I cleared my throat. “I was checking her heartbeat, obviously.”
Celeste’s face scrunched up. “Really really?”
“Really really.” I smiled. “So,” I clapped my hands together, “you wouldn’t happen to know a little girl who’d like to have her Uncle Bill and Auntie Angie babysit her tomorrow night, would you?”
Celeste’s hand shot into the air. “Oh! I do I do!”
“You do?” Catherine said. “I dunno, Daddy. I don’t see any little girls around here who would want that.”
“Mommy, I’m right here. Cantcha see me raising my hand?”
“Okay, okay,” Cat laughed. “We’ll see what Uncle Bill says. No promises though. Now, you have your glass of water. Let’s get you back in bed before I change my mind.”
Celeste’s feet were a blur as soon as they hit the floor. A loud flumping sound confirmed she’d jumped into bed. Catherine pressed her lips to my ear.
“To be continued?”
“To be continued,” I said, and smacked her on the butt as she walked away.
CHAPTER 60
“Thanks again for everything, guys,” Catherine said. “Sorry about the short notice. She wasn’t too bad, was she?”
It was late and we’d just gotten back from our date. The house was quiet when we walked in, proof that Celeste hadn’t browbeat her sitters into letting her stay up past her bedtime.
“Not at all. She’s a little angel,” said Angela in her high-pitched voice.
Bill draped an arm over Angela’s shoulders and smirked. “We didn’t let her put any forks in the electrical outlets. We narrowed it down to steak knives and steak knives only.” He let out an exaggerated grunt when Angela elbowed him in the ribs.
“He’s joking, as if you couldn’t tell. We’d be happy to do it again anytime you need us. She’s too precious.”
“I do believe we’ll take you up on that,” I said.
On the way out, Bill stopped short of the doorway and turned around.
“Oh, Rick? Celeste may have a question to ask you. Try not to freak out.” His face was home to a lopsided grin.
“Bill, stop giving Rick such a hard time,” Angela said. “Night, guys.” She waved and drug Bill off with her.
“That seemed to go pretty well,” Catherine said, relieved that we hadn’t come home to a crime scene.
“Sure did. See? You were worried about nothing.”
“It would seem so. What do you think Bill was talking about? What question?”
“No idea. Knowing Bill, probably nothing.”
~~~
“Mr. Wiggles? Where is that furry little bastard?”
Mr. Wiggles was Celeste’s pet hamster. Either magic, or the result of some type of genetic experiment that imparted super intelligence upon rodents, the little shit kept slipping out of his cage. We never knew where we’d find him. All Bill’s fault. He’d gotten the brown and white escape artist for Celeste’s fourth birthday, and I, as was always the case, had my arm stretched under the bed in search of the little guy.
Seeing a pair of frightened, glistening eyes huddled in a dark corner under Celeste’s bed, I knew I’d found my prey.
“Gotcha. Get over here, you little bugger.” I scooped him up and cupped him in my hand. “You’re not long for this world if you keep getting out of your hamster pad like that.” He merely twitched his whiskers. Once. I took that as agreement. Once for yes, twice for no, right?
“Did you find him, Daddy?” Celeste, dressed in her My Little Pony footie jammies, had poked her head in the doorway.
“Sure did.” I set Mr. Wiggles back in his domestic habitat. “And you stay in there, mister.” As if saying that would make it so. Life should be so easy.
“Celeste?” Catherine said, appearing behind our daughter. “Why don’t you ask Daddy what you asked me downstairs a few minutes ago?”
“What’s up, Pookie Bear?” I knelt down so we were face to face.
“Well, I asked Unca Bill and he told me I should ask you,” she said shyly, big brown eyes darting around.
“Okay.” Time to unravel the mystery of Bill’s cryptic remark from the previous evening. “What’s the question, sweetie?”
“Where do babies come from?”
Catherine snorted.
I glared at her and mouthed, “You suck.”
Cat stuck out her tongue.
So much for a show of support.
After mentally cursing Bill, whose ears were surely ringing loud enough to drown out his evil laughter, I sat Indian style on the floor and patted my lap. Celeste, eager to resolve the mystery of the birds and the bees, hopped right in.
“Well …” This isn’t so bad. I can do this. “When two people love each other … they … well ... you see …” All right, maybe not so easy. I thought of chewing on my finger nails but stopped my hand midway to my mouth. “When a man and a woman—”
“Like you and Mommy?”
“Yes, like me and Mommy.” I gave Catherine a glance. No smile, but instead, that far off expression. She caught me looking and forced up the corners of her mouth.
I stammered on.
“When two people—like me and Mommy—really, really love each other they get together and make some magic. And when that magic comes at the right time and when it’s strong enough, a baby’s made.”
Egad. Weak. Very weak. But I was talking to a four-year-old, so I cut myself some slack. I could have gone about it like my mother had. Not much older than Celeste when we had ‘The Talk,’ my mom used everything in her arsenal short of pictograms and charts. Sleep was impossible for days. It’s amazing I’d avoided therapy my entire life.
Celeste frowned, deep in thought, and focused on a point somewhere on the ceiling, then brought her big browns to meet mine. “Get together? Like when you and Mommy’re wrestling?”
Catherine disguised a snort with a cough. Celeste, stealthy ninja that she was, had a habit of walking in on our nocturnal mating rituals when she was supposed to be sleeping. I made a mental note to fix the lock on our damn door.
“Um, yeah. Like when Mommy and Daddy are wrestling.”
“Okay,” she said simply. I thanked God, who I’d secretly been praying to. “Can I watch cartoons now, Daddy?”
“Sure. Say hello to Dora for me.” Ruffling Celeste’s sleep-tousled hair, I lifted her up and patted her on the behind. She padded excitedly down the stairs where, moments later, a young Spanish speaking girl talking to her pink monkey friend blared from the TV.
“Crisis averted.” I stood up and stretched. “First I spearheaded a rodent rescue effort—a rousing success I might add—and then I explained the birds and the bees to a four-year-old. Not bad for eight in the morning.”
Catherine pressed her lips to my forehead. “You did good.” The distant look lingered in her eyes, then receded as a smile formed. “You’re a good father, Rick.”
“Preaching to the converted, baby. But thanks.” I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, eyes closed. “She’s just growing up so quick.”
“Too quick.”
CHAPTER 61
“I can’t believe you’re five already.”
I was in my office, Celeste’s Kindergarten picture in hand, and grinning like an idiot. The 8x10 framed photo brought on a smile so prominent I found my face hurting.
Celeste was nothing short of angelic in her yellow and pink floral print dress, hands clasped in her lap. The background consisted of a babbling brook surrounded by spring flowers and grass, the sky filled with puffy white clouds. A gap from the tooth she’d recently lost made her bright smile all the more adorable, and her cherubic face was framed by long, blond hair done up in pigtails.
“My God, Rick. She’s just too damn cute.” I turned around to see Sandy leaning against the doorway dressed in her standard form-fitting business suit, high heels, and retro glasses. “May I?”
“Sure.” I handed
over the frame. She ran a finger along the glass, absorbing every detail.
Office life had been going well. True to her promise, Sandy didn’t let the episode from over five years ago affect our working relationship. Never once did she hold it against me, never once did she make another pass at me. I continued to do good work, and she continued to recognize me for it. There were times when I’d catch her staring at me, an undefined emotion on her face, lips poised to say something, but once she’d noticed that I’d noticed, it was back to Sandy as usual: focused and beautiful.
“Your daughter is gorgeous. I can’t imagine how proud you must be.” She placed the frame back on my desk where I always kept it. “It was worth everything, wasn’t it? All the trials, the ups and downs?”
“You have no idea.” The sentence snuck out without any thought. Open mouth, insert foot. It was the worst thing I could say given Sandy’s history with children. “Crap,” I groaned, wanting to smack myself on the forehead. “I’m sorry, Sandy. That came out the wrong way.”
She waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. I know what you meant. Hasn’t anybody ever told you that the fate of the world doesn’t hinge on every single thing you say or do?” Burgundy lips became a smirk.
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Think there’ll come a time when you actually believe it?”
I shrugged, hoping the extra muscular activity would drain the crimson from my flushed cheeks. “Doubtful.”
Someone cleared their throat. In the doorway, along with Jude, stood Catherine.
“We’re not disturbing anything, are we?” she said. Sandy still wasn’t my wife’s favorite person and some of that came through in her tone, but she’d managed to be civil, almost cordial, to my boss on those occasions when my personal and professional lives intersected. “Jude and I can come back if you’re in the middle of something.”
“No, not at all,” Sandy said before I could answer. “Rick was showing me your daughter’s kindergarten photo. And I have to say—no offense to your husband—she looks just like you, Catherine. No mistaking where she gets her good looks from.”
“Thank God for small miracles.” Jude thrust out her hand and offered it to Sandy. “Hi. Jude Curring. Nice to meet you.”
“Sandy Colbert. Likewise. The family resemblance is uncanny.” A beat passed. “Well, I’ll see you three downstairs in a bit?”
The sisters nodded. With a curt smile, Sandy excused herself and left.
“So, that was the dragon lady?” Jude said. “I can see why you don’t like her, sis.” She made an hourglass figure with her hands and whistled.
Catherine flipped the bird. “Bite me.”
“That’s right, sis. I’m number one.”
“Calm down, children.” I kissed Catherine’s cheek. “Thanks for coming, guys. The Red Cross can never have too much blood. It’s a great cause.”
They’d both come for Colbert & Colbert’s first annual spring blood drive, something I’d help set up. A co-worker’s son was in desperate need of a bone marrow transplant. By the time I’d gotten wind of it, a few had already given a pint. After doing some research, it became obvious to me how important donating blood was. Statistics show that out of all the Americans who can, only about five percent actually do. That didn’t sit right with me. I scoured the Red Cross website looking for any information I could on the subject: how and where to give, the process, blood types and how they’re determined, who needs blood and why, etc. When I saw how easy it was to schedule a corporate event, I pitched the idea to Sandy who thought it was great and let me run with it. People didn’t want to take time out of their day to go to a facility? We’d bring it to them.
“I’m just here for the free doughnut.” Jude patted her stomach, which drew my attention to her shirt. Written in three inch tall neon green letters were the words, “A Longfellow Is Worth His Weight In Chocolate.” Jude’s whacky T-shirt, faded jeans, and black Converse Chuck Taylors were a stark contrast in comparison to Cat’s red silk blouse, tan mini skirt, and wedge heels. If it weren’t for the family resemblance, I’d never peg them for sisters.
“They let you wear that kind of shit to school?” I asked.
“Hellooo, brother-in-law. Half day? Haven’t you ever heard of teacher conferences?” Jude rolled her eyes. “Where’s Bill and Angela by the way? Aren’t they coming, too?”
“Bill is, Angela isn’t,” Catherine sighed. “They’re taking another break.”
Jude threw her hands up. “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish. Bill sent me a text this morning. Another argument last night.”
I shook my head. Their relationship was dizzying. “Isn’t it supposed to be men who are infamous for commitment problems?”
As if summoned by my mighty intellect—or perhaps by pure coincidence—Bill showed up in my doorway not two seconds later.
“What’s that about commitment problems? I didn’t miss the free doughnuts, did I?”
~~~
“So that was your boss I saw coming out of your office?” Bill whispered in my ear as we waited in the registration line.
“Yeah, that was her.”
“Pretty hot, Ricky. No wonder why Cat hates her.”
“Shut up.” I snuck a peek at Cat and Jude, who were ahead of us and chatting amongst themselves. The auditorium was packed with people. It was a better turnout than expected, and I felt good to be a part of it. “That’s ancient history, man. Bring it up again and I’ll arrange it so they drain you dry. I can make that happen, you know. I set this up. I know people.”
The line advanced, and we moved along with it.
“What are you two whispering about back there?”
“How wonderful you look today, Jude,” Bill said.
She shook her butt. “Don’t you know it.”
“Do you have a donor card, Miss?” the Red Cross volunteer asked Cat. He was young and eager with an overachiever’s smile and friendly brown eyes. His name tag said ‘Barry.’
“Sure do.” Cat pulled a card from her wallet.
I looked over her shoulder. “Since when do you have one of those?”
“Since forever. See?” She held the laminated card in front of my face. It was weathered, the corners curled up like claws. On it was her name and blood type.
“Type O positive? Just like the band.” I sung the first few lines of “My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend.” Barry chuckled as he took her card. Cat rolled her eyes. “Pretty common, actually.”
“The band was Type O Negative, goofball,” Cat said. “And how would you know how common my blood type is?”
“I helped arrange all this. You’d be surprised what you can learn from hours on their website. I’m practically an expert.”
Cat patted my cheek. “Aww. And so proud of yourself, too. What a big boy you are.”
Jude and Bill laughed at my expense. Nothing new in that.
After we were all registered, a process I’d delayed due to my lack of a donor card, Bill told us the whole sordid tale of his latest falling out with Angela as we waited in line to give a couple pints of our finest bloody vintages. He kept his chin up, but the rest of him sagged.
Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll come around. I told you, she’s a little … flighty at times. One of the nicest girls you’ll ever meet, but she scares off easily.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bill grunted. He threw his arms up dramatically. “Women.”
“Men,” the Maddox sisters said in unison with equal dramatic flair.
“Next!” The plump Red Cross nurse’s jowls jiggled as she waved me over.
“Well, I guess that’s me.” I turned around and grasped Catherine’s arms. “Honey, if I don’t make it, tell my mother and daughter I love them. But don’t tell Mom about my secret bank account in Zurich. She’d fight you for my millions, win, then squander it all on exotic lotions and sex toys. Also, there’s some leftover meatloaf in the fridge. Think of me when you’re eating
it.” I wiped away a fake tear.
“You are such a dick,” she laughed.
“Yeah, but I’m your di—”
Catherine spun me around and sent me staggering into the nurse with a kick in the ass. Nurse Ratchet looked none too pleased when I used her shoulders to steady myself. Her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes became narrowed slits, the horror of which was magnified through Coke-bottle glasses.
“Our lips are so close.” Our faces weren’t more than six inches apart, and I tried to ignore that her oversized old lady bosom was pressed to my chest.
“Sit,” she croaked. A fat sausage finger pointed to the seat where she would bleed me like a stuck pig.
“Ja vol herr commandant.”
I planted my ass in the seat. It wasn’t long before Nurse Ratchet jabbed the needle into my arm. A sharp pain radiated from the injection site. It felt like she’d made it hurt on purpose. I yelped. Catherine and Jude laughed. Bill called me a pussy.
Watching my blood drain through a tube on the way to who knows where wasn’t my idea of a good time, but I sucked it up because I am, after all, a man.
“So, beautiful,” I batted my eyelashes, “come here often?”
Nurse Ratchet grunted but I saw a smile tug at the corners of her voluminous mouth.
Making myself comfortable, I settled into the chair and let myself be bled.
~~~
“I think you have some serious competition for Ricky’s affections, Cat.”
There was nothing Jude enjoyed more than dolling out verbal punishment on her little sister.
“Jude has a good point,” Bill said, spraying doughnut crumbs on my desk. “Rick’s a hardcore boob guy. Always has been. Did you see the size of the rack on that nurse? Hubba hubba.”
“I bet if you take her out of that iron bra they’d be down to her knees,” Cat said. “Is that what you’re into, Rick? Old lady boobs? You can tell me. I’ll find some way to live with your affliction.”
Funeral with a View Page 23
