by Cronk, LN
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“I’ll see you in six weeks,” I said.
“I can’t wait!” she answered. And then she was gone.
~ ~ ~
WHEN CHARLOTTE LEFT to return to Cavendish, Laci was 32 weeks pregnant. I knew that the doctor didn’t want Gabby born this early, but I also knew that if a pregnancy could make it to 32 or 33 weeks, the baby had an excellent chance of surviving even if it was born prematurely. That was very comforting to know. There was a whole little person in there . . . sucking her thumb, opening and closing her eyes, and listening to the world around her.
Every morning and every evening I talked to her and was often rewarded with a strong kick or a punch. If I gently pushed Laci’s belly, Gabby would usually push right back, trying to resettle into whatever position she’d been in before I bothered her.
We decided that she was going to be brilliant and would make straight A’s in school. Even if she struggled in something, her mom and dad would be able to help her – Laci in anything related to social studies or language and me in math or science.
We both read out loud to her from the Bible and Laci sang to her every day. She tried to get me to sing too.
“I can’t sing,” I said.
“Oh, you can too,” she argued. “You sing to Dorito all the time.”
“What did you just call him?”
“Doroteo . . .”
“No you didn’t. You just called him Dorito.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Yes, you did,” I said, smiling. I was going to be able to rub that in her face for a long time.
We were going to be home for ten weeks.
Ten whole weeks!
Laci’s parents picked us up at the airport and I rode up front with Laci’s dad while Laci and her mom sat in the back and discussed every detail of the pregnancy. They’d already covered every bit of it over the past few months on the phone, but I guess it was different in person. I looked out the window as we drove along.
“You know what I want to do while we’re home this spring?” I asked when there was a lull in the conversation.
“What?”
“Mow grass.”
“I can arrange that for you,” Laci’s dad said and I smiled.
We pulled up at my sister Jessica’s house. Jessica lived just a few miles from our old neighborhood. We didn’t even get to the porch before the front door swung open.
“Uncle Dave!” my niece, Cassidy, cried as she ran to me. I was glad she hadn’t forgotten me.
“Hey there, big girl!” I said, grabbing her and holding her up. “Man! What are they feeding you? You must’ve grown five inches! What’ve you been eating?”
“Fish sticks!” she said, smiling.
“Fish sticks?”
She nodded.
“She loves ’em,” Jessica said. She was waiting in the doorway and gave me a big hug when I got to her. She had my nephew C.J. in her arms. I put Cassidy down and she ran to Laci.
Laci didn’t try to pick Cassidy up, but she leaned over and hugged her.
“My cousin’s in there,” Cassidy said, patting Laci’s belly gently. Jessica had prepared her well.
I took C.J. from Jessica.
“Hey, little guy,” I said, walking into the living room with him. He didn’t seem as sure about me as Cassidy had (I hadn’t seen him since he was about six months old) and he kept a good eye on his mom.
He was a lot smaller than Dorito.
“Are you walking yet?” I asked him.
“He sure is,” Jessica said, taking him from me. She set him down on the carpet and he toddled over to the couch. He turned around and held onto it, observing us.
“Can you stay for a little while?” Jessica was asking Laci’s mom and dad.
“We’ll at least stay until they get all their luggage downstairs,” Laci’s dad said. Jessica and her husband, Chris, had their basement already fixed up for company because his parents came to visit from St. Louis from time to time. There was a furnished bedroom and a living room with a couch and a television. It beat staying in my old bedroom or in Laci’s.
“What is he?” I asked Jessica, pointing at C.J. as he pulled himself up onto the couch. “Thirteen months?”
“Yep.”
“Oh,” I said. “He walks good.”
After Mike had graduated from high school his mom had moved to Minnesota because that’s where Mike was going to be going to college and she wanted to be closer to him. As a result Mike didn’t make it back to Cavendish too often, but a few days after we’d gotten home he called me and said he’d be in town for the weekend and that he wanted us to get together. He was going to stay with Tanner, so by the time he showed up at Jessica’s house to pick up me and Laci, he already had Tanner with him. After many hugs and a lot of pats on Laci’s belly, we piled into Mike’s car.
“Where are we going?” Mike asked.
“Do you really have to ask?” Tanner wanted to know, glancing back at me.
“No,” I said. “It’s up to Laci. I’ve learned to never get between a pregnant woman and her food.”
Tanner craned around to look at Laci who was sitting behind him.
“Hunter’s is fine,” she sighed and I smiled at her.
It felt so good to be with old friends in a familiar place, listening to nothing but English.
“When’s your baby shower?” Tanner asked Laci.
“Next Saturday afternoon at Ashlyn and Brent’s house,” she answered. “Natalie’s coming in from Colorado for it.”
“Tell her I said ‘Hi’,” Mike said.
“Me too,” Tanner added.
“Why don’t you come tell her yourself?” I asked them.
“To a baby shower?” Tanner asked, raising his eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“I have to be there,” I mumbled. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Really.”
“Gee whiz,” Tanner said, “that does sound like a blast, but the baseball team has their first away game that day.”
“Can I come help?” I begged. Laci swatted me. I looked pleadingly at Mike next.
“Wanna come?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m on a tight schedule . . . I’m lucky to be here now.”
“I heard you got into med school,” Laci told him. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” he smiled.
“Speaking of med school,” I said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. What do you know about rickets?”
“Rickets?” He looked puzzled. “I don’t think you see a lot of that anymore . . . it’s mostly due to poor nutrition . . . lack of vitamin D, I think.”
“What about the long term prognosis though . . . if someone gets rickets?”
“I’m not sure,” Mike answered. “I’m not in med school yet and I really don’t know much about rickets.”
“I know about rickets,” Tanner said and we all stared at him.
“What? How come everybody always acts like I’m a big, dumb jock?”
“Hmmm, I wonder . . .” Mike said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Very funny,” Tanner replied. “A major in athletic sciences is a lot more demanding than most people realize . . .”
“I’m sure it is,” I nodded dramatically.
“I’m serious. I bet if you had a cardiac arrest right now I could resuscitate you a lot faster than doctor Mike here could.”
“Oh, please,” Mike said. “I’m an EMT . . .”
“Forget it,” I said. “Just let me die. I don’t want either one of you giving me mouth-to-mouth.”
They all laughed.
“So, anyway,” I said to Tanner, “what do you know about rickets?”
“O.J. Simpson had rickets when he was a little kid and he had to wear leg braces.”
“O.J. Simpson?”
Tanner nodded.
“Fantastic,” I said. “That’ll be a great role model for Dorito.”
“
Dorito?” Mike asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s this kid at the orphanage where Laci works. He had rickets and his legs are bowed out now because of it.”
“His name’s Dorito?” Tanner asked, incredulous.
“Yeah–”
“NO! ” Laci interrupted. “His name is NOT Dorito! His name is Doroteo. David’s just too stubborn to call him by his right name.”
“It’s his nickname,” I said. “He loves it.”
“It’s a stupid nickname,” Laci murmured.
“It’s a great nickname!” I argued.
“It’s not even a nickname . . . it’s a snack food.”
“Remember that guy in the band who was a few grades ahead of us?” Tanner asked. “His name was Chip . . .”
“That’s exactly what I told Laci!” I said, beaming at him.
“There was this guy in my freshman dorm named Oreo,” Mike chimed in.
“Please don’t encourage him,” Laci said, looking dismayed.
“Dorito’s a great nickname,” I said again. “Admit it.”
She shook her head in disgust.
“Whatchya gonna call the baby?” Mike wanted to know. “Cheeto?”
“How about Frito?” Tanner suggested.
“Don’t give him any ideas,” Laci begged.
“So, anyway,” I said. “Are you serious? O.J. had rickets?”
“Yup,” Tanner said. “And then he went on to become one of the greatest running backs of all time . . .”
“Among other things . . .” Mike muttered under his breath.
“What about Forrest Gump?” Laci asked, looking at Mike. “Is that why he wore leg braces?”
“I don’t have any idea,” Mike said.
“Forrest wasn’t a real person, dear,” I reminded her, patting her hand.
“Actually they called Venus Lacey the Forrest Gump of our 1996 women’s Olympic basketball team,” Tanner said. “She had to wear leg braces when she was little because her legs were so twisted when she was born that her feet were practically pointing backwards. There’ve been a lot of real people who’ve had serious problems with their legs when they were little and they’ve gone on to be great athletes . . .”
“I want to know some more of them,” I told Tanner.
“Umm . . . besides O.J.?”
“Yes, please.” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Okay, let me think . . .” he said. “Well, Tom Dempsy was born missing part of his foot and he went on to become a kicker in the NFL . . .”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh . . . and Wilma Rudolph had polio when she was little – she had to wear leg braces too. She was on our Olympic track team in . . . 1960 I think, and she won three gold medals.”
“That makes me feel better . . . maybe Dorito’ll be okay.” I turned to Mike. “Remember Miguel?”
Mike nodded.
“Who’s Miguel?” Laci asked, looking perplexed.
“He was this guy we met at the landfill when we were on our mission trip,” Mike told her.
“I don’t remember him,” Laci said.
“You didn’t meet him,” I said. “He didn’t come up to the bus.”
“How come I’ve never heard about him?”
“It’s not a lot of fun to talk about,” Mike explained.
“Oh . . .”
“Something was wrong with one of his legs and his foot,” I said. “It was all . . .”
“Withered,” Mike finished for me and I nodded.
Laci looked at Tanner.
“The culture down there is . . .” she hesitated, “different. It’s easy for someone with a handicap like that to wind up . . .”
“Living in a landfill,” I said as our waitress set two large pizzas down at our table.
“I’m going to have such bad heartburn,” Laci complained, reaching for a slice of pizza.
“Have you been having a lot of heartburn since you’ve been pregnant?” Mike asked her.
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “I have to buy the economy-sized jars of Rolaids.”
“You know what that means, don’t ya?” Mike asked.
“What?” We both looked at him, expecting to hear some great medical wisdom come from his mouth.
“The baby’s going to have a lot of hair.”
“Oh, brother,” Laci said.
We said grace and began eating. The pizza tasted exactly the same way it had in high school. It was great.
“So why’d you bring up Miguel?” Mike asked. “Did you see him again or something?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “but when I found out about Dorito’s legs it made me think of him and I just got worried that Dorito might wind up the same way . . .”
“So David got him orthotics and takes him to physical therapy,” Laci said.
“How’s that going?” Mike asked.
“Good,” I said. “I just hope they keep up with his exercises while I’m gone.”
“Do you go to the landfill very much?” Mike asked me.
“No,” I said, “but Laci goes all the time.”
“Charlotte told me it was pretty bad,” Tanner commented.
“It is,” I agreed. “Speaking of Charlotte . . . how is she?”
“Good,” he said. “It’s kind of weird teaching her and Jordan every day . . .”
“How’s Jordan doing?” Laci asked.
“Okay, I guess,” he shrugged, not acting as if Jordan was doing okay at all.
“What’s wrong?”
“I had to kick him off the baseball team.”
“Why?”
“He’s flunking math . . .”
“I can relate,” Laci said.
“I wish I lived here,” I told Tanner. “I’d help him.”
“Those were the days,” Laci smiled.
“Yeah,” Tanner said, reaching for another piece of pizza. “You two always pretending like you were studying math . . .”
“We were studying math!” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“We were, weren’t we, Laci?”
“I was trying . . .” she smiled again.
“No, you weren’t,” Tanner scoffed. “The only thing you were trying to do was get David’s attention.”
Laci just smiled some more.
“What a dope you were,” Tanner said to me. “The prettiest girl in school and you were just so . . . so oblivious!”
“Easy there with the vocabulary, big guy,” I said. “I wouldn’t want you to strain something.”
“It does seem awfully unfair,” Mike added. “How did someone like you wind up with someone like her?”
“I’ve always had a thing for pathetic guys,” Laci offered.
“That’s all it would have taken?” Tanner asked, his mouth dropping open. “I just needed to act pathetic?”
“Mental note,” Mike said quietly. “Act pathetic.”
“You want her?” I asked them. “You can have her! Go ahead . . . one of you take her now . . . quick! Before she goes into labor!”
“If I take her now do I have to go to the baby shower on Saturday?” Tanner asked.
“It’s a package deal,” I nodded. “The baby shower, the hormones, the smart-mouth . . .”
They all laughed and Laci squeezed my knee under the table.
After the pizza was gone we ordered strawberry cheesecake. While we were waiting for it to arrive I looked at Tanner.
“Hey, Tanner,” I said. “I’ve been wondering about something.”
“What?” He was swirling his straw around in his drink.
“Remember this?” I asked, holding up my hand for him to see. I pinched my thumb and forefinger together, as if I were holding something tiny, like a grain of salt. Greg had always done that to Tanner, but he’d never tell me why. Tanner looked up at me and suppressed a laugh.
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember it . . .”
“What’s it mean?”
“Nothing,” Tanner said, concentrating on his st
raw again. He put his finger over the end of it, lifted it over his glass, and then removed his finger, watching the liquid dribble back into his glass. We all stared at him until he looked back up.
“Come on, Tanner,” Mike finally said. “You might as well tell us.”
Tanner sighed.
“He was just pretending that he was holding up a spider,” Tanner said, shrugging. “That’s all.”
“There’s gotta be more to it than that,” I said.
“This oughta be good,” Mike said.
Tanner kept playing with his straw.
“Let’s hear it,” Laci pressed.
“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “One day Greg found this spider in the gym and I guess he thought it was cool or something so he picked it up by one leg and showed it to me.”
“And?” I asked.
“And I don’t like spiders . . .”
“And?”
“And that’s it,” Tanner said.
“Did you scream like a girl?” Mike teased.
“He shoved it in my face!”
“You did, didn’t you?” I laughed. “You screamed like a girl!”
“I was in the seventh grade!” Tanner protested.
“Were you scared of the whittle spider?” Mike asked in a high-pitched voice, tickling the back of Tanner’s neck with his fingers.
“Stop it!” he said, slapping Mike’s hand away. Then he shuddered. “Ughhhh! Spiders!”
Mike and I were laughing. Laci was too, but not quite as hard.
“Don’t feel bad, Tanner,” she said. “Everybody’s afraid of something. I’m scared to death of rats.” (This was actually pretty significant since she went to the landfill twice a week.)
“I’m not scared of anything,” Mike said.
“Yeah, right!” Tanner and I both said at the same time.
“What?” he asked defensively just before a knowing look came over his face. “Oh . . . yeah.”
“What?” Laci asked.
“Snakes,” I whispered.
“It was in my sleeping bag,” Mike complained and we all laughed.
“What about you?” Tanner asked me. “What are you afraid of?”
“Pregnant women who don’t get their dessert,” I said, looking around for our waitress. “Where’s our cheesecake?”
After dessert we lingered at our table until the cashier politely told us that they really wanted to close. Mike and Tanner insisted on splitting the bill and Laci went into the restroom while they headed to the cash register by the front door.
