Morning, Mommy.
Was that Nonna?
No.
Lucy?
She shook her head.
Is this a guessing game?
She shook her head again.
Then spill it, buster. Uncle David?
No, silly. She reached up and ruffled the hair on the top of my head, like she was the grown-up. It was Mama.
Chapter Seven
Annie quit ruffling my hair and said, Whats wrong, Mommy?
I shook my head and forced the smile that had been refusing to show up and do its job. Nothing.
You dont like Mama, do you?
Well I chose my words, plucking a few out of my internal tirade so that Damn right, I cant stand the sight of her, I dont want her to call you or touch you or know you got edited down until I strung together I dont know her. But how could I, when she never visited or even called once in three years? Nice mother. Seems like she couldnt care less came out But she seems nice. The effect was less than genuine.
But Annie, sweetly, genuinely, held up an honestly hopeful conversation on her end. She is very nice. She likes you. I think you could be friends like you and Lucy. She held both hands out and shrugged, as if to say, Wheres the hard part here?
Oh, you do, do you! I tickled her until she squealed, then set her down. How about some breakfast?
Zachosaurus! Annie said, all big sisterly, and ran, then skidded over to Zach, who had just appeared in the kitchen in his fleece-footed jammies, dragging his Bubby and brontosaurus, his hair sticking out like a confused compass. I picked him up and breathed him in. Zachosaurus. No one ever called him that but Joe and Annie and me. I wondered if Paige would now too.
Oh, you do, do you! I tickled her until she squealed, then set her down. How about some breakfast?
Zachosaurus! Annie said, all big sisterly, and ran, then skidded over to Zach, who had just appeared in the kitchen in his fleece-footed jammies, dragging his Bubby and brontosaurus, his hair sticking out like a confused compass. I picked him up and breathed him in. Zachosaurus. No one ever called him that but Joe and Annie and me. I wondered if Paige would now too.
While the kids gathered eggs and my mom slept, I sat on the back porch drinking more coffee, my mind pinging from the kids to Paige to Joe to the store to our bank account. I looked to the trees. They always calmed me. The redwood grove stood like our own appointed guards; their trunks rose straight and solid from the land, their branches so large, we had seen wild turkeys perched in them. The birds huddled, as big as Labradors, barely able to scrabble up from one branch to the other, letting out shrill laughter that kept startling us, as if a bunch of old British ladies were up there, gossiping. We watched them for hours one winter afternoon, a giants version of a partridge in a pear tree.
Our oaks were more like wise, arthritic grandparents. If you pulled up a chair and sat awhile and listened, you usually learned something useful. The fruit trees were like our cherished aunties, wearing frilly dresses and an overabundance of perfume in the spring, then by summer, indulging us with their generosity, dropping apples and pears and apricots by the bucketfuls, more than we could ever eat, as if they were saying, Mangia! Mangia!
By the time my mom woke up and joined me with her coffee, I felt somewhat better from my group-therapy session with the trees. I wasnt as worried about starving, anyway.
Wow, she said. I conked out. I didnt even hear you come in last night. She took a sip from her cup. Jelly Bean. She leaned over and moved a strand of my hair off my face. We need to talk. I have to head back tomorrow, and we havent really had a chance to talk about the insurance and your whole financial picture. I can help you figure it out, but they need me back at the centre the day after tomorrow.
I didnt tell her that although she had slept, I hadnt, and I was in no shape to discuss what Id discovered. I hadnt even begun to wrap my mind around the whole situation. And as stoic as she could be about some things, like the time Zach wiped the contents of his diaper all over the crib, systematically covering each wooden slat with baby poop, this little financial dilemma would positively and completely freak her out. My mom worked as a bookkeeper for a nonprofit. She didnt make a lot of money, but she lived simply and, with the help of my dads life insurance, had managed to never go broke. And so I said, Its all fine. I just need to talk to an accountant in the next few weeks.
She looked at me, sipped her coffee, kept assessing me. Youre exhausted. Are you sleeping?
I shrugged, teeter-tottered my hand.
Why dont you try to rest today, then, and Ill take the kids and go do something. Well go to Great America or someplace that will exhaust them, and then everyone will be in the same boat.
I was tired. But the kids needed me and I needed them. Their birth mother had begun circling and I didnt know if she was looking for a place to land, or preying, ready to snatch up Annie and Zach, or at best, keeping a distant watch on the nest shed abandoned years before.
Lets all go. I want to hang out with you guys.
Youre going to have plenty of time with Annie and Zach, honey. Puh-lenty. And Ill be back as soon as I can. You need to take care of yourself.
I need to be a mom. I can rally. Let me have another three cups of coffee and a shower and Im there.
When I came back out, my mom was looking through one of our photo albums, shaking her head. You guys really perfected the art of the picnic, didnt you?
I sat on the arm of the sofa. The only time the kids ever went to theme parks was when grandparents were involved. Joe and I avoided them. But we went on picnics whenever we could. It was something all four of us loved equally, but for different reasons. Joe liked to pursue his photography and still spend time with his family. I was enthralled with all the redwood-lined hiking trails, the abundance of animal and plant life. The kids loved to catch bugs and see if I could name them. Annie kept a little bug, flower, and bird book in which she painstakingly printed each letter I spelled out to her.
And of course, we all loved to eat. These were not your basic PBJ types of picnics. We made salads and spreads using whatever we could from our gardens stash, and I discovered an untapped joy of cooking. We had two kids who would eat anything, so I kept trying new ideas and wed lie back in the sun and groan at how good everything tasted.
Honey, would you rather go on a picnic today? It might be easier. We have all that food.
I shook my head. Going on a picnic without Joe right then would feel like taking a dull knife and cutting a hole through the centre of me and it wouldnt feel any better for Annie and Zach. No. Great America it is! Land of the expensive! Home of the brave moms and grandmas! Lets do it.
After that day, whenever my mother and I referred to Great America, we called it Ghastly America and it wasnt a political statement. It had to do with my lack of sleep and my dead husband and the ninety-five-plus-degree weather and the kids amped up on too much cotton candy and ice cream sandwiches. It had to do with me getting my period, and my body using the occasion to purge my emotions which suddenly included being extremely pissed off. The heat baked everything, so the only ride that sounded good was the roller coaster called Big Splash. We waited in line for one hour and thirty-five minutes before we realized that Zach was way too short. Annie and my mom went ahead while I stayed behind with Zach, who had a screaming tantrum, not because he couldnt go on the ride so much as because he couldnt go with my mom, whom hed become more and more attached to during the past week.
Zach had been such a laid-back kid, I had very little experience in how to handle a tantrum like that he screamed and jumped up and down and then splayed himself on the ground, refusing to get up. A blur of people shook their heads and stared. I stood there, unmoving. What did the experts say? I tried to remember something, anything, from one of the parenting magazines Id read in the doctors office. Walk away? Yeah, right. In a crowd of hundreds. Dont give in. Dont reward. But I finally got down and yelled over his screams, Zach! Listen! Stop screaming and Ill buy you another cotton candy! Would you like that? He kept wailing. Cotton candy, Zach! Do you hear me?
He stopped suddenly. He swiped his nose along his arm. And a Slushee?
And a Slushee.
He got up and took my hand. I heard one woman say, No wonder, and a man said, Way to work the parents, buddy.
I stood and stuck my face about three inches from the guys bloated, sweaty one. I said through clenched teeth, He no longer has parents, plural, buddy. Because, you see, his father just died, buddy.
We walked away and I didnt look back. I bought Zach another cotton candy and a cherry Slushee and watched his lips turn as red as the rims around his eyes.
While my mom took Zach to a table to finish his treats, I took Annie on the Ferris wheel. Why I thought it might be fun to sit sizzling in a metal basket escapes me now, but thats what we did, and when a disgruntled operator deserted her post, we sat for ten minutes and willed another operator to take over or at least for God to stir up a breeze, or rain. Where was the fog when you needed it? Someone yelled up in a megaphone that a replacement operator would be there shortly. Great. Id worked in a doctors office in college, and they trained us to say the doctor will be with you shortly, never in a minute. Shortly was subjective. Shortly lacked any concrete commitment.
While my mom took Zach to a table to finish his treats, I took Annie on the Ferris wheel. Why I thought it might be fun to sit sizzling in a metal basket escapes me now, but thats what we did, and when a disgruntled operator deserted her post, we sat for ten minutes and willed another operator to take over or at least for God to stir up a breeze, or rain. Where was the fog when you needed it? Someone yelled up in a megaphone that a replacement operator would be there shortly. Great. Id worked in a doctors office in college, and they trained us to say the doctor will be with you shortly, never in a minute. Shortly was subjective. Shortly lacked any concrete commitment.