She was so proud, she copied off the story for all her friends.”
I’d never known that, but I could still remember my mother’s beaming face at the prize-giving ceremony held in Old Government House. Situated in lush green grounds full of old trees near Auckland’s city center, the ornate building had looked imposing and stuffy to the fourteen-year-old I’d been, but my mother had brushed off my shoulders, straightened my tie, and said, “Don’t ever allow anyone or anything to make you feel less, Aarav. You deserve to be here. You’ll always deserve to be in any place you put yourself.”
I’d still felt like a nerd as I accepted the award, but I’d been a proud nerd.
Afterward, my mother had asked me where I wanted to eat out to celebrate, and I’d chosen fish and chips on Karekare Beach. Distant from the city, with the glittering black sands of the West Coast, and unforgiving waves that had no mercy for the humans who dared dance in its fury.
“She went to a shoe store and bought sandals so she could trek the path to the beach at Karekare, because I wanted to celebrate with a picnic.” Karekare was no easily accessible city beach; the ocean was a thundering secret only visible to those who made the effort to find it. We’d had to make our way through sand dunes on paths that could grow searingly hot under sunlight. The journey required twice as much effort as walking on land.
I could almost feel the strain in my calves, the heat coming off the glittering sand. “The fish and chips were still warm when we got to the beach.” I’d never forget sitting there in my fancy dress pants and bare feet, my tie and jacket discarded in the car, and my shirtsleeves rolled up, with my mother laughing beside me as her salon-set hair flew back in the sea winds. “She was wearing a red dress.” Her favorite color, her lips the same vibrant hue.
“I was with her when she found that dress.” Diana’s voice was soft, entering my memories at a distance. “She was worried about taking the attention off you and was about to choose a simple black sheath, but then she said, “No, I want to celebrate my boy. Red is alive. Red is proud. Red says his ma is in the damn room and over the moon.”
My chest knotted up. “I’m glad.” It came out rough.
My mother had never been a plain-black-dress kind of woman.
Diana and I sat there for another fifteen minutes in easy company. At one point, I indicated a particular photo. “That hasn’t changed. Your rose garden. Always the best on the block.”
“I have to admit to being a little gleeful about constantly outshining Veda and Brett’s landscaping company. They don’t seem to understand that roses won’t thrive without constant care. I don’t know why they even bothered with the ones near their front door, when the rest of their property is low-maintenance native planting.”
A pause before she scrunched up her face. “I do feel bad for them right now though, with their dog and everything. But they can be so unpleasant that I don’t even dare go over with a cake and sympathy as I would for anyone else in the Cul-de-Sac.”
The dog was a subject on which I would never have anything to say, so I brought things back to a far nicer subject. “I remember my mum on her knees beside you in the garden one time. I was shocked.”
Startled laughter. “Yes, Nina, she was terrible at that kind of thing. But I suppose she knew I needed a friend that day and so she got sucked in. Oh, do you remember the day she danced in the rain and Paul and Margaret came out to join her? They loved her spirit, those two.”
It was only as I was about to leave that my eye fell on the package from Sarah, and I found myself remembering why Diana had needed help with the rose garden. Sarah had destroyed a lot of the roses when she left, ripping them out as if she were ripping out the roots of her relationship with Diana.
At least with Sarah, Diana still had a chance to rebuild the bond. I’d never again have that chance. But maybe I could help Diana.
Taking out my notebook after I was on the street, I made a note:
Try to contact Sarah.
It was possible she’d talk to me where she wouldn’t