Miracle In March (4 page)

Emma chuckled. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay. Call reception if you do need anything, or give me a yell if you see me slacking off around the grounds.' She winked.

‘Ha, will do. Thanks…' She drew out the word.

‘Emma.'

‘
Emma
. Thanks. I'm Lizzie.' She held out her hand.

‘Nice to meet you.' They shook hands. Emma stepped off the porch and walked back the way she came, in a much better mood than she'd been on her way to the cabin.

She approached the playground at the end of the walking track and slowed a little. The colourful structures stuck out amidst the beauty of the natural environment of grass, sand, trees, and flowers. So did the person standing there. James' arms were folded and his back was to her. He focused on his son playing; not on the climbing equipment, but underneath it. Jackson pressed his finger into the artificial spongy ground that her parents had installed around the playground last year to protect kids from injuries. James was like a military guard, still and strong, ready to intervene and protect his son from any danger that might arise.

When another child climbed up the equipment, Jackson moved away to another area. Two girls about nine or ten chatted loudly as they swung in circles around the poles holding up the tall cubbyhouse. One of them released a high-pitched laugh and Jackson clapped his hands to his ears and grunted. He moved away again and flapped his hands as though shaking something repulsive from them. Emma stopped, watching him. She knew instantly. She'd seen kids like Jackson before, had worked with them when she was employed as a teacher's aide and then as a special needs teacher. Her heart filled with warmth at the sight of the sweet little boy who was now smiling to himself and making lulling noises. Then her heart deflated when she realised James had caught sight of her, and she felt for him. Because she knew now, that he had a lot more on his plate than just the history of their sudden breakup.

* * *

James knew. He knew Emma was watching Jackson and noticing that he wasn't like other kids. When she'd caught his eye her face had been softer than before, and then her cheeks flushed and she walked off.

He didn't want her pity. Heck, he didn't want anything from her. Except an explanation. Just the truth, then he could forget all about her and get on with his life.

The young girls chatted again, saying, ‘OMG, OMG! No way, really?' and, ‘That show is totally the best.' Their rapid-fire conversation was barely understandable, but they were mighty excited about something as they hung from the horizontal bar with their hands and jumped off, then sat on the ground cross-legged to play a clapping game. At their repeated clapping and loud laughter, Jackson covered his ears again. He released a hand briefly, and pressed it: the screaming button.
Crap
. The girls' heads flipped to look at the boy, their mouths open. They laughed again as he pressed it a second time. ‘That freaked me out!' one of them said. Then they resumed their (loud) conversation.

‘Girls, be quiet, will you? I'm trying to read,' said a woman sitting at the nearby picnic table, barely looking in the girls' direction. They continued. ‘Seriously, cut the chatter will you? Geez.'

James cleared his throat and gripped his biceps as his arms sat crossed on his chest. So the volume was irritating Jackson a tad, but the girls were happy and they were talking, there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, he felt like going up to the woman and shaking her, exclaiming, ‘Your kids are talking, it's a freaking miracle! Look! Pay attention, do you have any idea how lucky you are?' He shook the image from his mind. The mother wanted her kids to shut up. He just wanted his child to speak. One word, anything. A swear word for all he cared. Unintelligible sounds Jackson could make, but never a proper word. If James could wish for anything it would be to hear his son say, ‘Dad'.

Just once. Please, just once.

‘What do you mean he can't have any ice-cream?' Martin Gallagher held the melting scoop over a bowl.

‘No dairy. Jackson's been on the gluten- and casein-free diet for just over two weeks now,' James explained.

‘Surely a little bit won't hurt?'

‘No, Dad.' He moved his father's hand away from the bowl and scooped fruit into it instead. Jackson took the bowl and carried it to the floor in front of the TV where a Wiggles DVD was playing. ‘If I'm going to give the diet a proper shot he can't have any at all. I've done my research, and if it might help him I want to do it one hundred percent.'

Martin held up his hands and sighed.

Why can't he let me do things my own way?

‘I've heard it's helped a lot of kids,' Lizzie said.

James appreciated her support. ‘It has, and Jackson's already sleeping better. I've also joined an online group of parents who are following the dietary approach, so it's good to have some hope.'

‘He doesn't seem to mind anyway.' Lizzie cocked her head to where Jackson sat, nibbling his fruit.

He'd never liked ice-cream anyway, too slimy, but there was no need to remind his dad of that. The only fuss he'd kicked up was not being able to have a cup of milk before bed anymore, but the last few nights he'd been okay without it. And changing to gluten-free bread was relatively easy; there were quite a few options these days and James was pleased he'd worked out a list of suitable foods his son could eat.

‘Fruit for dessert isn't the same without something else like ice-cream or custard.' Martin kept trying to make his point.

Now James was the one sighing. ‘He doesn't even need dessert; none of us do, really. It's just a socially constructed habit carried down through generations. Food is food, doesn't matter what time of day you eat what.' He drummed his fingers on the table.

‘Don't let Bella hear you say that,' his mother commented, glancing at the wooden urn above the kitchen cupboards.

‘Nonna would only want Jackson to be healthy and happy,' James stated.

His mother nodded, her lips clamped.

His father got up and poked his head inside a cupboard. ‘Did we bring any chocolate sauce?'

Marie Gallagher took the opportunity to cast a glance towards her son, telling him not to counter his father's opinions right now. The funeral had only been last Friday and he was still grieving over the loss of his mother, naturally. They all were, but it was harder for Martin, he was the only child left after his sister had died young. Only James and Jackson to carry on the family name now, and Lizzie's future child, but James doubted his son would ever have a romantic relationship in life. His chest folded in on itself with sadness. He knew he'd be caring for Jackson for the rest of his life. While other parents waved their children off to university or to get married, Jackson would still need help with daily living. Many people on the autistic spectrum went on to lead relatively normal lives, but for James, his life plan was set. Whether a woman would ever be part of that plan he wasn't sure. Would anyone really want to be with him, to hand over their dreams for a lifetime of responsibility? Even if Jackson did get good results with various treatments, the underlying condition was too severe in his case. But there was always hope. Even if only a little. You could never tell what might be around the corner.

When the
Big Red Car
song came on the DVD, Jackson got up and copied the movements of The Wiggles. His body was able and willing to learn, but expressing himself verbally was a different thing altogether. Speech therapy had helped him make some sounds, but it was like trying to get blood out of a stone. The music therapy had proved better, at least he was happier in those sessions, and his Sound Machine was both a huge blessing and an occasional burden.

‘Do you know if reception has fishing rods for hire?' Martin asked, having given up looking for chocolate sauce. ‘I'd like to do some fishing while we're here.'

‘Um, not sure,' James replied. And he sure as hell wasn't going to go in there and ask Emma.

‘I'll check tomorrow.'

‘You're probably better off going to the marina, Dad.' James scratched his head.

‘Yeah but that's a long walk, I'll see if they have the basics while we're here.'

Marie Gallagher eyed her son. ‘Darling, who was that woman you spoke to earlier? You said you'd tell me later.'

Oh man, not now.

‘What woman?' Lizzie perked up, and André leaned forward on the table.

He shrugged. ‘Someone I used to know.'

‘More details please.' Lizzie eyed her brother with her interrogation stare.

James sighed. ‘Emma Brighton, if you must know. We dated before Jackson was born.'

‘Hang on, before Jackson's mother came on the scene?' Marie asked, and James nodded his confirmation. ‘Oh, so she was the woman you'd mentioned a few times, when your father and I were living up north? The one you'd said things were working out well with?'

‘Yes, Mum, and the one who left without any good reason,' his voice hardened. ‘Would you like me to draw a timeline of events so you can all get a detailed history of my failed relationships?' James turned his head to the side.

‘Honey, don't get upset. We're just concerned,' his mother soothed. ‘She seemed so…nice, when I spoke to her.'

Lizzie looked at her mother and then at James. ‘Is she staying at the cabins too?'

‘No, she's running the place for her parents for a while,' James replied.

‘
Emma
, you said?' He nodded. ‘Brown hair, sort of a caramel colour?' Lizzie ran a hand over her own dark hair. ‘Nice smile, good teeth?'

‘Um, I guess so?'

‘Well, unless there's another Emma, I believe I met her today,' Lizzie said. ‘She brought me some extra towels.'

Ah, towels. That would be her. James recalled crossing paths with her on the way to the playground.

‘She seemed lovely, but…she just left you without explaining why?' Lizzie's face creased with confusion.

James nodded. ‘She said she was going to work at a school in Melbourne, but I found out that was a lie and she was actually in Sydney. She didn't give us a chance to talk or say goodbye, just said her piece and left in a hurry.' James raised his hands and let them fall to his side.

Lizzie shook her head. ‘If I'd known, I wouldn't have been so nice to her.' She crossed her hands over the top of her belly.

‘Maybe there was good reason?' André proposed. But he loved everybody.

James shrugged. ‘It doesn't matter if there was, the point is she didn't have the decency to tell me the truth.'

‘Maybe she'll tell you now, while you're here,' Marie said, before popping a strawberry in her mouth.
Emma's
strawberries.

‘I already asked her. She's even less keen to talk than she was five years ago. She's obviously moved on.'

James glanced at his father, leaning on the kitchen bench. ‘I'll go to reception and ask her about the fishing rods, and maybe I'll tell her my name, see if she squirms.'

‘Martin, don't play games! We'll go to the marina instead and leave the woman alone,' Marie decided.

‘No.' James sat up straight. ‘I'll go. I'll go to reception and ask about the fishing rods. She deserves to feel awkward, and she'll have no excuse to walk away if she's working.' New resolve cleared his head. ‘One way or another, I'll get the truth out of her before we leave this place.'

* * *

After waiting for an appropriate time to pull Jackson away from his DVD (you'd be asking for trouble if you interrupted The Wiggles mid-song), James unlocked the door to his cabin and Jackson rushed inside. He made an urgent ‘
mm
' sound, which James knew was code for toilet time. He went to follow his son into the bathroom to help him out, but was met with the door in his face
. Oh. This is new.
Since Jackson had finished toilet training six months ago, after he turned four, he normally left the door wide open and needed a little help with his aim, but tonight it seemed he wanted privacy. James shrugged and turned away, then returned to wait by the door in case his help was needed.

The toilet flushed and running water could be heard through the door. Then silence. He waited for Jackson to come out but he didn't. Deciding to give him some independence while it was being indulged, he listened through the door. A clang sounded — the stainless steel rinsing cup and toothbrush holder? Water ran again, and then,
was he actually…brushing his teeth?
James couldn't help himself, he inched the door open and peered through. Jackson was on the step stool in front of the mirror, his mouth open wide, rubbing the toothbrush strategically up and down his teeth. James always did this for him, and was often met with much defiance.

James stepped into the bathroom quietly, a huge grin stretching into his cheeks. He wanted to take in this milestone but at the same time didn't want to disrupt his son. ‘Good on ya, mate,' he whispered. ‘You're doing an excellent job.' He wanted to pat his back but resisted.
Let the boy finish.

Jackson rinsed the brush under running water and placed it back in the holder, moving it into proper position, then sipped from the cup and spat the water out. He repeated this twice
(‘three times, buddy, just to be sure'),
returned the cup to its position alongside the cup holder, then wiped his mouth on the towel.

For a brief moment their eyes met, but Jackson quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the Sound Machine. He pressed a button and applause exploded from the device. It was the button James pressed for him whenever his son achieved something, and now, he was recognising the achievement on his own. Warmth flooded James' heart.

Jackson laughed, put down the machine and clapped his own hands. James joined in, laughing, then bent down and hugged his child. Jackson's arms stayed by his side, but he didn't pull away. James kissed his son's forehead and ruffled his hair as he stood straight again. ‘I'm so proud of you, Jax. Good work.' James pressed the button and Jackson guffawed, clapping his hands hard.