Caring For His Child

by Amy Andrews

  Her feet were bare and her blond wispy hair was loose around her shoulders. She was so different from the woman he had first met on this beach those few short months ago. She looked fresh and relaxed and he wanted her. Now. Not tonight.

  ‘No more sleeps,’ she said, smiling down at him.

  He grinned back and made room for her on the rug. They sat side by side, their arms and legs occasionally rubbing against each other’s as they watched Miranda and Fonzie dash madly about. When they got tired of that, Mirry started to build a sand castle but was severely hampered by Fonzie’s attempts to ‘help’.

  ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ he said.

  Fran’s smile faded as she saw the serious look on his face as he handed her a folded piece of paper.

  ‘I want you to read this and then I have something to ask you.’

  Her hand trembled as she silently took it from him. She unfolded it and opened it gingerly, her eyes falling on David’s familiar neat handwriting. It was a photocopied letter.

  To the family who gave my little girl back her life.

  As I sit and write this I find it hard to articulate my profound sorrow at your loss and the admiration I feel for you to have made such a selfless decision at the most devastating time in your lives. Words are completely inadequate to convey my gratitude to you. Because of your tragedy my daughter’s life was saved.

  She is doing incredibly well and I’m sure you could more than understand how much it means to have her back to her old self again. She has had a remarkably trouble-free post-op course and started back at school last week.

  Please know that there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t think about you and your family and your wonderful gift to us. I hope that your decision to donate has given you some comfort in the midst of your sorrow. My daughter can talk and laugh and run again because of you and for that you have my eternal gratitude.

  My deepest sympathies for your loss. My daughter would like to add something.

  Daddy told me that your child died and gave me their heart. I know you must be very sad but you have made Daddy and I very happy. I promise to always take good care of my new heart. Every night as I go to sleep I will thank you and your child for saving my life.

  Fran felt her eyes well with tears and she let them fall unchecked. She had received similar letters from all the recipients who had benefited from Daisy’s gift. They were among her most prized possessions. Having a link with these anonymous people and hearing how much their lives had improved had been the one shining light in two years of darkness.

  ‘That’s beautiful, David,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sure it meant a lot to whoever received it.’

  ‘I hope so. We’ve never received a reply so I can only assume.’

  Fran heard his disappointment but her sympathies lay with the people who had gifted a heart to Miranda. She hadn’t been able to answer her letters straight away, either. Receiving them had meant a lot but it had been many months before she’d felt strong enough to reply. ‘It’s not an easy thing to do, David. You may never hear back,’ she said gently.

  ‘I know. And that’s fine, I understand that. But Mirry asks all the time if we’ve had a reply and I know she’s disappointed that we haven’t. She’s only twelve, you know, but she’s struggling with a concept that even a lot of adults find difficult to understand. The fact that somebody’s child had to die so she could live affects her deeply. She has nightmares about it sometimes.’

  Fran looked at the concern on his face. Not being able to help Mirry through this must be difficult for him. Parents were meant to have all the answers. ‘So you want me to talk to her?’

  David took her hand. He knew he was probably asking a lot. ‘Would you? I don’t want you to do anything that you feel you’re not up to. I think maybe just telling her a little about Daisy will help humanise the transplant for her. I know Mirry’s always wondering about her donor. I think it would help her to know what Daisy was like. It would make it more personal for her.’

  The lap of the waves and the cries of the gulls faded as Fran’s heart thudded loudly in her ears. Telling him about Daisy had been hard enough. Telling Miranda…?

  David saw the indecision in her eyes. He kissed the palm of her hand. ‘It’s OK. There’s no rush, Fran. Maybe it’s something you could think about. If you’re not OK with it yet, maybe you will be one day. There’s no pressure here.’

  Fran smiled at him, touched by his understanding. Once again he was giving her space and letting her set her own pace. ‘Thank you.’

  The three of them spent the next weekend together also. They went to Eumundi markets on Saturday, followed by a swim in the surf at Noosa, and the next day they went on a long bush walk, exploring the nearby Glass House mountains nature trails.

  When they got back, Fran turned the oven down low and went to get out of her hiking clothes. Mirry and David were coming over for tea. She was cooking chicken Kiev, which was Mirry’s favourite dish.

  Her conversation with David on the beach came back to her as she showered. She’d been thinking about it all week. Maybe it was time to tell Mirry about Daisy after all. There was no denying how close she and Miranda were becoming or that Miranda enjoyed her company a lot. It seemed silly not to tell her all about her own little girl. Share a part of her life that would interest Mirry.

  She wrapped a towel around herself and wandered into the bedroom. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a box she hadn’t unpacked. She reached in and grasped the first object that came to hand.

  It was a framed school photo of Daisy taken not long before she’d died. Her ten-year-old face stared out at Fran and she found herself smiling at the cheeky grin and the crazy plaits that sprouted from her head, spiderlike, as she traced Daisy’s features with her finger.

  The box was full of photographs and Fran knew that one day she’d be able to get them all out and display them, but for the moment just one would do. It was almost like the next step in her recovery. Keeping quiet about her past when it had hurt so much made sense but now, as the memories became joyful instead of sorrowful, it was time to show everyone that Daisy had existed. One photo at a time.

  She dressed and placed the photo on a shelf of the television cabinet. Hopefully Miranda would notice it sooner or later and initiate a conversation. That would be the best way for it to happen. David was keen for her to talk with Miranda about the transplant but Fran would feel more comfortable if the impetus came from Mirry.

  Fortunately, Miranda was very observant, and had been in the house less than ten minutes when she brought the framed photo into the kitchen where Fran and David were trying to be controlled and not touch each other lest they be sprung by a twelve-year-old!

  ‘Fran? Who’s this?’

  David dragged his gaze away from Fran and how beautiful she was looking. He looked at the photo that Mirry held in her hand and realised immediately that it must be Daisy. The girl in the photo looked exactly like her mother and he felt his heart swell at how much Fran had lost.

  David opened his mouth to tell Miranda to put it back and not to touch stuff that didn’t belong to her. Displaying her daughter’s picture was a big step for Fran and he didn’t want her regretting it because Mirry had acted impulsively. And a part of him was frightened that Fran might break like glass to see his alive-and-well daughter carrying around a picture of Daisy whose life had been so tragically taken away.

  ‘It’s Daisy,’ said Fran, shooting David an it’s-OK look. She waited for the pain and the overwhelming sense of loss to come, but it didn’t. Instead, she remembered how Daisy had loved her spider-hair photo and how that particular hairstyle had taken her ages to complete.

  ‘Who’s Daisy?’ Mirada asked, looking at the picture again.

  ‘Daisy was my daughter. She died two years ago.’

  Mirry gasped as she looked from the photo to Fran and back again. ‘Oh, no, Fran!’ she said, and tears welled in her eyes. She ran to Fran and threw her arms around h
er.

  Fran felt tears dew her own eyes as she stroked Miranda’s hair. David came around to where his two girls stood and sat beside them.

  Miranda pulled away and looked at her father. ‘Did you know, Daddy?’

  ‘Yes, sweetie. Fran told me a little while ago,’ he said gently, and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  Miranda looked up into Fran’s face, her earnest gaze conveying a wealth of sorrow and sympathy. ‘No wonder you were so sad that day on the beach. Was it cancer?’

  Despite the solemn moment, Fran almost laughed out loud. It was such a grown-up thing to say and seemed so comical coming from a twelve-year-old.

  Fran sat down on the chair next to David. ‘No, she had something wrong with her brain and died very suddenly.’

  ‘Was she brain dead?’

  Fran sucked in a breath at Miranda’s frankness. She had to remind herself that Miranda was no ordinary twelve-year-old. She had experience of things that most people never faced at any stage of their lives. And it did give her a good opening.

  ‘Miranda,’ said David gently, ‘you shouldn’t ask things like that.’

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ said Fran, placing a hand on David’s forearm. ‘Yes, she was and, yes, we donated Daisy’s organs. Five people are alive today because of her.’

  Miranda looked at her with her earnest green eyes and looked back at the photo. ‘I wish I knew what my donor was like,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘I’m sure the family will write you one day soon, sweetie. You just have to be patient. It’s not an easy decision, Mirry. It can take a while to come to terms with.’

  ‘Was it hard for you?’

  ‘Yes, it was. But Daisy had a donor card and felt very strongly about donating her organs so that made it easier, and knowing that she saved someone just like you helps me every day.’

  David squeezed her hand and Fran looked at him and smiled past the lump in her throat.

  Miranda’s finger traced Daisy’s crazy hairdo. ‘She has the coolest hair.’

  Fran laughed. ‘She hated her hair. She always wanted red hair, just like yours.’

  ‘Really? What else was she like?’

  ‘She was tall, like me, and quite athletic. A good little runner. She didn’t like school much. She preferred being outdoors.’ Fran laughed, thinking about Daisy’s glum face as she had dragged her inside each morning and driven her to school.

  ‘You don’t seem sad anymore,’ said Miranda.

  Fran grinned. ‘That’s because you and your daddy have done such a great job of cheering me up. I still get sad but you’ve helped me with that a lot,’ Fran said, and tapped Miranda on her cute button nose.

  ‘I have?’ Miranda’s voice was full of wonder.

  ‘Sure. Getting to know you has helped me realise that I had ten wonderful years with my little girl and that I should be concentrating on them. I’ve been sad for a long time about not having her any more but now I just want to be happy that I had her for as long as I did.’

  Miranda nodded thoughtfully. ‘Do you think that the child who donated my heart was like Daisy?’

  Fran kissed her head. David was right. Mirry did have issues. ‘Yup. I bet whoever it was, they were exactly like you and Daisy. Happy and carefree and outdoorsy and full of life and fun.’ How did you answer that one? Fran couldn’t be sure but if it gave Mirry a measure of comfort then it was worth it.

  David listened to Fran set Mirry’s mind at ease and he knew in that instant that he loved her and wanted to be with her for ever. The subject matter couldn’t be easy for Fran but she was soldering on for Miranda’s sake. For Miranda’s peace of mind.

  ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed at Fran over the top of Miranda’s head, and her answering smile caused his heart to fill with joy.

  How much more time did she need? he wondered. He knew without a doubt that he wanted to marry her. But even as those feelings swamped him, part of him urged caution. As far as Fran had come, he sensed it was still too early for such declarations.

  ‘That was delicious,’ David said, wiping the traces of chocolate sauce off his mouth with a serviette. He looked over Fran’s shoulder, satisfied himself that Miranda was still engrossed in the TV and stole a brief passionate kiss. He licked the sweet stickiness from her lips and savoured it as he pulled away. ‘Hmm. That was even more delicious.’ He grinned.

  Fran smiled back. ‘I like an appreciative man,’ she teased.

  ‘Well, that’s easy. You’re a great cook.’

  ‘It’s nice to want to cook again,’ Fran admitted.

  David gave her a gentle smile and stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again so the shadow that flitted through her eyes would be forgotten. But with Mirry in the next room, he couldn’t really risk it. ‘Come on,’ he said, standing to remove himself from the temptation of her blue eyes and pink lips, ‘I’ll help you with the dishes.’

  Fran washed. David dried.

  ‘Thank you again, Fran…for before.’

  ‘No problems. It felt good talking about her, actually. I’m pleased Miranda knows. Now if I’m ever a bit sad, she’ll understand why.’

  David threw caution to the wind, dropping his teatowel and backing Fran into the angle where the two kitchen benches met. He hoisted her up so she was sitting on the bench, pressed himself between her legs so her thighs were cradling his hips and gave her a long hard kiss. He felt himself grow tight as her mouth opened to his and knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep that night for thinking about this kiss.

  ‘Miranda,’ Fran warned against his lips as he pulled away slightly.

  David drew in a ragged breath and placed his forehead against hers as he waited for his heart rate and breathing to return to normal. He pulled away and smiled at her. ‘I’d better go,’ he said, and helped Fran down off the bench.

  Fran raised an eyebrow as the movement pressed him against her intimately and she could feel his readiness. She almost laughed at his pained expression and toyed with the idea of touching him there, even if it was only briefly. She shook her head—not fair.

  ‘I’ll get Mirry,’ she said.

  David moved away so she could pass and he watched her denim-clad butt sway out of sight. He pulled in a couple of deep breaths and gave himself a shake. He was a forty-two-year-old man, not a horny teenager!

  Fran moved into the lounge, her limbs still heavy with desire. She spied Miranda asleep on the sofa and felt her heart melt at the sight. She squatted beside the couch and just stared at her beautiful moon face. Fonzie was dozing at Miranda’s feet and she’d gone to sleep with her finger tangled in her curls.

  Miranda stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and she gave Fran a sleepy smile. ‘Is it time to go?’ she asked.

  David entered the room. ‘Goodness, Miranda Jane! Are you asleep? That’s a first,’ he teased.

  ‘I felt tired.’ She yawned and sat up, her red curls springing and settling into place around her head.

  Fran felt a prickle of alarm at the base of her spine.

  ‘Well, you have had a big weekend,’ he said and ruffled her hair.

  True, Fran thought. Two late nights and their bush walk today had been exhausting. She was a little tired herself.

  ‘Say bye to Fran,’ he said. ‘School day tomorrow.’

  Miranda gave Fran a hug and Fran held on for a bit longer than usual, enjoying the feel of Mirry in her arms.

  ‘Thank you for telling me about Daisy. I wish I could have known her. It would be cool to have her living next door.’

  Fran felt her breath hitch at the simplicity of the picture Mirry had painted and allowed herself the luxury of indulging the fantasy for a second.

  ‘Sorry,’ said David quietly, apologising for his sleepy daughter’s careless words.

  Fran shook her head. ‘It’s OK,’ she said sadly.

  David blew her a kiss over the top of Miranda’s head as they walked out the door.

  It would have
been cool, Fran thought as she shut the door. Way cool.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FRAN WAS HUMMING to herself as she walked into the nursing home the next morning. Not Catherine’s stern ‘Morning, Sister’ or Reg’s smelly leg ulcer dressing or cleaning up the mess caused by Gert’s colostomy bag leaking managed to wipe the smile off Fran’s face.

  ‘Fran, every time I see you you’re looking better and better,’ commented Glenda at lunchtime. They were sitting with the residents, eating their lunch in the dining room, as they usually did. Glenda insisted that her staff eat with the residents to foster openness and communication. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love.’

  Fran smiled at her and almost spilled the beans. Only the sudden quiet in the room as sixty residents paused in mid-mouthful and strained their ears stopped her. She looked around suspiciously and at least some had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  Amazing! Most of the oldies were stone deaf if the cochlear destroying roar of the television was anything to go by, but give them a juicy piece of gossip in the midst of a noisy dining room and their hearing was as sharp as a newborn’s.

  Fran smiled at Glenda. ‘Must be the sea air,’ she said, and sixty pairs of knives and forks started clattering again. Fran laughed as Glenda winked at her.

  At three o’clock Fran knew that Miranda wouldn’t be far away and neither, for that matter, would her father! She was down at Reception, doing some photocopying much to Catherine’s chagrin, when David walked through the door.

  ‘Hey, there.’ He smiled.

  Fran looked up from her job and felt her insides wobble at that lazy grin. She smiled back at him and for a while they didn’t do anything but stand and smile at each other, the glass petition separating them probably a good thing. He was wearing a hot pink tie with lime green tigers all over it, and Fran didn’t even notice.

  ‘Honestly, Sister,’ said Catherine with an annoyed eye roll, interrupting their moment, ‘I can do this. It’s my job, you’re much too busy.’