The January Wish

by Juliet Madison

  Holding back tears, she quickly replaced the bottle, careful to put it back exactly as she’d found it. She shouldn’t be going through Sylvia’s things like this. Grace stepped into her jeans and pulled a long-sleeved top over her head before walking out of the bathroom and into the kitchen and dining area, where Sylvia was busily flitting about.

  ‘Good morning, I was hoping to get back before you woke. I left a note just in case. Just popped into town to pick up some fresh breakfast and the Saturday newspaper,’ Sylvia said.

  A plate of croissants was on the table next to some sliced ham and cheese, along with a platter of fruit. Two glasses filled to the brim with orange juice glowed in the morning sunlight.

  Then the tears came.

  In the centre of the dining table was a single sunflower, extending out of a slim vase.

  ‘Grace, what is it? What’s wrong?’ Sylvia rushed over and put an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, nothing’s wrong. This is all, so…perfect, thank you,’ she replied. ‘It’s just…my mum used to bring me sunflowers when I was in hospital.’

  ‘Oh, Grace. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I remembered you telling me they were your favourite,’ Sylvia said.

  ‘They are. Mum would give me one on the first day of each month, as a way of reminding me that I was still here, and how far I’d come. To encourage me not to give up.’ Grace dabbed at her eyes, and took a deep breath. ‘I began looking forward to receiving them. It kept me going, knowing I just had to hold out for the next sunflower, and then the next. On my sixteenth birthday, when I achieved full remission, she gave me a whole bunch of them. Twelve to be exact. She said it was in advance for the next twelve months of good health I was bound to have.’ Grace smiled at the memory. ‘She gave me another bunch on my seventeenth birthday. On my eighteenth, she wasn’t there to give me any, so I bought some and put them on her grave.’ Her chin quivering, Grace touched the stem of the sunflower, running her finger up towards its large bright yellow petals.

  Sylvia dabbed at her own eyes. ‘That’s beautiful. Your mum sounds like the loveliest person on the planet. I wish I could have met her.’

  ‘I think you would have got along well with her,’ Grace said, regaining her composure with a smile.

  ‘Do you want me to take the flower away?’ Sylvia asked feebly.

  ‘No, leave it. It’s nice to see one again.’

  ‘Well,’ Sylvia began, sniffing and wiping at the corner of her eye. ‘We’d better eat this breakfast while it’s hot.’

  Starved, Grace sat down and devoured three croissants, two glasses of juice, and a plate of fruit, stopping halfway through to take a multivitamin and iron tablet. It was time to take responsibility for her health, build herself back up again, and keep ‘the sunflower promise’ to her mother. There was no way she’d give up. Ever.

  * * *

  After finally getting up from the table, Sylvia lifted the lid on the piano and Grace took a seat. ‘You sure you’re up to practising? If you’d rather rest, then don’t hesitate to make yourself at home,’ Sylvia said.

  ‘Nope, I’m right. I’ll have a little lie down later, after lunch. My fingers are itching to play.’ Grace twiddled her fingers then rubbed her hands together, before warming them up on the keys. ‘Oh, and I’ve come up with a name for my composition for the concert,’ Grace said. ‘Reunion.’

  A smile slowly grew on Sylvia’s lips.

  ‘Inspired by you and me, meeting again after all these years,’ Grace added.

  ‘Grace, I…I don’t know what to say. What a lovely gesture.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything, just listen. This new melody came to me last night before I fell asleep.’ Grace’s fingers gently pressed on the keys, and Sylvia closed her eyes as though to prevent other sensory stimulation from interfering with the melody. The notes were like warm liquid, flowing easily from one to the other in rapid succession.

  ‘What do you think?’ Grace asked as she placed her hands on her lap and leaned back a little.

  ‘I can see why you haven’t bothered with more lessons. You’re a natural.’

  Grace’s cheeks showed a hint of rose as she smiled.

  ‘You should seriously consider trying to make a career out of it. Give it a go while you’re young,’ Sylvia suggested.

  Grace shrugged. ‘Ah, I dunno. The industry is hard to get into, and I think I should get some professional training first anyway.’

  ‘So do it then. There are plenty of courses you could enrol in, and you could even audition for a music degree. I think you’d get in no problem.’

  Grace sat silently for a while, staring at the piano keys. ‘It’s just… If I commit to something like that I know I’m going to be totally in my element. But…I’m scared the cancer might come back and I’d have to give it up again.’

  Sylvia perched on the edge of the piano seat next to Grace. ‘Like last time?’

  ‘Yeah. Although I didn’t completely give it up as such, but not long after I started lessons, the cancer was diagnosed, so I didn’t play for a long time. I just don’t want to get my hopes up for a career that may never happen.’ Grace’s chest rose with a tense breath.

  Sylvia didn’t want to push the issue. Although Grace had a unique talent that could bring her success, she still needed time to heal, physically and emotionally; and time to build up her self-confidence again. ‘Well for now, let’s just get you better and prepare for this concert, shall we?’

  Grace nodded. ‘That’s about all I can handle right now.’ Her fingers returned to the keys as she played around with a few notes, stopping suddenly when there was a knock at the door.

  Sylvia stood and welcomed Jonah inside, who was carrying a bunch of flowers.

  ‘Where’s the patient?’ he asked.

  Sylvia led him to where Grace sat at the piano.

  ‘I thought you’d be resting. Can’t stop a musician from getting their fix, hey?’ he said, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘It’ll take more than a night in hospital to knock me down,’ Grace replied, standing to accept the flowers.

  ‘I’ll just be, ah…in the bathroom,’ Sylvia said, leaving the lovebirds alone. As she washed her hands at the bathroom sink, she could hear them talking.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been sick?’ Jonah pleaded, concern in his deep voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you. I just wanted to feel like a normal person and not a cancer sufferer.’

  ‘Survivor, you mean,’ Jonah insisted. ‘You’ve still got the all clear, right?’

  ‘Yep.’

  There was silence for a moment, and Sylvia suspected they were embracing or kissing, or something. Or perhaps he was tucking coils of hair behind her ears, running his fingers across her cheek. She waited for them to resume talking before she returned to the kitchen and made herself look busy.

  ‘Anyway, my shift starts soon so I better go. You—rest, okay?’ Jonah pecked Grace on the forehead then turned to Sylvia. ‘See you soon Dr—, I mean, Sylvia.’ He smiled awkwardly, and gave a subtle wave of his hand as he walked out the door.

  Jonah had obviously been upset when he’d heard about Grace, but lately he’d seemed anxious anyway. Not his usual boisterous, jolly self. Probably just working himself to the grindstone at the café. Not to mention the fact that he was always working out in the park or at the beach whenever Sylvia went for a walk. The boy never sat down.

  ‘He’s a nice guy, that Jonah of yours,’ Sylvia commented.

  Grace’s eyes glossed over. ‘He sure is.’ She turned to Sylvia and opened her mouth but then closed it.

  Sylvia held her gaze. ‘You were going to say something?’

  Grace flushed. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No, tell me, what is it?’

  Grace leaned on the kitchen bench. ‘Was my father a nice guy?’ She looked away from Sylvia and fiddled with a notepad and pen beside the telephone.

&nb
sp; Sylvia took a deep breath. It was time. Time to tell her how she came to be in this world. Well, not exactly how, but it was time to talk about her father. ‘Yes, he was a nice guy,’ she said. Probably still was, although she hadn’t crossed paths with him since it all happened. Sylvia gestured for Grace to sit on the couch, and pulled a newspaper from the categorised magazine rack against the wall. She only ever kept four newspapers at a time, and when she bought a fifth, one from the rack was recycled. That way she could refer to recent news or articles if she needed information on something, plus she had spare newspaper to lay down in case of painting, or craft, or things like that which she never did. But you never knew when they might come in handy. The other three sections on the rack contained medical journals which she sometimes flipped through on a Sunday afternoon just for fun, cooking magazines, and shopping catalogues. That was the extent of her publication collection, she wasn’t interested in fashion magazines; she’d rather just go to a store and buy something well-made and stylish, with classic appeal. Nor was she interested in celebrity gossip magazines. After talking with patients all day about their lives, the last thing she wanted was to read about whose love child some famous actress was having and how skinny a popular catwalk model was becoming. If a magazine didn’t have some useful purpose to it she wouldn’t give it a second look.

  She sat next to Grace and opened the newspaper to the sports section. ‘Home Grown Olympian Makes Comeback’, the headline said in bold black type. Sylvia tilted the article towards Grace and she peered at it closely. Then realisation dawned on her daughter’s face as she turned her head slowly towards Sylvia. ‘You mean…’ Grace looked at the picture accompanying the article. A tall muscular man with a slight dimple in his chin stood proudly holding a basketball. Grace looked at Sylvia. ‘Max Reeves is my father?’

  Sylvia nodded, and relief seemed to fall from the top of her head like a loosely placed cap. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. All along I’ve actually known him. I mean, known of him.’ Grace studied the picture closely. ‘Now that I know, I can kind of see myself in him.’ She traced a finger around his chin in the picture, then looked at Sylvia. ‘But I’m glad I inherited your hair and not his!’

  Sylvia agreed on that one. When Max was a teenager he had a full head of ruffled brown hair, but now he had a short cut and receding hairline. Still had that spark in his eyes though, an alluring stare that like a charm drew the attention of any female in close proximity, and his sporting prowess was a bonus attraction. He was still a good catch (no pun intended), but it wouldn’t have worked out. They were too different. Sure, opposites attract, they say, and they did in this case, but Sylvia and Max were only meant to be a short-lived couple. If you could have called them that. Their relationship was over before it really began.

  Sylvia waited while Grace read the article. It talked about his return to professional basketball after a long absence due to injury, and his plans to compete in the next Olympics—perhaps his last chance to win a medal. It also mentioned his recent marriage to a woman named Tina, and how they were expecting their first child. Tina’s first child anyway.

  Sylvia wondered if Max’s wife knew he’d become a father as a teenager. She didn’t even know if Max had told his own parents. When Sylvia called to tell Max the news over the phone, he’d already moved away from Tarrin’s Bay with his family, and she’d had to find out his new phone number from a friend of a friend of a friend of his. She used the excuse of Max having left something of his with her. Which wasn’t a total lie.

  Before giving him a chance to react, Sylvia told Max she planned on giving the baby up for adoption, so he didn’t have to worry about anything. Terminating the pregnancy was never an option for Sylvia; she preferred the idea of giving the child to parents who desperately wanted one. So what if she had to grow a large belly for nine months and endure the pain of childbirth? She knew she’d recover and be able to resume following her dreams, and Max could continue training to reach his goal of playing basketball for Australia. Max had seemed taken aback that she wasn’t asking him for anything, and kept asking, ‘So, you’re sure about this?’ and, ‘You’ll be okay then?’ and told her to call him after it was all over. Which she did, as soon as she returned home from hospital. She told him that although it hurt like hell, everything went smoothly and the result was a healthy baby girl, given to a couple in their thirties who weren’t able to have a baby naturally. It seemed ironic and unfair at the time that so many people who wanted children couldn’t have them, and so many who didn’t plan on having them, at least not right away, became pregnant easily. But Sylvia consoled her guilt with the thought that maybe it was the job of people like her to bring a baby into the world to help infertile couples. That made her feel better, for a while at least.

  ‘That means I’ll have a half-brother or -sister in a few months time,’ Grace remarked.

  Sylvia nodded. ‘It’s good that you know the truth. If you feel you want to get in contact with him, I’m sure we can arrange something.’ Sylvia wondered if Grace would want her to come along if she ever met Max. The thought made her heart race and her muscles tense. She hadn’t seen him since the night of his farewell party. The night when they both knew it was now or never. It was unlikely they’d see each other again, so there were no expectations, but the attraction that had been growing between them since the start of the school year was too strong to stay locked inside.

  ‘Um…maybe someday. I just need to let it all sink in for a while,’ Grace replied, then shook her head in what seemed to be amazement and disbelief. ‘Max Reeves! Who would have thought?’

  Sylvia was glad he wasn’t a celebrity of unfavourable character. Although trying to keep the past behind her, she’d followed Max’s career, watched him in the Olympics, seen him being interviewed on numerous occasions, and even voted for him when he competed on Dancing with the Stars. But when he’d made a brief visit back to Tarrin’s Bay to give a talk at the high school, she wasn’t in town at the time and didn’t have to deal with the idea of seeing him in person again.

  ‘Did he always want to play basketball for a living?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Yes. He told me it was the only thing he was good at. The one thing he was passionate about, and that life wouldn’t be the same without it.’

  Grace nodded. ‘That’s how I feel about my music.’

  ‘I understand,’ Sylvia replied.

  ‘Yeah, that’s how you must feel about medicine, isn’t it?’ Grace folded the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Sylvia replied. And it was true, although she was thinking of something else. Something else she was passionate about that hadn’t been part of her life for a long time. Sylvia quickly pushed an old memory back to its allocated place in her mind, and folded her hands in her lap.

  Grace appeared to think for a few moments, then brought up another memory for Sylvia. ‘Did I cause you much trouble, you know, when you were pregnant with me?’

  ‘Well, apart from turning my flat stomach into a bulge the size of a large watermelon…nah, no trouble!’ Sylvia tried to make light of it, preferring not to remember how special she’d felt, carrying a growing being inside her. Because then she’d feel sad, having missed out on the bit that comes afterwards, the bit that most parents can’t wait for, the bit that she willingly handed over to someone else. Not that she necessarily regretted giving Grace up, she’d made the decision she and her parents thought right. But that maternal part of her, however immature it was at age sixteen, somehow longed to take her baby home and care for her. ‘I had a bit of morning sickness, but not as bad as some women get, so I was lucky,’ Sylvia said. ‘Apparently, my experience with pregnancy and childbirth was a “text book” case. Although at the time I didn’t appreciate being likened to a text book, especially considering I was studying and my days were spent reading them!’

  Grace laughed. ‘So you’d rather be likened to a large watermelon then.’


  ‘Of course!’ Sylvia laughed too. ‘Then I’ve got one over “Baby” who only carried a watermelon for a few minutes. I carried one for nine months!’

  Grace looked at Sylvia with a face of confusion.

  ‘You know, Baby, from Dirty Dancing…the famous line, “I carried a watermelon”?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘Sorry, nope!’

  How can she not have seen Dirty Dancing? It was a classic. ‘Never mind then. But you should watch it sometime, it’s a trademark movie from my youth!’

  Grace smiled a cheeky grin. ‘So I guess it’s in black and white then?’

  Sylvia picked up the newspaper and whacked her playfully on the arm. Sounded like something Mark Bastian would say. Although, he was only a couple of years younger than her degenerative age so it wouldn’t be as ingenious a joke. ‘Don’t feel too pleased with yourself, you’ll be as old as me one day.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Grace said quietly.

  Oops. Sylvia made a mental note to be more careful with things she said. Grace was obviously still unsure of her future and whether she’d stay free of the cancer. Sylvia placed a comforting hand on Grace’s. ‘Of course you will. I’ll tell you what, when you turn thirty-five, I’ll even throw you a huge party, how about that? I’m sure I would have been “event-planner of the year” in a past life, if I had one.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll hold you to that,’ Grace replied. ‘Although, by then you’ll be fifty-one, so do you think someone of that age could handle the responsibility?’ Grace shuffled away from Sylvia on the couch to avoid the inevitable newspaper whack, but it came too quickly, then she snatched it off Sylvia and whacked her with it, until Sylvia picked up a cushion and used it as a shield to defend herself.

  They collapsed on the couch in laughter, and for the first time since they met, Sylvia actually felt like Grace’s mother. But then she felt guilty that Maria Forrester was missing out on this, and that somehow Sylvia had taken Grace from her, perhaps subconsciously willing Maria out of this life so she could get the chance she didn’t take eighteen years ago. Why did she always experience these conflicting emotions? Sylvia had grown so used to the guilt that as soon as she felt anything other than that around Grace, she’d feel guilty for not feeling guilty anymore, and then everything would go back to the way it was before; feeling as though she’d had her chance to be a mother and blew it, and didn’t deserve another one. Silly, she knew, but the subconscious mind was a complex thing. Grace seemed genuinely okay with having been given up for adoption, but Sylvia’s scientific mind needed proof; she needed to hear her say it.