Miracle In March (2 page)

They sat together in silence for a while, until squelchy footsteps approached on the shiny but scuffed hospital floor. Emma looked up into the tired eyes of the doctor as he greeted them.

James Gallagher stepped up onto the porch of cabin number one, his son Jackson already at the door, banging on it with his palm.

‘Hang on, mate, gotta unlock it first.' James put his bags on the porch then stuck the key into the lock, Jackson running on the spot on tiptoes. At least the four-year-old seemed keen to be here; James was never sure how he'd react to different environments.

‘Okey dokes, let's go inside and check out our makeshift home for the next week.' James went to push the door open but Jackson beat him to it, barging through like a one-kid stampede, a high-pitched squeal accompanying him. James opened his mouth to say, ‘Not so loud', but shut it again. It never did any good anyway, and right now he couldn't care less if anyone had a problem with his child's behaviour. He wanted to get unpacked, find something to occupy Jackson for at least half an hour, and sit on the porch to admire the beachfront view. At least they'd been able to secure the cabin at the far end of the holiday park, with his sister and brother-in-law in the cabin next to his, and his parents in number three. As for the caravans behind, they weren't that close. Luckily the cabins had been booked a year ago, or they wouldn't have had any chance of getting this perfect location at the front.

Jackson inspected every corner of the open-plan living room and kitchen, picking up object after object, familiarising himself with his surroundings. He noticed the television and bounced on tiptoes, flapping his hands with excitement and nervous energy, then dashed into one of the bedrooms. James followed him, making sure the place was reasonably Jackson-proof, if such a place existed. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled at his son's excitement. This was a good sign. Once, when they'd travelled and stayed in a motel, Jackson had screamed and cried almost the whole time. Something about the place just hadn't gelled with him. But now, he seemed enlivened by the cabin, which was good, because he was here with his family to do something very important and there was no going home until it was done.

‘C'mon, let's check out your room, buddy.' James gestured for Jackson, and he ran past his father and into the adjacent room. There was a single bed and a bunk bed. Jackson immediately leapt onto the single bed, and James laughed. Most kids would go for the top bunk. Not Jackson.

Loud applause filled the room. Jackson had pressed a button on his Sound Machine, the handheld gadget he stored in his pocket that featured sixteen different sound effects, and formed the soundtrack to his young life. Applause was good. That meant he was satisfied with his temporary bedroom. Had he pressed the screaming or crashing glass sound, then all hell would break loose.

James left his son to inspect the premises and went back to the porch to bring in the bags, plonking them on the queen-size bed that would be his, and only his, for the next few days.

The clang of the screen door sounded and James dashed to the living room. ‘Jackson, hang on!' But the boy was out the door, rushing up onto the porch of cabin number two. James followed.

‘You want to see our place too?' asked Lizzie, holding the door open for her nephew. Jackson burst inside and James stood on the path in front, waiting for him to do his thing. Lizzie smiled. ‘It's nice when he's happy,' she said. ‘I think he'll like it here, and it'll be good for you guys to have a change of scenery for a while.'

James nodded. ‘And good for you to put your feet up while soaking up the ocean view. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be doing that now and letting André get things unpacked?'

Lizzie stepped onto the porch and held her large belly. ‘Guess you're right. Damn that doctor, doesn't she know how hard bed rest and “taking it easy” is for a woman like me?'

James understood. He didn't know how to take it easy either; he and Lizzie had been genetically programmed with their father's workaholic genes. But he also understood what life was like with a new baby. ‘I wouldn't worry, another month or so and you certainly won't be taking it easy. Enjoy it while you can, I reckon.'

James' sister eased into the white, wicker chair and it crackled as it stretched under her weight. ‘God, hope I don't break this thing,' she said with a chuckle. ‘Five minutes into our stay and I'll have to pay for repairs!'

An overexcited squeal came from inside.

‘Is the place to your satisfaction,
garçon
?' Lizzie's French husband, André, asked, though everyone knew he would not get a reply. James liked that his family talked to Jackson as though he was any other boy. Apart from his father. Martin Gallagher still tried to get words out of his grandson and got frustrated easily, so after a while he'd stopped trying.

Applause sounded again and Jackson pulled open the door. For a moment his eyes connected with James', but just as quickly they diverted elsewhere. ‘Let me guess, Nan and Pop's cabin next?' James followed Jackson to his parents' cabin. ‘Just doing the rounds, Mum,' he said with a brief smile when they arrived at the door.

‘No problem at all, my little one.' Marie Gallagher leaned down and tried to kiss her grandson on the head, but only managed to brush lightly against his overgrown mop of brown hair as he whizzed past. The boy didn't stop for anyone or anything. Get in his way and he could easily knock you down like a prize bull. He slammed against his pop's leg, almost dislodging the precious item in his hands.

James gasped. ‘Careful, Jackson.'

‘Hey, fella, take it easy!' Martin Gallagher said. ‘This is
very
important.' He placed the glossy wooden urn on top of one of the kitchen cupboards. Now, Nonna Bella would have a bird's-eye view of her favourite room — the kitchen. Figuratively speaking.

James' Irish/Italian grandmother was supposed to be here with them. Instead, they'd be saying goodbye to her, spreading her ashes in her favourite location in Tarrin's Bay, on the day that would have been her ninetieth birthday.

If she'd only lasted two more weeks.

James shook his head at the injustice. Bad timing seemed to run in his family. Knowing his luck, when he was old and grey, he'd probably cark it during the countdown to New Year's…
5, 4, 3, 2, 1…Happy New—Croak.

He shook his head again, this time trying to shake out the morbid thoughts that sometimes popped into his head. They'd started appearing after Jackson was born; intrusive thoughts springing out of nowhere that made him question his sanity. Sleep deprivation, he was told. And stress. It was as though his mind tried to prepare him for the worst at every available opportunity, so that if something untoward happened, it wouldn't be as much of a shock. The mind was a crazy thing, even for the non-insane.

When Jackson was satisfied with the three cabins, he ran outside and then…

Oh no.

‘Jackson, not another one. That's not ours.' James scooped up his child just as he'd landed on the porch of cabin number four. Jackson thrashed in his dad's arms and screamed. ‘This one belongs to someone else, mate. C'mon.' James carried his heavy, crying son off the porch, eyeing an apology to the couple who'd approached the doorway. They didn't seem perturbed, but neither did they seem impressed. Oh well, what could he do, short of handing out information brochures on autism to every person he came across?

As usual, James' mother was ready with her help, dashing into cabin number one and back out to the porch with Jackson's favourite toy, a stuffed fabric owl. A pink one, at that. ‘Here we go,' she said, handing the toy to Jackson. He grabbed it, holding it tight to his chest.

James wished his son would do that to him. He was affectionate sometimes, in his own way, but never the way he was with Owly.

‘You go settle in and I'll watch him out here if you like,' Marie said. Jackson wriggled out of James' hold and placed Owly on the grass beside the path, rocking him side to side and pressing the bouncy spring sound on his machine.

‘Thanks.' He took the two steps to the porch with one stride, turning around briefly to double-check his son, then entered the cabin. With military precision he arranged things in Jackson's room the way he'd like them, unpacked their belongings, and freshened up in the bathroom with a splash of water on his face. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Subtle speckles of grey were becoming visible in the dark hair on his temples. He was only thirty-eight, but time seemed to be slipping away faster and faster these days. He rubbed his jaw between his thumb and fingers, easing the tension from the clenching he often forgot he was doing, but that his dentist said he needed to deal with. He ran his hands through his thick wavy hair, and a random memory crept into his mind…

She's here already? James spread the remaining hair mousse through his waves to tidy them, then washed his hands quickly. He checked his teeth and adjusted his shirt to show the right amount of chest, not too much, not too little, and headed for the front door.

He could see her silhouette through the glass, her long hair merging with the curve of her shoulders, a few strands lifting to the side by way of the breeze. He opened the door and smiled, her heart-shaped face a vision of feminine beauty. ‘Good evening.'

‘Good evening to you too.' Her white teeth gleamed under the outdoor lamp and he wanted to take hold of her then and there and pull her close, wrap his arms around her body and tell her all he wanted to say with one kiss. But it was only a first date, and that wouldn't be appropriate.

‘I'll grab my keys,' he said instead, then led her to the car and opened the door for her.

‘It's a beautiful night,' she said.

‘Beautiful indeed,' he replied.

James took a deep breath and tried to erase yet another memory from his mind. Why couldn't the brain have a delete key like a computer?

Voices chattered outside and he went back to check on Jackson. His son made soft, lyrical sounds, clearly having some kind of private conversation with Owly. He had his own language, and it was only through his tone that James was privy to at least some idea of what his child might be trying to say.

His mum was talking to another woman. A younger woman, with her back to him. The woman took a punnet of strawberries from her shopping bag and handed them to his mother, then took one out and offered it to Jackson. He eyed her hand cautiously at first, then plucked the fruit from her grasp. Strawberries were his favourite. James was about to say that out loud, to thank the woman for her generosity, but as she turned to the side her heart-shaped face and her smile sent his heart plummeting to his stomach. He froze.

The woman turned around completely and caught his gaze, her carefree smile giving way.

Emma.

Emma never thought she'd see those dark brown eyes again. But there they were, right in front of her, staring, unblinking.

‘James?' She phrased it as a question though she knew the answer.

He crossed his arms, his biceps tight aside his chest. ‘What are you doing here?'

Emma glanced sideways at the woman she'd been talking to, who looked a tad confused, then back at him, her heart pounding. ‘I um, I work here. I'm running the place temporarily for my parents.'

‘Your parents own the place?'

Emma nodded, shifted on the spot, an uncomfortable twinge tightening her muscles. ‘I'd, ah, better go and leave you to it.' She smiled at the woman and the boy, though he didn't look at her, then turned away.

‘Wait.' James stepped off the porch. ‘We don't see each other for over five years and that's all you've got to say?'

She'd been dreading the possibility of this moment catching up with her. Emma scratched her head and squinted as the afternoon sun caught her eye. ‘I really should go, I have to get these inside.' She held up the bag of fruit and fresh bread, but it was her that needed to get inside. The air was thick with untold secrets and she could hardly breathe.

The older woman knelt down to the boy and spoke to him, making an effort to join in his play, obviously trying to shield him from any argument and give James a chance to talk to Emma.

Emma walked but James rushed up beside her, then turned back briefly. ‘Mum, can you watch him?' She must have nodded because James walked alongside Emma's fast steps. Her skin buzzed with the closeness of his presence. ‘Emma, wait. Don't you think I deserve an explanation?'

She kept her focus ahead. ‘I'm sorry, I can't talk right now. I have to go.' She picked up her pace until they reached the garden beside the playground.

‘Stop! Emma, just stop.' He grasped her arm and she glanced at it then looked him in the eye. His gaze bore into hers and she trembled.

‘Not here, please, James.'

‘Then over here.' Still holding her arm he led her through the small garden and behind a thick tree. ‘I'm not leaving till you talk to me.'

‘Look, James, I'm busy. It's my day off, and I need to get some things done before work tomorrow.' She removed her arm from his grasp, though his touch lingered hot on her skin.

‘I think explaining why you left the man you supposedly loved without an explanation should factor in your To Do list, don't you?' He crossed his arms again.

Emma sighed and looked at the ground where tree roots bulged beneath, as though they too were trying to unearth secrets from time gone by. ‘I told you, I took a job interstate and couldn't handle the idea of a long distance relationship. It was easier that we had a clean break.' Big. Fat. Lie. Although Emma had hated to do it, the alternative was worse, and she hadn't been prepared for the consequences, not then, not now.