Joan takes the bib from around his neck and lifts him from the high chair. “All right, let me hear your roar.” Christopher opens his mouth like a baby bird and roars, sounding like a duck again and making Joan and John laugh together. She takes him to his bedroom and he quickly uses his tiny hands to remove his pants, sitting on the floor to finish kicking them off. Once his costume is on, Joan says, “Come on, big boy, let’s go back to the kitchen.” Christopher toddles after her and she leaves him with John, who’s finishing his meal. Christopher reaches to get up on his lap in order to take a few more bites. Gigi bounds into the kitchen with her arms open wide, pieces of yellow cloth dangling down like bird feathers.
“Look at you!” John says.
“Let’s go!” Gigi says, reaching for a plastic pumpkin bucket on the counter to collect candy.
“Wait for me!” Joan yells from the hallway. Minutes later, energetic music can be heard from the hallway as Joan enters the kitchen, holding the cassette player on top of one shoulder. She’s wearing long, red satin shorts over white tights, a white T-shirt with the word CHAMP emblazoned across the front, boxing gloves, and a blue satin robe. She turns around so John can read what’s on the back of it.
“Wrecking Ball,” he says, pointing to the words for Gigi. And beneath those words he reads, “Champion 1972.”
“You’re a fighter!” Gigi squeals, thrilled with her mom’s costume.
Joan throws John a shirt. “And I have Daddy’s costume.”
John holds the red shirt up and reads the word written in black paint across the back: “Trainer.”
“This is the towel for over your shoulder,” Joan says, throwing him a small, white towel. “No good trainer would get close to a ring without a towel.”
John takes off his work shirt and pulls the other one over his head, tucks it into his pants, and throws the towel over his shoulder. “All right! Let me see what you’ve got. Show me some jabs.” Joan jabs at the air. “Head punch.” She punches higher at an imaginary boxer. “High kicks,” John barks.
Joan is about to do it but stops. “Kicking isn’t legal. I’m a fair fighter.”
“Not against your opponent,” he says, smiling. “We need to kick its butt.” He kisses her forehead, and Gigi grabs one of his hands.
“Come on! Let’s go!”
“What about the mess?” Joan asks, looking at the table.
“I’ll clean it later,” John says, opening the garage door. “We’ve got a fight to get to!”
October 2012
When Lauren finishes her shift at Clauson’s, she walks around the store, taking pictures of coworkers in their costumes. The store manager asked if she’d take several for the store’s website and social media pages. In the floral department she snaps a picture of herself and Janie, who decided to dress as Dorothy to Lauren’s Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. All Lauren needed was a hat, a stringy wig, and a big, ragged shirt and baggy pants to put over her pregnant belly to be the perfect scarecrow. At the front of the store, Ben is dressed as Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings and took the time to make pumpkin-shaped notes to put in the bags of customers who come through his line. Margie and Noel in the pharmacy are a princess and Luke Skywalker, and Greg and Tyson are an astronaut and Dracula in the meat department. She takes their picture together and is headed to the bakery when she sees Robert and Kate Layton dressed as a king and queen. “Robert! Or should I say, ‘Your Highness.’” She curtsies to Kate. “Your Majesty.”
Kate laughs. “It’s the annual staff party. We’re picking up the cake.”
“Let me snap a picture.” They pose for her, and she holds up her phone, capturing them. “Thanks again, Robert, for helping us find Bud. Travis and I are headed there as soon as I get out of this costume.”
“Happy to help! Let me know how it goes.”
Lauren looks at their picture as she walks to her car, hoping that she and Travis will still have a sense of fun when they’re Robert and Kate’s age. When she gets home, she takes off the costume and makeup and jumps in the car with Travis for the drive to Drake County. On arriving at what she hopes is Bud’s home, Lauren rings the doorbell. There is no answer. She looks at the address at the side of the door again, making sure they are at the right place. She rings the doorbell again and waits. “I should have asked Robert if there was a phone number for Bud.”
Travis tries to peer through the small window at the top of the door to see if he can spot anyone inside. Lauren looks at the door that isn’t opening. “I guess I should leave a note?” He nods and she walks to the car for some paper. “All I have is a napkin!”
“It works,” Travis says.
She thinks for a moment and writes, Dear Bud, I hope you are the farmer who used to sell milk. I am trying to track someone down who used to be a customer of yours, and I’m hoping you can help. She writes her phone number and her name and opens the storm door, letting it close against the note, leaving half of it sticking out. “Now the waiting game begins,” she says.
“That’s a horrible game,” Travis says, walking to the car. “In the same category as the quiet game. Moms must have made up both those games.”
She glares at him as she opens the passenger-side door. “I have a great idea, why don’t you play the quiet game on the drive home?”
“See!” Travis says, sliding behind the wheel. “It’s always the mom who suggests these awful games.” Lauren giggles as he turns around in the driveway and heads for home.
TWENTY-TWO
November 1972
John tries to concentrate on making the third table leg. He never dreamed this project would take so long but knows that if he had more time in the shop, it would be nearly complete by now. He pushes the wood through the table saw and can hear the doctor’s words in his head over the noise of the saw. “A setback.” That’s what Dr. Levy said a few days ago. Joan thought it was a virus at first. Her mom had been sick and there was word, as they’re often is, that there was “something going around.” But according to the doctor, this had nothing to do with any virus. “We found more cancer,” Dr. Levy said. “You’ll need another surgery to remove more of the lung.” What little air there was in Joan’s lung exhaled in despair. “I know this is a tremendous setback, Joan, but we need to remove it.” Joan’s eyes filled with tears. Not another surgery. Not this close to Thanksgiving and Christmas. John grabbed her hand and looked at the doctor. “But I can’t perform the surgery until you get your weight up.” Joan glanced up at him. “You need to eat high-calorie, high-protein meals. Think cream, butter, steak, chicken, turkey, eggs, half-and-half, sour cream, cheese, olive oil,” he said. “Do you cook?”
Joan tried to smile. “I’ve been learning, but all this has…”
“She does cook,” John said. “She’s a great cook.”
“Good. Eat lots of veggies, especially tomatoes, carrots, onions, and garlic,” Dr. Levy said. “Eat plenty of apples. Put some blueberries and walnuts on yogurt.”