Table Seven was by the window.
Outside, the vines had been cut back for the end of winter, running in straight rows down a slope of almost impossible green. One half of the sky was still blue; over the other, a bank of dark cloud had begun to settle. Sunlight slipped underneath it and lit the far paddocks.
My daughters sat across from me.
They each ordered a glass of wine.
Table Seven
The restaurant at Turanga Creek sits among the vines.
Heavy timber beams crossed the ceiling, strung with small lights. Old wine barrels stood against the walls. Beyond the windows were the rows we had just walked past. The room was full for Father’s Day, voices mixing with the sound of plates and glasses.
When the food arrived, my daughters lifted their glasses. Katherine raised hers too, and I reached mine across the table.
Four glasses touched lightly in the middle.
“Happy Father’s Day.”
On the card they gave me last year, one of them had written:
“Thanks for always packing my lunch, taking me to school and making sure I always have yummy food to eat.”
Underneath, she had given me several job titles:
dad / uber / chef
This year, one line in the card read:
discuss legal cases, go on a hike, 打牌, and talking about everything
Legal cases. Hiking. Playing cards. Talking about everything.
The glasses went back onto the table. The girls ate while the dark cloud moved slowly over the vineyard outside.
Birds Over the Wetland
After lunch we drove away from the vineyard.
Before long, the vines disappeared. When we got out of the car again, there was water.
At Ayrlies Wetlands, a low boardwalk ran beside the water through dense wetland plants. The cloud had followed us. It lay reflected on the surface until the wind broke the reflection apart.
Near the entrance stood a sign:
Water Transition from Garden to Sea
It showed the movement of the water. Fresh water travelled down from the garden and lake, through the wetland, and eventually towards the sea. At high tide, seawater moved back into the wetland.
We followed the boardwalk.
The girls walked ahead of us. Sometimes side by side, sometimes one a few steps in front. Every so often they turned and looked back, then carried on.
I stayed behind.
Farther in, beside a wide stretch of water, a flock of white birds rose suddenly from the grass.
For a moment the wetland was full of wings. They skimmed the water, white against the grey sky, then settled somewhere beyond us.
The water became quiet again.
A little farther on, Katherine told the three of us to go ahead.
“I’ll take a photo.”
I stood in the middle. The girls moved behind me, one on either side. They threw out their arms and each lifted a leg. I attempted something equally ridiculous.
None of us stood properly.
Later, looking through the photographs, I found another Father’s Day picture from many years ago.
We were standing in front of a bed of roses. I was in the middle then too. One girl leaned away from me, already making a pose of her own. The other, in a red cap, pressed close against my side and pulled a face at the camera.
In the new photograph, I was still in the middle. The girls stood behind me, legs stretched out to either side.
After the photograph, we kept walking.
Before long they were ahead again.
5:30 A.M.
The Friday after Father’s Day, the phone rang at half past five in the morning.
My younger daughter had stomach pain. She had diarrhoea and had been vomiting. She called her mother first. I was beside Katherine and heard the conversation.
I got dressed, picked up the car keys and drove into the city to her apartment.
At lunchtime I made congee. The rice softened slowly in the pot. I sliced in some ginger and added an egg.
She sat with her phone, searching for a while.
After a while she told me she wanted activated charcoal.
“Can you go to the pharmacy and get it for me?”
I picked up the keys again.
When I came back, I put the charcoal beside her and gave her probiotics as well.
The congee was still warm. When I lifted the lid, steam rose from the pot and a few slices of ginger floated on the surface. She filled a bowl and ate slowly.
I remembered the line from the card the year before:
making sure I always have yummy food to eat
This did not exactly qualify as yummy food.
Similar Trousers
By the next day she was much better.
That evening we went out for dinner. Halfway through the meal she looked at me and said,
“Thank you.”
A little later she began telling us about something that had happened when she was small.
We had gone to a library. She was so short then that, among the adults and the shelves, she could not see me.
She searched.
Eventually she spotted a man ahead of her wearing trousers that looked like mine.
She ran over and wrapped her arms around him, crying.
The man was not me.
When she told the story, we all laughed.
I hardly remembered it.
She still remembered the trousers.
Ahead
Later, looking again at the photographs from Father’s Day, I thought of the sign at the entrance to the wetland.
Water leaves the garden and the lake, passes through the wetland and makes its way towards the sea.
At high tide, the sea comes back.
That afternoon, my daughters walked ahead of us. Every so often they turned around and looked back.
I stood behind them and waved.
They turned again and followed the boardwalk on.
