“The usual crazy crew,” Miriama said with a roll of her eyes, but those eyes were warm with affection. “Kev and Tamati and Boris.”

“I know all those names except Boris.”

“Backpacker who washed up here and decided to stay. A year now.” Miriama shook her head. “He’s from St. Petersburg. Decided he liked the quiet of the Cove better.”

“If he’s survived a winter already, maybe he’ll make it.”

“He keeps telling us he’s -Russian—-‘And Russians know winter. This is nothing.’ ” Dropping the thick Russian accent with a grin, she moved to her coffee machine. “What’s your poison?”

“Straight black,” Anahera said. “And I’ll take a decaf cappuccino, too. Both to go.”

Miriama made the drinks, then said, “Say hi to Jo for me.” She drew a smiley face on the cup meant for Josie.

“Will do. Thanks, Miri.” The Jeep had no cup holders, but thanks to the cardboard holder Miriama had provided, Anahera managed to make it to Josie’s without spilling. Her friend’s home was a small clapboard house painted a crisp white with a -blue--green trim. Josie had planted native ferns around the sides, hardy flowering plants out front.

Going to the door, Anahera tested the knob and, as expected, it turned easily. “Locks exist for a reason!” she called out so Josie wouldn’t get a fright when she walked in.

“You’d better have brought me a cappuccino!”

Anahera smiled and walked into the living room to find Josie sitting on a sofa, folding curtains of happy yellow with white daisies printed on them. Her breath stuck in her chest. “-Where—-” She took a desperate sip of coffee to wet her -bone--dry throat. “Where did you get those?”

“I saved them for you.” Josie’s smile was uncertain. “I’m sorry. Was that the wrong thing to do? I was worried they’d get moldy and damaged in the cabin after you left.”

Heart thundering, Anahera put the coffees on the small wooden table in front of Josie. “I thought they were gone,” she whispered, taking one of the crisply laundered and ironed curtains in her hands.

Josie touched her fingers to Anahera’s shoulder. “Your mum spent so much time making these. I couldn’t bear to have them just fade away.”

A lump of rock in her throat, Anahera nodded. She’d left behind everything but the greenstone carving she wore on a thin braided cord under her black sweater, and the memories in her heart. She’d thought she was beyond the idea of needing objects to remember the woman she’d loved so much, and whose embrace she missed to this day, but these curtains sang to her in her mother’s voice. “On that little sewing machine of hers.”

“I still have that, too,” Josie whispered. “You can have it back.”

Anahera shook her head. “She would’ve wanted you to have it.” That was why Anahera had given the machine to her best friend. “I can’t sew. Not like her.” Putting her hand on Josie’s, she squeezed. “Thank you.”

Josie’s misty eyes scanned her face. “Are you going to see your dad?”

Steel in her spine, black ice in her heart. “No.” She’d made her decision at -twenty--one and that was how it’d stay.

“He’s been sober for years.”

“That’s good. But it has nothing to do with me.”

And then they sat there, awash in memories of a woman with Anahera’s features but with silver in her hair and sadness in her eyes.

INTERLUDE

She examined her face in the mirror, tried to see if it showed.

But no, she looked the same as always.

Frowning, she sat on the narrow single bed and leaned down to lace up her running shoes. They were good shoes, with stripes of orange down the sides. She loved running in them. Probably she shouldn’t have accepted such an expensive gift, but her previous shoes had been falling apart to the point that she’d been considering running in bare feet.

Nothing worse than bad shoes, to her mind.

Getting up, she shut her bedroom door before moving down the hallway as quietly as possible. But he heard. He always did. Wandering into the doorway of the living room, he scratched at the flaccid white of his belly and leered. “Going for a run?”

“Tell Auntie I’ll be back in about an hour.” She’d become expert at slipping past his grabbing hands and was at the front door before he could move his unwashed body anywhere near her. She couldn’t understand how her aunt allowed him to touch her, but then, Auntie had always had -hang--ups about her weight.

Men like him took advantage of that. And of Auntie’s kindness.

She didn’t stretch by the house as she’d done before he moved in. She walked a little ways to a patch of green in front of an abandoned property that was falling down around itself. As she did her stretches, she let her mind roam. Which way should she run today? Through the lush green of the old trees and native ferns? Along the main road out of town? It tended to be pretty quiet at this time of the year. The worst she’d get was a toot or two from locals who recognized her.

Or should she run along the cliffs above the beach? Maybe the beach itself?

It was the light that decided her, such a glorious clarity to it, the fog and mist having burned off during the day. She’d have it for at least two more hours and Auntie wouldn’t worry if she was a little late getting home.