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“But you’re very marketable, too,” repeated Soserina.
“You won’t be forgotten,” assured Sydney.
“How could we forget you?” chirped Bailey.
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“Passionate but sensitive.”
“Ambitious but friendly.”
“Focused but balanced.”
“Loves his wife.”
“Loves his life.”
“Loves the child he is yet to see.”
The marketing trio exchanged glances and smiled. “The man every woman wants!” they cried.
Adam blinked once, twice, then looked up at the ceiling.
He was in deep shit.
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
What can I do to make you connect with me again, B?
Maybe nothing. Maybe my promises to make good can’t make up for past sins. Maybe I am no longer worthy of the miracle. If that’s the situation, then so be it. I have made my bed, I must lie in it.
But don’t force your mother to lay beside me.
She should not have to suffer as I am suffering now. She should not have to contend that my gloom is the result of something other than my story. She should not be subjected to needless worry because my lack of respect compelled you to withdraw.
Send her a message. Honour her with the miracle. Spare her the awful suggestion that your silence with me is the result of something beyond my unworthiness.
Please, B—send Maddy a message.
Please.
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21
D awn Marks assisted Maddy into a sitting position on the bench. She then performed a small round of applause.
“No irregularities in shape or size, heart rate or position.
You’re all set for the home stretch.”
Maddy smiled and hugged the midwife.
“So there’s nothing going on that might be…a concern?”
The women broke from their embrace. They observed Adam replace What to Expect When You’re Expecting back on the wall shelf.
“There’s nothing to overtly suggest a threat to healthy delivery in approximately eight weeks time,” comforted Dawn.
Adam turned his attention to his wife. “Has there been any change in the kicking, any lessening of movement?”
Maddy narrowed her gaze then spoke to her belly.
“Kiddo, your Dada has been hanging around your Mama for too long. Now he’s got the worry-warts!”
“Maddy, please let-”
“Relax Adam! We’ve come too far for anything to go wrong now, gorgeous handsome man. Way too far.”
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
…Without any relieving message, to your mother or myself, how can I truly believe that you are beyond danger?
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How can I have faith in unexplained loss?
*
“What’s up with you, fella?”
Adam swung the Toyota onto bustling Brunswick Street.
To the right, the Empire Hotel shimmied and shook under the heavy hand of an Acid House sampler. To the left, the footpath fronting The Zoo wore the screams of a council jackhammer. The combined caterwaul allowed Adam to wait two city blocks and one full minute before responding.
He was grateful.
“I’m having a few hassles with the ‘child’ parts of the story.”
Maddy watched the graffi ti and the commercial real estate ‘For Sale’ signs slide by.
“Well snap out of it.”
Red lights at the Village Twin intersection brought the four wheel drive to idle. Adam turned on the radio. Maddy turned it off.
“You’ve waited a long time for days like these, Adam O’Doherty,” she said, twisting her expanse and wrestling with the seatbelt. “Don’t spend them dwelling on stuff that will inevitably sort itself out.”
They rode the dip down to Merthyr Road in silence.
At some point before reaching home, Adam opened the driver-side window and leaned toward the gusts of passing air, hoping they might take the moisture from his eyes and the golf ball lump from his throat.
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
…Could your mother survive the worst this time around? I honestly don’t know.
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Could we survive?
I don’t know that either.
Tomorrow is my fi nal day at school, probably my fi nal day as a teacher. There are all sorts of tributes and salutes being organised, from a student concert in the morning to a staff roast in the afternoon.
I think I’m going to be sick.
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22
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
Jim Fox informed me that everything is set for The Umbilical Word’s fi rst tentative steps into the world of literary expectation. Hutton House’s publishing schedule has been shuffl ed around. The ‘Coming Soon!’ ads are ready for release. A profi le of ‘Adam O’Doherty—The Next Big Thing’ is about to be set loose amongst the national media.
Draft covers are being drawn up as I write. There’s only one thing holding the process up.
The Umbilical Word needs an ending.
How is it to end, B?
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Letters to Limbo 2
23
M addy entered the spare room and switched the meandering ceiling fan off. She was attired in the clothes that had become synonymous with this space—navy pedal pushers with ultra-expandable waist, Mambo Goddess tee stained by the sap of the backyard banana tree, stretched Roots quarter socks and squeaky Masseur sandals. She wore nothing else during the four and a half week transformation of the room. The nursery was the result of this uniform’s small but honest toil. Love’s labour had been absorbed into the fabrics, never to be excised.
She approached the ergonomic chair and, after several stress tests, lowered her full weight onto the velour seat. The computer desk had been Adam’s exclusive preserve of late, despite her co-habitation of the room. Maddy had hardly given the station a second look during her days of daubing and dolling, pasting and pottering. Today she consumed its detail. The empty beer bottle standing by the mouse pad.
The web-cam pointing toward the wall. The clumps of paperclips nestled in amongst the microphone wires. And the manuscript. Stacked and adjusted. Dead centre of the desk. Laying before the monitor like a holy offering. Giving every impression of a fi nished article.
Maddy cradled the mouse and clicked the net icon. As
‘Logging On’ scarpered down to the taskbar, she typed in her author husband’s brand new username and password.
*
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From: “Jenna Grimson”
Hey Boy
Wow! Love the webpage! Do you know how I found out about it?
It was being advertised on the ‘Pregnancy, Birth and Baby Expo’
site! This book’s really going to be something else when it hits the shelves. Can’t wait to go up to a complete stranger thumbing through it in a store and tell them ‘I’m the faker in that!’.
So, how is this perfect life treating you? Perfectly, no doubt (how ironic). I gather you’re not getting out much at the moment, trying to fi nish off the story. I ‘m sure it will work out brilliantly.
You’re missed at school. You’re still the hot topic of the lunch table (my pregnancy can’t compete). Even The Sarge ment
ioned you the other day. Apparently he’s been writing a thriller loosely based on his tours of duty in Vietnam for some years now. He said when it hits two hundred thousand words, he might get your opinion on it.
The kids miss you, too. Your friend Dregs is having a hard time coming to terms with your career change. He must think you were a pretty good teacher because he is adamant you’re letting your child down by becoming a famous writer. I assured him that your child is fully supportive of your move, but he wasn’t convinced. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that your replacement does a pretty good impression of one Callum Cuthbert Morecroft, pre-Strictly Ballroom.
Well, I should probably go for now. Boyd is hassling me to get ready.
He found some cheap second-hand baby baths in the Trading Post and we’re going to road test them.
These lives we’re living, Adam…are you positive they really belong to us?
Of course yours does—YOU NAILED IT!
BOLA
Jay
p.s. See you at the last ante-natal class on Friday!
*
From: “Kelly Clark”
Recluse Ed
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Heard you were having some dramas coming up with an ending to your story, so I took the liberty of doing the job for you.
Father-to-be and his devilishly handsome friend are having a game of tennis. Friend is, as per usual, kicking Dad’s arse when the pregnant wife rolls up and says she’s going into labour. They jump into Dad’s car only to fi nd a stray ball (no doubt one of Dad’s backhands…but, hey it’s your story, you can choose any stroke you like) has pierced the bonnet and completely destroyed the engine. With no other transport, it’s obvious Mum is going to have to give birth right here and right now. But where? Where can such a momentous event be conducted with dignity and decorum?
Friend spies the umpire’s chair and…
I think you could fi ll in the blanks from here. Just make sure the devilishly handsome joker goes on to win the Australian Open with a bag of fl our as his doubles partner.
Fear not, Ed—it’ll all come together the way it should.
Don’t be a stranger.
Love and fondles
Kel
*
From: “Tammy Turner”
Dear Adam
Just a short note to say I’m glad my interpretation of your cards was wrong. From what’s happened in the last couple of months, it seems you were destined to be on the roller-coaster for a little while, but not all the way. No more loop-de-loops now, eh?
Keep smiling and keep taking care of your little family.
*
From: “Eileen and Reg O’Doherty”
Adam
Hi. How are you? We haven’t seen you for a while. We know you are very busy at the moment (not half as busy as you will be soon though!), but hopefully you can have a night off soon to come and visit us.
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Do you know Madeline’s been talking a bit with your father about the nursery? Before you get all worried thinking the little one will be surrounded by State of Origin memorabilia, they’re not discussing decorating! It’s been more the practical stuff, which drill bit for this and what screw for that. Reg was worried she was doing too much, but she said she knows her limits only too well these days. And any of that tough stuff, well that’s what Grandpas are for!
I’ve never seen that girl of yours looking more at peace with the world, Adam. I couldn’t have imagined it when she was in the hospital. She’s going to make a wonderful mother. You really are a lucky boy to have her.
And we are very lucky to have you, Mr Writer! Michelle and Christopher, too. The Almighty has been very good to us, especially of late. Those extra prayers must have done the trick.
And, of course, we won’t stop until the best little blessing of all has arrived!
Hope to see you soon.
Love
Mum
*
From: “Jenna Grimson”
Ad
How’s it going, bud? Is everything alright? You were awfully quiet at the last ante-natal class (certainly a lot more quiet then you were at the fi rst one!). You seemed very distracted, like a hitman was after you or something. Is the story still giving you gyp? I hope it’s that and not something else.
It’s not something else is it?
Don’t listen to Boyd if he tells you you’ve seen Woody Allen’s Love and Death, too many times. Just because everything’s going great in your life, that doesn’t mean you then get an overwhelming urge to commit suicide.
Talk to me, Ad.
Jay
*
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From: “Michelle O’Doherty”
Brud
Having a wee break from the books and thought I’d drop you a line to make sure you’re still alive.
How are things travelling with the story? Almost fi nished? I guess the delays you’re experiencing couldn’t possibly be long enough to give me a chance at that episiotomy. So, with my concession that the score is now 1-1, I think it’s time we settled on a decider.
How about ‘First one to have a complete breakdown and lose it all’?
Take care
Shell
*
From: “Dilip Shastrani”
Adam
I saw the sequel to Karan Arjun last night—Nasty Uncle’s karma is to return as a rainstorm that saves Karan Arjun’s town from a terrible fi re—and I couldn’t help thinking of you.
How are you enjoying your karma, my friend? Many people think
‘karma’ means payback or poetic justice. You do something bad and that bad returns to you. But karma actually means ‘what is destined’.
I remember our chat some time ago when you spoke of miracles. Am I correct in thinking you foresaw the events that have since occurred?
Indian legend contains stories of men who glimpsed their future, their karma, were willing to accept it and be grateful for it, and were looked upon favourably by the gods as a result. These men were very special and very rare. They are still regarded to this day as teachers for all the rest of us struggling with the outswingers life throws our way.
I have a question for you: Are you sure you’re not Indian?
I apologise for not writing more, but it is my karma to pick up the pizzas we have ordered for dinner.
Stay happy my friend. You deserve all you receive.
Dilip
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*
From: “Samantha Pole”
Hi Adam
I just wanted to e-mail and say thank you.
I never made physical contact with Maddy and I’ve never read your book, but the strength and courage of both of you still must have rubbed off on me somehow.
I’m pregnant.
Thank you for being living proof that two miracles were indeed possible.
*
From: “Jenna Grimson”
Adam
I had a chat to Maddy this morning and I found out things with you are a whole lot worse than a few unreturned e-mails and phone messages. She said you’re
like a ghost at home. You hardly talk, you look down in the mouth all day. The only time you come away from the computer is for meals, when she’s working on the nursery, and to go to the loo.
That isn’t the way I envisaged your dream come true, Ad. I’m pretty sure it’s not the way you envisaged it either.
It’s not the story doing this. There is something else going on isn’t there.
What the hell is it?
And for God’s sake, let Maddy know.
*
The whiny grumble of the Rav 4 fi ltered through the closed window and the fl oorboards. Maddy sat upright on the chair, fi ngering the smooth hematite stone in her necklace.
There was no urgency or concern, none of the staple, startle
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responses associated with the pre-sprung trespasser. She felt only opportunity. The slow footsteps on the stair— Tub…
Tub…Tub—might’ve been listless or methodical. At the top, they went dead. Five minutes passed. Maddy closed her eyes.
“You went out to clear your head, fella,” she whispered.
“Come in and do the same.”
Car horns tooted in the gridlock three blocks away.
An earthmover beyond the back fence prepared the way for another once-in-a-lifetime sprawl of units. A stream of Italian monologue sailed out of the neighbour’s bathroom window, its pitch instructive, weighty. It sounded like a voice of reason.
Noises on the front deck. A whump. A bump. The rattle of keys, but not with intent. The clackety-clack of blinds drawing. The drag of a cheap outdoor chair across cheap wooden decking. The creaks and sighs of hinges as the canvas seat bears the full load of a burdened man. Then silence once more.
Maddy folded her arms. She bade goodbye to Jenna Grimson’s most recent unanswered mail and clicked
‘Compose’.
“God’s sake not enough either,” she murmured.
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24
From: “Madeline O’Doherty”
My Husband
I am writing this e-mail because, right now, I feel it is my best chance of you understanding what must be said. But it is the only one I am going to write.
In a few short weeks, things will change forever. We will enter the most important time in our marriage, the most important time in our lives. We’re not perfectly prepared for what’s to come—no one ever is—but at least we’re going in with some things that will serve us well throughout the journey: devotion and strength and compassion and resiliency.