The January Wish Page 9

‘Sure, no problem,’ Sylvia said, pulling into the parking area of the main beach, near the lookout.

  They stepped out of the car and walked over to the sand, still warm from the slowly fading sun. A mother washed sand off her child under the tap, before drying her vigorously with a towel while yelling, ‘C’mon Benjamin, time to go home!’ to an older child who was still in the water. Grace wondered if these kids lived here. What would it have been like if she’d grown up here, would she have turned out differently? Would the same things still have happened to her?

  Click! Grace took a photo of the sky on the horizon, then took off her shoes and walked with Sylvia alongside the water’s edge. ‘You mentioned your parents before…do you see them often?’

  Sylvia stopped for a moment, as though suddenly aware Grace would want to know about her grandparents. And of course she did. She was also curious about her real father, but thought it best not to broach that subject yet. He was probably just a guy who got Sylvia pregnant and didn’t stick around. Anyway, she already had a great father.

  ‘Actually, I don’t. Not since I moved back here. We get together occasionally, but mostly we lead separate lives.’ Sylvia resumed walking, kicking a piece of driftwood out of the way. ‘Would you…like me to contact them and tell them you’re here?’ Sylvia asked feebly.

  ‘Only if you want to, if you think it’s a good idea. No rush though, with my new job I’m obviously going to stay for a little while at least,’ Grace said, and Sylvia nodded. ‘I’ll leave it with you to decide.’

  ‘Okay,’ was all Sylvia said.

  Was there something unresolved between Sylvia and her parents? Grace couldn’t imagine not keeping in touch with her family. If her mum was still alive she’d be on the phone to her almost every day, as with her father. Both sets of her adoptive grandparents lived near the family home in Melbourne, so she saw them regularly, except her mum’s mum who’d died when Grace was a child. She also had seven adoptive cousins; two girls and five boys. The girls were around Grace’s age, so she grew up with them as though they were sisters. Now they all stayed connected online, through Facebook mostly. Grace’s dad tried signing up and ‘friending’ her before she left for Tarrin’s Bay, but Grace refused. ‘Dad! That’s just too weird!’ she’d said.

  Grace and Sylvia walked in silence for a while, the early evening breeze whooshing past them, weaving and tangling their curly hair. ‘Hey, how about we get a photo together?’ Grace asked suddenly.

  Sylvia nodded, and Grace approached a woman nearby with her phone. She didn’t look like the type to run off with something, two kids dawdling behind her, one hanging onto her leg as she walked.

  ‘Smile!’ the woman said, as Grace and Sylvia slipped an arm around each other’s back and tilted their heads together. Click! Another picture to add to the memory album—although, was it appropriate? Grace wasn’t sure. She wanted to collect pictures that showed she was living her life to the full, but would a photo with Sylvia upset her father and dishonour her mother’s memory? She’d sort it out later, at least now she had a photo of herself with her biological mother, and no matter what happened down the track, she could look back happily on this time they spent together.

  Soon they came to the part of the beach that curved around into the headland, the shoreline edged with a rocky landscape. Waves washed over the rocks, before receding and weaving between them. Sylvia sat down on one of the rocks and Grace picked up a twig. She began drawing a shape in the sand. Moist sand squished between her toes as she drew a large circle, while Sylvia watched. Then she added arcs around the circle.

  ‘A flower?’ Sylvia asked.

  ‘A sunflower,’ Grace replied. ‘My favourite. I know they don’t look as nice as other flowers, but they have a special meaning for me. Every time I see one, I feel happy.’ She smiled as she finished the drawing with a long line for the stem. She stood upright and placed her hands on her hips, admiring her spontaneous artwork. Then she took the phone from her bag and took a photo of it. And another. One close up, and one from higher up while she stood on a rock. ‘Ahh!’ she squealed as she just caught her balance on the rock, almost toppling off it. Sylvia stood quickly, then sat again as Grace steadied herself and giggled.

  Sylvia looked awkward for a moment, as though she was about to speak but then stopped.

  Grace pointed to her sand drawing. ‘Maybe I should forget the piano and take up art, what do you think?’

  Sylvia laughed. ‘If you’re as good an artist as you are a pianist, then yes! I mean, don’t give up the piano, but you could take up art as well,’ Sylvia said, relaxing a little and leaning her elbows on her thighs. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something,’ she said.

  Grace sat on the rock next to her.

  ‘I know you said you’ve never played piano in public before, but I was wondering, well, there’s an annual variety concert on at the local high school in June. The music teacher at the school, William Randleman, has been organising it for the past few years, and it’s always a great night.’

  ‘And you want me to consider performing?’ Grace threaded her fingers together, and shifted as the rock beneath her suddenly felt pokey and uncomfortable.

  Sylvia smiled hopefully. ‘Well, you’d have to audition, but I don’t see how they could refuse you.’

  ‘I don’t know… I’m just, it’s just…I’d get so nervous. What if my fingers wouldn’t cooperate and I messed it up?’ Grace scrunched up her nose. ‘I’d probably need intravenous sedation to calm me down!’

  Sylvia laughed. ‘That’s what practise and dress rehearsal is for, and I’m sure you’d be fine. It’d be a great experience to include in your memory album,’ Sylvia suggested.

  Grace nodded. ‘That’s true…but I still don’t know.’

  ‘Anyway, have a think about it, and if you like I can take you to an audition.’ Sylvia leaned back on the rock, and flicked her head back to remove a mop of curls from her face that the wind had placed there. ‘It’s also a charity event, to raise money for the children’s oncology department at Welston hospital,’ she added.

  Grace sat up straight. How could she refuse? ‘Okay I’ll do it. On one condition—you come shopping with me to buy a new dress to wear on the night.’

  The grooves of a smile etched their way into Sylvia’s cheeks. ‘It’s a deal,’ she said, holding out her hand. Grace shook it, and they both stood to walk to the car.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Sylvia said. ‘How about I call my parents and see if they’d like to attend the concert?’

  ‘Really? It would probably make me ten times more nervous, but it would be great to meet them,’ Grace replied.

  ‘Okay then, I’ll get your audition organised first, then I’ll give them a call.’

  Why did Sylvia suddenly look as nervous as Grace felt?

  Chapter 16

  That bloody woman! Mark’s chest tightened as he walked out the door of the clinic on Friday. It was only lunchtime, and already his patience was wearing thin. He wished he could finish early and go for a long run on the beach but he had a full afternoon of patients to see. Since his run-in with Sylvia last week about Denise Fairweather’s treatment, she’d been agitated and irritable around him. And now a few more of Sylvia’s patients had come to see him, so their interactions lately were a constant exchange of ‘why are you giving her this?’ and ‘what’s your rationale for that?’ and ‘what kind of name for a medicine is silybum marianum?’ and ‘yes Sylvia, I know what I’m doing’. She obviously didn’t like anyone stepping on her toes. Control freak.

  As usual, Mark had packed his lunch to eat in the clinic, but there was no way he could stand another lunchtime debate. He’d grab something in town. But right now he couldn’t eat. He needed to walk, merge into the lunchtime busyness of the main street and distract himself from work for a while.

  People at tables spilled out of cafés and onto the footpath, umbrellas barely shielding them from the sun’s insistent shining. Waiters and waitresses weaved
between the tables, carrying multiple plates and trays expertly in their hands. As Mark walked past Café Lagoon, a customer came close to knocking one over as he pushed his chair back and stood, but the waiter’s reflexes were quick and he stopped the tray from crashing down onto the footpath. Nice save, he thought.

  Mark stopped for a moment outside Mrs May’s Bookstore, surveying the window display for Dr Don’s Weight Loss Revolution book. No wonder it was a bestseller, it promised fast, easy weight loss in a matter of days. Sure, it worked, but Mark often saw patients who had tried it only to put the weight back on again later. Mark knew that real, sustained weight loss took time, but unfortunately that concept didn’t sell books.

  He entered the bookstore, taking in the expanse of books with a circular sweep of his eyes. As usual, he headed in the direction of the health section and scanned the books on the shelves.

  ‘Don’t you already know everything there is to know about health?’ a voice asked.

  Mark turned his head to see Grace Forrester smiling at him.

  ‘Oh, hi Grace, I forgot you worked here. How’s it going?’

  ‘The job, or me?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Loving the job, it really doesn’t feel like work at all, and as for me, I’m feeling good, like I have more energy,’ Grace explained.

  ‘That’s good to hear, on both counts.’ Mark smiled. It always pleased him when patients began feeling better. But as he knew, it was at the two to three month mark after the first consultation that you could really tell how well they were doing. Some people got great results to begin with, but lost interest in their health regime after a while then wondered why their symptoms came back. That’s when he had to switch to ‘coach’ mode, and use the interpersonal skills he’d been taught at university to work through each patient’s emotional blockages and false beliefs that were subconsciously sabotaging their efforts. He’d found out not long after entering practice that achieving wellness was one quarter physical and three quarters emotional.

  ‘So, is there anything I can help you with, Mark?’ Grace eyed the bookshelves.

  ‘Oh no, I’m just checking out what’s popular in the health field,’ he replied.

  ‘Sure, well this one’s been selling like hotcakes,’ Grace said as she pointed to a book, and then another. ‘And this one’s been around for a long time but keeps selling steadily, so I’m told.’

  Mark nodded, but didn’t pick up either of the books. ‘Do you ever have any books on sports health, or natural health for athletes?’

  Grace’s eyebrows furrowed as she quickly scanned the shelves. ‘I don’t think we usually carry that sort of stuff, but let me see what I can find.’

  Grace went over to the counter and tapped at the keys on the computer. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much available in that area. Would you like me to show you a couple that are available to order in?’

  ‘No, that’s okay, thanks Grace. I don’t need the book myself, I’m just…doing some research,’ he said.

  Grace paused for a moment. ‘Oh, are you thinking of writing a book on that topic?’

  Mark felt as though he was standing in quicksand. He’d never told anyone his dreams of being an author before, and all of a sudden he felt silly for some reason. ‘Um, yeah, I mean…possibly.’ More than possibly, he’d already written half of it. But he hadn’t touched the manuscript for almost two years. What if all his work led to nothing and the book was a complete flop? And anyway, was it really that important a topic? Perhaps he should write about more significant things like cancer, or Alzheimer’s, or diabetes, or—‘

  ‘You should go for it!’ Grace interrupted his thoughts. ‘My friend’s boyfriend is a swimmer hoping to try out for the Olympics, so I’m sure he’d like it. And, there must be a lot of up-and-coming athletes who would welcome anything to boost their performance,’ Grace spoke quickly. ‘Oh! And you could give talks at the Australian Institute of Sport, and promote your book to local sports clubs, schools, fitness centres…’ Grace’s eyes darted all over the place, as though searching her mind for more promotion opportunities for his unfinished book.

  ‘If I become an author, remind me to make you my publicist!’ Mark laughed, as a ripple of excitement spread through his body at her suggestions. Maybe he should dig the manuscript out of its digital cave and resume working on it.

  Just then, Grace raised her index finger and clicked her tongue. Mark envisioned a light bulb appearing above her head.

  ‘I know just the book for you!’ She scurried over to the shelves in another section, and returned with a book in her hand, giving a flourished wave around it with her other hand as though she was on The Price Is Right television show.

  ‘Become An Author In Seven Easy Steps, huh?’ Mark picked up the book and turned it over. It looked good, but he did wonder if it was a Dr Don’s Weight Loss Revolution for the aspiring author. Maybe he’d follow the program, get the book written, but nothing would come of it and he’d be back where he started.

  ‘Apparently,’ Grace said as she led Mark back to the health section and picked up a book, ‘this author followed the program and now her book’s a bestseller.’

  ‘That’s good to know.’ Mark flipped briefly through the book on becoming an author, then closed it with a decisive snap. ‘Sold.’ Mark smiled at Grace and followed her to the counter.

  ‘You’ve got an awesome sales assistant here,’ he told the other woman at the counter.

  She smiled at Mark, then at Grace. ‘We know.’

  As he walked out of the bookstore, Mark realised he’d managed to keep Sylvia out of his mind completely for the last few minutes. Well, until now. Thinking of how he’d stopped thinking of her, he was now thinking of her again! The way she tensed her shoulders around him, the way she raised her chin in the air when arguing her point, the way her soft curls swam around her face… What? He shook his head and decided he better eat some lunch. The low blood sugar was probably playing with his mind.

  Five minutes later he was sitting on a bench in Miracle Park, eating a sushi roll. A swarm of seagulls leapt overhead, flying in the direction of the beach. Lucky buggers. When he finished eating, Mark tossed the plastic wrap into a bin and walked over to look at the Wishing Fountain. He read the plaque, and the story of the supposed ‘miracles’ that had occurred years ago. ‘Hmmph,’ he mumbled. Where was my miracle when I needed one?

  ‘Bye, take care.’ Mark farewelled his last patient for the week. Back in his consulting room he slumped in the chair and exhaled slowly. Since returning from lunch he hadn’t crossed paths with Sylvia and was hoping to keep it that way. Throughout the week he’d tried to either leave as early as possible, or leave later—after she’d left. He’d use the time to work on his marketing plan and check his emails.

  He sat silently for a while, ears pricked in anticipation of the trademark scuttle of sensible heels along the hallway. Nothing. Maybe she’d already left. Sylvia had mentioned this morning that she ‘didn’t have time for arguments’ as she had somewhere to be tonight and didn’t want to run behind schedule with patients. Despite this, she’d managed to keep talking, reasoning her point of view. He couldn’t keep avoiding her forever though, and he hoped she’d eventually grow to like him and respect his work.

  He filed documents away, turned off the equipment and power points, and headed towards the staff kitchen to get his uneaten lunch and car keys.

  ‘Ouch!’ Sylvia’s voice surprised him as he pushed open the kitchen door and it collided with her head. She was obviously on her way out, and just about to open the door from the inside.

  ‘Oops,’ Mark said, shuffling past her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.’

  ‘Oops, is that all you can say?’ Sylvia rubbed her temple.

  ‘I said sorry, too.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’ll be okay, it’s just a little bump.’ Sylvia straightened up, as Mark grabbed his car keys. ‘You’re not working late tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘Nop
e. It’s Friday night, I have plans.’

  ‘Good for you. So do I,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh yeah, what sort of plans?’ Mark probed.

  ‘You know…places to see, people to go.’

  Mark grinned.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘Don’t you mean; places to go, people to see?’ he corrected.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ she replied, rubbing her temple again.

  ‘You sure it’s just a little bump?’ Mark asked, still grinning.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Sylvia looked confused, obviously unaware of her verbal slip. ‘Anyway, I have to go. Enjoy your…plans,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

  Mark laughed. She may be irritating and narrow-minded, but she was also incredibly…cute. He withdrew his lunch container from the fridge, and went to open the kitchen door, when it opened for him. He held the door open as Sylvia slid past him.

  ‘Forgot my jacket,’ she said, picking it up off the chair before sliding past him again, leaving a subtle floral scent in her wake. He stood for a moment and watched her exit the clinic, then followed suit.

  Chapter 17

  ‘God, I’m an idiot!’ Sylvia got into her car forty-five minutes later, and having realised her faux pas a little too late, shrunk in the seat and rested her head on the steering wheel. ‘Ow!’ She shot up, reminded of her little bump to the head courtesy of Mark. It’d been a long day, and her cognitive abilities had officially switched off. At least she had an enjoyable evening to look forward to at Larissa’s wedding rehearsal dinner. She could eat, drink (just one), laugh, and forget about the past week.

  Putting the gearstick in reverse, she backed out of her garage and onto the road, turning towards the highway. Out the corner of her eye she saw Nancy Dillinger’s kitchen curtain move. Nothing new. The poor woman must lead a boring life if all she did was watch other people. She seemed perpetually at home, barring Sunday mornings when she’d walk to the end of her driveway and collect the newspaper, before scurrying back inside. No car was ever parked in her carport, and Sylvia occasionally saw her getting out of a taxi with grocery bags, never more than two or three at a time. Maybe she should bring her a cake and show some neighbourly courtesy, like Grace suggested. She’d have to buy one though. Baking and Sylvia didn’t mix. She could whip up a fancy dinner easily enough, but for some reason, whenever she tried to bake a cake it would either burn to a crisp, crack like an earthquake, or sink in the middle like an old mattress.