Healed By The Midwife's Kiss: Healed by the Midwife's Kiss. Fiona McArthur
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baby and Trina had been the midwife. Even though he’d fainted again, he’d promised her a day of deep-sea fishing when he felt better. She’d bought seasickness bands and stored them in her drawer just in case.
She wasn’t sure about the parachuting. The girls at work had all joined the idea factory and brochures and social media tags of extreme sports and adventure holidays appeared like magic in her pigeonhole and on her private page. Parachuting? She didn’t think so but she’d worry about that later.
Her aim to do one challenge a month seemed possible to allay the fear that she was relying on work to be her whole world. Though not too adventurous—she didn’t want to kill herself. Not now.
Her friends were cheering. Thinking of the midwives of Lighthouse Bay...well, that made her whole world warm into a rosy glow. A fiercely loyal flotsam of women tossed here by the fickle cruelty of life, forging into a circle of hands supporting birthing women and each other. All acutely aware of how fortunate they were to have found the magic of the bay.
There was something healing about that crescent of sand that led to the cliffs.
A mystical benevolence about the soaring white lighthouse on the tallest point that looked benignly over the tiny hamlet of coloured houses and shone reassuring light.
And the pretty pastel abodes like a quaint European seaside town were a delight, a new trend that had taken off with the gentle crayon façades dipping in colour like playful toes into the sea.
Crazy coloured houses, and if she could do all those crazy-coloured feats of bravery then just maybe she could be brave enough to begin a real conversation with a man. Like yesterday. She’d almost forgotten the handsome dad was a man when she’d snapped at him. They’d almost had a whole conversation. She wouldn’t mind another one so he didn’t think she was a short-tempered shrew but she had been concerned about the bird. The one that had flown away two hours later, just like he said it would.
If she could talk to a man she could try again to go out with one. At least once. She’d been turning them down for six months now. None of them had been Ed.
Now there were more midwives around to lessen the on-call restrictions. Four new midwives had come on board to swell their ranks with the shift to a midwife-led unit. They still had old Dr Southwell in the hospital for non-maternity patients and maternity emergencies, but all the midwives had moved to four days of ten-hour shifts and caring for a caseload of women, so suddenly there was more time for life with an extra day free and people to cover you if needed. And she’d scored the admin side Monday to Thursday, daylight hours, for a year. Starting Monday. Imagine.
So she’d better get out there and grab that exciting life before it drifted past in a haze of regrets. She lifted her head and sucked in a pure lungful of gorgeous sea air.
Without realising it her feet had followed the well-beaten path down to the beach and just as she turned to start her morning breakwall walk she saw the dad and his little girl come up off the beach.
He looked happier today. Nice. It made her smile warmer. ‘Beautiful morning.’
He looked startled for a minute. ‘Yes, it is.’ Almost as if he was surprised. ‘Good morning—how is your bird?’
‘Flew away two hours later. Didn’t look any worse for wear.’
He gave her the first real smile she’d seen. ‘That’s good.’
Then he was past. Trina turned her head to glance back and the little fair-haired girl waved.
Trina smiled and yawned. She should go to bed and get a couple of hours’ sleep before Ellie’s farewell lunch. Just a quick walk.
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.
They finally made it to the front door.
In an attempt to lighten the mood he stopped to show her something else. ‘Piper helped everywhere.’ He kissed the top of his daughter’s