“Why are you struggling? I thought you’d been walking with your mother, and you have a jogging stroller. I assumed that you could keep up.” She began pumping her arms and walking even faster.
“No fair—I’ve got two and you’ve only got the one. And besides, Jayne uses the jogging stroller just about every day, so I pretty much consider it hers now.”
She sent me an odd look but kept up her grueling pace without comment.
We had reached the tall, stately columns and front steps of the former museum building that had burned in 1981, leaving only the columns, all in a perfect semicircle, as a reminder of what had once stood there.
“Do you smell fire?” I asked, putting my hand over my nose because of the choking fumes.
“No,” Sophie said matter-of-factly. “You say that every time we’re here. You’re just smelling a fire that’s more than thirty years old.”
I brightened. “But I can smell it! That’s good to know. My psychic abilities seem to be fading in and out on me these days, for no apparent reason. There are times, like right now, when they’re as strong as ever, and then other times when I’m completely blocked out.”
“That is weird. I’d say it was hormones, but when you were pregnant it went away completely and didn’t come and go.”
“Maybe it’s postpartum hormones.”
Sophie finally slowed down so she could look at me. “Seriously? It’s been almost a year. They should have settled down by now and your mind and body gone back to the way they were.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Some people take longer than others to bounce back.” I took a quick bite of my slightly squished doughnut from Ruth’s Bakery that I’d smuggled into the house. I’d bought a dozen when Ruth was visiting her sister for a couple of days and I’d taken advantage of her substitute. I’d kept them hidden in the back of the freezer, constantly checking to make sure Mrs. Houlihan hadn’t rearranged anything and discovered my stash, smuggling one in the waistband of my yoga pants whenever I left the house to exercise. I didn’t want to pass out because I didn’t have the sustaining fuel I needed.
“Yes, but I’d guess that had more to do with bad habits than hormones.”
I looked through the space between the columns, seeing the specter of a giant whale skeleton floating from an invisible ceiling. “Sophie, do you see . . . ?”
“No, I don’t see the whale skeleton, either. It was moved to the new museum location before the fire. It’s not here anymore.”
“But I do see it,” I said with a relieved smile. “And that’s good. At least until I’m looking into a mirror and see somebody behind me. Then I might change my mind again.”
Baby Skye began kicking her legs and grunting, her feet as usual clad in tiny Birkenstocks, bouncing up and down as we passed the playground. Sophie stopped and took the baby from her carrier so she could hold her and look at the baby face-to-face. “Use your hands, Blue Skye. Use your hands to tell Mommy what you want.”
The baby stopped bouncing and stared solemnly into her mother’s face. And then, as if she’d actually understood what Sophie had said, Blue Skye opened and closed her fists, thrusting them in the direction of the playground.
“You want to go on the swings?”
Blue Skye made the same motion with her hands.
“Do you mind if we stop?” Sophie asked. “She loves it when I push her on the swing.”
“Um, sure,” I said. “And what was that?”
“It’s baby sign language. It’s a way for babies to communicate without crying. I highly recommend it.”
I wanted to ask her if it would just be easier to teach the child to actually speak, but I knew I’d get a response that would further confuse me. I parked the stroller, then reached into the outside pocket of the diaper bag I’d slung over the handles and pulled out a baggie filled with antibacterial baby wipes and began approaching the swings.
“What are those for?” Sophie asked.
“To rub down the swing before you put Skye in it. She might touch it.”
“Exactly,” she said, pulling Skye out of her pouch and walking past me before settling her into the little swing. “It’s good for them to be exposed to germs. You know, children in the jungles of Africa are healthier than our kids here because they’ve been allowed to develop immunities. With our constant disinfecting and bleaching, we are really making ourselves and our children vulnerable.”
I inwardly shuddered as I watched Skye clasp the sides of the swing and then immediately put her fingers into her mouth. “Please don’t tell me you don’t believe in vaccinations, either.”
She put a hand on her hip. “That would be stupid. Of course I believe in vaccinations. Why on earth would you think that I wouldn’t?”
I shrugged. “Well, you wear Birkenstocks. And you’re a vegetarian.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “Do you ever listen to yourself? Seriously, Melanie. Remind me again why we’re friends.”
I pretended to think. “Because you desperately need my fashion advice, and I like giving it.”