"Must have been a good kiss," Cal noted slyly.
Gillian allowed a slight smirk. "Yeah it was."
"So what happened next? Tell me I went afta you that night." His heart rate increased slightly with anticipation.
"No actually, you avoided me for a few days and pretended nothing happened."
'I did?' Cal gave a slight frown.
"And finally I couldn't stand it any longer."
Cal gave her a sudden grin. This sounded good! "And then what?"
Gillian gave him a slightly disparaging expression. "It's not what you think."
"We didn't go at it?"
A laugh escaped Gillian despite herself and she found it a little difficult to meet his piercing eyes. "No."
"Course not. You don't put out on first dates."
"Cal!" Gillian exclaimed shocked at his blatant-ness.
"Well it's true," he feigned innocence.
Gillian gave him a suspicious expression. "How do you know that's true?"
Cal realised she was asking him what he remembered from their first date but he drew a blank on that subject. Didn't mean he drew a blank on her completely. "From what I've heard."
Gillian narrowed her eyes at him good-naturedly. "What did you hear? Who were you talking to?"
"I might have, sort of, maybe, asked a few people about you."
Gillian was genuinely surprised now. "When?"
"Afta we met. I asked around."
"Of course you did," Gillian shifted in her chair so she could cross her other leg over her knee. Cal watched the movement of her legs and Gillian watched him study her. Despite his cheekiness, she was actually enjoying the conversation. It was the most they had talked in months for her, weeks for Cal. They were actually connecting again. In fact, it was almost like old times. Really old times, when he said outrageous things to embarrass her and push her buttons. Which made sense, because everything she had just told him about their first kiss didn't happen for him. He was still in the 'pulling her pigtails' stage of things right now. He hadn't had the chance yet to move beyond it. She wondered if that meant everything had reverted back. Would he still love her? Or was there the potential for him to never fall for her now?
"What else did you find out?" Gillian challenged, forcing those fears aside. It would be better to just focus on the moment in hand. Worrying about the future was pointless when she had no control over it. She needed to just push forward one day at a time. She needed to build up their relationship again, like Casey had suggested.
"I found out you were a good girl, raised in a middle class workin' family, you wrote your thesis in record time and graduated top of your class."
Gillian watched him impassively. "Anyone could have found that out."
"I also found out you have a birthmark the shape of jaguar on your arse."
Gillian fixed him with an unimpressed expression. "That's not even remotely true."
"Not a pantha or some otha large feline," Cal held up a finger to ward off any sort of protest. "But a jaguar. They were quite specific."
"And who told you this misinformation?"
"I was just hopin' you might let slip, in your rush to correct me, that you do have a birthmark on your rude bits."
Gillian shifted forward so her chin was almost leaning on the pillow next to where Cal rested his head. "When you get home I'll let you find out for yourself."
Gillian watched amused as Cal's pale blue eyes widened slightly. "Promise?" He asked, his throat suddenly dry, his voice losing its control.
Gillian's hand shifted to his and squeezed his fingers. "Promise," she gave another quick squeeze.
Cal gaped at her for a moment and there it was: open flirting.
"But you have to come home."
"What do I have to do?" Cal asked still feeling mesmerised. His stomach was all watery. Were her eyes dilated right now? Because it looked like it.
He meant: what did he have to do to get home, so Gillian responded to that question. He might not believe it, but he didn't have to do much to get her to let him see her rude bits. "You have to do what the doctor tells you and what Adam tells you."
Cal rolled his eyes heavily.
"Which I know is very difficult for you," Gillian added. "Because you don't like to do what you're told."
Cal sighed and turned his head away. "Yeah yeah."
Gillian pulled back to sit up straight again. "I'm just saying."
Cal looked at her once more. "That's what I say," he was amazed.
Gillian gave a slight shrug. "I guess you rub off on me."
Cal's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. If he was looking for proof they had a relationship there was some more of it. She had picked up his sayings. Impressive. "What I want is to get the hell out of here," Cal told her.
"You know what Doctor Rockwell and Adam want right?"
'Yeah, yeah,' Cal repeated.
"They just want you to get better," Gillian answered herself when Cal didn't.
"I know," Cal responded gently.
"And I want you to come home," Gillian added, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. Cal watched her face, her eyes, the genuine care in them. He nodded. He understood what she meant. She meant drop the attitude. Drop the resistance. Play the game. Come home to her. Please.
"Now, who the hell were you talking to about me and first dates?"
PJ
Gillian left the hospital feeling lighter than she had in quite a while. They were talking again and she knew, even if things were in a strange balance at the moment, that if they kept on talking, kept on reconnecting, then it would work out ok in the end. They had always had that. They had always understood each other. She had hope. She text Emily to say she would pick Lewis up from day care herself and would she mind making her visit to her father later in the evening so she and Lewis could spend some time with him alone? Emily was quite happy to oblige.
"Mum!" Lewis spotted her as soon as she walked through the day care centre's door. He rushed over. "Look what's for Dad!"
It was a finger painting. Sometimes he felt very abstract and painted a mess of colours and shapes, blended together into nothing coherent. Today there were actual discernable images. "It's lovely," Gillian responded crouching down to his level so he could show it to her. She was pleased to see 'Cal' was no longer some speck in the distance, or living in a tree or on a cloud, but next to the 'slide' in the 'playground' with 'Lewis'. "Shall we take it to show Dad?" She pointed to her palm with her right index finger and then moved both hands, still connected, away from her. She didn't direct them at Lewis though, because he was not the person she intended to show.
Lewis nodded vigorously. Gillian told him to get his bag and lunch box and he ran off again, leaving her with the picture. Lisa, who was the head of the centre, approached Gillian with a smile. "Lewis has been very talkative about his Dad this week."
Gillian smiled. Lewis had been over excited that Cal was awake. It was a shame the excitement didn't go both ways. But, Gillian knew, Cal was just having a hard time processing he had a son. With the progress they had made that afternoon, she hoped a visit would be more receptive.
"I take it he's doing much better?" Lisa finished.
"Yeah," Gillian nodded. "Much better."
"That's great to hear."
"How's Lewis been with going to the toilet?"
"Well we've been writing things down in his book," Lisa started. The book the day care insisted each of their charges keep so any events could be written down for parents they didn't see on a regular basis. Gillian read Lewis's book every day but it depended on who wrote in it. Sometimes it said nothing at all. Other times there were detailed 'notes' of what Lewis had been up to that day. "He's been good the last few days with reminders."
Gillian nodded. She had unpacked his bag to find a wet set of clothes yesterday but sometimes she didn't remember what he had dressed himself in that morning and so didn't notice if he came home in something borrowed.
"Is he still wetting the bed?" Lisa queried.
"Sometimes," Gillian wanted to defend him. She didn't let him drink anything after dinner and made sure he went to the toilet right before he put the light out but sometimes even that didn't help. She knew it was psychological. She knew it was regression. She knew it was because his father was in the hospital.
"He'll come right," Lisa told her with a reassuring tone. They already had a plan in place for dealing with it. Gillian liked that about the day care. They worked with parents to try and keep equilibrium.
Lewis rushed up to where they were talking. "Ready!" He announced.
"Ok," Gillian handed him back his painting. "Say goodbye," she made the sign.
"Bye," Lewis waved at Lisa who waved back with a smile.
"See you tomorrow Lewis."
"Thank you," Gillian added to her farewell, making eye contact with the other woman.
"Fank ooo," Lewis echoed, reaching for his mother's hand as they turned to walk away.
"That was very polite," Gillian made an open handed gesture in front of her chest, keeping her palm facing the floor as she spoke to her son while they walked.
Lewis beamed up at her, looking so much like Cal, with a smile on his face that seemed to hide something he knew but she didn't. "Loverly," Lewis told her.
"Lovely," Gillian agreed.
Lewis sang while they drove to the hospital and skipped along beside his mother as they travelled through different corridors to Cal's new room in the rehab facility. Before they had gone in Gillian had reminded him to be quiet and to hold her hand, to not run off and make a big noise because people were sick there and needed to rest to get better. Lewis nodded solemnly, and while he didn't run off or scream down the hallway, he did point out different people and weird looking medical contraptions with interest.
"Is Daddy sleepy?" Lewis asked as they turned the last corner.
"No, Dad's not asleep anymore remember?"
"Oh," Lewis looked confused. "But he might be sleepy now."
"He could be," Gillian agreed. "But he already had an afternoon nap."
"Quieten has a nap," Lewis told her. 'Quieten' was meant to be Quinton. He was a six month old baby at the day care Lewis had taken a liking to. Lewis called Quinton his friend and Lisa said he had taken quite the affinity to the baby. Gillian supposed that had happened because of Lily.
They reached Cal's room and found him sitting in the armchair across the room. He looked up as they came in and gave a smile. "Dad!" Lewis dropped Gillian's hand and raced to him. "Look what's for you," he shoved the finger painting into Cal's grasp.
"For me?" Cal queried, his tone rising in pitch as he spoke to the child. Lewis snatched the picture back and displayed it for him.
"This is me and you and the slide."
"Wow," Cal admired. "It's lovely."
Gillian put her purse on the end of Cal's made bed. He still seemed to be a in a good mood since she left him.
"Is it for my wall?"
Lewis nodded.
"Shall we get Mum to put it up?"
Lewis turned, the painting still in his hand, and approached her. "Here Mum," he offered it to her.
"Would you like me to put it on the wall for you Lewis?"
"Yes pease."
"Lovely manners," Gillian told him crossing to the wall opposite Cal's bed and selecting a pin from the cluster. "Here?" She placed the paper flat against the wall.
"Loverly," Lewis agreed.
Cal watched them from his chair. Lovely was also something he said and he noted, now that he had noticed Gillian used his phrases, that Lewis said it too and so did his wife. If this was one big set up the attention to detail was quite amazing. Lewis had Cal's hands and the same coloured eyes and he said words like 'Mum' instead of 'Mom'.
Gillian tacked the picture to the wall. It was covered in tiny little pin prick holes where previous occupants had had visual aids displayed to help them remember certain things. Cal's wall was decorated in Lewis's art. He wrote down the things he wanted to remember in a notebook under his pillow. He hadn't told Gillian about it yet.
"Did you have nice day Dad?" Lewis asked him, making a sign by his forehead that Cal was starting to realise meant him directly. He was going to have to ask Gillian about the signing because Lewis signed a lot and Gillian even more and Cal had no idea what they were saying. Even when he linked signs to words he didn't remember them too well, nor did he feel confident enough to repeat them.
"Yes very good. How was your day?"
"We did paintings and singing and then on the slide," Lewis told him. He chatted away about Quinton and his other friends and the tower he had built. Gillian crossed the room to stand by the window. Cal made appropriate noises of interest but she could tell he was struggling. He didn't speak Lewis's unique brand of 'language'; half of what he said was probably going over his father's head. Gillian was the same with children she didn't know very well. If she was lucky she could make out a few key words and guess the rest of what was said.
'Good lord he can talk,' Cal thought to himself as the boy rambled on. He needed an interpreter. Too bad she was staring out the window right now, leaving them to it. He needed her, in so many ways, but for this in particular. He had too much to catch up on and it felt like not enough time. What was he going to do when he got home and he was suddenly there twenty-four hours a day?
Cal picked up on 'story' and all of a sudden realised Lewis was asking him if he wanted to read a book. "Yeah a story would be delightful," Cal told his son's expectant expression, eyebrows raised, blue eyes questioning.
Lewis turned and went to his mother's bag. He pulled a picture book from within and brought it back to where his father was sitting. Gillian turned to lean against the window sill, the sun warming her back. Lewis stood in front of Cal awkwardly, he opened the book and then looked unsure about how Cal was going to see it if he was over there and Lewis was over there facing him. "Come and sit up here," Cal offered.
Lewis climbed up his shins. Cal reached for him but struggled to pull him to his lap. Lewis wasn't much help at all and Gillian quickly intervened so neither of them would get hurt. She felt bad that Cal couldn't even lift their son anymore but was also thrilled he had attempted the gesture. Up until now, he had almost treated Lewis with contempt. She lifted Lewis easily, turned him and sat him on Cal's thighs.
"Betta," Lewis announced as he settled and pulled the book around so he could open it again. "Now upony time," he started to read, hunched over the first page.
