Miracle In March (9 page)

She pushed his hands off her and stood tall. ‘I was confused, okay? I was worried. I was scared out of my mind. I thought if I took you out of the equation things would be easier to process. I would just focus on my treatment with my family by my side, and you would get over your broken heart and move on.' She flung her hand towards the cabin. ‘And by the looks of it you did. And you got to have a child, see? That wouldn't have been possible if you'd stayed with me.'

James opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.

Silence bristled the hair on her arms as she tried to think of how else to explain her decision, to rationalise it, to make him forgive her, even though she wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

‘I can't believe,' James' voice quietened, as though he'd lost all his energy, ‘I just can't believe you went through all that. While I was busy hating you, you were busy…'

‘Being sick.'

‘Yes.' He shook his head, then met her eyes. ‘You always loved kids.' She nodded, and he studied her face, as though gradually understanding what might have gone on in her mind all those years ago. ‘I'm sorry about…the fact that…you can't…' He sucked in a deep breath and glanced up at the midnight blue sky.

There was no nice way of saying it.

‘That I can't have children,' she did the job for him.

He shrugged in resigned agreement.

‘I've had some time to get used to the fact.' She shrugged too. ‘But I didn't see the point in both of us missing out. I wanted you to have that chance.' She inched closer to him, desperate to cradle his cheek with her hand but holding strong to resist.

With his short, high breaths and tight jaw he seemed to be doing the same thing, battling with his urge to comfort and his urge to stay strong.

‘James, I hope one day you'll forgive me,' she whispered. ‘I just did what I felt I needed to do.'

He held her gaze, stepped a tiny bit closer, his hand rising up in front of her. It trembled, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. Then he stepped back and looked away. ‘No. No, I'm sorry, but no.' He crossed his arms. ‘You should have told me, Emma. I thought our relationship was strong enough to share a challenge like that, but I guess I was wrong.'

Her heart dropped. ‘But James, don't you see?'

‘No. I appreciate you telling me, and I'm really glad that you're okay now, but that's it. I need to move on. I have responsibilities now, I can't let the past creep back into my life.' He turned away in the direction of the front of the cabin.

‘Wait, James!' Emma stepped forwards.

James turned around briefly, gesturing to the cabin. ‘My son is sleeping, so if you don't mind, I need to get back inside.' He stepped onto the porch and out of sight. The screen door closed with a hollow slap and Emma flinched.

Unable to walk away, she wilted onto the bench and dropped her face onto her hands, tears slipping between her fingers, and regret seeping between the cracks in her heart.

* * *

James stepped into the darkness of the cabin and quietly inched open the door to Jackson's bedroom. His son's breaths came slow and deep, and he was grateful he hadn't woken to the sounds of their argument. He closed the door slightly, leaving a gap of light, and paced the living room, not bothering to turn on a lamp.
Cancer? She'd had cancer?
And he'd thought she'd perhaps met someone else and didn't have the guts to tell him. He rubbed at his jaw that held day-old stubble and something inside twinged at the thought of how Emma's diagnosis must have scared the life out of her. Regardless, she should have told him. They were a couple. Couples shared things — good times and bad. They'd only been together for a couple of months but they'd known each other before, at school. It wasn't like they'd just met and started dating, it had been a long time coming; a slow build, and everything had been heading in the right direction, or so it seemed.

James gently slid aside the kitchen curtain and peered below. She was still there, sitting on the bench seat, her head in her hands. He had to stay strong and stand his ground. She'd been through worse. She would recover, and any minute she'd probably wipe her eyes and head back to her cottage, ready to get back to normal.

Before he changed his mind he released the curtain and went to sit on the couch, but it only reminded him of that talk they'd had the night before she'd left him, when they'd snuggled together in his dimly lit living room and talked about life.
Their
lives…

‘What's your dream, James John Gallagher?' Emma had asked, her finger tracing his hairline and her sweet scent intoxicating him.

‘Simple, really. A satisfying career, financial freedom, the woman of my dreams, and passing my superb genes onto my offspring.' He'd chuckled, but he'd actually meant it. That was what he wanted from life.

‘Kids, huh?' she'd asked, teasing his neck with her lips.

‘I'd love them. Couldn't imagine not having them, to be honest.' And then he'd threaded his fingers between hers and squeezed the softness of her hand. ‘Can you imagine little Jameses and Emmas running around? I can.'

‘Is that right, JJ?' She'd giggled.

‘It couldn't be more right.' And he'd poured forth all his feelings for her and their impending future together into one unforgettable kiss, and what would turn out to be their last one…

James stood abruptly, shaken from his flashback, but clear-headed for the first time since he'd arrived in Tarrin's Bay. Emma hadn't been selfish, she'd been self
less
. She'd tried to spare him the sadness of feeling what she was already feeling: loss, grief, for the children that hadn't been born yet, and never would.

She thought she'd be taking away my dream.

James dashed to the door and flung it open, grabbed the side of the doorframe for leverage and swung himself off the porch. The seat was empty. Like he'd thought, she'd pulled herself together and gone home. He ran to the back of the cabin and saw her figure walking quickly in the distance. He wanted to run after her, but couldn't leave Jackson. He wanted to call out, but it would wake Jackson and probably other children in the park. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted:

Come back. Please.

He watched her figure stop and look at her phone. Then she turned around, and although they couldn't see each other's faces, James knew she was torn. She just stood there.

He texted again:

I'm sorry. I understand now.

She looked at her phone again, then put it in her pocket.

‘C'mon, Emma,' he whispered.

She swivelled to the side, looking over her shoulder towards the safety of her temporary home, then looked again in his direction. She took a slow step forwards, then another, and another. James ached to be next to her, to comfort her.

Emma walked slowly, and when she reached the space between his cabin and the next, the moonlight caught her face. Regret and surrender shared space in her eyes. When she neared, he closed the gap with two steps of his own, and lifted his hand to the curve of her cheek. This time it didn't falter.

‘James —'

‘Shh.' He ran his thumb gently across her bottom lip.

Her wide, red-rimmed eyes gazed into his with their history of pain and suffering. It broke his heart more than it had been broken by her departure. Heat stung the backs of his eyes and his hand tingled at the soft, long-forgotten familiarity of her skin. His left hand tangled gently with hers and he squeezed it softly as if to say, ‘It's okay, everything's okay'. He ran his hand up her arm and around her shoulder, dropping his other hand to match and pulling her body close to his. A slow sigh escaped her mouth and warmed his neck, like she'd been waiting to release her breath for all these years. He spread his palms across her back and pressed firmly but gently, encasing her with his support and understanding. He wanted to let her know with all of his being that he was here and she would never have to bear a heavy load on her own again.

James watched with pride as Jackson prepared his own breakfast the next morning. His son climbed on the bar stool next to the kitchen counter and tipped gluten-free cereal into a bowl. Some of it toppled onto the counter and the floor, but James didn't clean it up. He'd do that later. It was more important that Jackson was learning some independent skills. When he'd filled the bowl (a little
too
full) with rice milk, James pressed the applause button on the Sound Machine and Jackson got so excited he accidentally bumped the bowl and liquid splashed onto the counter and his hand. Jackson's smile turned downwards and he squealed with irritation, his face becoming red.

‘Here, buddy.' James swiped his son's hand with a tissue then carried the bowl to the table. One step at a time. He didn't want to risk his son dropping the bowl and having a meltdown after his achievement of getting his own breakfast. It would probably scare him off trying again. Jackson sat at the table, a cushion underneath him to lift his body higher, and gobbled mouthfuls of cereal.

James fried two eggs and made himself a bowl of cereal as well, joining his son at the table, though he was now almost finished. His mind flitted to the memory of Emma last night, her deep brown eyes and the trauma they'd held over the past few years.

He couldn't believe he finally knew. He knew why she had left him.

It was surreal, and he'd been angry for so long he wasn't used to feeling anything different. He understood now, but part of him still hurt. Like ripping a Band-Aid off, the damage had been done, but he needed a little time for the rawness of it to heal and settle. He still wished she'd told him, but last night when he'd realised and fully understood the reason why she hadn't, his anger had floated away like a dove released into the sky.

This changed everything.

No longer was he just here to say goodbye to Nonna Bella, to launch his online program, and to spend time outdoors with his son. The strong urge to reacquaint himself with Emma rippled through his bloodstream. He had to talk to her again, while he was here, while the chance lay open like a diary waiting to be filled with memories and dreams. He wanted to know more about what she went through, how she had coped, and if she had to have any ongoing treatment. He wanted to do the things he would have done back then if he'd known, provide support, though several years too late. But he also didn't want to burden her with bad memories. She might not want to talk about it.

The bouncy spring sound broke his thoughts as Jackson bounced with his Sound Machine on the couch after finishing his cereal. ‘Jackson, not after breakfast, matey, you might throw up!' He stood and pointed to the toys on the floor. ‘Time for a puzzle?' Jackson pressed the spring sound again and continued jumping around, James shaking his head. ‘Well in that case,
I'll
do the puzzle, all by
myself.
' James sat on the floor and rearranged the wooden shapes, putting some into the correct spots and pretending to forget where the others were supposed to go. ‘Oh no! I can't do it! If only I had someone to help me.' He made fake, frustrated grunt sounds as he held the pieces in the air, wondering where to put them. Jackson leapt off the couch and grabbed a puzzle piece from his father's hand, putting it in the correct position, followed by the others. Jackson pressed the applause sound and laughed, then tipped the puzzle over and started again from the beginning.

James chuckled and returned to his (now cold) eggs and cereal, eating them quickly. He was anxious to finalise his VIP program to be launched, but first, he needed to do something. He put the dirty bowls into the dishwasher and got his phone from his pocket.

Are you free for lunch?
He texted. He turned on the kettle while he waited and spooned some coffee into a mug.

His phone beeped.
Yes, 12:30.

James smiled, typed back:
My cabin?

See you then. I'll bring the food.

He pocketed his phone and checked his watch. Depending on how Jackson went today, he should be able to get a decent amount of work done before lunch. His parents could help, but he didn't want to bother them too much. He was used to working sporadically around Jackson's needs anyway. He'd promised that customer that the program would launch within forty-eight hours, which would be by tonight. And he never went back on his word. Besides, he wanted to get it done and dusted ASAP so he could focus for the rest of the week on his new mission: getting to know the only woman he'd ever truly loved, all over again.

* * *

Emma snapped the lids tight on the plastic containers of leftover risotto her mother had brought over this morning as a peace offering after her father's hurtful comment. When Emma told her mother about telling James the truth, Barbara had clasped her hands together with a smile and said, ‘See? Sometimes what we think of as upsetting leads to something we need. If Dad hadn't said that, you might not have told James.' Now Emma could turn it around; anytime her mother had to put up with her husband's unfiltered remarks, she could remind her that ‘maybe it is leading to something you need, Mum' and give her a little wink.

Emma put the two containers into a tote bag, along with a bottle of juice and a punnet of strawberries. She'd remembered how Jackson had eaten one eagerly and wanted to bring something he might like. She drew in a deep breath, nervous for some reason. One minute she'd been avoiding James and keeping her long-held secret, and the next, the secret had jumped ship and she was about to have lunch with him.

Emma's phone pinged with an incoming email. Jen, on her lunchbreak at school, had replied to the email Emma had sent her last night:

OMG. I can't believe you finally told him. Good on you! How are you feeling about it now? I swear, I got tingles when I read how he just embraced you like that. Em, that's so beautiful. See — I knew he would understand. I bet it's a big relief. What happens now? Are you going to spend some time with him?