The Ties That Bind

by Lexi Landsman

  When she opened it, dust caught in her throat and she coughed as she wiped it off the box. She delicately picked up a dried rose that had been there for God knows how long. Next, she retrieved a pair of pink knitted baby socks and felt her heart tug at the thought of her mother keeping her first pair of socks. There was a scarf, silk and patterned with blotches of bright colours. Courtney held it between her fingers and thought of how her mother loved coloured scarves. She was disappointed when she came to the bottom of the box having found nothing related to her adoption.

  She put the contents back inside and paused when she felt the edges of a sharp piece of cardboard. She reached in and pulled out a single photograph. It was an old black-and-white photo of a woman standing in a field, her hair secured by the scarf Courtney had found in the box. The woman was smiling and her eyes seemed to beckon the photographer. There was no hint of the location but it didn’t look like Miami and the woman didn’t resemble Courtney’s mother.

  Courtney took the photo and put everything else back in the shoebox, returning it to the top shelf of her father’s cupboard. She made her way downstairs just as Frank opened the door. ‘Dad,’ she said quickly and loudly so he wouldn’t be alarmed to find his daughter there.

  ‘Courtney, what a nice surprise!’ He smiled warmly. ‘I found your old sketchbook when I cleaned out the garage yesterday.’

  Frank walked to a cupboard and pulled out a flimsy, old black hardcover sketchbook.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said as he handed it to her.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He seemed to be in a cheerful mood so Courtney hoped her probing wouldn’t upset him.

  ‘Dad, I want to ask you something.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to even look at it?’

  ‘What?

  He turned on the kettle. ‘The book, your sketchbook. You were in high school, I think.’

  ‘Oh.’ Courtney smiled briefly. Being an only child, her parents had kept everything from her school and university years. Her report cards, sketches, yearbooks, certificates. She sat down in his small living room, and opened the first page to appease him.

  ‘Can I make you some tea, coffee?’

  ‘No, Dad, I don’t have a lot of time, actually.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, deflated. ‘Who’s with Matthew?’

  ‘David, and Mandy and Barry. They arrived this morning.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, waiting for her to look down at the pages. ‘So, what do you think? I don’t know why you gave it up.’

  She flicked through pages. It was her final-year sketchbook, so it was filled with drafts and notes, and clippings from postcards, newspapers and flyers. There was a series of staircases she had to draw, first in pencil, then charcoal, ink, watercolour, acrylic, and finally oils. She remembered how sick she got of drawing the same staircase by the end of it. Then there were the copies she did of masterpieces by Manet and Rembrandt. And though they were nothing like the originals, she did have an artistic eye for recontextualisation. Her dad was right, the book did stir something in her as she recalled her late nights in art class in the lead-up to her final project’s due date. She hadn’t consciously decided to stop painting. She had always wanted a career as an artist, but somehow her studies led her down a path to the other side of the art world – as a curator. At school, she would often imagine her life as an artist – the blank canvases she would paint, each one narrating a stage of her life. She didn’t ever think she would see herself as she did now, like the tortured face of Picasso’s ‘Weeping Woman’ or the shattered existence depicted in Frida Kahlo’s ‘The Broken Column’.

  ‘You were always gifted at drawing and painting,’ her father said. Gifted, a word parents clung to, imagining great success for their offspring. But Courtney knew now that children were the gifts themselves and all she wanted for Matthew was a future.

  ‘Dad, there’s something we need to talk about.’

  He stood up and started to clean around the living room. He never could sit still. She had thought carefully all morning about how she would broach the subject. Despite having a close relationship, it was the one topic they had never discussed. And in the few times she had raised it, his body would become rigid and he’d change the subject. So, she had learned to avoid it altogether. She assumed that her adoption was a sore spot for her parents. She could only imagine how hard it was for them to first learn that they couldn’t conceive and then to go through all the legalities of adoption.

  ‘Dad, I need to find my birth parents,’ Courtney spat out quickly, as if the faster she said it the less hurt it would cause.

  He stayed silent, so she pressed on. ‘David’s family, as you know, weren’t matches for Matthew. So the donor registry is continuing their search for a match, but because Matthew has inherited his rare HLA haplotype from me the specialist said his best chance is from my side of the family. And, well …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘And you’re sure I wasn’t a match?’ her father said, his forehead wrinkling in a frown.

  ‘Dad,’ she said, softening her tone, ‘the chances were slim to start with. If I have any hope of finding Matthew a match, I need to take matters into my own hands. That’s why I need to find my birth parents. I need details of my adoption.’

  He filled a watering can and watered a small ficus tree that had begun to turn yellow. ‘It was so long ago.’

  ‘Well, do you still have all the documentation?’

  ‘It was such a long process. When we finally had you, I think your mother was so relieved she threw all the records out. We didn’t want to think about it after what we went through.’

  ‘Could you just tell me the name of the adoption agency and I can contact them directly?’

  ‘Yes, the adoption agency would know.’ Her father paused. He looked out the window. It was raining but the sky was bright and sunny.

  His eyes had gone paler with age. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said, deflated. ‘I just don’t remember.’

  ‘Dad, if you can think of anything, it would really help.’

  ‘I want to, but I can’t. My mind, it’s blank.’

  Courtney sighed. He’d had a few moments like this one, where memory abandoned him. But in all the times before, a life wasn’t hanging in the balance. The doctors said as the Alzheimer’s progressed it would happen more frequently. But surely, now, when she needed him to remember, his mind could power over his memory?

  ‘Dad, I know it’s challenging but I need you to think carefully. Anything would help. Do you remember the area the agency was in? The name of the person you spoke to? Anything?’

  His eyes were beginning to tear up and she knew how hard it was for him to lose the very thing that defined him – his memories. She could see by the strain on his face he was trying to retrieve them. She pictured a filing cabinet in which all the drawers had been muddled. His memories were there, he just couldn’t locate them. It pained her to think that his entire life’s recollections were getting lost on different shelves.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. He looked at the clock on the wall and changed the subject. ‘I have to go to check on Clive’s maltese poodle. The old thing has arthritis. I promised him I’d take a look at her, make sure she’s not getting worse.’

  Courtney was glad her father could still use his veterinary skills and feel a sense of purpose. ‘That’s okay, Dad. I need to go home and have a rest anyway.’

  She would come back to Frank’s house another time when he wasn’t there and search the attic. She knew that his memory was slowly being wiped away and if she had any chance of finding her birth parents, she would have to dig for clues herself.

  Courtney turned to leave and then felt the edges of the photo in her pocket. She swivelled around. ‘Dad, one last thing. I found this photo.’ She pulled it out and handed it to him.

  ‘Where did you find that?’ he asked, abruptly.

  ‘It was in the shoebox where I found Mom’s necklace,’ she replied, surprised by his sudd
en accusatory tone.

  ‘You can’t just come in here and go through my things!’

  The more his memory faded, the more moody and unpredictable he had become. ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I was just looking for some information about my –’

  ‘Your adoption, yes,’ he said, finishing her sentence. ‘I didn’t realise we were such bad parents.’

  ‘Dad, come on. That’s not what I meant. You know why I need to find them.’ She forced herself to keep her voice calm and even. ‘You know what I’m looking for. I just wanted to ask you who this woman was. She doesn’t look familiar and I thought Mom might have kept it because it was sentimental to her. I thought maybe it might shed some light on my adoption.’

  ‘That isn’t her shoebox, it’s mine.’ His tone was clipped and sharp, though he seemed to pause as if regretting his words.

  ‘Oh,’ Courtney said, confused. ‘So, then, do you know who that woman is?’

  Frank held the photo in his hands, which trembled so slightly she might have missed it if she hadn’t been studying him so closely.

  ‘I don’t know who she is.’ He looked at her square in the eyes. ‘I’ve never seen her in my life.’

  33

  A MONTH after the fires, snatches of green began to appear, bold and defiant, lanterns shining among the blackness. The velvety flower spikes of the grass trees emerged from their blackened stumps, new growth appeared in the cracks of the thick corky bark of the old man banksia, tree ferns sprang back to life, and tiny new shoots rose from the ash.

  Jade sat on milk crates with her father and grandmother and looked at the empty plot of land on which their house had once proudly stood – the exact spot where they had decided to rebuild. Once all their paperwork was completed they would get a few grants for the cost of rebuilding, but instead of delaying the process, Helena had used her savings.

  What was left of the house had been demolished and cleared. It had been heartbreaking watching them destroy the last remnants of her home, but Jade took comfort in the knowledge that their new house would be almost identical to the old one. It was a strange thought, knowing that even though it had burned to the ground, it would rise again.

  She couldn’t wait to call Adam and tell him the land was clear and ready for construction. It had been two weeks since she had last seen him but they spoke a few times a day on the phone.

  ‘What are you daydreaming about?’ Helena said, distracting Jade from her thoughts of Adam.

  ‘Nothing,’ Jade replied as she stood up.

  The streaks of grey in her grandmother’s jet-black hair looked silver in the early morning light. ‘In my kitchen, there will be a large window that overlooks the garden, right, agapi mou?’

  Jade laughed. ‘Yes, YiaYia. I’ve added everything to the plans that you wanted. You will have your bay window with shutters.’

  Helena gave a full-bodied smile. The pattern of creases around her mouth and under her eyes made Jade think of ripples in a pond. ‘Good, good,’ Helena said. ‘We will put a table by the window so I can invite my friends to play bridge and we can have a view out to the roses and the dam.’ She stood up and walked around the perimeter. ‘And the kitchen will be bigger. Much bigger. With an island in the middle and a large pantry with lots of shelving so I can store my pickled peppers and onions.’

  Jade nodded and hugged Helena around her large waist like she had as a little girl, taking in her smell of powder and dough. She could almost feel her grandmother’s optimism like a radiating force of what they could create in their new home. A new beginning. It was what Jade had always admired about Helena. She didn’t hold onto the past like Jade did. Helena had a way of letting things go, of looking forward.

  ‘I’ve always wanted a large kitchen,’ Helena said, staring ahead as if she could see it form in front of her. ‘Like my mother had back in Greece, with a butler’s sink and our copper pots hanging on the wall.’

  They all turned at the sound of the builders’ trucks roaring into the street. The roads vibrated again, the trees rustled, there was life in the air.

  When Jade greeted the five men, she made sure to shake their hands with strength and purpose, to maintain eye contact, and to speak confidently. She wouldn’t let them think that because she was young and female she could be walked all over. She wanted them to work hard and fast.

  ‘Look, I know this plot of land is like every other empty block on the street,’ Jade said to Gary, the foreman. ‘But building this house is not just for me and my family. It’s for the whole town. People need to see that we can start again, that this town can thrive once more. So, if you don’t think you can do the job, or if you don’t think it can be done right, speak now.’

  ‘It seems pretty doable to me,’ Gary said, surprised that a slender girl of five-foot-six was going to be the one barking orders rather than her father.

  ‘Well, then,’ Jade said, shaking his hand with a smile, ‘I look forward to working with you. And I’d like a job here as part of the crew. And I don’t want to be treated like a girl. If there’s heavy lifting, I can do it. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. Just give me a task and I’ll get it done.’

  While they started to unload their gear, Jade and Helena set up a break-out bay for the builders, with crates to sit on, a flask of hot water, tea and biscuits. Her father paced up and down.

  ‘So, it will be exactly the same as before?’ he asked. ‘And the builders are giving us a discount, right?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. We’ve talked about this. It will be almost identical – but a lot more resistant to fire this time. And it’s a low, capped price. They’re charging the bare minimum and most of the building materials have been donated. Now is your last chance to tell me if you want to make any changes to the plans.’

  He looked at the drafts but seemed unable to focus. His charcoal beard had grown longer than Jade had ever seen it. He had stopped shaving and it curled around his face like a marker of neglect. He had been spending more and more time in bed, so Jade was surprised he had even come to the house. A part of her knew he was there for Asha, to ensure that she would be happy with whatever changes they made. He would never admit it, but Jade had the feeling that through some twisted logic, he thought that erecting the house exactly as it was might bring her home. Asha had been gone now for close to a year – the longest ever – and Jade wondered if this time she wasn’t coming back at all. Maybe she was dead.

  ‘I just want to make sure we allow for your mother’s flower and herb garden.’

  Jade stepped back. ‘Dad, seriously? That’s all you care about?’ she snapped, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘Do you see Mum anywhere?’ She stood up and opened her arms, gesturing at the emptiness around them. She couldn’t contain her temper. Today was about rebuilding, about starting again, it was not about her mother. ‘She’s not here, Dad. She’s not coming back. She doesn’t care about you or me. So why the hell do you care about her?’

  Her grandmother came closer and put her arms on Jade’s shoulders. ‘It’s okay, agapi mou. Let’s not talk about such things.’

  Jade shrugged her hands off. ‘Why, YiaYia? Because you’re worried the truth will hurt him? Well, guess what, Dad, the truth hurts. The sooner you accept that she isn’t coming back, the sooner you’ll get over her. What’s it going to take to make you realise that?’

  Paul looked away in the direction of the olive groves to keep Jade from seeing his eyes glaze with tears. His face looked crumpled, like a discarded piece of paper. She wanted to shake him and tell him the woman wasn’t worth waiting for.

  ‘It’s not her fault this happened,’ he said in a quiet voice, like a child.

  Jade’s laugh was brutal. ‘There you go again, always protecting her. Always making excuses for her.’ Her voice was like a dagger. ‘Just remember, Dad, she made the choice to leave us.’

  Helena saw Paul’s anguished face and turned to Jade, her voice clipped. ‘Enough now. You’ve said enough.’

  Jade
stormed off, leaving her grandmother to look after her son, a grown man who couldn’t look after himself.

  Jade hoped that her mother wouldn’t find them, that she’d return to discover everything she knew was gone, even her own family. She wanted Asha to hurt. To feel how Jade had in all those days and nights she had spent waiting for her to come home.

  She wanted Asha to know what it felt like to be abandoned.

  34

  THE WORD ‘normal’ no longer existed in David’s vocabulary. Instead he had a host of new words, including neutrophil counts, haemoglobin levels, platelets, blast percentage, blood trans fusions, lumbar punctures, molecular residual disease tests, iron levels, ultrasounds, CTs, bone-marrow aspiration, coagulation studies. He didn’t measure time anymore by a calendar of weekdays to weekends, but by endless tests and treatments.

  Matthew had finished his first phase of chemotherapy and was staying in hospital until his neutrophil count went up enough to allow him to go home before the next phase.

  David had become so used to bad news that when he answered his phone to an unfamiliar voice, he instantly expected the worst. ‘Mister Hamilton, my name’s Jake Barnes, I’m a scout for the Miami Cubs.’

  David felt a schoolboy rush of adrenaline, as if he were about to receive a report card. ‘Oh, hi, we’ve been hoping to hear from you.’

  The trial game already felt like lifetime ago. Matthew still asked almost daily whether Courtney or David had heard from the club, and each time they gave a fresh excuse, knowing that no call meant Matthew probably hadn’t been selected to try out.

  ‘Your son has real talent,’ Jake said.

  David smiled with pride, his pulse quickening as he waited for the scout to go on. Matthew desperately needed something to lift his spirits. They all did.

  ‘We’ve now had a chance to look at players from across the state and we’d like him to try out for the Miami Cubs. We think he’s got great potential and could go far.’

  David swam in his words, forgetting as he listened that his son was in the next room waiting to find out if he could go home before another round of chemo. This was the call that could shape his son’s future.