your life last night, what d’you reckon?”
“In the river. I think so. That I didn’t panic, because I know how to push beyond what I think I can do. And …” I paused.
“And what?” he asked. “I want to hear.”
“Why?” It was easier to ask, out here, looking across the wide expanse of blue water to the mountains beyond. Restful to the heart, Lake Wanaka, as it always had been for me. “We’re nothing but complication, and I’m guessing you may have some complication already. Migraines and all. Why do you want to hear?”
“Dunno, really,” he said. “Because you’re interesting, I guess.”
“The cult thing,” I said. “Let’s run back. Or jog, because your head. Did you mean it, about the pizza?”
“Course I did. I love pizza. And it’s not just the cult thing. It’s possibly more of a you-thing.” He was obligingly beginning something that could, perhaps, be called a jog, but was probably more of an “I could actually walk as fast as you jog, but I’ll pretend I’m jogging.”
When I didn’t say anything, he prompted, “So how else did triathlons save you last night?”
Maybe I answered because he’d won our race, and because he’d been so graceful in the winning. “I think …” I started, then had to wait while I sorted it out in my mind. “Belief, I guess. I don’t think I would have dared to do the things I’ve done, especially going back to Mount Zion, without that. When you set a physical goal and achieve it, you really start to believe that you can change, that your life can change. You realize that hard things are possible, even though it takes a while. Step by step. My theme song, I guess. A song I heard early on, after we got out. It’s an old one, Whitney Houston. You won’t have heard it. In Mount Zion, the only thing you hear is worship music. Not even regular hymns. They’re written specially, and they’re absolutely terrible.” He laughed, which was good. “So,” I went on, “pop music? It was a pure revelation. And YouTube … How do I explain YouTube? Beyoncé, how proud and strong and confident she was—she was the first one. Then Taylor Swift, singing about some breakup. I don’t know how many breakups Taylor Swift has had, but they’ve fueled some songs, haven’t they?”
“Not sure,” he said. “Not too familiar with the discography of Taylor Swift.”
“You’re laughing at me. But you can’t imagine how outlaw that radio-friendly pop music seemed to me. All the things I’d been thinking all my life, knowing I’d go to Hell for, those women were saying. Plus they were wearing tight clothes. And makeup. Don’t get me started on my mistakes in the beginning. Do not use Beyoncé as your makeup model.”
“All right,” he said. “I won’t. But I can imagine a bit, maybe. When I look at your sisters, and then I look at you. Fruitful will be all right. A bit rebellious, which will help. Obedience, though…”
“Yes,” I said. “Obedience. Fruitful convinced her to come. I hope she’ll stay. Between Dorian and me, and Fruitful, I hope she’ll stay.”
He said, “The transition won’t be as hard for them as it was for you, surely, with the two of you out here already. What was it like at first for you? Where did you go?”
“Here. I came here. That was when I found out about the Wanaka Tree. Which you have on your wall.”
“I do. Bit of a cliché, maybe.”
“Don’t say that.” I was, suddenly, fiercely angry at the thought of him censoring himself like that, dismissing himself. “It’s a symbol. Symbols are important.”
“Right,” he said. “That’s why I have it on my wall, then. Because I like it. Tell me about how it matters to you.”
“I don’t think I can tell that story quickly.”
“No worries. We have five kilometers.”
I’d been right. I had to ease into it. “At the beginning, then. The people we were staying with—Roger and Pamela—well, Pamela gave us a lift into town sometimes, those first weeks. Once we had clothes to wear and didn’t feel so … odd. Once she’d cut my hair the first time.”
He didn’t ask the question I’d thought he would, about who Roger and Pamela were. Instead, he asked, “Cut your hair?”
“You’re not allowed to cut it, in Mount Zion. A woman is never allowed to cut her hair.”
“Never?”
Why is it so much easier to talk when you’re running side by side? Endorphins, probably, and lack of eye