Healed By The Midwife's Kiss. Fiona McArthur

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       CHAPTER THREE

      Finn

      THE EARLY-MORNING BREEZE off the ocean seemed cooler. The water had taken till now to shine like a jewel. She’d been late this morning. Finn had waited a minute, hoping she wouldn’t see him do it, and strangely the minute seemed to take for ever, then he’d looked back. He’d been thinking of her last night. Wondering if she were sad about a dead bird or happy when it flew away.

      He thought back to her response. Now that was a smile. He could see it in his retina like a glance at the sun. Warm and glowing. Saw her walking quite a way in the distance—she’d moved fast. He’d noticed that before, that her pace ran to brisk rather than dawdling. Nurses often did walk briskly. Couldn’t seem to slow themselves enough to meander even on a seaside walk. He tore his eyes away.

      He’d done the breakwall walk she did a couple of times when he’d first come here but he liked the effort of walking through the sand with Piper on his back. If nothing else he’d become fit and tanned and physically healthier here in a month. And Piper too had sun-kissed limbs and sparkling eyes that exuded health.

      His sister would be pleased when she came today. His first visitor. He shied away from that intrusion into his safe world and thought again of the young midwife. Maybe not so young because he’d seen the signs of loss and life in her big coffee eyes—even in those brief glances they’d shot at each other. For the first time he wondered if other people had suffered as much as he had? Well, that at least seemed a positive sign that he could reconnect with his inherent compassion that he’d seemed to have lost.

      The thought made him wonder what it would be like to talk to someone who could actually begin to understand his hell, and then called himself crazy for making up a past about someone he didn’t know. Poor woman probably had never had a sad day in her life. But something told him otherwise.

      * * *

      Just before one p.m. his sister stepped out of her red convertible and through his front gate. ‘It’s beautiful, Finn. I can’t believe you’ve done all this yourself!’ Her perfectly pencilled brows were raised as she gazed at the pale pink external walls of the house and the rose-red door.

      He’d been a little surprised himself. And the front path bordered by pansies and baby’s breath looked as if it belonged to some older lady with a green thumb—not a guilt-deranged paediatrician running from life.

      She rocked her head slowly. He’d expected disbelief but not this patent incredulity. He felt strangely offended. ‘I didn’t even know you like to garden!’

      He shrugged, urging her towards the door. ‘Neither did I. But Piper loves being outside and we needed to do something while we’re out here.’

      Frances rubbernecked her way up the path, nice and slow for the neighbours, he thought dryly, and sighed while she gushed. She gushed when she didn’t know what to say, though what the problem was he had no idea.

      ‘And the house. Freshly painted? You actually painted?’ She glanced around. ‘Pastel like the others in the street. It’s gorgeous.’

      Finn looked at the stucco walls. They’d been a pain to paint. ‘Piper chose the colour. I would have preferred a blue but, given the choice, she went for pink every time. Never thought I’d have a stereotypical daughter.’

      Frances laughed and waved her hand dismissively. ‘Piper’s too young to choose.’

      ‘No, she’s not,’ he said mildly. ‘How can you say it’s not her choice if I give her four colours and she keeps choosing pink?’

      Frances looked at him as if he needed a big dose of sympathy for his feeble brain. ‘You didn’t pretend she was choosing?’

      ‘Who else was I going to ask?’ He heard the edge in his voice. And his sister shut up. So then he felt mean.

      It was always like this. On and on until he shut her down. She meant well, but for heaven’s sake. He wanted her gone already.

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