The January Wish (32 page)

* * *

‘It’s not goodbye, it’s just see you later,’ Grace said as she stood next to Sylvia and her suitcase, waiting for the taxi to take Sylvia to the airport. They’d both stayed at Grace’s family home last night, and Sylvia had tried to keep her composure while being given the tour, but Grace could tell she’d felt quite emotional. Grace had lived in this house since she was a young child, and knowing this was where her daughter had lived all this time must have been a strange sensation for Sylvia. Grace’s dad showed Sylvia their photo albums, with pictures of Grace as a baby, a toddler, and on her first day of school. There was even a lock of her red curls taped to a page in the album. He’d shown her all of Grace’s school photos, although some years were missing; the years she’d been sick. Within only an hour or so, Sylvia had seen a compressed version of Grace’s life up till now. What pictures would take up residence in the photo albums of years to come she didn’t know, but she knew there’d be plenty of her at the piano. And maybe she’d meet some nice like-minded people if she got accepted into the conservatorium, and they’d become lifelong friends. Who knows, maybe she’d even meet a nice new guy, although she couldn’t bear the thought of that just yet. Her heart still ached for Jonah, but she’d try her best to move on. Empty albums awaited, and Grace was eager to fill them with new experiences.

‘Of course, it’s only a few months till your audition. I bet the time flies by,’ Sylvia said.

‘Make sure you keep in touch, okay?’

Sylvia picked up Grace’s hand. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’

Grace smiled. ‘I’ll be busy preparing for my audition, but I’m sure I can find
some
time to talk to you occasionally.’

Sylvia nudged her daughter’s ribs. ‘You better. And make sure you look after yourself. Get enough sleep, eat well, and take your tablets.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ Oops. She’d meant it as a figure of speech, but an awkward moment hung between them. Grace preferred to call her Sylvia, as ‘mum’ was…
had
been, reserved for Maria. The only mother she’d known until this year.

‘You know what, Grace?’ Sylvia said after a few moments. ‘I know I was young when I had you—too young to give you the life you deserved, but I’m so glad you were born. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

Something tugged at Grace’s heart. ‘I am?’

Sylvia cupped Grace’s face in her hands, and kissed her forehead. ‘You bet.’

Grace wrapped her arms around her mother and held on until the taxi pulled up in the driveway. The past few days had gone so fast, she didn’t want them to end. But Sylvia needed to get back to work, back to her life. And for Grace,
her
life was just starting. Her dreams were within reach and she was going to stand on her tippy-toes and grasp them with all her strength.

As she finally let Sylvia get into the taxi, Grace bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling, and as she waved goodbye while the taxi drove off, she could have sworn she could smell her mother’s perfume. Maria’s perfume. Her signature fragrance, Trésor. Maybe Sylvia had been wearing it? But she hadn’t seen it in her cosmetic bag in the hotel bathroom, and she hadn’t noticed the scent until now. Now that Sylvia was gone. The sweet fruity scent danced around her and accompanied her back inside the house, where her father was waiting with open arms.

Mark had been away eight days when he knew it was time to go back. He packed up his tent and set off early Monday morning, arriving home by 11 a.m. The sun was intermittently making an appearance through the clouds, the sky mostly overcast. In contrast to the fine weather he’d had up north, Tarrin’s Bay was at its coldest. Although not known as a particularly cold area, it still had those days in winter where you were better off indoors with a hot drink and a heater.

Anxious to make the most of the day, Mark quickly packed away his belongings so he could get started. There were three things he needed to do. First, he went to his bedroom and picked up the photo of Cindy from his bedside table. Saying a silent ‘thank you’ for the memories they’d shared and the part she’d played in his life, he turned the photo frame over and removed the picture, placing it inside a photo album that contained pictures of his previous life at Welston. He put the empty photo frame back on his bedside table. When the time was right, he’d fill it with a new photo.

Then, he lifted the framed portrait of Cindy from the wall in the entry foyer and removed the picture, placing it inside the photo album too. In its place in the frame, he put a print he’d bought at a local art and craft market last week. It was a picture of a silhouetted person sitting on a lush green hill at sunrise, with a quotation that grabbed Mark as soon as he’d seen it:
‘You are the writer of your own life story. So get a pen, turn the page, and start writing!’

The quotation had double meaning for Mark. Not only was he moving forward towards the life he wanted for himself, he had a forgotten dream he needed to pursue. He fired up his computer, opened up his documents, and clicked on the folder titled ‘Books’. In there was a file called ‘BoostingAthleticPerformanceNaturally.doc’ and he double-clicked on it. The last sentence he’d written was ‘taking this supplement twenty minutes before exercise has been shown to’…and then he’d stopped. Cindy had screamed when she found a spider in the bathroom, and Mark had left his computer suddenly to see what was wrong. Then the phone had rung, and one interruption after another had prevented Mark from finishing that sentence. Then life took over and the manuscript went into extended hibernation, until now.

Mark still remembered what he’d been about to write, so without pausing to acknowledge this significant moment in his efforts to move on, he typed and completed the sentence…’improve oxygen uptake by fifteen percent, making it an excellent option for enhancing performance, endurance, and recovery’. He added a reference number in superscript, and updated his ‘references’ file that was to be included at the back of the book.

Mark tapped furiously at the keys, and by two o’clock found himself irritated by an inconvenient grumbling in his stomach. He defrosted and reheated a mug of vegetable soup he’d stored in the freezer, and sipped it while writing. The wind whipped at the branches of the tree outside, slapping the leaves at his window, as years of research and knowledge poured onto the screen, and he typed at a speed he couldn’t quite believe. It was as though he was racing down Death Hill again, but with his mind not his body.

At dinnertime, he ordered a Thai home delivery and sat briefly at the dining table to refuel; rushing back to his desk before he’d finished swallowing his last mouthful. Just like when he’d sorted through Cindy’s boxes, he seemed to work best in sudden bursts of activity, so he went with the flow and kept writing while the inspiration propelled him.

* * *

When Sylvia arrived home late on Wednesday afternoon, the town seemed empty without Grace. Grace had only been here for five months, but somehow she’d carved her own special place in the heart of Tarrin’s Bay. Come November, Sylvia would see her again. They’d planned to meet at the airport, and stay at Sylvia’s parents’ house in Sydney the night before the audition. It warmed Sylvia’s heart to see Grace pursuing her dreams. Sylvia herself could have quite possibly had a music career, but the urge wasn’t as strong compared to pursuing a medical career. But with her idea to play piano at nursing homes and hospitals, she now had an opportunity to combine both. She planned on making some phone calls tomorrow to see what she could arrange.

Sylvia unpacked, filed away her mail, then had the urge to clean. Although it wasn’t her scheduled house-cleaning day, she decided to give in to spontaneity and give the house a good vacuum. Once she’d started, she thought she might as well continue, so Sylvia cleared out the pantry and wiped down the shelves, washed the tiled floor, then went into the bathroom and did the same. She checked her cosmetics and threw out those that were getting old, replacing them with new ones she had stored away, before adding the items to her shopping list. That way she’d never run out and be left without items she needed every day.

Sylvia was about to close the bathroom cabinet door when she noticed the bottle of Trésor perfume. She picked it up and observed the little that was left, before throwing it in the bin. She hadn’t worn it in months, so why keep something she didn’t use? She then picked up the bottle of J’Adore and sprayed her neck and wrists, and gave a triumphant nod of her head as she looked at the sparkling results of her cleaning rampage.

Pouring a hot cup of coffee, Sylvia sat in front of the computer and opened her email program. Instead of following the standard email-checking procedure, she clicked on an email that surprised her: ‘Nancy Dillinger added you as a friend on Facebook’. Smiling, she thought ‘why not?’ and clicked the ‘confirm’ button.

As Sylvia scanned through the news feed of her fifteen friends, a little depressing considering Nancy’s eight hundred-odd friends, a small chat window popped up in the corner.
Hi Sylvia, good to see you here! I noticed you arrived home today, how was your trip?

Sylvia typed in a reply.
Hi Nancy, trip went well, thanks. I have no idea what I’m doing on Facebook, I didn’t even know you could chat live like this!

I’d be happy to tutor you in social media if you like, I’m quite the expert
, Nancy replied.

Sylvia thought this may be a good way to keep in touch with Grace, although, maybe Grace preferred to use it to communicate with friends, rather than parents. She decided to bring it up casually in conversation next time they spoke.

Sylvia pursed her lips to the side and tapped her fingernails on the table, then typed:
Nancy, how would you like to come over for dinner tonight?

The cursor on the screen blinked as she waited. Nancy was probably considering her pre-planned routine and reconfiguring an alternate plan.
Oh, I don’t want to be a bother. You’ve only just got home.

I’ve got butter chicken
, Sylvia typed.

What time shall I be there?

Sylvia smiled and told Nancy to come over at six-thirty. She’d picked up the butter chicken at an Indian restaurant on the way home to reheat for dinner, but there was no need to tell Nancy that.

When Sylvia heard the grumbling of the postman’s motorbike outside her house on Friday afternoon, she walked out to collect the mail. A couple of bills, a lighting catalogue, and a small parcel had been delivered. She filed the bills away, tossed the catalogue into the recycling bin, and opened the parcel. It was
The Woman in White,
the book she’d lent to Grace when they’d first met at the start of the year. A post-it note was attached.
‘Sorry, I forgot to give this back to you! I loved the book, thanks. Grace.’
A card was also enclosed, with a photo of a child’s hand being held by an adult’s hand on the front. Sylvia opened the card and read the handwritten words:

Dear Sylvia,

I just wanted to send you a little note to say thanks. Thank you, not only for welcoming me into your life this year, but for giving me life in the first place. Although I have faced many challenges in my eighteen years, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not even the cancer. Everything has led me to where I am now, and I am so excited about my life and what the future holds.

Although I can’t imagine not having had my adoptive parents in my life, I just know that you would have been a great mother, no matter how young you were. And I want you to know that I am one hundred percent at peace with the decision you made, because thanks to you, I am the lucky one. I got to have more than two parents. I was blessed with a loving upbringing, and have many cherished memories of my childhood.

Deciding to find you, and having you accept me into your life, has been the best experience of my life, and I am also incredibly thankful for the musical gift you passed onto me. I’m going to follow my passion with all my heart and soul and do my best to have a successful career.

Keep being you, because you are my inspiration.

Love Grace xoxo

By the time Sylvia had finished reading, silent tears streamed down her face, and she had to sit down to stop the emotion taking her legs from under her. She read the card again, and again. Those words meant so much to her, and she finally knew, after eighteen years, that she did the right thing. Grace was destined to be a part of David and Maria Forrester’s life—she’d given them the greatest gift of all, a child to call their own. And she’d given Grace the gift of two parents who loved her.

Sylvia waited…waited for the rebounding guilt to surface as it usually did. But it didn’t come. She felt as though she’d rid herself of a chronic condition, and was feeling the relief of wellbeing for the first time in a long while.

Maybe there
was
some sort of magic in the Wishing Fountain after all. Whatever it was, however it happened, by making a wish that day she’d somehow triggered a series of events that had given her the gift of a new kind of life. A life where the past was simply a memory and not a burden. A life where she could be her authentic self without fear or guilt. A life, that like Grace, she was excited about. And just as she’d been given a second chance with Grace, if she were to be given a second chance at bringing another child into this world, she knew without a doubt that she deserved it and that she’d be a damn good mother.

As she put Grace’s card on display on top of her bookcase, Sylvia’s phone beeped. It was a text message.

Can we talk? If you’re free, meet me at Cafe Lagoon at 4pm. Mark.

So he was back. Sylvia had almost managed to keep him out of her mind during the past week or so, what with everything going on between her and Grace in Melbourne, but now, she longed to see him. They’d turned a corner last time they were together, but his need to get away was a sign that he hadn’t yet been ready to get involved in a relationship. Whether his brief time away had changed anything she wasn’t sure, but at least he was ready to talk, whatever the outcome would be.