The January Wish (11 page)

‘It was great, he’s a goldmine of information,’ Grace replied.

‘Just out of curiosity, does he, ah…know about us?’

‘Does he know I’m your daughter? No. I just told him we’re related. I figured it might be easier for you, I didn’t know whether you wanted people to know or not. And you’re probably still getting used to the whole situation yourself.’ Sylvia looked relieved, and Grace felt a twinge of disappointment. ‘He did ask about my family medical history, but I said I didn’t know much about it.’ Grace looked at Sylvia who was keeping her eyes on the road. ‘Is there anything I should know?’

‘Let’s see…’ Sylvia began. ‘I haven’t had any significant issues, I don’t have any siblings, and my parents are still going strong.’

Sylvia’s parents.
Her
grandparents. She wondered what they were like. Would they want to meet her?

‘Although Dad has slightly high blood pressure, Mum a little arthritis. And Mum’s sister, my aunt Mary, had lymphoma. That’s a type of cancer. But she recovered and is doing well, and as far as I know, her two kids are well.’ Sylvia turned onto the highway. The movie theatre was in the next town. ‘I hardly speak to Dad’s brother and his kids, so I don’t really know about them. And my only living grandparent is Grandma Greene; she’s in a nursing home in Sydney. My other grandparents all died between age eighty and eighty-five; Nan had breast cancer, but the others had heart issues.’

‘Thanks for sharing all that,’ Grace said.

‘Well, you’re entitled to know.’

The fact that Sylvia’s family all seemed to live to a ripe old age reassured Grace. When her adoptive mother had died, she’d almost forgotten that Maria wasn’t related to her biologically and asked the doctor if she herself would be at risk of heart problems like her mother. She’d felt silly when he reminded her of the situation.

Half an hour later Grace and Sylvia sat in the movie theatre sharing a box of popcorn. The warm buttery smell and the rustling packets of crisps brought back childhood memories for Grace of going to the movies with her parents. Every time she went to the movies she felt somehow comforted, like she was at home.

As the movie began and the room fell quiet, Grace noticed Sylvia’s chest rising gently up and down, and was strangely mesmerised. Long ago, those lungs had breathed oxygen into her mother’s bloodstream, delivering it to a baby growing in her womb. Her. And now Grace was older than Sylvia had been when she’d had her. She couldn’t imagine going through pregnancy and childbirth at such a young age, the thought of going through it now or anytime soon was too much to comprehend. One day, sure, but only when she was ready. When she met the right man, had travelled and experienced the world, and achieved her dreams. First, she had to figure out what those dreams were.

When everyone in the theatre laughed, Grace realised she’d missed the first scene of the movie, lost in her thoughts. Lost in a movie-worthy scene of her own life.

‘The sky is so beautiful at this time of day, do you mind if we stop and take a few pictures?’ Grace asked Sylvia as they drove back to Tarrin’s Bay after the movie had finished.

‘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?

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.