Miracle In March Read online

  ‘I know you did, and I’m grateful. I wasn’t saying that…that…’ Oh, how could he turn this around without his father getting hurt? ‘I just want to do what’s right for my son, and me. For us. I’m realising that society’s norms aren’t necessarily norms after all. There’s a lot of evidence that alternative forms of education can be just as good, if not better, for certain kids.’

  Martin shrugged. ‘I guess things have changed a bit from when you kids were young.’

  They sat in silence, the strong briny scent that had greeted them on arriving undetectable now. There was calm here, and peace, but also an echo of emptiness. Although he knew his father loved him, he just wanted to feel for once that he was proud of him, and that he was good enough. To get some kind of inkling that no matter what decisions he made from now on, no matter how his life unfolded, that his dad would be okay with it. That he wouldn’t wish it to be better or more successful than it was. He wanted acceptance. To feel loved, complete. The way he’d felt about Jackson when he was born…

  Adrenaline fuelled James’ body after hours of waiting for the big moment, and when that final push came and Stacey collapsed back in pain and exhaustion, all of a sudden his baby was out and in his arms. The tiny squashed being screamed at the top of his lungs as James held him with strong but shaky arms for the first time, and his heart overflowed with a love he’d never before experienced. He couldn’t believe that this little baby boy was his. From his own flesh and blood, a part of him. For a brief moment he’d wanted to bring him to Stacey’s side and let her share in the moment, see the magic they had created, but she had made him promise that he wouldn’t do that. When he glanced at her on the hospital bed, she looked briefly at the child then turned her head to the side and covered her eyes with her forearm draped across her sweaty face. A midwife attended to her and James brought his attention back to the baby, then someone held up the scissors and asked if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord. He’d felt the firm cord give way under the snip, and with that, he knew, it was severing all ties to Stacey as well. She was now free of this child she didn’t want, and he was free to raise the child the way he wanted.

  When the nurses had pulled the curtain around Stacey and taken Jackson to the side to be weighed and measured, his arms buzzed with need to feel his son in them again. Just hearing his cries was bizarre, and he wondered what his voice would sound like as he grew up, how would it feel to hear him say ‘Daddy’? At that moment, James had been filled with joy and wonder and excitement for what the future would bring. Nothing else mattered but this little human that would become his life, his purpose, his passion. He’d clamped his lips together in a smile as tears welled at his eyes. This was it. This was his son. He was now officially: a father.

  James stole a glance at his dad again, who appeared to be lost in thought. Had he felt the same way about him when he was born? Was he overcome with love and joy like he’d been, or were his only thoughts ones of aspirations for the future, like what could this boy achieve? How will he make me proud? A bitter sadness crept through unchartered territory in his heart. It was only through becoming a father that he had started to question his relationship with his own.

  James let his mind wander, recalling moments from his childhood…

  His mum was always in the picture, always there, doing what the majority of mothers of that generation did — cook, clean, play, teach, discipline, and love. Plus she still worked part-time as a librarian. His mum did it all. His dad would come home late after work and tell them of his achievements, then he would ask them what they learned that day. He would often give them ‘trivia of the day’ too, some sort of random piece of useless fact that he’d read in a newspaper or memorised from years gone by. And he’d ask them to remember the previous days trivia to keep him and Lizzie on their toes. James always remembered though, because he secretly kept a diary with all the trivia, which he’d run off to write down when his dad had his shower. Before his father would get home, James would read the diary to recall the trivia so he’d be able to impress him with his memory once he got home. It gave him a thrill, knowing he would get a ‘well done’ pat on the back from Dad that night.

  Martin Gallagher would also build intricate, complex Lego constructions with James until his bedtime, until Marie said, ‘That’s enough, bed and bath for you kids.’ James could have gone on all night building Lego, there never seemed to be enough time to complete anything.

  His father hadn’t been around much, but when he was, he made it count. Maybe that was his way of showing his love — quality, not quantity. James’ sadness floated away and was replaced with understanding. Martin had done what he knew how to do. Not everyone was cut out for long-duration parenting. Had his dad been around more, maybe it wouldn’t have been as good for them. Maybe this was the best it could be, and the only way it could be, for his dad’s personality.

  As James realised that each parent was different and needed to approach parenting in their own unique way, he felt a light but firm touch on his shoulder. Martin Gallagher, eyes still gazing out at the ocean, had placed his hand on his son. James looked at the weathered fingers curving over his shoulder, then at the face of his father who had seen many more days on this earth than him.

  ‘You’re doing a great job, son.’ Martin gave a firm pat with his hand, and a subtle nod of his head. ‘You’re a good father.’

  A lump formed in James throat. He brought his hand up to his father’s and gave it two light pats. ‘I had a good teacher.’

  Chapter 17

  Emma decorated the wrapped gift with a ribbon, then placed it on the reception desk for Amelia to find the next morning. She smiled, glad she’d been able to get it finished by the end of work today. Amelia would love the drawing of the beach and headland with Tarrin towering above the holiday park, and it had turned out quite well, if she did say so herself.

  She had thought of giving the drawing to James, but wasn’t sure if that was getting a bit personal, and it could also be seen as a goodbye gift. She was still deciding whether it would be goodbye, see you later, or something else. But the more she thought about it, the more she thought it was probably best to continue on with her original plans and do what was right for her, first and foremost. They had each other’s number; they could always get in touch if necessary, but everything seemed too sudden. At least with two days off starting in a few minutes, she’d have time to ponder everything and see James off when he left on Monday, get a sense of how they would leave things. And tomorrow when she’d be at Jen’s party, he’d surely be focused on saying goodbye to his grandmother on what would have been her birthday, so it certainly wasn’t the time to discuss other matters.

  Emma switched off the desk lamp and locked the drawers, wiped down the countertop and eyed the other thoughtful gift on the desk. The one she’d been given by a guest who had checked out this morning; a six-year-old girl and her parents. The girl had made a little gift bag for Emma containing a few items she’d found and also bought: two seashells, a flower (which would of course wilt and die shortly, but it didn’t matter), a miniature pack of playing cards, a whistle, and a cylinder of bubbles to blow. It wasn’t every day that guests gave gifts as thanks for enjoying their stay, but apparently the little girl had thought of the idea herself. It had touched Emma’s heart, but had also reminded her of the fact that she’d never be able to have a daughter of her own. After they’d left, she’d held back tears. They would often come and go unexpectedly, like changes in the weather. Just when she thought she was over it and had accepted her fate, something would happen and trigger the emotions again. She knew it would ease with time, like grief. She was grieving for something she never had, and never would.

  Before closing up, Emma thought of Jackson and had an idea. She took the container of bubbles from the gift bag and brought it outside with her. She didn’t have to walk to the cabin, Jackson and James were at the playground and Jackson was using leaves and twigs to make a shape around Owly as he
lay helpless on the spongy ground. James’ parents sat at a nearby picnic table with takeaway coffees in their hands.

  ‘Hi,’ she said to James, her voice catching a little in her throat at the memory of the night before, how they’d come close to letting go and letting their history take over where it had left off.

  ‘Off duty?’

  ‘Till Tuesday.’ Emma breathed out with a whoosh and a smile. She waved a hello to Marie and Martin. Both Martin and James had warm colour in their cheeks, their week in the sun starting to show.

  ‘Thought I’d come by and see if Jackson was interested in bubbles?’ She held up the cylinder.

  James looked surprised. ‘You know what? I don’t think he’s ever experienced them. Let’s see what he thinks.’ He moved closer to his son. ‘Hey, buddy. Look at this.’ He pointed to Emma and she pulled out the handle and blew through the circle, a glossy elongated bubble growing and releasing itself into the air. Jackson didn’t notice, until she blew a few more and they floated around him. He gazed up at them, his eyes taking on a surprised and wondrous look, his mouth gaping.

  James stuck his finger into one and it popped. Jackson flinched. James did it again and said, ‘Pop!’ then laughed. A wide grin stretched across Jackson’s face, and he pushed his hands against the bubbles, laughing as they disappeared. He stood and left Owly in his virtual prison while he chased bubbles around him.

  Emma eyed James and cocked her head towards the sand. He nodded. They could use them to try and entice him over to the sand.

  As Jackson enjoyed the delight of the experience and Marie Gallagher took photos, James scooped up Owly as Emma blew bubbles further away from Jackson so he would follow them. She walked along the grass, Jackson following the bubble trail, swatting and leaping to catch them. She kicked off her shoes as she neared the edge where grass gave way to sand.

  James already had bare feet, and so did Jackson, he had mentioned he was getting him used to being without them so his soles would desensitise to different textures. Emma stepped onto the sand and blew more bubbles, reaching up to pop them with her finger. Jackson glanced at the ground, aware he was veering into the unknown, and stayed put at the border, still reaching up on his toes to try to catch the bubbles. He made an urgent grunting sound as some were too far away to catch.

  ‘James,’ Emma said. She pointed to the owl and then to the sand. ‘Maybe if he sees it on the sand?’

  James put the toy close enough for Jackson to be near him but far enough away that he couldn’t reach without moving forward. Emma blew bubbles in Owly’s direction, and James made the toy jump up and pop them with his nose. They both laughed, encouraging Jackson to join in the fun. The boy was clearly mesmerised by these magical floating things, his fingers curled and wriggled in front of him, itching to pop them. Emma handed the bubbles to James and approached Jackson. She held out her hand in a non-threatening way, and waited. ‘Let’s go rescue Owly from the bubbles.’

  James pretended that Owly was getting bumped on the head by the bubbles and kept collapsing, then James would rescue the toy and cuddle him. The next time he did it, he made the toy fall further away, and collapsed onto the sand himself, pretending he couldn’t reach far enough to get Owly. ‘Jackson, help me get Owly? I can’t reach!’

  Emma couldn’t contain her grin at James’ enthusiastic attempts.

  The boy’s face creased with concern.

  ‘Quick, Owly needs us!’ Emma had no idea if he could understand what she was saying, but she had confidence he probably could. For many with autism, comprehension wasn’t the problem, expression was. They didn’t know how to respond to the information bombarding their brain.

  Emma tried to reach Owly too but stopped short. ‘Oh no! We need Jackson’s help!’ She held her hand back to the boy and he grasped it, and with a gentle little tug she led him forwards, enough that he would feel the pull but not enough that it felt forced. He stepped one foot onto the sand and winced. ‘Good work, Owly is going to be very happy when you get him.’ Jackson put another foot on the sand, his toes curling and feet becoming rigid. ‘That’s it, almost there.’ She tugged a little more, continuing to try and reach Owly with her other hand. James had given up trying to get the toy, his eyes were fixed on his son, his mouth open and his eyebrows raised. She noticed out the corner of her eye someone filming the moment on their phone.

  Jackson took two more steps and squealed, but a different squeal, one of excitement, though he still looked a little terrified. Then in a flash, he dashed towards Owly, scooped him up into his arms and held him tight, then rushed back to the grass with another squeal like he was running away from a wave crashing onto the shore. He tumbled over on the grass in relief and laughter.

  Emma’s heart soared. Moments like these were what made life wonderful. She eyed James with a ‘we did it’ smile, and he blew bubbles towards her. She let one fall gently onto her hand, then popped it with a blow of air from her mouth. James blew more bubbles, and Emma glanced towards Jackson just in time to see the fluffy toy hurtling towards her like a meteor. It narrowly missed her head and landed on the sand. She pointed down to it then looked at Jackson. ‘Oh, he’s back! Owly loves the sand.’

  Jackson inched forwards and stepped onto the sand, finding his footing, then rushed to Owly and picked him up again, returning just as fast to the grass and tumbling onto it.

  ‘Again?’ James asked, hands on hips, as Emma took over the bubble blowing.

  Jackson threw the toy in the air then chased after it onto the sand, rescuing the owl then going back to roll on the grass. Repetition saves the day.

  They stood there playing the game over and over, each time watching Jackson’s small feet scurrying across the sand, leaving footprints she bet James never thought he’d see. She finally looked up to see who was filming the scene unfolding — her mother. Barbara Brighton stood there with glossy eyes, hands poised on the phone as it captured the significant moment. Emma glanced towards James’ dad who stood strong nearby with a small, but definite, unmoving smile. Marie had a hand on her heart, and James…well, she’d never seen him so happy. This gorgeous little boy was his life, and she wanted nothing more than for them to be happy and healthy. If it meant that she would need to leave them be, then she would do it.

  In this moment, she got it.

  With James, everything would revolve around the giggling, tumbling boy in front of them, and so it should. He needed his father, and would continue to do so. James had been given this gift, this responsibility, and she knew he would do anything for the son she would never have been able to give him.

  She knew then that regardless of what may happen between them, now or in future, she would leave Australia for a while and experience new shores for herself, step into new cultures and landscapes, and have the experiences she wanted to have. It would be easier for James now, he no longer held the anger he’d carried for so long, and she’d been able to provide a small ray of help and hope for his son during their time in Tarrin’s Bay. Helping his son walk on sand for the first time was in no way making up for hurting him, but as James looked at her with eyes of gratitude, she knew it mattered. She mattered. She never felt more alive than when she was helping someone, knowing she’d made a difference. And if they left now and never saw each other again, she would find comfort in the fact that things had ended on a positive note.

  As Jackson sat on the edge of the grass and sprinkled sand over Owly’s head like rain, Emma approached her mother.

  ‘Sweetheart, that was so lovely to witness.’ Barbara held up her phone. ‘I got it all on video, so I’ll forward it to you and you can…’ she trailed off as James came over.

  ‘You must be Mrs Brighton.’ He held out his hand, and Emma realised that they had never officially met, as her parents had been travelling when Emma had first got together with James.

  Her mother took his hand. ‘Please, call me Barbara.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll get Emma to send you the video I took.’

  ‘That wou
ld be awesome, thank you.’ He glanced at his son again, the smile still lighting up his face.

  Marie and Martin came over and introduced themselves, and Emma and James exchanged awkward glances as they stood there surrounded by their respective parents, minus her dad. She hadn’t expected them to meet in this way.

  They chatted a few pleasantries, then Emma’s mother touched her arm. ‘I’d better head back to your father, I just wanted to come down and ask if next time you’re out shopping, could you maybe pick up some DVDs your dad would like? He’s much happier when he’s watching movies, and I haven’t figured out all that download nonsense yet.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll pick some up on my way to the city tomorrow,’ she replied.

  ‘You’re not heading home, are you?’ asked Marie.

  ‘No, I’m still going to be helping out here for a while. I’m off to my friend’s birthday party tomorrow in Sydney.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Marie’s face slackened a little, and Emma remembered tomorrow would have been Nonna Bella’s birthday too. ‘I’ll be back in the evening,’ she added, mostly so James would know she’d be about so perhaps they could talk a bit, and she could let him know she still planned to go travelling. ‘And I’ll drop those DVDs around sometime, Mum. Tell Dad I’m onto it.’

  Barbara thanked her and farewelled the group, and scurried back up the hill to her patient; the man she’d vowed to love and cherish till the day she died.

  ‘I can’t remember the last movie I watched,’ said James. ‘Except for animated ones.’ He chuckled.

  ‘Actually, I haven’t watched one for a while either,’ Emma added.

  ‘You two should go,’ suggested Marie. ‘Tonight! It’s Saturday, why not head out of town to the cinema and enjoy yourselves, we’ll take care of Jackson.’ She rallied her husband’s support by sliding her arm around his back.

  ‘I think it would be a splendid idea,’ Martin said.