Winter Wonderland Wishes: A Mummy to Make Christmas / His Christmas Bride-to-Be / A Father This Christmas?
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‘How old were you at the time, Heath?’
‘Sixteen—so it will be twenty years this July since she was killed.’
The desolate expression on Phoebe’s face told Heath how she was feeling. She knew she had no words that could capture the depth of his sadness so she didn’t try to speak.
‘I think, to be honest, he has no reason to go to bed early any more. There’s no one waiting so he stays up late—unless he has an early surgery roster … then he goes to bed at a reasonable hour.’
‘And he’s never wanted to remarry?’
‘No. He and my mother were soul mates. He didn’t think he would find that again, so he never looked.’
‘That’s sad. There might have been someone just perfect …’ Phoebe replied—then realised that she was overstepping the mark, by commenting about someone else’s love-life when her own had been a disaster, and stopped.
‘Perhaps. But he’s never recovered from losing my mother. Some people never do. They just can’t move on.’
Phoebe wondered if Heath was the same as his father. Cut from the same cloth and faithful to the woman he had lost. Never having healed enough to be with someone else.
They travelled along in silence after that, until Heath pulled up at the front of the beautiful old sandstone villa that his father had called home for so many years, and where he was staying for just a few weeks. Standard white roses, eight bushes on each side, lined the pathway.
Someone must have been watering them in the extreme weather, Phoebe mused as she walked past them, tempted to touch the perfect white petals. Their delicate perfume hung in the night air. The front porch light was on and the home had a welcoming feel to it. It was as if there was a woman still living there, Phoebe thought as she made her way to the front door with Heath.
He unlocked it and they both stepped inside.
‘Hi, Dad, we’re home. I hope you’re decent. I have Phoebe with me, and you don’t need to scare her in your underwear, or worse.’
Phoebe felt a smile coming on at the humour in his greeting and it lifted her spirits. She looked around and was very taken by the beautiful stained glass around the door of the softly lit entrance hall. And she felt comforted by the lighthearted side of their father-son relationship. It was not unlike the way she related to her own father. The warmth, respect and humorous rapport were very similar.
‘I’m outside on the patio.’
Heath dropped his keys onto the antique hall stand and then led the way down the long hallway, through the huge country-style kitchen, complete with pots and pans overhanging the marble cooking island, to the back veranda. From what she could see of the house in the dim lighting it was pristine, and she wondered if it was the work of Ken or if perhaps he had a cleaning service to keep it looking so picture-perfect. It didn’t look like two men were living there.
Phoebe excused herself to visit the bathroom while Heath walked through the French doors to the patio.
‘There you are,’ he said to his father, who was sitting in the light of the moon.
‘Yes, just sitting alone with my thoughts. And here’s one of them. Don’t look at me as a role model—look at me as a warning … It’s not a real life without a woman to share it. Don’t leave it too long to look for love again.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT DAY Phoebe was sitting in the cool of her house. It was the weekend, and the previous days had gone by quickly. She had been busy consulting at the practice, but she was a little disappointed that the opportunity to operate with Heath had not arisen again. The way they had pre-empted each other’s needs during surgery still remained in her mind and she looked forward to the opportunity to do it again.
Heath had been at the hospital, presenting some tutorials for the third-year medical students, but they’d caught up at the practice briefly, and talked over any questions that Phoebe had had about her patients. She had reminded herself that with his rules they would never be more than friends, but despite her still simmering feelings that she needed to ignore, he was still a fascinating friend to have.
Phoebe was enjoying her work, but the jet-lag had finally caught up with her and she’d wanted to have plenty of rest to ensure she didn’t compromise her patients, so she had enjoyed a couple of early nights.
Wondering what to do on a Saturday, she put on a load of washing, did some yoga and although she considered calling her father, it was still Friday in the US. No doubt he would be busy, dealing with some political emergency, so she decided to leave it until the end of his day—which would be just after lunch for her. She didn’t dare call her mother, to hear yet another sales pitch about her repentant ex-fiancé, so she decided not to make any calls.
It was much too hot to head to the park or the Botanic Gardens so, while the washing was on its spin cycle, she picked up a magazine that she had purchased at the airport and left on the coffee table and thought perhaps later she would visit the museum or an art gallery.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. With a puzzled expression she looked through the window to see a delivery truck parked outside her home. She tentatively opened the door. Surely there wouldn’t be another delivery? It would be the second since she’d arrived in town.
‘Phoebe Johnson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great,’ the man replied, lifting his baseball cap slightly and handing her an electronic device with a signature pad. ‘I have a delivery for you. Sign here, love, and I’ll bring it in.’
Phoebe signed, then watched as the man disappeared back to his truck. He opened the large double doors and stepped up inside. There were some loud banging and dragging sounds coming from the back of the truck and Phoebe’s brows knitted in confusion. She had no clue who would be sending her something. And how big was this delivery?
Suddenly the delivery man emerged and jumped down from the truck. He pulled a huge box out onto the road. Then another two smaller packages. He also pulled down a trolley, and piled everything on top and headed back in Phoebe’s direction.
‘Are you sure all of that is for me?’
‘Dead sure, love,’ he said, as he waited for her to step aside so he could wheel it inside.
Phoebe followed him and told him to leave it to the side of the living room, near the kitchen doorway. He offloaded all the items and then left, closing the front door behind him.
Phoebe scratched her head as she searched for the delivery note and discovered it was from a local department store. She headed into the kitchen, found some scissors and began to cut open the largest of the three packages.
A moment later she squealed in delight. It was a Christmas tree. But as she pulled it gently from the oversized box she could see it was a very special type of tree.
The branches were the deepest forest-green, and looked so real. She moved closer and smiled as she could smell pinecones. It was just like the tree she’d had back home when she was very young. It was still her favourite Christmas tree of all time, and she had looked forward every year to her mother and father bringing it down from the attic and spending the night decorating it, with tinsel and lights, and baubles with their names handwritten on them in gold. Even the dog had had a personalised bauble …
But the branches had broken one by one over the years, and eventually the tree had had to be replaced. They hadn’t been able to find the same one. And the new one had been nice but it was a slightly different green and it didn’t smell like pinecones. It just hadn’t been the same …
She heard her phone ringing in the other room and raced to pick it up.
‘Do you like it?’ the very recognisable voice asked. ‘I asked them to text me when they’d delivered it. In the catalogue it looked like the one we had when you were a little girl.’
‘It is—it’s just the same! Thank you so much, Dad. I love it, and it was so sweet of you.’
‘Well, I couldn’t have my little girl the other side of the world and all alone for her favourite time of the year without a tree,’ he told her.
‘But there are two more boxes.’
‘You can’t have a tree without decorations.’
Phoebe felt a tear trickle down her cheek. ‘I miss you.’
‘Miss you more—but I have to head back in to deal with another crisis. Middle East is on the agenda again today,’ he said, then added, ‘I want to hear all about work and your new home. I’ll call you again soon.’
‘Thank you again, Dad. Love you!’
‘Ditto, sweetie.’
Phoebe had planned on putting up her Christmas tree that night, but she got a call from Tilly, inviting her to dinner. It was Ken’s birthday.
They were such a social family, and it was stopping her from feeling lonely, so she accepted. It meant spending time with Heath but she hoped that with the family around and by catching yet another cab, she would keep that professional distance between them. But as it was Ken’s birthday she realised she would need to race into the city for a gift.
She closed the giant box and dragged it across the polished floorboards into the second bedroom, and then put the boxes of decorations in with it. She looked forward to putting it up another day.
As she closed the door she felt a little ache inside. This should have been her first Christmas with Giles, in their own home as husband and wife. She didn’t miss him, but she still felt sad that she was spending it so far from home.
The birthday dinner was lovely. It was the whole family again, and Ken loved the astronomy book Phoebe gave him. Heath was pleasant, but he seemed a little preoccupied as he sat at the end of the table with Oscar by his side.
Knowing what she did about his past, she didn’t press him to be anything more than he could be, but she enjoyed his company and found that during the evening that he seemed to grow less guarded, and even smiled once or twice at her stories of growing up in the US. And she managed, with a concerted effort, to keep her butterflies at bay.
The next few days sped by. The weather had thankfully cooled slightly—enough that Phoebe felt the need for a light sweater one night. She had planned on putting up the tree over the weekend, but on Sunday she had slept in and read some patient notes to prepare for Monday’s surgical schedule, so it was still packed away.
Ken invited her over on Wednesday for ‘hump day takeout’. This time it was just the four of them. And that night Heath took the seat next to her.
Oscar smiled at his grandpa.
And his grandpa hoped Heath was taking his advice on board.
They chatted about work, and then about their lives outside of work. The conversation between Heath and Phoebe continued on the patio as a light breeze picked up and Oscar was tucked up in bed.
‘Does it feel like second nature, being in Adelaide now?’ he asked.
‘It does. In fact this whole experience is strange in that it feels almost like déjà-vu in familiarity. Your family are wonderful—so down-to-earth and welcoming.’
Phoebe looked out across the garden from the wicker chair where she sat. The landscaping wasn’t modern and manicured, like Tilly’s, it was more like a scene from The Secret Garden. The flowerbeds were overflowing with floral ground cover, large old trees with low-hanging branches lined the perimeter of the generous-sized property, and there was an uneven clay brick pathway leading to an archway covered in jasmine.
It was beautiful and timeless and she felt so very much at home in Ken’s house. All that was missing, she thought, was a Christmas tree and a hearth in the living room. The hearth would never happen in temperatures over one hundred degrees, but perhaps she could work on bringing a little bit of Christmas to the three men who lived there.
‘My family have their moments,’ Heath told her.
‘Don’t they all? But yours don’t appear to interfere in your life, which is great.’
Heath shook his head. ‘Believe me, they try—but I put a stop to it quickly.’ Then he paused. ‘The way you said that sounded a little Freudian. Am I to gather that your family does?’
Phoebe ran her hand along the balustrade next to her. ‘Sometimes.’
Heath sat down in the armchair next to hers. ‘Did they try to interfere in your decision to come to Australia?’
Phoebe rolled her eyes and sipped her soda and lime as she recalled the last conversation she’d had with her mother, by the waiting cab.
‘I’m taking your expression to be a yes,’ Heath commented.
‘Well, a yes to my mother—but my father was supportive from the get-go,’ she said, putting the glass down on the table.
‘Why was that?’
‘He knew I needed a break from Washington and he wanted to help.’
‘But your mother didn’t think you needed a break?’
‘Hardly …’ she lamented. ‘She wanted me to stay and work it out.’ Phoebe instantly realised that she had said too much, but the words were already out.
‘Work what out?’ he asked, leaning forward in the chair with a perplexed look on his face.
‘Oh, just things … You know—things that she thought needed to be worked through and I thought needed to be walked away from.’
‘No, I can’t say I do know what you mean, Phoebe.’
She sighed. She knew she had to elaborate, but she had no intention of going into all of the detail. ‘Relationship issues. Some of those just can’t be sorted out.’
‘With another family member?’
‘No, thank God—he never made it into the family.’
‘Ah … so an issue with a man, then?’
‘Yes, with a man.’
‘So you ran away to the colonies of Australia to get away from a man?”
‘Uh-huh …’ she mumbled, and then, looking at the question dressing his very handsome face, she continued, ‘Now you know everything there is to know about me, it’s your turn. What is Heath Rollins’s story? Have you ever run away from anything?’
As she said it she wanted to kick herself. She knew his story, and it was a sad one that begged not to be retold. He had lost both his mother and his wife. And Phoebe suddenly felt like the most insensitive woman in the world to be asking that question.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Please ignore me.’
Heath considered her expression for a moment. There was sadness in her face, almost pity. ‘You know about my wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you know I did run away from something, then. From overwhelming grief and a gaping hole so big that I never thought it would heal.’
She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I can’t begin to know what that feels like.’
He sat back in his chair again in silence, with memories rushing to the fore. ‘Did my father let you know or was it Tilly?’ His voice was calm—not accusing, but sombre.
‘Neither,’ she answered honestly. ‘It was Oscar. He told me the other day, when we were in the garden at Tilly’s. He said that he was very little when his mother died and doesn’t remember anything. I assume he must have been a toddler.’
Heath was surprised that Oscar had opened up about it to Phoebe. He rarely spoke of his mother, and particularly not to anyone he didn’t really know.
‘He was five months old, actually—when Natasha died. He never had the chance to know his mother. To walk beside her or even to hold her hand.’
‘Oh … I don’t know what to say except that I’m so sorry, Heath.’ As she sat on the chair next to him she felt her heart breaking for him. ‘After a loss as devastating as that it must have been so hard for you to even begin to find your way through the grief and cope for the sake of your son.’
‘It was hard for all of us, watching her die. Knowing there was nothing we could do. It was the hardest time of my life and I was powerless to stop it. I felt guilty for allowing it to happen, for not making her have treatment earlier.’
Phoebe didn’t ask what had taken his wife’s life. It wasn’t for her to know. But she could see he was still wearing the guilt. ‘You can’t make a person do what you want if it’s not their wish. They have to do what is right for them, even if it’s not what we see as right. I’m sure she had her reasons for not starting treatment.’
‘Yes—Oscar was the reason. She was twenty weeks pregnant when Stage Three breast cancer was diagnosed, and although she could have safely undergone modified chemotherapy during the pregnancy she refused. She wanted to wait until she had given birth, then start the treatment but with the hormones surging through her body she understood there was a chance it would spread. But it was a risk she wanted to take. In my mind, with the oncologist’s advice, it was one she never needed to even consider. They took Oscar four weeks early, but the cancer had already metastasised. She underwent surgery and chemo but she knew it was useless. She had done her research and was aware that there was little chance of her surviving.’
‘What an amazingly selfless woman.’
‘More than you can know. But at the time I was angry with her, for leaving me with a baby to raise and no wife to love.’
Phoebe watched Heath wringing his hands in frustration.
‘I can understand your feelings, but I guess I can also understand your wife had a right to do what she thought was best. Sometimes what two people in love want is not the same, and it’s not that either is wrong, or not respecting the other, it’s just that they see things differently. Their life experience and values alter their perspective. And she was a mother. I can’t say it from any experience, since I have never had a child, but I am sure carrying a baby would change everything about how you see the world.’
‘But she was so young, and she had so much to live for—no matter how I try I will never understand. I love Oscar so much, and I’m grateful every day for him being in my life, but it was a huge and difficult choice she had to make. And I feel guilty for what happened because it means Oscar is growing up without a mother.’
Phoebe was puzzled at his feelings of remorse. She understood the sadness, but not the guilt. ‘I don’t know why you would say that. Your wife made the decision—not you.’
‘But I should have made her have the chemo. I should have never let her delay it. And perhaps I shouldn’t have married her so young. If she hadn’t married me then she wouldn’t have rushed into having a child, and when she was diagnosed she would have gone ahead with treatment.’
‘Heath, you can’t know that for sure. Natasha might not have been diagnosed until it was too late anyway. A young woman in her twenties wouldn’t have been having mammograms, so it might have gone undetected for a long time—by which time she might have faced the same fate. It’s something you will never know. But you have a very special little boy. And you can’t harbour any blame—it’s not good for Oscar.’
Heath nodded, but Phoebe could see his thoughts were somewhere else, struggling with his memories.
He was thinking back to the day Natasha had died.
It had been Christmas Day.
The next day Phoebe woke early, still thinking about everything that Heath had told her. While the heartbreak Giles had inflicted on her had been soul-destroying at the time, she knew now that it had been for the best. But nothing about Heath’s heartbreak was for the best. His wife had died and left behind a little boy who would never know her. And a man who couldn’t fully understand or accept her reasons.
She felt a little homesick for the first time, and called her father.
‘I assisted in surgery last week, and I’m heading in today to the practice, and then tomorrow I’m in Theatre again,’ she told him as she ate her muesli and fruit breakfast with her mobile phone on speaker. ‘And I finally met Ken Rollins.’
‘That’s great. I bet you quizzed him about his papers.’
‘I did and he was so generous with his knowledge.’
‘How long will his son be filling in before he leaves and heads back to his old position?’
Phoebe’s mood suddenly and unexpectedly fell as she listened to her father and was reminded that Heath and Oscar were only transient in her life. She had enjoyed spending time with Heath out of work hours. No matter how much she was looking forward to working with Ken, she knew she would miss Heath. He was charming company when he lifted his guard, and he had managed to make her feel important with the way he listened to her and engaged in their conversations.
He was a far cry from the distracted man who had once held the title of her fiancé. And she suddenly felt a little sad that Heath would be gone in a few short weeks. She knew she wanted more. What that was, she wasn’t sure—but she knew even after such a short time there would be a void in her life when he left.
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