“That was Jake,” he says as he blinks his eyes hard.
“And?”
“Eight pounds two ounces,” he says. “Healthy little girl.” He sniffles. “Mom is doing just fine.”
I wrap my arm around Bess’s shoulders and pull her against me. She melts into my side like she used to, and it feels so damn good.
“Her name is Poppy Jane,” the old man says as he puffs out his chest. “But I’m only allowed to say it if I use both names.”
Bess grins at me and then gives Mr. Jacobson a spontaneous hug. “Congratulations!”
He sniffles again and gives her a quick pat on the back. “Yeah, well… It’s supposed to rain tonight,” Mr. Jacobson says. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”
Bess looks at me and laughs. Then she looks at Mr. Jacobson. “If it’s going to rain, does that mean you can open up the game room?”
Mr. Jacobson pretends to think about it. “I reckon that might be all right,” he says. He points to all the trash on the ground. “Y’all get this cleaned up.”
Then he walks away, whistling as he starts walking back to the big house.
I rub my eyes and groan. “I can’t stop seeing him naked in my head,” I say.
His hearing must be keener than I thought because he yells back, “Stop talking about my dick!”
Bess laughs, I laugh, and we work together to clean up all the trash. Then we walk up to the big house, where we find Aaron sitting on the porch with Kerry-Anne as they talk quietly together. I walk past them without disturbing them, and we go inside where there is utter chaos as Pop tries to feed all the little ones at once. He has Hank and Erik as well as Miles. He holds a bottle for Miles with one hand as he spreads food onto trays for the other two.
“Don’t just stand there,” he says gruffly. “Make yourselves useful.”
Bess scoops up Miles and takes his bottle, and she goes into the living room to sit and rock him while he finishes.
“Is it always like this?” I ask over the noise.
“No,” he replies equally loudly. “Sometimes it’s shitty.” He leans close to Hank and sniffs. “Speaking of which…” He raises his eyebrows at me, but I dash out the door before he can tag me in.
40
Bess
The game room was one of the highlights of summer when we were kids. We didn’t get to use it often—only when it rained—but it was always a favorite. Mr. Jacobson would go to the bank and get buckets of quarters so people could exchange their dollars. Then he would use all the money he took in on the games to have cookouts for the people who visited the complex.
Stepping into the building is a lot like stepping back in time. And just like the last time I walked through the door, Eli is holding my hand and grinning. He points to the ping pong table. “You were playing that the first time I saw you. You were kicking Aaron’s ass.”
Aaron pipes up from behind us. “Hey!” he cries. “I’m right here, ya know.”
Eli turns to face him. “You were shit at ping pong,” he says.
Aaron acknowledges his comment with a tilt of his head. “Not all of us are cutthroat like Bess when it comes to games,” he says, glaring at me playfully.
“I can’t help it if I like to win,” I retort. “Nor can I help it that you’re a sore loser.”
Aaron points to the snack bar, where Mr. Jacobson is waiting to hand out goodies. He gripes as someone comes up to change a dollar. The kid blanches, takes the quarters, and runs away as fast as his feet will carry him. “Mr. Jacobson used to scare the hell out of me too,” he admits.
“He still scares the hell out of me,” Eli tosses in.
Aaron laughs and points at the snack bar again, apparently remembering what he originally wanted to say. He lays his hand on top of Sam’s head. “The first time I ever saw your mother,” he says to her, “she was standing right there buying some fruity-smelling gum.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dollar. “Go see if Mr. Jacobson has any.”
She runs along and he stands staring at the snack bar like he’s looking at the past rather than the present. “She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” he says to Kerry-Anne. He laughs. “I was smitten immediately.”
“You acted like you had forgotten how to talk when you walked up to her,” Eli reminds him.
“What did you say to her?” Sam asks as she comes back and hands him the pack of gum.
“I don’t remember exactly, but it was probably incoherent. She took my breath away.”
“What’s in-cow-hear-ant?” Kerry-Anne asks.
Aaron grins at her. “It means…well, let me think…it means twitterpated.”
“Ohh,” she says as understanding dawns.
Aaron opens the pack of gum, takes a piece, then passes it around. There’s one piece left when it gets to me. The fruity flavor bursts in my mouth and I have to chew the hunk of strawberry-flavored goo enough to get it soft before I can blow a bubble. I blow and the bubble grows and grows, and my eyes get wide, but Eli suddenly leans forward and bites the edge of my bubble, making it burst in my face. I laugh as I pick the sticky gum from my cheeks and hair.
“You missed some,” Eli says and points under my eye. I scrape it off and flick it in his direction.
Eli chuckles loudly. “Some things will never change.”
Aaron says softly, “And some changes can’t be helped.”
“Dad, let’s play ping pong.” Sam pulls him by the hand toward the table, and they find some others to play too so they can play doubles.
I lift my camera to my eye and take a picture of him as he spends these last precious moments with his girls. When he can’t beat Sam, he picks her up and spins her around. Her face reflects her joy not just at victory but also her love for her father. I hope I have captured some of that joy.
I walk over to the skee ball machine and cringe when I see the leader board with Eli’s score still lit up. “No way you’re still in the lead after all these years. You cheated, didn’t you?” I ask him. “You can admit it now. It’s been so long ago that I won’t even get mad.”
He glares at me. “I told you then and I’m telling you now. I did not cheat.”
“Liar,” I tease.
“Bess,” he warns. “You need to learn to be a gracious loser.”
“Never!” I cry. And I put my quarter into the machine. The balls drop into the shoot with a clatter. He stands back, crosses his arms, and watches me with a smile on his face. I take a shot, and it’s terrible. “That doesn’t count. I’m out of practice,” I explain.
“No, you just suck,” he says, laughing at me.
I roll through my eight balls, a little dejected because I perform so poorly.
“My turn,” he says. He holds out his hand for a quarter, so I slap his palm instead of giving him one. He glares at me.
“What? I’m going to let you beat me and pay for it? No way.”
He goes and gets a few dollars’ worth of change from Mr. Jacobson and comes back, but I’ve already started on round two. “Hey,” he protests.