The Gift of Life

by Josephine Moon

  She stopped at his side. He looked up quickly and gave her an easy smile. He flicked his eyes back to the screen, frowning in concentration. First crack was just beginning, with one or two beans emitting small pops inside the drum. She shouldn’t talk to him, not now. But after her momentary feelings of self-pity yesterday about her short life expectancy, she’d given herself a stern lecture. It was only yesterday morning in Sydney that she’d declared that this was her life now. Hers. She wasn’t going to waste another moment in guilt or feeling sorry for herself. Stagnation wasn’t an option. Neither was giving up.

  She’d woken with an almost reckless desire to suck the marrow from this day and every day going forward. She’d been timid, she realised, hesitant to truly trust her heart, not feeling worthy of this incredible gift. But it wasn’t a gift at all – not in the way she’d thought. In many ways, knowing Krystal’s true motivations had freed Gabby to get on with her life instead of feeling indebted in a way she’d never be able to escape from.

  So here she was. It was now or never.

  ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘Hm?’ Luciano murmured, then spun to pull out the trier to smell the beans. The scent hit Gabby hard, but while in the past she may have been sentimentally reminded that this gift of smell had come with the gift of her heart, today she chose simply to feel grateful, not guilty.

  Not wanting to distract Luciano when he might burn himself, she waited impatiently while he sniffed the beans, then placed the trier back in the roasting machine and adjusted the dials slightly.

  ‘I know you are an employee and there are all sorts of guidelines about these things, so it’s a risk to say something like this, and I want you to know that you are absolutely free to say no and there will be no recriminations of any kind.’

  ‘Huh?’

  She could tell he was struggling to concentrate on her words and on his roast, which was right at the critical moment, but she had to plough on. Energy was pouring through her today and it wasn’t waiting for this roast to finish.

  ‘Will you go out with me? On a proper date?’

  ‘Um …’ He flicked his eyes to hers, back to his computer, then back to hers, and left them there.

  She resisted the urge to add qualifiers to fill the silence. It isn’t a big deal, we could just have a bit of lunch. We couldn’t really go for coffee, ha ha, but maybe tea? Or a drink? You know, an alcoholic one?

  She bit them all down and waited.

  Luciano’s jaw loosened, then his lips parted, a sparkle hit his eyes, and he smiled. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘You don’t feel like you have to or anything, like you’ll lose your job or something ridiculous like that, just to be sure.’

  He laughed, grinning at her, causing a flash of attraction to zap through her. ‘No. I can sign something if you like.’

  ‘All right. How about lunch, today? My treat.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Great.’ Relief flooded through her and she realised her hands were sweating where she’d had them clasped in front of her. She let them go, sighing with delight. They stood eye to eye, grinning at each other, and Gabby had no idea how much time passed. Then the smiles snapped off their faces at exactly the same moment. The beans had stopped popping. The coloured lines on the computer screen lurched into wild angles and there was the unmistakable smell of scorched beans.

  Gabby took Luciano to Kitty Burns cafe in Abbotsford, not far from the river, hoping that if things went well they might extend their date with a walk along the water. The decor of Kitty Burns was inspiring and uplifting, with a glass roof and walls to let the natural light filter down through the blond wooden beams and keep the extensive greenery alive. Bushland surrounded the cafe, providing a glorious, natural setting. All the outdoor tables were filled with people and dogs, taking advantage of the warm sunshine, so they went inside. The floor was a smoky grey and the furniture and fittings the same Scandinavian style, white and iceberg blue. They found an available booth, with the exposed beams of a peaked pergola above their heads giving it an added sense of cosiness and privacy.

  Luciano sat down and then sneezed. ‘Ah, sorry. I can’t get the smell of the burned beans out of my nose.’

  ‘Me too. That smoke got right up into my sinuses.’

  ‘It was busy today,’ he said, folding his arms on the table and leaning towards her. ‘I’ll have to get another batch done this afternoon if we’re going to have enough for the rest of the week.’

  ‘I’m thinking we might need another staff member or even two. But I might see if I can recruit Summer or Charlie to help out in the first instance, just in case this upsurge in trade doesn’t continue.’

  ‘I’d be happy to teach Charlie how to make coffee.’

  She smiled. ‘He’d really like that.’

  ‘And Summer too, of course, if she wants to learn. And Celia,’ he hurried to add.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, feeling heat rise up her cheeks just from looking at his lovely warm eyes and thick lashes. ‘How were your kids today?’ The menus lay untouched on the tabletop between them, neither in a hurry to order.

  ‘Everyone went to school, so that’s a start. My mamma’s coming over this afternoon after school to teach them how to make ravioli.’

  ‘Nice. Maybe she could teach me one day too.’ She said it without thinking, then groaned quietly with self-consciousness. She hadn’t meant to make any assumptions about their future. She picked up the menu and hurriedly scanned it.

  ‘I think she’d like you a lot,’ Luciano said.

  She glanced at him. ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because you’re brave, you love your kids and you’re a smart businesswoman.’

  She took a moment to absorb his praise.

  ‘She has an idea for a business she’d like to start. She’d find you an inspiration.’

  Gabby put down the menu. ‘What sort of idea?’

  He inched his hand across the table and hooked his finger under hers. She curled hers around his in response, the feel of his skin ricocheting through her so that she had to concentrate very hard to continue listening to him. ‘She wants to start a business called “Rent an Italian Family”.’

  ‘Tell me, what is it?’ Her voice was husky, betraying her.

  ‘Mamma came from a big family back in Italy, as did Papa. She says Australians miss out on big family at special moments in life. So, when a woman has a baby, she needs the family around to help her care for the baby and the older children, to cook and clean, garden and shop. You can hire individual people to do some of these things but she says what women really need is an extended family, everyone pitching in to support you.’

  ‘I love that idea,’ Gabby said, genuinely excited.

  ‘It’s probably got merit,’ he conceded. ‘Same for times of bereavement or sickness.’

  ‘I can testify to that. I couldn’t have got through my illness, transplant and recovery without my family there. Everyone I know who had a transplant was entirely reliant on family – older people dependent on their spouses or on going to live with their own grown-up kids, and the younger ones having to move back home with their parents. I’ve no idea what people without families do in those situations. I’d actually be keen to talk to your mum about that. Maybe I could help her connect with people on the transplant waiting list.’

  He stretched out more fingers until their hands were entirely knitted together. ‘See, she’ll love you.’

  A waitress arrived to take their orders. For drinks, Luciano chose the Tasmanian apple cider while Gabby said she couldn’t go past the jasmine tea gathered from two-hundred-year-old tea trees, the leaves of which were dried alongside jasmine flowers around the time of the full moon.

  ‘You’re a romantic,’ he said.

  Until very recently, she’d not have thought so, but something in her had started to grow once more.

  Luciano ordered the beef bur
ger and Gabby followed suit and ordered the buttermilk chicken burger, before realising that was probably not the best choice for a date – it was difficult to look impressive when you had sauce dripping down your wrists.

  They chatted easily, not pausing for breath except to acknowledge the waitress when she returned with their drinks and food.

  ‘Cheers,’ Gabby said, lifting her teacup, the delicate aroma of the jasmine flowers wheeling through the steam to her nose.

  ‘Cheers.’ He sipped from his cider, but kept his eyes on her.

  ‘Where else have you travelled, other than Italy?’ she said.

  ‘Most of Europe,’ he said, casually. ‘It’s easy when you’re over there. Everything’s so close.’

  ‘I’ve only been to Ireland,’ Gabby said. ‘Twice, actually. Mum and Dad took Pippa and me over there when we were in our teens. It felt like an interminable trip on lousy roads past sheep paddocks and rock walls while our parents searched for their ancestors’ old houses and churches and so on. We were freezing cold and beside ourselves with boredom. But then Pippa and I decided to go back in our twenties, just the two of us, and we had the most wonderful time together – probably in no small part due to the fact we were of legal drinking age this time and found ourselves in festive bars full of live music every night.’

  ‘Did you go to County Clare?’ Luciano said.

  ‘Yes. My great-grandparents came from there. They met on the ship when they emigrated to Australia and married when they got here.’

  Luciano’s eyes twinkled. ‘Did you ever go to that pub, O’Neill’s? O’Hara’s?’

  ‘Yes! I can’t remember the name either but it was an O-something.’

  ‘Did you by any chance cut through the sheep paddock to get there, rather than walking the long way around the road?’

  Gabby sat up straighter and put her burger down. ‘Yes, we did!’

  Luciano also put down his burger, grinning. ‘And did the old guy chase you?’

  ‘The one-eyed sheep farmer?’ Gabby squealed, laughing. ‘It was legendary, a tradition at the hostel. Everyone had to do it or you had to shout a round of beers.’

  ‘“You feckin eejit!”’ Luciano mimed, his fist raised in the air. ‘“I’ll cut yer balls off an’ feed ’em to da pigs!”’

  ‘Yes!’ Gabby giggled, helplessly. ‘That’s it exactly!’

  ‘I wonder if he’s still alive.’

  ‘I bet he is,’ Gabby said. ‘He was probably only forty but just looked like he was eighty. His face was as cracked and weathered as his rocky field. The poor guy. We were awful to do that to him, really.’

  Luciano chuckled and held her gaze, making her skin tingle. He spoke again, gently this time, but still with an Irish accent. ‘Aye, but you’ve amazing Irish eyes when you laugh.’

  ‘Oh, my dad would love you,’ she said. Monty had been at work the day Luciano had brought the kids around. ‘He is so bloody proud to be from Irish stock.’

  ‘It’d be grand to meet your da,’ he said, and reached for his cider.

  She put her hands to her cheeks; they were aching from laughter. It was thrilling, this possibility of something new – new beginnings, new life, new relationships, new chapters. It wasn’t something she ever took for granted any more.

  ‘Is that your phone?’ Luciano asked, nodding to her huge tote beside her on the booth seat.

  ‘What? Oh!’ She’d been so swept away in her feelings she hadn’t even heard it ringing. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to get that in case it’s one of the schools calling. You know how it is.’

  ‘I do,’ he agreed.

  But when Gabby pulled out the phone, the name on the screen set her on edge.

  ‘Meri? What’s happened?’ she asked, holding the phone to her right ear and blocking her other ear with her left hand so she could hear over the background noise. Although she and Meri had occasionally spoken by phone, it was a boundary they tended not to cross. All communication about the kids was to go between her and Cam.

  ‘Have you seen Cam?’ Meri asked, anxiety blunting her tone.

  ‘No, should I have?’

  ‘He left for work this morning but didn’t show up. The school called me to check if he was okay.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’ From across the table, Luciano looked up from his burger, alerted by her tone.

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Meri’s voice trembled. ‘His phone’s turned off.’

  ‘Call the police,’ Gabby said. ‘Ask them about accidents, alert them to his disappearance.’ Now Luciano dropped his food and wiped his hands on a serviette, frowning at her.

  ‘I … do you think something might have happened?’

  ‘Clearly, yes, something has happened or he’d be at school. Look, he’s probably off smoking somewhere,’ Gabby said, as much to calm herself as Meri.

  ‘I don’t think that’s … I haven’t seen him …’

  ‘He’s been on a bender. Haven’t you seen the signs?’ Her tone was regrettably snippier than she’d have liked, but she couldn’t believe that a social worker could be so blind to what was right in front of her.

  ‘I …’ Meri was lost for words. Mykahla started fussing in the background.

  ‘Look, just start with the police, then call me back, okay?’

  Gabby disconnected the call and shook her head in disbelief at Luciano.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s my ex-husband. He’s been falling apart, said he wanted a break from the kids, isn’t returning their calls, and now he’s gone missing, failed to turn up to work.’

  ‘We should go,’ Luciano said, sliding out of the booth.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gabby said, following him. There was a low hum of dread gathering force in her veins, and in the back of her mind was a voice reminding her that this was exactly what had happened to Krystal. Evan had left for work and never come home again.

  Luciano held out his hand to help Gabby from the booth. She slipped her hand into his and it was like it had always been there. She pulled herself to her feet and they held each other’s gaze, her hand still in his.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said.

  ‘No, you don’t need to.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Gabby considered him for a moment, in awe of how he made her feel. Safe and supported. Maybe even cherished.

  ‘It’s a bit weird, though, isn’t it? You helping me look for my ex-husband?’

  ‘Just because Cam is your ex doesn’t make it any less awful. He’s your kids’ father. He’s still an important part of your family.’

  Her eyes welled and she bit down on her lip, determined not to cry here in this cafe.

  ‘If he’s important to you, then he’s important to me,’ he finished, putting his other hand on her shoulder.

  She nodded her acceptance because she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, still holding her hand, and they turned to leave together.

  28

  Krystal arrived at the office to the smell of fresh, warm croissants, and Margie and Janice giggling like teenagers in the kitchenette, steaming mugs of some sort of fancy coffee in their hands, a shiny new glass plunger on the bench with the remains of the grounds in the bottom. ‘Morning,’ she said, as cheerily as she could, given the weight of all the new information Rebecca had shared with her yesterday. Unfortunately, she had a hangover, and knew her eyes were glassy, her complexion peaky.

  ‘Morning,’ Margie said, clearing her throat and suppressing the end of a giggle. Last Wednesday, when Janice had announced the job cut, Margie’s hair had miraculously benefited from a timely colour rinse. Today, it had been professionally styled and blow-dried into smooth, glossy chestnut curls. Krystal was resentful that the woman she’d thought was her friend had obviously had a heads-up about the new position and kept it from Krystal, and she was disgusted that Margie could be so blatant in her intentions to flatter Janice to score points.

  ‘Good morning,’ Janice said, unusually che
erful, clearly buoyed by the wooing at hand.

  ‘Would you like a croissant?’ Margie asked Krystal, her tone that of a gracious host.

  ‘No, thanks,’ Krystal said, the thought of food making her stomach roil. ‘I’d love a coffee though, if there’s any more.’

  ‘Of course,’ Margie said, turning to refill the kettle.

  ‘Well, I’ll get to work,’ Janice said, placing her coffee mug on the side of the sink. She reached for the tap to start washing up, but Margie stopped her.

  ‘No, leave it. I’ll do it after Krystal’s had hers,’ she said.

  Janice beamed. ‘Thank you.’

  Krystal could barely contain an eye roll as Janice left the kitchenette. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Margie said, measuring out gloriously aromatic coffee into the plunger. Krystal practically quivered in anticipation of the beautiful elixir easing her headache and sharpening her focus. ‘I’m making you coffee. And you look like you need one. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ Krystal said, rubbing her forehead.

  ‘Did you have a big night or something?’ Margie said, straightening her new, floaty cream blouse. She was trying for amiable, Krystal could tell, but the air of an eager bloodhound wafted around her. She knew she was winning and was looking for the kill.

  ‘Just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. The boys had bad dreams and kept me up,’ she lied.

  ‘Both of them? At the same time?’ Margie poured the boiling water into the jug and set the plunger to rest on top while the coffee brewed below. ‘That was bad luck.’

  ‘No, not at the same time. One first, then the other.’

  Margie pulled a faux sympathetic face. ‘Kids. Glad I don’t have any. It would make holding down a full-time job terribly tricky, I should imagine.’