The Wonder of All Things

by Jason Mott

  That was nearly six years ago. Now Wash was alone in the mountains with a man that looked very much like the father he used to know, but who was not that man. And neither was Wash the boy he once was. They were both strangers living in the bodies of people who used to love each other.

  * * *

  “Five more minutes,” Carmen called through the house.

  “I heard you five minutes ago,” Ava replied.

  The two of them were on opposite ends of the house—Carmen in her bathroom, using it for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. Meanwhile Ava was on the other end of the house in the other bathroom, wrestling with her hair so that the two of them could leave for Dr. Arnold’s.

  They had been spending more and more time together now that their world had gotten so far out of hand. It was too dangerous for Ava—and even for Wash—to attend school, and since the episode at the hospital when the two men broke into Ava’s room, it felt safer to stay inside. There were more policemen stationed around the house and, thus far, they had managed to keep people out. But because Macon’s job as the town sheriff still demanded that he leave the house, Carmen took on the role of staying with Ava, even if the girl didn’t particularly care for her. Ava felt like a prisoner in her own home.

  It was enough to make a person fear the world.

  They grated upon each other, hour after hour, day after day. Ava fought Carmen at every turn, picking fights over things as simple as what television program to watch and why Carmen had chosen to hang a certain color curtain in the kitchen. They were petty, small skirmishes, but most battles of family are.

  But all the while Carmen smiled, offering any olive branches she could manage.

  Now Carmen needed to go to the doctor for her standard checkup and Macon was tied up at work and could not go along with her. He tried his best to be with her for everything having to do with the baby, but just as he was about to leave the station to meet her at Dr. Arnold’s, a call came in about business that needed tending to across town. There was a church coming into town. There were already a few religious organizations that had set up shop in the wake of this event, but this one was larger, more organized. They brought dozens of people with them and were going about the business of erecting a large tent in the center of the park. So massive was the project and there were so many people being displaced that Macon had to be there, if only to remind everyone that there was still a sheriff in town. People oftentimes needed to be reminded of things like that, Macon knew.

  Plus there was the simple annoyance of bureaucracy that demanded his being there, as well. There was paperwork that came with the job, and he was still the town’s sheriff.

  So it would be just Ava and Carmen at the checkup. It was the first that Macon had missed, and he promised that it would not happen again. But even though he wanted to be there himself, he wasn’t particularly opposed to the fact that it was to be Carmen and Ava without him. Over the past few years he was constantly engineering ways to put them alone together. If there was an errand that required a long drive he would invoke responsibilities of work or the potential onset of illness. Then he would stand in the doorway and watch them as they pulled out of the driveway in the car together. He would wave until they were out of sight, as if the image of him standing there would be enough of a glue to keep them from drifting apart in their time alone. And while he could not swear to its efficacy, the two women in his life got along well enough, he felt. Small victories were still something to celebrate, after all.

  More and more, since Carmen’s pregnancy began, Macon pinned his hopes to the baby. If all other efforts failed, the new life that entered the household would be the common bond between Carmen and Ava. He sometimes imagined Carmen and Ava sitting at the kitchen table together, feeding the baby, laughing as the child refused some vegetable-flavored paste. In his mind, he’d see the three of them—Ava, Carmen and the baby—walking up the driveway together, Ava’s arm linked with Carmen’s as she pushed the baby along in a stroller, coming toward him as he stood in the doorway, waving at them, waiting to wrap his arms around them all. These were the visions he held in the most hidden parts of himself. These hopes of his were too fragile to share.

  Unbeknownst to Macon, Ava quickly confounded his plans. When she got word that her father wouldn’t be coming, she asked Carmen, “What about Wash?”

  Carmen didn’t mind the idea of having Wash there to act as an intermediary between her and Ava. “Wash can come,” was all she said.

  Ava and Carmen left the house these days under police escort. The state trooper who had been camped out at the end of the driveway knocked on the door and, when they were ready, he got into his car and led the way. Another police car slotted in behind Carmen. No sooner than they got out of the driveway was there a line of people standing along the edge of the road, yelling and shouting at the car as it passed, lobbing questions like confetti. They yelled for Ava to tell them how she had done what she had done. They called out to Carmen and asked why she and Macon had “kept it all secret.”

  “People never cease to amaze me,” Carmen said to Ava as the car finally got up to speed and the crowds were left behind. They swung by and picked up Wash from his grandmother’s. There were no crowds at Brenda’s house. The lens of scrutiny was upon Ava, not the boy she had helped. They would encounter more people once they neared Dr. Arnold’s and made their way into the town proper, but neither of them commented on it. It was slowly becoming something they could pretend to ignore.

  Dr. Arnold was one of the dying breed of rural doctors who was necessity-bound to be a specialist in everything. There were painfully few illnesses or health-related circumstances he couldn’t fix or, at the very least, alleviate. He had treated women with pregnancies worse than Carmen’s and brought their children into the world healthy. More than that, he wasn’t afraid to admit when he was in over his head. And, thus far, he reassured Carmen that he wasn’t and that both she and her child would survive.

  Dr. Arnold’s wife was named Delores and she greeted Carmen, Ava and Wash at the front door carrying a pitcher of iced tea and a smile as wide as the sunrise. “Come in,” she said excitedly. She was blushing. She was a woman in her late sixties who walked with a slight limp and who always cooked food for her husband’s patients—whether they’d come in for a simple checkup or if they’d be staying for a few days of observation. Delores Arnold believed food was the best help for healing, and so she did her part for anyone who walked through the door. “Come on in and I’ll get you all squared away.” She presented the pitcher of tea. “I’ve got orange juice, too, if you’d like that,” she said. “I know that, for some folks, it’s still a little early for tea. But I don’t believe it’s ever early enough.” There was an exuberance in her, an excitement that removed the sediment of time from her bones. Still holding the pitcher, she hugged Carmen, Ava and Wash in turn. “I just still can’t believe any of this,” she said.

  The children returned her hug and nodded politely.

  “I’ll start cooking a little something once you’re settled in. I sat up all night last night, just waiting for you to get here. You’d think I would have used that time to go ahead and get some food ready.” She laughed. She was trying her best not to make Ava uncomfortable. Her husband had treated the girl in that house since she was barely old enough to walk, but things were different now. Her hand lingered upon Ava’s shoulder. “I’m just so excited,” she added.

  “You don’t have to cook anything,” Carmen said, removing her coat and hanging it by the door. Delores only waved the comment away and led them to the examining room.

  The examining room had once been a bedroom for one of Dr. Arnold’s seven children, all of whom had long ago marched off into the distances of the world. The small room had the charm that comes with age and use. There were small nicks in the floor and along the molding of the walls, and a papier-mâché snowman perched atop the mantel, the feeling that, within the silent recesses of the house, laughter might ari
se at any moment.

  Carmen perched herself on the edge of the examining table. Ava and Wash sat in a pair of small chairs by the far wall.

  “My husband will be in shortly,” Delores said. “He’s in his office on the phone.” Then she looked at Ava and winked proudly. “You just can’t understand how proud I am that you’re standing here in my house. A true healer! I still can’t believe it. You’re a walking miracle, Ava!” The woman’s eyes danced as she watched Ava and waited for the girl to say something.

  “I taught her everything she knows,” Wash said. And then he leaned back in his chair and returned the wink Delores had given Ava.

  “It’s okay,” Delores said, undeterred. “You don’t have to say anything. I can only imagine what your life is now, how much it’s changed.” She paused and let the image fill her mind. Then: “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, thank you,” Ava said.

  “I’ll take a glass of tea,” Carmen said.

  “Of course,” Delores replied, reaching for the pitcher she’d placed on a table near the door.

  “Do you have any bourbon?” Wash asked. “Single malt.” He winked at the woman for a second time and, finally, she acknowledged his joke.

  “I’ll see what I can come up with,” Delores replied. She left the room with the pitcher in her hand and came back shortly with two tall glasses of iced tea. But the pause to gather drinks had done nothing to redirect her interest. “So how does it feel to have all of this attention, Ava?” she asked. “Was that a police escort I saw outside?”

  “We’re all keeping up with it,” Carmen answered quickly.

  “Oh, I can only imagine,” Delores replied, crossing her hands in front of her. She glanced around the room, but always her eyes returned to Ava.

  “She’s not going to float away,” Carmen said, nodding in Ava’s direction. Delores and Ava both looked at her, each of them taking something different from the comment.

  “I know that,” Delores replied, a pang of hurt in her voice. “I’m just fascinated, is all. It’s just a marvel, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” Carmen replied. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.” She exhaled. “I guess all of us are still trying to figure out how to behave now.”

  Carmen finished off the glass of tea and handed it back to Delores. She placed her hands on her stomach. “Could you excuse us for just a moment, Delores? The baby’s acting up and I’d like to talk to Ava and Wash for just a second alone if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, of course,” Delores added. “Just look at me, standing here harassing you all.” She turned to leave the room. When she was at the door she paused. “It’s just a splendor,” she said. “Just such an impossible blessing. All of it. I hope you understand that.” Then she left.

  Ava, Carmen and Wash sat silently. They heard the sound of Delores’s footfalls as she went back into the kitchen. They heard the gentle cracking of the ice cubes as they floated in the tea.

  “It won’t be like this forever,” Carmen said. Ava had been looking out the window, watching a large bank of gray clouds roll by. “This will all blow over,” Carmen continued. “There will be a few things that have to get sorted out first, but it’ll get better.” She reclined on the examining table with her hands on her stomach.

  “She’s right,” Wash added. He gulped down his tea and placed the glass on the floor beside his chair. “People are just weird right now. But they’ll get less weird, I think.” He scratched the top of his head, not unlike the way his father sometimes did. “Yeah,” he said confidently. “It’ll get less weird.”

  “It already has if you ask me,” Carmen said. “Or maybe we’re just all starting to get acclimated.” She tightened her lip and thought for a moment. “It’s like when Macon brought you home from the hospital. You remember how wild that was. Looking back on that now, I see it differently. I don’t think it’s gotten any better. Every day more and more people are showing up in town. I never would have thought getting a routine checkup would take a police escort.” She shook her head. “But I think we’re doing okay.”

  “You didn’t come with Dad to get me from the hospital,” Ava said, taking her eyes from the window. “My mom would have.”

  Wash started to speak, but stopped. He looked at Carmen.

  “It’s okay,” Carmen said to him. Then she leaned back on the table with a sigh. “And if I had come, Ava,” she said, “you would have told me how your mother would have stayed at home and had dinner ready for you when you got there. Wouldn’t you?”

  “She would have come,” Ava said flatly. “She would have wanted to be there with me.”

  “I was there with you, Ava,” Carmen said. “I slept there, right beside Macon, both of us propped up in those damned uncomfortable chairs. But you were unconscious for that, so I guess I don’t get credit for it.” She adjusted her position on the examining table. “And I knew I wouldn’t get credit for it the whole time I was doing it, but I did it, anyway. Because that’s what a mother does. Even a stepmother.” She spoke without malice or hardness in her voice. Then she inhaled quickly and exhaled slowly, looking down at her stomach. “The baby’s kicking,” she said.

  “Can I feel it?” Wash asked.

  “Sure,” Carmen said.

  Wash was already out of his chair and halfway to the examining table. When he was close enough, he reached toward Carmen’s stomach. He hesitated as his hand neared her. She had let him feel the kicking baby before, but his fascination and sense of reverence was never diminished by repetition. He always waited for her to guide his hand the rest of the way.

  Carmen took the boy’s hand and placed it atop her stomach. The seconds passed slowly until, at last, there was dull thump of the child’s kick.

  “So cool,” Wash said goofily, taking his hand away. “You’ve got to feel this, Ava.” He walked over and took Ava’s hand and led her to the examining table.

  Ava hesitated.

  “Here,” Carmen said, taking Ava’s hand and placing it on her stomach. “Wait for it.” And then the two of them held their breath and waited. When it came, the kick was soft, like a greeting.

  Carmen laughed. “Did you feel it?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Ava said. The anger was gone from her voice, replaced by fascination. “There really is a person in there,” she said. “It’s kinda hard to believe. It’s...it’s so much.”

  “It’s everything,” Carmen replied. “You feel fuller than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. Full in a way that you never imagined possible, like everything—the earth, the trees, the sky, the stars, everything—is inside of you.”

  Ava held her hand on Carmen’s stomach, and the universe inside of Carmen kicked again. All three of them giggled at the magic of it.

  “Ava,” Carmen said, still holding the girl’s hand on her stomach.

  “Yes?”

  “You’d tell me,” Carmen began. She took a deep breath and looked up into Ava’s eyes. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you? With the baby, I mean. If you could tell something about it like that.”

  Ava said nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” Carmen said, still pressing the girl’s hand to her stomach. “But I’m not sorry, too. I don’t know if it’s even how your gift—or whatever it is—works. But you’d help, wouldn’t you? Like you did with Wash. If you knew the baby was sick, you’d help it, wouldn’t you?”

  In Carmen’s face, Ava saw a thousand other people like her. People wanting help. People wanting hope. People hurt and afraid and looking to mend the broken things in their lives. People simply wanting to be reassured that the horrors they imagined in the late hours of the night would not come to pass.

  “Is that why you’re being nice to me?” Ava asked. She flinched and took her hand from Carmen’s stomach.

  “Please, Ava,” Carmen whispered, her voice thick with fear. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

  “I should have known,” Ava
replied. “You’re just like everyone else.”

  Carmen reached for the girl’s hand, trying to get it back, but Ava had already taken a step away.

  “I don’t think she meant anything, Ava,” Wash said.

  “She just wanted something,” Ava replied to the boy. “Just like everyone else.”

  “I lost a baby once,” Carmen said. “It was born in the night and never lived to see the sunrise. I try not to think about it. I try to block out the memory of it. It was a hard pregnancy, just like this one, and the doctors had to medicate me pretty heavily after the baby was born. I woke up in the afternoon, expecting to see my baby. But there was my mother, sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. She started crying as soon as I opened my eyes. Never said a word.” Carmen wiped her eyes. “It breaks a person, losing a child. No matter what someone says, no matter how much they may smile, no matter how long ago it happened...it’s a break that never heals. And I’m not sure I can survive that again.” She sighed, as if she had finally given up holding on to a secret.

  Ava and Carmen stood watching each other, both expecting, both anticipating. Then, without a word, Ava turned and left the room. Wash followed after her.

  “I’ll get her,” he said to Carmen on the way out the door. Then the two children were gone.

  Not long after, Dr. Arnold came into the room and Carmen quickly wiped away her tears and placed the fear back into the small box inside of her. “How have you been feeling?” Dr. Arnold asked Carmen once the examination was over. He was balding and overweight, but full of energy and almost always smiling. He reminded Carmen of an Irish Bill Cosby, and that image alone was enough to make her feel better most days.

  “About the same,” Carmen replied, sitting up on the table.

  “Well, your vitals all look perfectly healthy. Yours and the baby’s. There’s a small indication of some placental abruption, but if it was anything to worry about, I’d let you know.”