John looks at him, surprised. “Yeah, I have!”
“Amazing, right? No lab can come up with a tree.”
“Or a seed,” John adds.
“Or a seed,” Ed says, agreeing. He sets the table leg down and looks at John. “There’s a lot we can’t do, isn’t there.” He doesn’t say it as a question, but rather as more of a statement. Ed knows his place in the universe. “John, when I heard about your wife, I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.” John bites the inside of his mouth, nodding. “I know you must be awfully scared right now and wondering about what will happen.” A tear falls down John’s cheek, and he brushes it away. There are people who make you feel instantly at ease and immediately cared for because their words, the way they slip their hands into their pockets, even the way they walk let you know that the only place they want to be right now is with you. This is Ed to John. “You don’t know me, but I’ll do anything for you and your family. My wife and I both will. We don’t want you or your family to feel alone, John.” The fear, pain, hurt, stress, and anxiety rush to John’s chest, and he wraps his arms around Ed. Ed claps him on the back just like the good father that John imagines him to be, and he stands quietly, letting John cry.
November 2012
Gloria’s house is decorated with a mixture of Christmas swags, bulbs, stars, and Nativity sets, with pink, yellow, blue, and green balloons and streamers strung across the ceiling and doorways. Gloria looks around her living room and sighs. “If they came here today, House Beautiful would be so confused that they’d never feature me in their magazine.”
“I don’t think that would be the only reason,” Miriam says before clapping her hands together. “All right! Put these cards over there on the gift table. They’re for each person to write down some baby advice.” Gloria reaches for a pen from the cup on the table and writes: Don’t listen to Miriam before folding it and setting it inside the basket. “What did you write, Gloria?” Miriam says, her voice dripping with suspicion.
“The best advice Lauren will receive today,” Gloria says. “It’s something I wish I’d known years ago myself.”
There’s no time for Miriam to read the card, as guests are at the door, waiting to come inside. “Come, come,” Miriam says, ushering them inside. “Gifts over there. Lauren will be here in a few minutes.”
Gloria moves to the kitchen and straightens the food on top of the counter. “I still think we should have told Lauren about the shower,” she says to Miriam and Heddy.
“She didn’t want a shower,” Miriam hisses.
“Well, things like this make her uncomfortable,” Gloria says, cutting a coconut pie into eight pieces. “We could have brought gifts to her home without the fanfare that makes her squirm.”
Miriam scoffs at the thought. “A baby shower will not make her squirm. Whatever you wrote on that card will make her squirm!” The doorbell rings and Miriam shouts, “She’s here! Everyone quiet!”
Gloria sticks a finger in the ear that’s closest to Miriam’s shouting and walks to the front door, opening it. “Hello, babe! Come on in.”
Lauren walks inside and jumps at the chorus of voices yelling “Surprise!” at her. “So, we’re not actually meeting about the fund-raiser?” Lauren asks, smiling as she takes off her coat.
Gloria takes her coat and wraps an arm around her. “We just want you to know that we love you and your baby.”
Lauren’s eyes get misty and she hugs Gloria, the woman who’s more like a mother to her than anyone she’s ever known. Miriam steps beside her, and Lauren wraps her arms around her. “You organized this just like you organized my wedding, didn’t you, Miriam?” Miriam pats her back and gives Gloria a look that says I told you so. Lauren squeezes her in a hug. “Thank you.”
After the presents are unwrapped and as Lauren is finishing eating a slice of cake, her cell phone rings. She pulls it out of her back pocket and looks at the number but doesn’t recognize it. “Hello.”
“Lauren?” An older man’s voice shouts on the other end. “This is Bud Waters. I understand you want to talk to me.”
Lauren sets down her cake and moves to Gloria’s bathroom so she can hear. “Yes! How are you, Mr. Waters? I heard you were sick.”
“I was!” he says, shouting. “I got awfully sick in Arizona. I got food poisoning and then it just snowballed from there.”
Lauren closes the bathroom door. “I’m so sorry! Are you all better?”
“Getting there every day,” Bud says, still at full volume. “How can I help you?”
“I…” There’s something in his voice that makes Lauren want to meet him face-to-face. “Actually, do you think I could come to your house and talk to you about it? It’s about someone who used to buy milk from you. I’m trying to find them.”
“Well, if you want to do that, that’s fine with me. Do you still have my address? You left a note so I’m assuming you do.”
Lauren chuckles. “Yes, I’m all set. Is it okay if I come this afternoon?”
“About what time? I eat my dinner around four thirty,” he yells at decibels that Lauren’s ears have never heard. “Will you get here before then? If it’s later, do you want me to save you some dinner?”
She laughs out loud. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though. I can be there around two o’clock.” Lauren opens the bathroom door and smiles.
TWENTY-SIX
December 1972
John sits at the kitchen table and opens Joan’s recipe box, pulling out a card and looking at it: Aunt Dee-Dee’s Peanut Butter Fudge. That was one of the first things Joan made from her mother’s recipes. When was that? Six or seven months ago? Don’t even try to skimp on the sugar, Alice wrote. It’s Christmas, for crying out loud! John smiles, reading the card.
“What are you doing?”
John jumps at the voice and turns around to see Joan standing in the kitchen doorway leading into the hall. “I was just looking over your aunt DeeDee’s recipe for fudge.”
“Don’t skimp on the sugar,” Joan says, stepping toward him.
“It’s Christmas, for crying out loud,” he adds.
She sits down at the table, reaching for his hand. “Thanks for putting up the Christmas tree this year. Sorry I wasn’t much help.”
He smiles. “The kids had fun. And you did help. You barked orders at us from the sofa.”
She chuckles. “Somebody has to be in charge. Otherwise, it’s chaos.”
“Things were fine until Christopher got hold of the icicles. That’s when chaos broke loose!”
She chuckles, thinking about it. “Who invented icicles anyway?”
“Satan,” he says, making her laugh.
Joan points to the recipe card in his hand. “Do you want to make some?”
He looks up at her. “Now?” She nods. “What about your surgery?”
“That’s two days from now. I can eat all the peanut butter fudge I want today. We could bring the kids in. It would give them a break from pulling the icicles off the tree.” He smiles, looking at her. He knows she’s weak and afraid. He knows she doesn’t have the energy for it right now. “Today’s the day, right?”