Silver Dawn (Wishes #4.5)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  I wasn’t in the mood for small talk any more than he was, but I still felt compelled to try. “I got an email from Adam earlier,” I said dully. “He called Monique and Richard.”

  Alex took his eyes off the road the glare at me. “Why?”

  “Because Gabi’s parents need to know,” I replied. “I assume you’d want to know if I was in ICU.”

  From the corner of my eye I could see his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I was going to call them.”

  We both knew that was a lie. He couldn’t get his act together enough to hold his baby son. Calling Gabrielle’s parents was not high on his agenda.

  “They’re holidaying in Cape Verde,” I added. “They’re getting the first flight out but they won’t be here until the end of the week.”

  The car slowed as he glanced across to growl at me. “Why are they coming here? I don’t want them here.”

  “They’re her parents, Alex.” I raised my voice to match his. “They need to be here.”

  “I don’t want them here,” he yelled. “I don’t want anyone here.”

  I assumed that by everyone, he meant me too. Too hurt to reply, I rested my head against the cold window, purely so he wouldn’t see me cry. I didn’t bother speaking again for the rest of the journey. If that upset him, it certainly didn’t show. When we got home, he slammed the car door and stormed up to the house before I’d even undone my seatbelt.

  Alex felt crowded, and yet I’d never felt more alone in all my life.

  It was confusing and unfair.

  I got out of the car and spent the next minute or two wandering around the yard. I was underdressed for the cold dusk air, but it was still preferable to going inside.

  My father didn’t agree. He appeared on the porch a minute later and ordered me inside. “It’s cold.”

  “I know it’s bloody cold,” I yelled. “I don’t care.”

  “Why are you staying out here?”

  “Because I don’t want to deal with you,” I shouted. “Just leave me alone for a minute.”

  “I don’t think I can do that, Charli.”

  “Well, try.” I threw my arms out wide before slapping them down on my sides. “I don’t feel like being your emotional punching bag any more. I’ve had enough for one day.”

  Alex stared down at me for an uncomfortably long time. I stood my ground by staring right back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

  “You need to sort yourself out,” I demanded, pointing at him. “Stop reading so far ahead. You’ve lost nothing, Alex.” Frustration drove my voice louder. I was practically screaming now. “Everything you love is still here. Gabi’s here. Jack’s here, and for some crazy reason, I’m here too.”

  I wasn’t overly surprised when he turned around and walked back into the house. Alex didn’t deal with crazy. Alex wasn’t dealing with anything lately. That’s why his son had spent the majority of his short life cooped up alone in the hospital nursery.

  In a move reminiscent of the petulant child I used to be, I stomped my way over to the lemon tree; picked the biggest one I saw and pegged it at the house. Surprisingly, lemons make a hell of a thud when they smash against a screen door.

  My ten-year-old self would’ve bolted after that, but my twenty-four-year-old self stood firm and bravely waited for the fallout.

  Alex didn’t look too pissed when he came back out a few seconds later. If anything, he looked confused. “What was that?” After a quick glance around, he spotted the offending fruit on the porch. “You threw a lemon at my house?”

  “You walked away!” I screamed. “I’m so sick of you walking away!”

  Now he looked pissed. “I went inside to get you a coat.” He held it out to prove it and then stepped off the veranda.

  I started to cry as he walked toward me, and it wasn’t pretty. It was the hard, ugly sobbing that only comes when you’ve no idea what else to do.

  “And just so we’re clear, Charlotte,” he thrust the coat at me, “I have never, ever walked away from you. Not once in your whole life.”

  “I’m not talking about me,” I sobbed into my hands.

  The gentle gesture of draping the coat around my shoulders didn’t match his angry tone. “Who then? Jack?”

  “All you have to do is love him. It’s not that difficult.”

  Alex grabbed my hands and prised them from my face. “I love both of my children.” He said it through gritted teeth, shaking me so hard by the wrists that I stumbled forward.

  For the very first time in my life, I was frightened of him, and something in my expression let him know. He released me in an instant.

  The short but nasty exchange left Alex far more wounded than me. He was shaking, and the terrible look on his face was one of pure self-loathing.

  I could overlook the anger because it wasn’t what was driving him. He was scared, and had been for days. “What are you most afraid of?” I asked quietly.

  “That Gabi – ”

  “I’m not talking about Gabi,” I interrupted. “I’m talking about Jack.”

  He blew out a long breath and looked to the darkening sky above. “I can’t connect with him, Charli. We missed a step.”

  “What step?”

  “The beginning,” he said sadly. “I don’t know how to get it back.”

  Adam once told me of a moment he shared with Bridget just after she was born. I’d never forgotten it. Perhaps – like a treasured wish – I’d been saving it for this moment.

  She looked up at me, and I knew she was looking further than my eyes. It was a look reserved just for me. Bridget knew I was her dad, and she knew how much I love her mother.

  I was wrong when I told Alex he hadn’t lost anything. If that was the moment he felt he’d missed out on he had every right to feel bereft.

  “It’s not too late,” I assured. “Just start again.”

  Alex folded his arms tightly across his chest, probably to stop his heart from falling out and hitting the dirt. “I don’t think he even knows I’m his father.”

  I shook my head, and quickly swiped a rogue tear from my cheek. “It won’t matter. He already loves you.” I spoke with absolute certainty because I knew I was telling the truth. “You’re my dad too, Alex. I loved you for seventeen years before finding that out.”

  I’d been trying to hit on the right combination of words to say since I arrived. Those were it. I could almost see the despair lift from his shoulders.

  “I’ve been looking for magic,” he confessed, mumbling down at the ground. “Anything to help us through this.”

  I was the only person on earth who he would’ve admitted that to. For that reason alone, I didn’t make a big deal of it. “I can point you in the direction of magic,” I offered. “Where is my box of wishes buried?”

  Alex lifted his head and gazed across the yard. “A box of trinkets won’t fix us, Charli.” He spoke gently, as if he felt sorry for me.

  I roughly grabbed his sleeve and turned him to face me. “You reburied that box, not me,” I sternly reminded. “You believed in it. Don’t start second-guessing now. What do you have to lose?”

  He slowly shook his head. “Nothing,” he conceded.

  “Great.” I huffed out the word in a sharp breath. “So let’s dig it up.”

  ***

  Daylight was all but gone by the time we unearthed the box. If we were hanging out in a cemetery digging up a coffin, the cold dark night would’ve been the perfect backdrop. But we weren’t. We were standing between a couple of geranium bushes freezing our butts off while we dug up a secret cache of toys and shells.

  As soon as I picked it up, I tore the plastic wrapping off and held it out to my father.

  Alex dropped the shovel and took it from my grasp. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  I didn’t know. Even I could admit that the notion of a box of wishes was slightly off kilter. I’d spent a lifetime saving them. Spending them wasn’t my forte.
“Give them to Jack,” I decided. “Every last one of them.”

  ***

  Alex didn’t dally. I got the impression he was keen to offload the box, probably fearing that if he held on to it for too long, crazy would really take hold.

  “I’m going back to the hospital,” he told me.

  “Tonight?” I asked incredulously.

  We’d been home for less than an hour, after driving for an hour to get here.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ll give the box to Jack and then go and see Gabs. I want to have a chat with her.”

  I nodded, unwilling to press him for any more information.

  Recharging only slightly, Alex showered and grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading for the door. “Please stay here tonight,” he said, grabbing his keys off the table.

  I glanced through to the lounge room. “On the couch?”

  Alex smiled at me. “It’s a nice couch.”

  I pulled a face letting him know it was less than ideal. “Yeah, okay.”

  Just as he got to the door, he turned back to face me. “I’ll make it up to you, Charli,” he promised.

  “Make what up?”

  “Everything,” he replied simply.

  Alex

  29. SEA LEGS

  Arriving at the hospital at night threw me straight back to the midnight arrival we’d made just four days ago. There were some differences. I wasn’t excited this time, and Gabi wasn’t by my side. I was travelling solo tonight, and carrying a broken wooden box of wishes under my arm.

  I couldn’t explain why. I could only put it down to the fact that I was desperate enough to try anything to get my little world back on track.

  The maternity ward took on a whole new feel after dark. The lights were low and it was deathly quiet. I made my way over to the nurse’s station, hoping to find some sign of life.

  I recognised the nurse behind the desk immediately. “You were there the day my son was born,” I remembered, setting the box down on the high counter. “You wheeled his cot into the room.”

  I’d only caught a fleeting glance at her as she rushed past me, but she was memorable because her hair was the same coppery colour as Gabrielle’s.

  “I did,” she replied, extending her hand over the high counter. “I’m Hilary.”

  “Alex,” I replied, shaking her hand.

  She had a great smile. I’d missed that detail the first time I met her. There hadn’t been a whole lot of smiling going on that day.

  “What’s in the box?” she asked, pointing at it.

  I was just about to answer her when a little cry rang out of from a few feet away in the nursery. Straight away, I knew it was Jack. There was no other sound like it.

  “He’s calling for you,” said Hilary. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “He shouldn’t be hungry yet. He probably just needs a cuddle.”

  “He needs his mother.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Hilary overlooked my harsh tone, and the pain behind the words. “You’ll do for now,” she quipped.

  My efforts at comforting him had been appalling so far, but she didn’t need to know that. I forced a smile, picked up my box and headed into the nursery.

  Jack seemed resigned to the fact that I wasn’t good for anything more than a few pats on the back and subpar conversation. I settled him quickly, rearranged his blankets and sat down beside him.

  “Your sister wanted me to give you this.” I held the broken box up so he’d get a better look at it. “It’s full of wishes. You have a nice stash here.”

  Jack was wide awake. It gave me hope that he was listening to me.

  “How about a bit of show and tell?” I suggested. I picked a white plastic horse out of the box. “This one’s special,” I explained. “Apparently he’s worth a wish because his tail is black.”

  Jack’s perfectly timed little groan made me chuckle. “I know, mate. But who are we to argue? Your sister likes to make her own rules.”

  Besides the storm shells, I didn’t recognise anything else in the box. I doubt Charli would’ve either. With the exception of a few weeks after Bridget was born, the box had been buried for nearly two decades.

  A green plastic dice came next. “No idea where she got this from – a Christmas cracker, maybe.” I carefully set it down on the edge of his cot and dug my hand back into the box.

  I was so unprepared for the next find that my hand shook as I picked it up. “A purple turtle,” I announced, setting it down next to the dice. “This one might actually be a genuine bit of magic, Jack.”

  I spent an abnormal amount of time staring at it while I searched for logical explanation.

  As a child, Charli had been a hoarder when it came to wishes. It wasn’t too shocking to discover that she’d collected a tiny ceramic purple turtle along the way. What I couldn’t put down to coincidence was that it had a pink flower painted on its back, just like the one on Gabrielle’s mural.

  Thanks to years I’d spent fuelling my daughter’s imagination, I’d fumbled my way through life looking for acts of magic. My faith in the entire concept had crumbled over the past few days simply because I hadn’t been able to find any – until now.

  “We’re back in the game, baby,” I whispered to my son.

  The reason why was clear, and not overly complicated.

  Gabrielle’s theory behind changing the colour of the crows and turtle flooded my mind with such force that I said the words out loud. “The things that scare us are never as daunting if you change the way you look at them.”

  Finding magic is one thing. Acting on it is another. If you do nothing, the moment is lost. If you take the time to work out the deeper meaning, you carry the moment with you forever.

  I was determined not to lose it so despite the fact that my hands were trembling, I leaned down and picked my child up for the very first time. He was soft and warm and fit perfectly in the crook of my elbow. I sat back down on the chair and cradled him against my chest. “We’ll sit for a minute,” I told him. “Just until I get my sea legs.”

  The problem with fear is that it’s generally all consuming. The biggest worry I had was that eventually I’d lose the ability to feel anything else. The thought of losing Gabrielle scared me. The prospect of raising Jack alone scared me. Everything about Jack scared me. I had to get past it, for all of our sakes.

  The baby didn’t seem to mind my unsteadiness. His blue eyes were wide and looking straight at me. I met his gaze, and in a move that was long overdue, I changed the way I looked at him.

  “I won’t make you any more promises,” I said.

  I was worried that I’d been lying to him this whole time. For days, I’d been telling him that things were going to get better. Nothing was better. We were still in limbo and I had no idea how long it would last, or what the outcome would be.

  “I’m not sure if things are going to work out or not, Jack, but I do know that we’re going to be okay.” I dipped my head and pressed my lips against his warm head. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  I had a lot of ground to make up to both of my children. I decided to get back to basics and start making amends the best way I knew how.

  Feeling much steadier on my feet, I carried Jack over to the sink. “Baby baths are overrated,” I declared, pushing the plug into place. “How are you supposed to get a feel for swimming if you’ve no room to move?”

  Jack seemed to know what was coming. He wriggled in my arms so I changed my hold on him and raised him to my shoulder.

  When the sink was nearly full, I turned off the taps, lowered my baby onto the counter and undressed him. Predictably, he let me know what a dumb idea he thought it was. I lifted him up, cuddling the naked bundle against my chest as he did his pissed off kitten routine.

  I worked hard to reassure him. “Midnight swims are sublime.” I flicked my free hand through the water, double-checking the temperature. “The water’s warm, the company is decent and you have the whole sin
k to yourself.”

  Being bathed was Jack’s very first pet hate. My plan was to convince him that that was because he’d been doing it wrong. With my hand wrapped firmly around his chest, I lowered the tiny boy into the water belly first and slowly swiped him forward through the water.

  Within seconds, the wailing dulled to intermittent little groans. “See?” I crooned. “It’s all in the technique.”

  A stainless steel sink was no comparison to the ocean, but Jack seemed to get the gist. He was barely making a sound now, but his little legs were slow dancing under the water.

  “Unlike your mother, I don’t know about languages or art, but I do know about water. It’s infinite and deep and powerful, which is why you should never turn your back on it,” I explained. “It’s also humbling and calming and healing.”

  I felt an invisible whack right between my shoulder blades as I heard my own words. I’d just described far more than the ocean. I’d completely summed up fatherhood.

  ***

  I stayed with the baby long enough to give him his next feed and settle him back to sleep. The shift between us was incredible. In spite of everything, I’d found a way of connecting with him.

  Charli was right. There was joy to be found, and realising it somehow made dealing with everything else easier.

  30. LETTING GO

  No matter what time of the day or night I visited ICU, the atmosphere was always the same. It was bleak, unwelcoming and clinical, even at midnight.

  Gabrielle’s appearance no longer shocked me, and I’d given up expecting her to look better. Her right hand was one of the few parts of her body that was untouched and undamaged by needles or tape. I constantly held it when I sat with her because it was the closest reminder I had of a time when things were different.

  I spent the first few minutes telling her all about Jack’s real first bath. “He took to it like a little duck – a little Blake duck.” I hummed the words against her hand. “But he protested at first like a little Décarie.”

  Silence is a scary sound, and I’d heard a lot of it lately. Even the constant beeping of machines didn’t hide the lack of conversation. I kept talking to her because I had to believe she could hear me. If I lost that hope, I’d have nothing.