Miracle In March (20 page)

Jackson didn't seem to understand but he looked down at his feet in the sand and made an ‘ooo' sound again. He looked at Owly on the floor, then bent down and picked up a clump of sand and tossed it over to the toy.

James bit back a ‘no'. He could clean it up. Mess was sometimes necessary for learning new things. As long as the plumbing didn't get clogged by large clumps of sand it'd be right.

‘Do you want Owly to join you?' James tried to let go of his son's hand but Jackson wouldn't release his grip, so James leaned over and picked up Owly. He handed the toy to Jackson who placed him on the sand next to his feet. Jackson's body seemed to buzz with the sensations, his muscles tense and corded through his skin, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Every new sensory experience was overwhelming for him. James had learned that autistics often absorbed a huge amount of detail from their environment, whereas others naturally filtered excess stimuli and retained only the vital pieces of information. For Jackson, every experience was full-on and could be difficult to process and focus on.

James took the Sound Machine from his pocket and pressed the applause for Jackson. ‘Yay!' he said, then as Jackson relaxed a little, he let go of his hand and clapped too. Jackson stood on his own in the sand with Owly, his hands poised in mid air and his teeth clenched and jaw tight, but with a kind of smile.

James loved being around to witness his son's progress. What would happen if Jackson went to that school, would he miss out on seeing things like this? Would some stranger be the one to capture all his son's new milestones?

He laughed as Jackson bent down and picked up more sand, then tossed it up in the air. He hoped, though, that should they visit any place that had a cat litter tray his son wouldn't think he could just jump in at will and toss the granules all over the place.

James released a breath. One step accomplished, sand was no longer an enemy. Now to hope Jackson could handle walking on the real thing.

He went outside and led Jackson to the edge of the grass where the sand began to cover the ground. He stepped onto it and gestured for Jackson to come too. His parents approached, eyes eager to watch their grandson try something new. Jackson's face twisted into trepidation, but still James grasped his hand and tried to lead him to the sand.

‘Ugh!' he grunted, his body glued to the spot. He pointed back to the cabin, as if trying to compromise and use the sand tray instead.

Nope, not going to happen today.

James stepped back onto the grass and let Jackson run into the cabin by himself.

‘Give it time,' Marie said.

Time, so much time.

He noticed his dad was holding a fishing rod and tackle box. ‘You two off to catch dinner?'

‘I am, but your mother thinks she'll get bored.'

‘Yes, I think I'll do some reading instead. But why don't you go with your father, James?'

James raised his eyebrows and sussed out his dad's response. He couldn't remember the last time they'd done anything together, just the two of them. ‘But Jackson, he'll —'

‘I'll watch him. I can read here and there while he's playing.' Marie started walking towards the cabin.

‘You sure?' he called after her.

‘Yes, of course.' She waved.

James tossed her the keys in case they needed to lock up and go somewhere, then slid his hands into his pockets and looked at his father. ‘So, whereabouts?'

‘Let's go into the harbour. Might drive over instead of lugging this load all the way there. Plus we'll have to carry all the heavy fish back in the esky.'

‘You sound confident.'

‘Always.'

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, legs dangling over the pier, sun streaming across the horizon, they (meaning Martin) had caught a couple of bream. James had taken a walk up to the mobile kiosk at the marina to get two coffees, and as they sipped from the cardboard cups with plastic spouts, James finally relaxed. He wasn't used to sitting still, or gazing out at the ocean, he was always watching Jackson, helping Jackson, calling out to Jackson, or thinking about the next step for Jackson. It was like his nerves were on high alert 24/7.

He found his thoughts of what Jackson might be doing right now fading away. His mum would call if there was a problem. His thoughts now turned to Emma.

‘Dad, did you always know you wanted to be with Mum? I mean, was there ever a time when you thought, nah, maybe we should go our separate ways?'

Martin glanced briefly at his son, then back to the water. James realised why, for a lot of men, fishing was a good way to bond easily, as opposed to say, having dinner at a restaurant. There was something to keep the hands busy, an objective, and no need for eye contact. For his father, this was helpful. In fact, since Jackson's diagnosis James had often wondered if his father had some minor signs of autism himself, like Asperger's traits. He didn't think he would be completely on the spectrum, but maybe from a personality point of view, it seemed to make sense. He hadn't been able to ask Stacey if there was any history of it in her family.

‘Not really. There were times when that innate masculine fear of being trapped or controlled reared its ugly head, but I always knew I'd stay with her.' His fishing rod curved and he gripped it tighter, then wound the line up, a pale fish jerking and flapping on the end.

He took it off the hook and placed it with the others without a second thought, as though he could do it with his eyes closed. James had yet to feel the unmistakeable resistance of a fish attached to his line. Some people were just lucky.

‘Don't worry,' Martin said, his mouth curving into a hint of a smile. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea.' He chuckled.

Was he talking about fishing or Emma? There was only one ‘fish' that he wanted.

‘So it was Mum all the way, huh?'

‘Yep.' He curved more bait onto the hook then cast the line into the sea. ‘To be honest, son, I'd be lost without your mum.' James looked at his father's face from side on — the sun highlighting his ageing, tanned skin. Deep crevices showed where he had laughed, smiled, frowned, concentrated, and pondered life's journey. Lines that were starting to form on his own face. He wanted to have more laughter lines than frown lines, he wanted his face to resemble a life well lived, and a life well loved. He didn't know if that could be achieved without Emma.

‘You still love her, don't you?' his dad asked.

James fiddled with the chipping paint near the handle of the fishing rod. ‘Think so.'

They were silent for a moment, then Martin said, ‘Things are a little different with you, though. You have Jackson to think of. He needs stability and an environment conducive to achieving his maximum potential.'

A twinge of resistance pinched at James' chest. Of course he did, but why did that and Emma need to be mutually exclusive?

‘I know, Jackson will always come first. But I need to think what I want too.'

‘Why don't you give Queensland a good shot? If Emma's meant to be in your life she'll adapt things for Jackson's best interests. And if she doesn't, then she might not be the one for you.'

James scratched his cheek and shifted his position on the pier. His dad had a way of making things uncomfortable sometimes. ‘Actually, I'm considering other options for Jackson's best interests too,' James said. ‘There are some good schools in the state here too, and there's also homeschooling.'

Martin almost dropped his fishing rod into the ocean. He turned to face his son, his frown lines deepening. ‘Are you out of your mind?'

James leaned back. ‘What? I'm just considering all options so I can make an informed decision. Apparently many kids on the spectrum do better with homeschooling, along with occasional inclusion in guided social activities. It's something I'm seriously considering.'

Martin shook his head. ‘He needs specialist help. And think of yourself, you'll wear yourself out.'

‘But I also like the idea of being around him for longer. I want to help him, teach him, and guide him. I want to be an active part of his life, not only in the evenings. I want to be around often, be there for him.'

A chill crisped the air between them.

Unlike me,
he bet his father was thinking.

Martin tugged on the fishing rod a little. ‘Damn, think I just missed one.' He adjusted the position of the rod.

‘Dad, I —'

Martin held up his free hand. ‘Look, I know I wasn't around much for you and Lizzie. I worked hard, wanted to make a good life for everyone.'

‘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.