Finding His Wife, Finding a Son

by Marion Lennox

  But in the end...it was a sweet, sticky mesh, a trap for someone who’d never had such caring, who hadn’t realised...what went with it.

  But she knew now. Basing marriage—basing love—on need led to disaster. It was a lesson hard learned, but by now it was instilled into her bones. So now she found the courage to tug back. He let her go without a protest and she slipped her hand under the covers, as if it could betray her if she didn’t hold it close.

  ‘Can you sleep?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t...think so.’ She felt tears slipping down her face. Ron...

  ‘Want to tell me about Ron?’ he asked, and she knew he was giving her space. That was the thing about Luc. He always knew...

  ‘He’s...he was amazing.’ She forced herself to focus on her friend. His loss was a gut-wrenching emptiness that’d take time to come to terms with—would she ever?—but for now...for now she accepted the invitation to talk about him. It helped. For Ron’s sake?

  For hers. It stopped...the other ache. The need for her betraying hand to slip from the covers and take Luc’s again.

  ‘I met him five years ago,’ she whispered, trying to block out Luc’s presence and let herself drift without pain. ‘After you...after we split I took a job in Brisbane, with their palliative care unit. My sight was slowly improving but there were still restrictions. I worked with a great specialist staff who used me to the maximum but of course there were things I couldn’t do. I was desperate to work in family medicine but it seemed I couldn’t. And then there was Ron...’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Ron’s wife was a hospice inpatient for about four months. She had bone metastases with spinal collapse and needed round-the-clock specialist nursing. Ron was a family doctor but he was almost seventy. He’d been off work for two years as he cared for Claire and when she died he was...bereft. Stranded. He felt old and useless. After Claire’s funeral I found the ad for a doctor at Namborra in the medical journal. It seemed a decent medical centre but remote. Desperate for doctors. Ron loved the country. He and Claire had been aching for a country retirement when she fell ill and he was desperate for something, anything to fill the void. So I pointed it out to him and he said: “I will if you will”.’

  ‘I don’t get it. Weren’t you happy in the hospice?’

  ‘Safe, you mean.’ It was impossible to keep the old bitterness from her voice. Even now. ‘Yes, I was. I was needed. I was used mostly for counselling, for explaining treatments, outcomes, and I could have stayed there for ever. But that’s not what I trained to do. I wanted family medicine and Ron gave me that.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We offered Namborra one and a half doctors. Ron was slowing down—he had arthritis and a gammy knee. My sight’s a problem but the medical board were satisfied that I had enough to get by. With help. So we made the agreement to run clinics together. Patients coming in get sighted by Ron—more and more it’s simply Ron doing a quick visual as he calls his own patients. Anyone looking unexpectedly pasty or rashy he tells me, and if anything needs detailed examination I call him. But I have a magnifying head lamp. I can see for injections and IVs—with the magnifying lamp I’m better than someone with fifty fifty vision. The more I know the community the easier it is, and anything needing young and fit, I’m your man. I’ve even been known to crawl into a car wreck, with Ron backing me on the sidelines. He trusts... He...trusted...’

  But then her voice broke. She couldn’t go on.

  ‘Sweetheart, enough.’ He ran his fingers gently through her hair, something he’d done long ago. She could feel the mat of concrete dust between his fingers and her scalp and she minded. She wanted those fingers closer. ‘Enough,’ he said again. ‘Grieve for Ron tomorrow. For now you need to sleep. You need to take care of you.’

  The feel of his fingers, the feeling in her fuzzy mind, was insidious in its sweetness. She could close her eyes and let go. Relax into his caring. But...

  ‘But Toby...’ She forced her mind to think. Toby was still cradled against Luc’s chest. ‘What...what happens to Toby?’

  Would he stay in hospital? Would someone call social services?

  ‘Where’s his dad?’ Luc asked.

  ‘Not on the scene.’ Her mind was doing a stupid, scared spiral. She should have insisted he stay in Namborra. She had friends there. Oh, but to leave him...

  ‘Where are your parents?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ It didn’t matter. Not in a million years would they drop everything to care for their grandson. They’d thought she was insane when she’d told them she was pregnant. ‘I guess...if he can stay in hospital tonight...’

  But she hated that, too. He’d have scratches—he must have—and the one thing hospitals worldwide had no answer for was the risk of superbugs. It was a small risk but, oh...

  Social services, then? Foster care?

  The thought was enough to overwhelm her. She felt sick, so nauseous she felt close to vomiting.

  But Luc’s hand was on hers again, his grip firm.

  ‘It’s okay, Beth. If you agree... I’m due for leave. The service hates it accruing, so there’s pressure to take it and I’m thinking this is the time I can. I have an apartment just over the road from the hospital. If you agree, I can hit the paediatric staff for a crib, high chair, stroller, bottles, whatever I need. Then I can take him home with me.’

  ‘With you.’ The drugs were really kicking in now. She’d had a jab of pain from her foot and had squeezed the morphine feed. Now she wished she hadn’t. The night was hazy enough already.

  She couldn’t see Luc’s face. The light was so dim, even if she had normal sight she might not be able to see it.

  She remembered all that time ago, when the darkness had closed in. She remembered Luc letting her—encouraging her—to read his face. To run her fingers over the strong bone structure. To let her fingers see his thick, dark hair, the harsh outline of his jaw, the deep set eyes she knew were almost black, the stubble of after-five shadow that seemed to return about two minutes after he shaved. She wanted that now—but surely it was the drugs. It had to be the drugs.

  Luc. Taking Toby home with him.

  The same sweet trap...

  What option did she have? But her night was spinning.

  ‘Hey, you can trust him.’ It was a woman’s voice from the other side of the curtain. ‘Luc, we need an introduction.’

  ‘Harriet,’ Luc said, and rose with his sleeping bundle and drew back the curtain. ‘Didn’t you promise to go to sleep?’

  ‘I said I’d try, not that I would.’ In the dim light Beth could make out a figure in the next bed, a woman, with her leg in some sort of traction. ‘Hi, Beth,’ the woman said. ‘You’re doing pretty well for post op, post trauma. I’m your roomie, Harriet. I’m also one of Luc’s colleagues, part of the SDR service, and just in case you’re lying there wondering whether you can trust this guy with your baby, I’m here to tell you he’s good.’

  ‘Luc’s good?’ She was struggling to make her voice work. Oh, her head hurt.

  ‘Hey, Beth, it’s time to let go.’ Harriet’s voice gentled as she heard Beth’s confusion. ‘You’ve had one hell of a day. But before you do... Beth, last year your Luc was caught up in a flood rescue. A pregnant mum with three kids. The mum had gone into labour, which was why she’d been too scared to evacuate. She’d been waiting for an ambulance or for her husband to reach her when the water hit. Luc was lowered into the house just on dark. They were surrounded by floodwater and it was too wild to get anyone else down there. So they were stuck there until mid-morning. At dawn we went in and found them.

  ‘S-safe?’

  ‘Of course safe,’ Harriet said, as if there could never have been any doubt. ‘They were stuck in the attic but Mum had delivered her baby safely and Luc had everything under control. Mum was snuggled in bedding Luc had dragged from downsta
irs. She was warm, safe, cuddling her newborn and the rest of the kids were pretending to be the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels, using the ropes Luc had used descending to tie him up. I don’t know who was having more fun, Luc or the kids. Luc had managed to take diapers, wipes, food, everything they needed, upstairs before the flood destroyed everything in the kitchen, and the kids were gutted they were being rescued. So I’m just saying... Beth, you can trust this guy. Let him take care of your baby and go to sleep.’

  What was there in that statement that made Beth weep? There was a stupid tear sliding down her nose and when Luc stooped to wipe it away, she couldn’t stop. More followed.

  And Luc swore.

  ‘Dammit, Beth, you’re past exhausted. But you’re safe now, and so’s Toby. So, please, trust me. Believe Harriet. You know I can cope. Let me care for you both. Go to sleep.’

  Let me care...

  How hard had it been eight years ago to walk away from that statement? How much pain had that caused? Yet here it was again, a siren song, and she had no strength to resist.

  ‘Let it go,’ he told her, and she had no choice.

  ‘Just...just for tonight,’ she managed, and he wiped her face again.

  ‘Of course just for tonight. Worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Sleep now, Beth, and trust me.’

  She had no choice. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into something she’d sworn never to need again.

  Luc.

  * * *

  He’d just offered to take care of a toddler—for how long? By himself?

  Was he out of his mind?

  But the thought of not offering almost killed him. How could he not?

  Here it comes again, he thought savagely. The need to care. The almost overwhelming urge to take on the safety of the whole world.

  He’d even talked to the psych about it.

  ‘Luc, do you think every catastrophe in the world is your fault?’

  She’d asked that and he’d grinned and pushed it aside but her question hadn’t been a joke.

  He thought of the squeal of brakes, his little cousin’s body lying on the road, the ring of adults screaming, sobbing, his aunt turning to shake him until his head was almost shaken from his shoulders.

  Then Beth...lying terrified in her hospital bed, seeing nothing but darkness. The neurosurgeon... ‘Encephalitis... It’s a rare disease and optical neuritis an even rarer complication, but the mosquitoes this year are almost plague proportion. Didn’t either of you have the sense to use repellent?’

  His fault.

  He had a twenty-month-old baby boy in his arms. He needed to keep him safe.

  Another vision...

  Beth, her sight recovering, standing in the little kitchenette they’d shared. Her finger sticky with blood after a knife had slipped. She’d been chopping carrots.

  ‘So what?’ Her reaction had been loaded with frustration, fury. ‘You know my sight’s returning. Do you think I’ll let you chop my carrots for ever? Everyone has accidents in the kitchen, Luc.’

  ‘You know your sight’s not perfect. I can—’

  ‘No, I can.’ She’d yelled it at him. ‘I can and I will. And, sure, I’ll mess up along the way but that’s the way it is. No, I’m not perfect but who is? I need to take the odd risk. I need to live, Luc, and I can’t do it wrapped in cotton wool.’

  ‘I’m only saying it’s sensible to let me—’

  ‘I don’t want to be sensible.’ She’d sighed and swiped a tissue and wrapped her bleeding finger. ‘Enough. This isn’t ever going to work. I’m leaving. You get to chop your own carrots. I’m off to chop mine, regardless of whatever blood I shed along the way. You’ve been fantastic, Luc, but your job is done. You’ve saved me enough. Now it’s time for me to save myself.’

  But she hadn’t been able to. The memory of her crushed under the rubble was doing his head in.

  At least she was being sensible now. She knew she had no choice. She was accepting his caring, which meant... He had sole care of the toddler sleeping solidly in his arms.

  A toddler. Help.

  As if on cue, Toby stirred and whimpered, and Luc’s arms tightened around him. Beth’s baby.

  He should be...

  No, that was an almost creepy thing to think. Their marriage was years dead. This was his friend’s baby, nothing more.

  But still he held, and something about the warmth of the little body, the way the toddler curved into him... Something settled inside him.

  It felt right to be caring for him. It felt good to be allowed to help.

  Years of crisis intervention had involved years of panicked kids. He was known in the team as the kiddie whisperer, with an innate ability to calm panicked kids. He murmured to Toby and held him closer as he headed to kids’ ward. What he needed was equipment. There were all sorts of very capable nurses down there to give him all the advice he needed. He could do this.

  For however long it took?

  He had no choice. This was for Beth. His ex-wife.

  Yeah. The only thing was... Why did it feel wrong to put the ex in front of her title?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A WEEK LATER Beth was discharged.

  Home?

  That was a joke, Beth thought as Luc pushed her wheelchair through the hospital entrance into the sunshine. He paused for a moment as though he understood the sheer sensuous joy of emerging from an air-conditioned hospital into... Bondi Beach.

  This wasn’t home but it felt amazing.

  The hospital was built on a rise overlooking the bay. Her hospital room had had views back over the city, but the street from the hospital entrance ran straight down to the sea.

  In the week since her accident the Namborra optometrist had sent her a pair of unscratched glasses, plus a year’s supply of contact lenses—Free of charge, Beth, get well fast! Now the ocean glimmered, sparkled, sang in the morning light and she had an almost overwhelming urge to ditch her wheelchair and jump straight in.

  Sadly, her leg was in a giant moon boot, propped on a frame in front of her. She had crutches but Hilda’s advice was to use the wheelchair as much as she could.

  Toby was sitting happily on her knee, crowing with glee as they emerged into the sunlight, enjoying this amazing new version of a stroller. Luc was behind her wheelchair. Dictating where she went?

  That was hardly fair, she reminded herself. He was being extraordinarily generous. For the last week he’d devoted himself to Toby, bringing him in to visit her two or three times a day, showing enormous patience as his life had been taken over by a toddler.

  She’d accepted his offer of help, but her choices had been...well, non-existent. She accepted Luc’s help or she handed Toby over to welfare.

  And now she was becoming even more indebted. Yes, she was being discharged from hospital but she still needed ongoing rehab. That wasn’t available in Namborra.

  She could have hired herself a furnished apartment but that left her depending on taxis, on outside help. Toby was fast, beetling around his world with toddler disregard for safety. She saw herself launching across strange rooms to prevent catastrophe—with her leg in a massive boot—and knew she had to accept Luc’s offer.

  ‘Home straight away?’ He must have sensed her need to take deep breaths of the sea air, to gaze out over the ocean, to let herself come to grips with the fact that she was out of hospital, she was healing, she was safe.

  As long as she let Luc take control.

  ‘I... What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I took your gear over to the apartment earlier. We can go straight there now or we could go down to the beach first. It’s a great morning.

  ‘You should be at work.’

  ‘I told you, Beth,’ he said gently. ‘I’m on compulsory holidays.’

  ‘It’s not much of a holiday, taking care of us
.’

  ‘It’s my privilege. I owe—’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’ Her anger flashed from nowhere. ‘You owe me nothing. I went camping with you and a mosquito bit me. We were having a gorgeous time until then, but ever since, every time you look at me all you see is guilt.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘It is,’ she said grimly. ‘Luc, you know I fell in lust with you the first time I saw you, and that camping trip...wow. Then afterwards, you were so wonderful I didn’t see what was under it. That you needed to be needed. All I knew was that I loved being cared for. I loved being cherished. But in the end it almost killed you to let me do something as simple as chop carrots. Luc, we married for all the wrong reasons and I’ve more than proved I can handle my life alone.’

  ‘But you’re injured now.’

  ‘You’re telling me that’s your fault as well?’

  ‘If you weren’t sight impaired...’

  ‘Right, so that concrete pillar wouldn’t have fallen on me if I’d been able to look up and see it fall?’ She was trying very hard not to twist and yell. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake... Luke, it happened in an instant and no one else injured or killed was sight impaired. And the sight thing... Sure, I have trouble in low light. Yes, I need correction, but technology’s so great that now...guess what? I can even chop carrots all by myself. I’ve been doing it for eight years now and I still have every one of my fingers. As soon as I get this stupid boot off my leg I’ll be independent again.’

  ‘But you need me now.’

  ‘I do,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘But you know what? I intend to treat you like a friend. And the thing with real friends is that they don’t need to be thanked all the time, and they’ll also accept when to back off. So back off, Luc. Know that I’m incredibly grateful for what you’re doing for me, but for the rest... Let me do what I’m capable of, and accept that where I am is nothing to do with you. I have enough to worry about without accepting your guilt. If you can’t manage that then I can organise my own apartment and hire babysitters at need.’