifying features of a full Māori. “Well, I’m off,” he announced. He taught English and te reo at a local high school. He extended his hand to me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miles.”
I stood and took his hand. It was large and bearlike in mine. “The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“We enjoyed the conversation,” he said. “You live a most fascinating life.”
Frank walked off. A car started and motored away. It was now only Hana and me looking at each other over the table. She said:
“I booked your flight to Auckland.” She handed me back my credit card. “Have you decided?”
I stared at my card for the longest moment, then nodded up and down. “Yeah. I’m going home.”
Hana smiled, stood, and, for the first time ever, took my hand in hers. “Come on, Miles, let’s go,” she whispered, squeezing my hand and then letting it go. “You’ve got a date with destiny.”
“Her name’s Leila.”