Grace Beneath the Frost

Chapter 2

2

“Dad, that’s the third time you’ve yawned in the last few minutes.” Lauren frowned as she drove. They were past halfway on the four-hour trip to Smiths Lake, where he’d hired a place for a week of the Easter holidays. The long drive gave Lauren plenty of time to practise her driving before she took her test next month.

He sighed. She was growing up so fast, and he’d missed too much of the process.

“Dad. You didn’t answer. Why are you yawning?” Lauren repeated.

“Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Have you been staying up too late?”

He laughed. “You’re more like your mother every day.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow at him. “And is that a bad thing?”

“No, not at all.” And it wasn’t. Wendy was caring but discreet with her friends’ troubles; responsible, trustworthy, and fiercely loyal. Saying Lauren was her mother’s daughter was a compliment. He hadn’t known how good life had been until the separation.

Wendy being on holiday with them would have made the whole thing perfect. She brought fun and a sense of meaning that had been missing from his life for too long. But she wasn’t coming. That part of his life was over.

At least he still had time with the kids, although they hadn’t wanted to visit him at all in the first year of their separation. It was Wendy who had eased them into it. He didn’t know what she’d said to them, but it had worked. He’d soon learned that when Ben and Lauren were with him, he needed to give them all his time, even if he spent most of the weekend chauffeuring them to sport and other events. He’d resented it at first, but now he appreciated a weekend to switch off from work. Keeping busy and having active holidays made things easier. He wasn’t great at deep and meaningful conversation, but the children did open up when they were on a boat or hike together.

He might not be anywhere near perfect, but even if he turned up once a year, he’d be a million times better than his own father. His father ducked out so early that Paul only had vague memories of him, a tall dark-haired man who smelled of tobacco. Paul thought he smoked a pipe rather than cigarettes, but he couldn’t verify the memory because Paul’s mother refused to talk about her ex-husband. There had been the occasional rant while he was in primary school about how his father was a wastrel and she should never have married him, but apart from that, no other information passed her lips. Nope, he had no intention of ever being like his father. He wanted his kids to look at him with affection and be proud of him.

Lauren indicated, checked her blind spot, changed lanes and overtook a caravan crawling up a hill in the left lane.

“Are you ready for a break?” Paul asked.

She nodded.

“Why don’t you take the next exit?” He glanced at the petrol gauge. “Pull in at the petrol station, and I’ll take over.”

“Wish I could start learning to drive,” Ben said from the back seat.

“The summer holidays will be here soon enough,” Paul said. It only seemed like yesterday that Ben had his little-boy voice. Now he was pushing to fly the nest. How many holidays would they have together before his kids went their separate ways?

On the last morning of their holiday, Paul called up the stairs to the children. “Last chance for a sail. Is anyone coming?”

There was a loud groan from Ben’s room. He preferred to exercise in the afternoons, when he was fully awake.

Paul carried his coffee out to the front deck with the view over the lake. Several small islands dotted the water, too small for living on but just right for sailing or kayaking around. A cool breeze ruffled the surface of the water and rustled the leaves of the gum trees.

He heard footsteps on the floorboards and Lauren came out to join him.

“Morning, Dad. Did you sleep better?”

He nodded. This break had been just what he needed, sailing every morning, then swimming or kayaking in the afternoons.

“If you give me a chance to grab some breakfast, I’ll come with you.”

He smiled across at her, delighted to have her seek out his company.

“Meet me down there. I’ll get everything ready to go.” Not that it would be hard, as the place they were staying had its own jetty.

He’d just finished his preparation when Lauren stepped onto the jetty, hair pulled back in a ponytail. He handed her the life jacket and she put it on with a little shiver. “You can feel the change in the season.”

It wasn’t a strong breeze but with the sail up, the boat began to move forward. There’d be more wind once they were out of the shelter of the nearest island.

On days like this, he was thankful to his mother for letting him go to the school near Melbourne where he’d learned to sail. He still didn’t know how a kid from Canberra had received a scholarship to one of the best schools in Australia. Surely there must have been more deserving kids who lived closer to the school. Maybe his mother knew, but if so, she’d kept her usual silence on the matter. Even with the scholarship, she’d had to sacrifice to buy his uniform and all the extras.

“A little more to port,” he said to Lauren. She adjusted the rudder and the boat responded with a tiny surge, as though glad to be free. The sail flapped, Lauren made another small adjustment, and the sound stopped as the sail filled more evenly.

They spent the next hour tacking to and fro, discussing Lauren’s options for university.

“You’re good with people. Do you think you’d like teaching?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I can do a general degree first, and decide later.”

Paul adjusted the sail to maximise the wind available and the boat tilted slightly.

“What do you want to do for your eighteenth? It’s only a few weeks away and I expected you to mention it before this.”

“I’ve talked it over with Mum.”

A stab of jealousy slid under his rib like a knife. Get a grip, Paul. Of course she’d talk about things with Wendy first. Wendy wouldn’t leave something significant like this birthday to chance.

“Jill and I are thinking of doing a joint celebration after the trials and before the final exams.”

That made sense. Lauren’s next few months would be dominated by her trial exams, which contributed a good percentage towards her final marks.

“Head down, coming about,” Paul said. “Were you thinking of something for family too?” he asked once the boat was sailing on its new tack.

Lauren was silent, a flush spreading up her neck. He hadn’t meant to put her on the spot.

“I don’t really know what to do. It’s difficult.” She swallowed.

“You mean you’re not sure if your mother and I can sit at the same table together.”

She looked back towards their jetty. “Well, you never do, do you? You wait in the car to pick us up and only occasionally make arrangements on the phone.”

He’d done things that way because he didn’t know how he’d react to seeing Wendy. It was easier to keep away, but he hadn’t considered how it was affecting his children.

“And Miranda, well, you know.” Lauren’s voice trailed off.

He did know. His mother refusing to be called anything other than her name was only one symptom of a broader problem. Wendy’s parents happily answered to Nana and Pops and thought his mother was foolish for believing being called “Grandma” made her seem old and stodgy. He secretly agreed. Even after his marriage his mother had never said anything as friendly as “Call me Mum” to Wendy. He was the only one who could get away with not calling her Miranda, and even he called her “Mother”, not “Mum”. His mother hadn’t made any comment when he’d told her he and Wendy were separated, although she complained he still didn’t head home to Canberra often enough.

Much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t enjoy visiting his mother. She was a cranky old woman.

Paul mentally shook himself. He was supposed to be talking about Lauren’s birthday.

“Would you like me to talk to your mother and see what she suggests?” he asked.

Lauren turned to him. Her eyes looked a little wet. “I’d like that. I do want to do something special with family, but I’m not sure it’s possible.”

“I’ll call next week.”

Lauren gave a small stiff nod. “Thanks, Dad. I’d appreciate it.”

He kept thinking Lauren appeared tough, but her desire for family harmony revealed a touching vulnerability. That desire resonated deep within him.

The holiday helped, but back at home, Paul still wasn’t sleeping. He tossed and turned, pummelling his pillow to try to make it more comfortable. As always, a picture of that young woman filled his mind.

Esther.

Again. All this angst proved that he needed to keep his patients at a distance. He couldn’t afford sleepless nights for each and every death of those under his care.

He blew out a long breath. Funerals were supposed to bring closure, so why did he still feel so unsettled? He pictured Esther sitting in the chair opposite his desk, her face alternating between gentle teasing and utter earnestness as she challenged him to properly examine Jesus’ claims. What had she said? Something about how investigating Christianity would only take a tiny percentage of his time and it might be the best investment he’d ever make.

He’d never believed in haunting, but perhaps peace would come if he treated her challenge seriously. Esther believed Jesus was God. Paul had spent more time cutting his toenails than he’d ever spent on Jesus.

He laughed grimly in the darkness. Esther was convinced Jesus would come again to judge the world. If that were the case, then it made sense to be on Jesus’ good side, although he doubted that being a friend of Esther’s would gain him any points.

Paul turned over. He might not be a sensitive, self-aware sort of guy but he knew himself well enough that though he might decide to do a thorough investigation of Jesus’ claims, there was no way he’d complete it. Not on his own, anyway. Too many things would get in the way.

Just like general busyness had prevented him from reading more than one of the books Esther had given him. Even then, he’d only casually skimmed its contents to make Esther happy.

Okay, so he needed someone to keep him on track. But what kind of someone? He didn’t want a Christian. He wanted a sceptic. A man he could respect and who could be trusted to take the task seriously. Someone who could hear a raw and honest question and give a raw and honest answer.

The next morning, he woke with one name on his mind. It felt risky to ask, and he didn’t even know how to find the guy.

He got out of bed and went to shower. While shaving he came up with a way to find out the information he needed. The question was, did he dare?