Still disoriented, Erin sent a single text.
Erin: I am fine and will head straight home.
Claire: ENJOY YOUR DRIVE IN THE FIAT. IT’S YOUR LAST ONE.
THIRTY-THREE
Saturday morning, Jade arrived in a vintage Honda. As promised, she’d borrowed her cousin’s bike and loaded it next to her own on the back rack.
“Hop in!”
Erin said, “I thought we were biking.”
“We’re driving to the Port Hills first.”
Erin hadn’t brought a Hokey Pokey container. “You said no windy roads.”
“Relax. We’re going partway up. No mountains. No real switchbacks.”
To a girl from the flat Midwest, the Port Hills were mountains. And while they paled in comparison to the Southern Alps, they were plenty big enough to nauseate her during the drive.
“Under the seat,” Jade said.
Erin withdrew a punnet—cookies n’ cream—and held it in her lap. “Well, I’m ready.”
“Sweet as.”
“You’re always saying that. I get what it means, but where did it come from? Sweet as what? Sweet as pie? Sweet as a peach? There has to be something there.”
Jade considered that as they drove into hills that were actually mountains. The relatively flat city stretched below them, from the foot of the hills clear out to the ocean. Beyond the ocean were more mountains, where New Zealand curved in on itself. From a distance, Christchurch was picturesque. Gorgeous.
Near the top of the hill, Jade said, “I think we mean ‘sweet as can be.’ Or ‘big as can be.’ ‘Clever as can be.’”
“See? Now that makes sense.”
Jade parked on a residential street. “Here we go.”
Erin shifted her weight awkwardly while Jade unloaded the bikes and strapped on a huge backpack.
“Was I supposed to bring something? I didn’t bring anything.”
“Nope. I’ve got you covered.”
“Okay.” Sweet as can be.
Jade adjusted the bike seat and threw Erin a helmet from the back seat of the car. On foot, she led Erin across brown grass that probably belonged to someone’s farm, transferred the bikes over a gate, and double-checked their gear.
Jade said, “The Port Hills live between Christchurch and Lyttelton, a port city. The view from the top is spectacular. You want to lead?”
“I hardly know where we’re going.”
“There’s a path.”
“I might be slow.”
“All right then. Holler if you want me to stop.” Jade threw her leg over the bike and clipped her shoes into its pedals. Erin cringed. If Jade crashed, her bike would stay attached all the way down the hill.
Jade was off, and Erin tried to keep up. Halfway up—or what she believed was halfway up—Erin panted, standing on the pedals so her body weight kept her going. Jade zoomed ahead.
Holy crap.
Jade crested the hill and disappeared. There was water over there, but how far down? She probably stopped just on the other side of the crest, right?
Erin hoped she’d stopped. This was real work. Way harder than a couple miles in a pool. Harder than swimming in the ocean. Erin felt out of shape, and she was in great shape. Then again, she had never biked in the mountains before, let alone up and down them. Swimming and biking must be two different shapes.
Her thighs screamed as she crested a mini-hill—where Jade hadn’t stopped. Erin couldn’t even coast to follow her. The trail dipped briefly before climbing again.
Erin stopped long enough to rip off her windbreaker and fleece, then followed for another twenty minutes, catching a glimpse of Jade each time she crested a hill. Eventually, she fell so far behind that she caught only a glance of Jade’s helmet cresting a peak in the distance.
She didn’t think she’d make it, but when she crested that peak Jade was sitting comfortably on the ground, digging through her backpack.
“Hi! Have a sit.” Jade was breathing normally.
Erin lay in the grass near Jade to catch her breath. She was beat. New Zealand was winning. Erin stared at the cloudless blue sky, which went on forever. Maybe because the houses were short, or maybe because she was on a mountain top, the sky felt different. Bigger.
“We can’t bike down the other side. No way I’d make it back up here.”
“Bit dramatic, aren’t you?” Jade said. “You’re the fastest girl in the pool!”
Erin closed her eyes. “I was utterly unprepared for this. You are a beast! Give me a week or two and I’ll be able to keep up.”
“Right on.” Jade produced three sandwiches and handfuls of chocolates. “Tried pineapple lumps?”
Erin shook her head.
“They aren’t really pineapple. It’s like a chocolate fish, but pineapple-y.”
Erin hadn’t tasted chocolate fish either, but any chocolate sounded appetizing. She bit a pineapple lump in half, but the chocolate coating was waxy, and the filling was … not pineapple.
Jade noticed her expression. “I’ll have it.” She popped the other half into her mouth and it was gone. “So, this is what I wanted to show you: Lyttelton and its port.”
Erin had been so preoccupied with catching her breath that she hadn’t soaked in the view. Christchurch and the ocean lay behind them, but before them several mountains harbored a small bay and a busy shipping port.
“Wow.”
“So glad you like it. It’s not even one of the most beautiful places on the South Island. You’ll see. Before Christmas, go to Hokitika. There aren’t any shops in Christchurch like it anymore. Find some kiwi stuff to take home.”
“And Hokitika is beautiful?”
“Not so you’d notice. It’s an artist town on the Tasman Sea. The beautiful part is Hokitika Gorge.”
“I dunno, Jade. This is pretty amazing.”
“It is. But you’ll find better spots. Beaches and mountains, lakes and springs. We’ve got loads of great stuff. You’ll find the places that are for you.”
They sat in silence for a long while. A container ship entered the port and Erin recalibrated her brain several times: each brightly colored block was the size of a railcar. Or a semitruck’s haul.
“What do you think is in those containers?” Erin asked.
“Everything,” Jade said.
“Everything?”
“Everything not made in New Zealand. Those containers are the reason we have bell peppers, tomatoes, and other produce that doesn’t grow in winter. So
