“Did I tell you someone was herding cows in the road when we drove down to Queenstown? It was hilarious.”
Hank said, “Yep. Happens a lot, especially in the wop wops.”
At Hokitika, they turned inland toward Hokitika Gorge and Hank said, “Solid ninety minutes in the car, and you haven’t chucked. I’m impressed.”
“There’s still time.”
Hank parked in a tiny lot and checked his watch for the ten millionth time. “Two hours, that’s it.”
“I’m not in a rush. Are you in a rush?”
He said, “We have one more stop, and we can’t be late.”
That deadline was a shame, because the gorge was, in fact, gorgeous: impossibly blue, still water pooled between boulders in a forest of evergreens. Mountains loomed all around as if this gem were here just for them.
“We don’t have time for both swimming and hiking. What’s your pleasure?”
She’d had enough hiking at Arthur’s Pass. “Let’s swim.”
“Down to your togs, then!” Hank ripped off his shirt, jumped off a boulder, splashed into the water, and screamed. “Dicey! It’s frigid.”
Erin stood at the water’s edge for an eternity.
“Come on in!” Hank said. “It’s like ripping off a plaster: best to do it all at once.”
“I’m not falling for that.”
“Come on. I did it for you!”
She ran toward the water and cannonballed two feet from him. Her head broke the water and she screamed, “Jesus!”
“Nope, still Hank.”
“It’s freezing!” She pulled herself up onto a cool rock.
“You prefer the hike, then?”
“Not now. Now I’ll freeze no matter what we do.”
“Back to the truck, then?”
She wrapped up in her towel while Hank dove underwater a few times. Hopping into the truck would warm her up for sure, but they’d only just arrived. And she knew Hank had other ideas. “It’s a long drive for a quick peek at a blue gorge.”
She peeled out of her suit and dressed in dry clothes.
Hank rubbed his hair and trunks with her towel. “It’s a short walk, really. Let’s go for it.”
_________
From the swing bridge, the electric blue water was mesmerizing.
“How is it so blue?” Erin said.
“It’s glacial water, for one. The rock flour makes it opaque.”
She hadn’t noticed it was opaque, didn’t even care when she jumped in—that’s how compelling the blue was.
“I feel like your country is constantly playing a game of one-upmanship with itself.”
He laughed. “It’s a South Island thing. If you come back, we’ll take you to the North Island. It’s a whole different story: cities and ten-lane highways and crowds.”
“I think. I think I might be a South Island girl.”
“I certainly hope so.” He kissed her for a long time. “Warming up?”
“Starting to. Back to the car?” She raised her eyebrows.
His watch. “We’re nearly out of time. Let’s make our last stop, and then maybe some time in the car?”
Erin couldn’t imagine anything more pressing than pressing their bodies together. She locked her arms behind his neck. “Let’s just stay here. Right here. South Island. Gorgeous gorge.”
He pulled back. “Nope. We need to finish the story, and it doesn’t end here.”
Hank pulled a pair of socks and a jersey from the backseat. Wearing them, she tucked up into a ball and warmed up. A half-hour later, they drove through the quaint town of Hokitika and parked near the shore. Hank leapt from the car, grabbed his blanket, and dragged her onto the beach.
“Here we go.” He spread out the blanket and lay on his belly, facing the water. “Quick. Quick!”
Erin stretched out next to him and followed his gaze, over shadows cast by tiny sand hills and onto the water. The wind had picked up, so whitecaps broke near and far. The sea appeared green and black, and broke into white frothy caps. An inch above the horizon, the orange sun threatened to take a dip.
Oh.
Sunset was like a larger-than-life rainbow, without the green … unless she counted the sea’s deep green. Erin and Hank lay in silence as the sun dipped its toes into the ocean and slid in.
The sun had set over the ocean trillions of times. While she’d lived intensely in Wheaton, waves had crashed onto this shore. Waves crashed, mountains loomed, shells washed in and out with the tide. Since before she was born. Since before anyone was born!
The gorgeous sunset would repeat tomorrow and the next day, regardless of where she was and what she was doing.
She whispered, “Sunrise over the ocean. Sunset over the ocean.”
Hank said, “The Tasman Sea, but you get the idea. No matter where you go, or what you do, I hope you will remember spending the longest day of the year with me.”
“Thank you.”
As darkness descended around them, Erin rested her cheek on her hands, facing Hank.
“Naked swim?” he said.
“Can we do that?”
“Course we can do that.”
Near the water, they dropped their clothes and ran into the chilly sea. For an hour, they frolicked, naked, under a crescent moon in the deep charcoal sky.
“Thank you for giving me the day,” Hank said.
In neck-deep water, Erin wrapped her arms around Hank and kissed him as if it were the last time. “I’ll never forget this.”
Erin wanted it to be true. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d be gone—for a while, at least. And she desperately wanted to hold onto the part of herself she’d found in New Zealand.
Forever.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
The next morning, Erin found Felicity in her bedroom.
“Felicity?”
She looked up from her book. “Yes, love? How was your day with Hank?”
“Wonderful. Just—it was amazing. How was your day?”
“Great. Pippa ran with her pack all day, naturally. That’s how summer is: see her for brekkies, see her for tea, and she’s off the rest of the day.”
“I love that,” Erin said. “My summers were like that, a long time ago.”
Felicity smiled. “And I got heaps done in the garden. I was thinking you’ll miss the feijoa if you don’t come back in January.”
“Feijoa?”
“It’s the tree beside the swing set. Lovely fruits.”
Erin stared at Felicity, trying to convey with
