‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’ Turned out there was no statute of limitations on driving offences, and over the decades her unpaid fines had racked up a lot of interest. The lawyer, who promised to get her out of the charges and minimise the costs, proved to be overly optimistic. ‘A danger to road safety’ was the phrase heard. Could there be, Dorothy wondered, a statute of limitations on regret? A question to keep to herself.
‘We need to get the fan on. Sit down and have some water.’ Dorothy inched between the car in front and the dinged, flaky bonnet of Grace’s car. She sat behind the steering wheel and started the engine, and switched the air conditioner to high. After a few moments frigid air blew around them. ‘Bliss,’ said Dot.
‘This is bad for the planet,’ said Grace.
‘I know.’
Back at the house, Grace laid Meg down in the cot. The baby rolled onto her front and put her thumb in her mouth, exhausted. ‘You’re a good mother,’ Dorothy said when her daughter was back in the kitchen.
‘You can’t stay here any more.’ Grace’s voice wobbled.
Dorothy opened the pantry door, took out a small cardboard packet of raisins and lifted the flap with her thumbnail, loosened a few of the sticky black blobs and put the box next to the container of lunch that waited for Meg to awake. ‘You’re always so well prepared,’ she said.
‘I wanted to last till you could drive again. Or found an apartment. But you’re not even looking.’ Grace tipped sideways and donked her head on the wooden bench. ‘Sorry, I know you’re not a project.’
‘Darling,’ said Dorothy. ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t feel bad. You’ve been so generous. All of you children, I know it’s not easy having your divorced mother living with you.’
‘Dad’s dating again, did you know that? He joined some online group. Why don’t you? It’s perfectly acceptable now.’ His relationship with Jennifer had not survived the divorce. Dorothy saw her once, walking her dog, also curly and golden, on the beach at Takapuna. That sickening moment as she approached, Dot waiting for the encounter to pass, afraid she might just flip out and throw herself writhing to the sand. Dot had said hello. Jennifer pretended not to hear. She’d yelled it to the woman’s back, the arm that casually swung one of those plastic ball-throwers, a long thin scoop that made her think of a speculum. Hello, Jennifer. Tossed on the wind.
‘Good for him.’
‘That guy, what about him, that photo by your bed?’
‘He lives in Spain. He’s married. He’s just an old friend.’
‘We think you’re frightened of being on your own. Us kids. That’s what we think.’
‘Right. I see.’ She could tell Grace was waiting for her to say something more. The warm, dark smell of raisins wrinkled through the air.
The commune had expanded from the few prefabs and A-frames it consisted of over fifty years ago. Dorothy didn’t remember the way it looked; nothing would be exactly the same except the stern rocks, covered in lichen. She longed to lie on the ground with Eve, looking at Daniel wand the baseball bat, practising his swing.
They found Michael in the vegetable patch at the top of a dusty path, and the children squinted at his white ponytail, his missing-toothed smile, and solemnly accepted handfuls of soft, cloud-shaped raspberries fresh from the canes. Dorothy showed them the sunflowers while he walked Amsi and Grace around the beans and lettuces and thick-veined leaves of some other vegetable, perforated with snail holes. ‘We really have to go,’ Grace said, and the boy ran back down the hill, tumbling into gravity’s embrace, the adults coming after. There were brief goodbyes – Frankie’s fierce squeeze, his head thudding into her pillowy middle, the show hug of the little girl, reaching out from Grace’s arms to pat her cheeks, then the young family shut their car doors and drove off, taking the cattle stop slowly, leaving Dorothy standing there, the poker-worked sign that announced the commune’s presence swinging from its hooks. She began the walk back up through the fine dry earth and trees to Michael, and the luggage she had left with him.
In the empty cabin she was given her suitcase looked too flash, out of place, and her knapsack leaned like a person against the end of the wire-wove bed. ‘Smells a bit musty,’ Michael said, ‘but no one’s lived here since Rena died.’
Dorothy opened the stiff, small window opposite the bed. A bee drifted