I go back to the kitchen, replaying that moment in my head, hating that I did it, hating that it’s done and that I can’t take it back. I slip into the bathroom and my lipstick is faded out. The rain? I don’t know. All I know is it was mostly gone when that man forced his number on me. I fix it and step out of the bathroom and Leon’s phone is blaring music from his back pocket. He steps away from the grill to answer it.
“What’s up?” He listens for a moment. “What? How long? You—why didn’t you call earlier? Really? Yeah, no—yeah, if I leave now I might—yeah. I can do that—okay, tell her I love her. I’ll be there. I’ll see you both soon.” He hangs up in disbelief. “Uh … Caro’s going to have her kid—like now.”
“What?” I feel my expression mirroring his, that same weird shock. I don’t know where it comes from. It’s not like we didn’t know she was pregnant.
“I know.” He shakes his head and then strides over to Tracey’s office, opens the door. “Tracey, you got to get someone to take the grill for me. I have to go. My sister’s in labor. She’s going to have her baby—”
“What!” Tracey hurries out and throws her arms around Leon. “Oh, congratulations! This is wonderful. How close is she?”
“They’ve been in there since this morning. Like … any minute now, the baby’s going to be here, so I have to go…” He pulls away, laughing a little. “Wow. I have to go.”
“Tell them I said congratulations,” I say.
He smiles. “I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
I watch from the back door as he cuts through the rain in his Pontiac and makes his way out of the parking lot. I stick my hands into my pockets, my left closing over the balled-up paper napkin and that old thought comes, but stronger now.
Maybe it’s a prayer.
I hope it’s not a girl.
I hope it’s not a girl, but later, after my shift, when I’m undressing for bed, Leon texts me to tell me it is.
the ground turns soft.
The lake fills to brimming and the river has more water than it knows what to do with. At times the rainfall is so light, it tricks us into believing it’s stopped until we step outside and find it’s misting. Other times, it seems angry, trapping walkers under store awnings, sending cars hydroplaning.
Most of all it’s constant.
I ask Mom to drive me to school and to pick me up. It’s amazing how easy it is to stay inside if it means not risking seeing a face you don’t want to see, hearing a name you don’t want to hear. Leon takes the week off work to help Caro and Adam adjust. I miss him.
On Saturday, he calls and tells me about Ava, his niece.
“She’s amazing. Ugly-cute.”
“Ugly-cute?”
“Yeah. She’s all squished, looks like an old man,” he says and I laugh. “What, don’t you think babies are kind of tiny little ugly freaks until they’re six months old or so? I do.”
“I don’t see enough babies to have an opinion. How are the new parents?”
“Blissed out on hormones, as predicted. Both of them. Nature at work.”
“That’s nice.”
“It’s weird. Caro would love to see you. Told me to invite you down.” He pauses. “How about you come to Ibis tomorrow? Have lunch and meet Ava? I’ll pick you up.”
Oh. I’m glad he can’t see my face because the idea repulses me in a way I don’t know how to put to words. But that’s probably a good thing because I have a feeling it wouldn’t go over all that well if I could. I don’t want to meet the baby.
“Sure.”
“Great. You know, I can tell you one thing after all this—I definitely don’t want to move in and babysit. I have gotten nothing done with the online stuff. I mean, I’ll help them out when they need it but I feel too … not for this.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, I’ve got to go. Caro and Adam are trying to catch some sleep and Ava’s getting fussy. I’ll pick you up in the morning though, around ten?”
“Sounds good,” I lie. I hang up and stare at the phone and worry how it’s going to end up, visiting Caro a second time. If I’ll make a fool of myself again. I try to think of what I’ll say when I see Ava. And I probably can’t go empty-handed.
I go to the bathroom, and discover a rusty brown stain in my underwear, and on top of it, fresh blood. Not even a warning, this time. I don’t know if it’s a couple days early or late, but I don’t want it, regardless. I put a tampon in and change my underwear and when I’m done, I head downstairs where Mom is curled up with Todd on the couch. They’re watching television and the warm glow of the screen on their faces makes them look so settled. Mom asks me what I need.
“Can you drive me to the Barn? Leon invited me to see the baby tomorrow and I think I should probably bring something. Toys, I don’t know.”
Mom smiles. “That’s sweet, honey, but I don’t think you’re going to find anything worth giving at the Barn.”
I prickle a little, wonder if she’s trying to tell me in so many words it’s too cheap a place to buy something nice. She’d be right, but the last thing I want to do is buy anything in town. God knows what Dan Conway would get going if he saw me with baby stuff.
“Why not?”
“The baby’s how old?”
“Like a week?”
“At this point, the baby probably has everything she needs,” Mom says. “So think about Caro. What does Caro need?”
“I don’t know.”
Mom carefully unfolds herself from Todd. It’s a slow process; he always seems reluctant to let her go and I think she likes to savor that as much as possible.
“Time. That’s what she needs. Time and one less thing to worry about.”
“Well, tell me where I can buy them and I’m set.”
“Food,” Mom says, giving me a look. “Take her some freezable homemade meals. That’s time Caro won’t have to spend making dinner and it means it’s one less thing she’ll worry about. The first month after you were born, anytime anyone showed up with a casserole, I cried, I was so happy.” She nudges me to the kitchen. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
We figure out a menu that demands more food than we have in the fridge. I make a long grocery list and hand it and some money to Todd, who salutes us both on his way out.