“How’s that?” Hank asked.
Erin fanned a rainbow of paper—pink, blue, orange, red, purple, green. Each denomination was physically a little larger than the last, so the ten was longer and wider than the five, but shorter and stubbier than the twenty.
“It’s like Monopoly money. Have you seen ours?” She pulled out the American bills sitting idly in her wallet. “All green, all the same size, fitting neatly into my wallet.
“Fine for you, innit? But what if you don’t know your numbers?”
“Maybe if you don’t know your numbers, you shouldn’t be handling money.”
Hank couldn’t counter that. “What about people who are blind? Colors don’t matter to them, but they can tell by size whether they’re using the right note. Or whether someone is trying to cheat them.”
Now Erin had no counter. She studied the New Zealand bills. Every bill had a bird on the back—no kiwis—and royalty on the front.
“And who is this woman?”
“Kate Sheppard.”
“Past … president?” Erin asked.
“Women’s suffrage.”
“Voting rights for women. Pretty recent, then?”
“Nah, nineteenth century. New Zealand was first in that race.”
Stunned, Erin stared at her money again. History wasn’t her thing, but she knew women hadn’t been able to vote until the flappers. Nineteen twenties, maybe?
What else could New Zealand do better than the States?
SIXTY-NINE
One sunny Friday in mid-November, everyone celebrated Show Day, which meant no one had to work. Erin had taken a hard pass on Pippa’s invitation to what sounded like a county fair, and instead found herself lying next to Hank in his hammock. His left leg hung over the side, so every few minutes he rocked them gently.
Waiting for Gloria and Jade, with whom they were heading to a beach bonfire, Hank said, “I could live in this hammock. For a while. I could be happy here for a whole holiday.”
He closed his eyes.
“I badly want you to meet Lalitha.”
“You think we’d get on?”
“I know you would. And Marama, too. Honestly, I think Litha’s jealous of both of you. You’re in my time zone. You both get me in person. On more than one occasion, she’s referred to my time as ‘sloppy seconds.’ She knows how much I like you.”
He smiled.
“Hank.”
Eyes open.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything”
“For the first three months I knew you, I was not interested. And then I got to know you. You’re kind. And you’re smart. Clearly. And well-read. So, why did you leave school? I get that New Zealand needs people in construction, but you’re smart enough to go to school.”
“Yeah, but it’s not what I want. I like using my hands and working outside.”
“Going to college would keep your options open.”
“That’s not a good enough reason to go.” He rolled onto his side to face her, not smiling. “I could be in year thirteen right now, but for what? Pass my exams and go to more school. For what? Engineering? Architecture? More school? More school, so I can sit at an office for the rest of my life.”
“But you could have a much better life!”
Those deep chocolate eyes stared at her blankly. “Better how? I’m happy.”
“Everyone is always so happy here. My bus driver, my teachers, the people who work on the roads are smiling half the time, even in the rain. Checkers at the grocery store. They can’t really be happy, can they? Are they just complacent?”
“It’s just where they fit, Erin. I’m great with my hands. I love working outside. I was finished with sitting in a classroom all day.”
“But you’re so smart. You should use your brain to make something of yourself.”
He rolled onto his back, staring at the remarkable, cloudless sky. “I am something. I’m a very, very happy bloke. I can support myself and have pretty much everything I need.”
“Get a better job and you could have great vacations and a much, much bigger house.”
“Yeah? So tell me about your life back in Chicago. Tell me about this much, much bigger house.”
Feeling defensive, she said, “It’s fabulous. Four bedrooms. Four full and two half baths. All our baths except the second guest room’s have extra-wide tubs.” She described the basement exercise room, the flat-screen TVs, and the dining room that sat twelve.
“How else is your house in the States different than here?”
“There’s just more room! The third floor was my playroom as a kid, and now it’s where I practice cello and hang out with … people Saturday nights. I have a huge walk-in closet.”
“Your parents have one, too? I assume they didn’t give you the best room in the house.”
“Their suite takes up the whole back of the house. Bedroom, walk-in closet, and a great bathroom with separate shower and Jacuzzi.”
“And where do you spend your time in the house?”
“My room or the third floor. The basement if I’m watching movies.”
“And where do your parents hang out?”
“Dad reads at the kitchen table after dinner, usually until bed. Mom works on the sofa if she’s working. Or watches TV in the living room.”
“So you three spread out all over the house, so you never see each other at all. If I got a big job with big pay—which doesn’t really work here like it works in the States but, you know, sake of argument—I get this huge house, and for the few waking hours when I’m home, I will have more space. And when I go on holiday—and I haven’t a shit show of going on holiday after I’ve paid for a mansion—you think I should stay at a hotel alone instead of an RV park. That’s not life, Erin.”
“No! My parents spend lots of weekends on their law partners’ sailboats. See? Money can get you a sailboat.”
“Erin, I have a sailboat now.”
“You do not.”
“I do. Walk ’round the shed.”
Erin crawled out of the hammock and circled his shed to find an old sailboat—not a sunfish, but a genuine sailboat.
Hank laid his hands on her shoulders.
“You snuck up on me,” she said.
“Sorry. I know I came down
