It was a long ride in the car. The top was down, and wind brushed over my cheeks as the Mustang snaked along the road that passed through small coastal town after small coastal town. The scent of batter lingered in the air, fried fish and chips a beachside staple, and when I finally stopped the car at Magenta Recovery Centre, I took a minute to breathe it all in, then let it all out.

For a moment, I stared at the tall, golden sand dunes towering ahead, a wall between the soft sighing of the ocean and me. I pressed my eyes shut. I wanted to stay here and listen to the ocean breathe. Just stay here for the longest time.

That was the thing about the long drive. If you followed the main road, the trip was quick—forty minutes, perhaps forty-five.

I never followed the main road.

I always travelled via the coast.

“Get out of the car,” I muttered, my hand reaching for the door even as my heart begged to turn the Mustang’s engine over and drive, drive as far and as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

Instead, I walked across the sandy parking lot. The red brick building’s door slid open, and a wall of cool air hit me. A short, curly haired woman greeted me with a friendly smile. “Cameron! Good to see you again.”

“You too.” I nodded, gruff. Like always.

“I know Donald will be glad you’re here.” Her tone was warm, so friendly, so inviting. As if Donald really cared about me.

As if Donald really cared about anything.

I thanked her, then shuffled down the hall, head down. Turning right when the corridor forked, I passed a garden full of natives, grevilleas and lily pilllies and bottlebrush. A lorikeet bowed one branch with its weight as it danced across the top of the tree, and I tracked its movements. How nice to be that bird. Carefree. Flying.

Not weighed down by the past.

I thought of the phone call a few days prior. You’re a father.

Three words I thought I’d never hear.

Three words I thought I’d never hear again.

I still didn’t know what to make of it all. Still didn’t know why I’d signed up for something I had no clue about.

All I could think was that this child was born from my loneliness, my pain. I needed to try and do something to ensure her life was better than that. Better than the way she was conceived.

I needed to offer her life.

But how could I do that when I didn’t know the first thing about caring for a baby?

Finally, I reached the green door. I didn’t knock—I never knocked.

Instead, I opened it, walking straight in to see the man lying on the bed, his eyes closed. Tufts of white, wiry hair sprouted on either side of his head, giving him the look of a mad scientist. His skin seemed almost grey. When did he last go outside? Was it this week? This month?

This year?

The white sheets were folded neatly around his thin frame, and a television played in the corner of the room, the low hum of daytime soap drama competing to be heard over the wheezing of his body. Above the screen door leading to the small courtyard outside, a clock ticked: two thirty.

Maybe he could help me. Maybe somehow, this old man could give me advice on what the hell I was supposed to do with the situation I’d found myself in.

I always used to turn to my father for advice.

Before …

I pulled out one of the hard, green plastic chairs next to the bed and sat, clasping my hands in front of his face, my elbows rested on my knees. “Hey.”

The old man sighed in his sleep.

He slept a lot these days.

“It’s been a bit of a rough week. Sorry I didn’t get out to see you sooner. Just had things on with work. Been busy. You know how it is.” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw.

My head.

That was where it’d been busy.

“I’m stoppin’ by because I don’t know when I’ll next get in to see you. See, there’s something I should have told you about. Something that happened last year. After …” I swallowed. Gripped my hands together tighter. “After it happened, I … I lost it for a while. I drank too much, too often—I did everything I could to try remember the good times, but drown out the bad. To keep you happy and healthy in my mind …”

I swallowed down the bitter taste in my throat. Bella in that white summer dress. Long, red hair. Laughter that sounded like the birds. The smell of honeysuckle, lingering in the kitchen.

Yes.

The memory teased the edges of my mind, and I breathed out long through rounded lips. Everything would be okay.

“I know, I know. You’d call me out on my shit if you were awake. Because I’m a grown man. I should know better.” I shook my head. “And now, I am better. I eat right, I rarely drink—I do the right thing.” I clutched at the bed rail, needing something solid to hold onto. “Heck, I don’t even date because I can’t stand the pity in the other women’s eyes. That look they give me when they find out—it’s all the same.”

I eased my grip. “One night, I got drunk and I swear, it was her. It was Bella, you know?” I smiled, thinking of that moment. When I’d been so convinced she was somehow okay. “Only, it wasn’t. And now, this woman has a kid.”

I sighed, long and heavy. “Anyway, she’s going to jail, and it looks like I’m gonna be caring for her baby for a while.” I barked out a laugh. “Guess that’s what you’d call divine intervention.”

I stared at the green-flecked carpet, creating imaginary patterns between all the spots. Joining the dots. Connecting things together.

Maybe that was why work had been so easy to fall into back then. Connecting wires. Electricity. Two parts making a whole. That made sense.

Some of the only things in my life that still made sense.

“Piper is eight months old. I’ve never met the kid before,” I explained to the man who wasn’t listening to a word I said. “Giselle says I’m the dad, but I don’t know if I trust her. And I don’t know the first thing about being a parent.” A frown worked its way across my forehead. “You should have taught me that. You should have taught me, Dad.” I shook my head, sinking back into the chair. “You should have damn well taught me.”

The television zoomed in on the shot of a brunette bombshell, her mouth open in shock, then flicked to a commercial for baby formula. I looked at the screen, not at my father’s prone body.

Not at the spot where his legs should have been.

Time passed. More advertisements played. More bombshells were shocked, angered, impassioned.

And then, finally then, the minute hand on the clock moved to stroke the number twelve. Three o’clock. Home time.

“Okay, well, guess I’ll be off then.” I reached over and patted his hand lying on top of the white waffle-weave blanket. “Like I said, the weekly visits will have to stop now. So, uh, I’ll see you in a few months.”

I stood and turned to leave. Thank God that was done. Now I could go back to real life, keep preparing for the shocking change of circumstance that had come my way. A child. I never thought I’d be caring for a child. Certainly not alone.

Certainly not without Bella.

I pulled the door to, near closed.

“Wait!”

Wait. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned back to the room.

Deep brown eyes drilled into me, so full of—nothing. Of emptiness. Void of all true emotion and life.

“Can I get a café latte, please?” the thin voice asked. “And some menus. We’d like some menus.” He straightened, as if sitting at a table in the cafe.

“Dad.” I made my voice soft, gentle. “Dad, I can get you a drink, but you’re not back there. You’re not at the café anymore.”

The old man’s eyebrows drew nearer together. Lines upon lines bunched in his forehead, telling stories of too many smiles, too many frowns. And then?

A change came over him.

Something I couldn’t quite put a finger on, but it was there. Like the shift in the wind before it turned into a gale. Like the tension in the air before an impending storm.

I stepped closer, making my way back to the bed. My father raised a tentative hand as if in question. “Son? Are you okay?”

I stopped. I froze.

Son?

I grabbed the wall. Air whooshed from my lungs. “Dad?”

He looked back at me, recognition in his eyes.

“Dad, you—it’s me. Cam. God, is this good. This is—this is—I should call a nurse. We need to get someone in here to see you.” My voice shook. Holy shit. He’s here. The grin stretched wide over my face. “I bet I shocked you, didn’t I? It was the news I had a kid. You had to snap out of it and meet her for yourself.” I turned toward the hall. “Nurse. Donald’s awake. He’s awake!”

A flurry of footsteps sounded. A tall lady with a mean jaw and kind eyes rushed in. “Donald. How are you?”

“Good.” He gave a brisk nod. “This bloke here seems to think he’s my son, however. Can you get him checked out, please?”

I frowned. But … but I had him. For one precious moment, he was there with me. “Dad, no.”

“Bit of an interruption, but not to worry.” Dad smiled up at the nurse as if I were losing my mind.

I stopped breathing.

“Cameron, is everything okay?” The nurse looked at me out the corner of her eye.

I stood there, pointing. My arm shook. Damn it, but I didn’t want it to. “He was—he called me his son.” I spun to face her front on. “He knew I was his son.”

“Son? He’s not my son. My son is …” Dad’s head twitched, as if a memory had stung him like a mosquito. He jerked up and clapped his hands together. “Right! Time to get this looney outta here and let us have some peace and quiet. I’ll be ready to order soon.”

“Donald, we’ve spoken about this before.” The nurse’s voice was a soft soprano as she moved closer to the bed. “This is your son. Cameron. He’s come to visit, and—”

“I suppose you’re my wife, right? Trying to take an old man for a ride.” He shook his head adamantly. “You’re going to have to get up earlier in the morning to pull one over me, toots.”

“Donald, Cameron is—”

“Leave it.” My words fell flat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she followed me out the door, but I waved her off, walking down the hall. My hands clenched into fists. I didn’t need this. Didn’t need the pain of it all.

The air seemed to tighten around my body as I strode through the building, headed straight to the door outside. It was as if a balloon full of emotion swelled in my chest, pushing against my ribcage, ready to burst.

I couldn’t let it burst.

As I passed through reception, the woman behind the desk called something out to me, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

Couldn’t slow down.

It’s coming. I can feel it coming …

My knuckles tightened. My heart raced.

And just as I reached the door, I heard it.

One long, torturous scream.

He was there again. My father was replaying that day in his mind.

And so was I.