The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  Amidst that memory, Ellen gripped that medal so hard that when she widened her fingers to look at it laying in her hand, she saw the indentation.

  ‘Joe, you should let me have that medal,” Ellen recalled her young self saying.

  “I should, should I? And why is that?”

  “Well, really, even though I’m not blood, I am like your only daughter and you should let me have it.”

  “What? You think I’m an idiot? Ellen, you’ll hock it.”

  “Oh, Joe, I would not.”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “It’s yours when I die.”

  “When I die.”

  Die.

  Ellen’s eyes closed and she gripped the medal again and immediately in her mind and memory, she heard Frank’s voice from many years ago. Through her closed eyes, she could see his back and still hear his deep voice cracking with emotions. It was so hard for him to speak as he held the phone in their apartment . . .

  “Dad,” Frank’s word sung out. “Dad, I . . . I don’t know what to do. There’s no money and she has to take a bus. I don’t want her to take a bus. I don’t know what to say a . . . I can’t calm down. Dad, Ellen’s . . . Ellen’s father just died.” After a few nods and a broken up ‘thanks’, Frank laid down the phone and slowly turned around. “He said hold tight. He’s on his way. He’ll drive you home to Michigan.”

  “But, Frank, he can’t do that. Tell him no. I’ll take the bus. He has to drive almost five hours to get here and then another . . .”

  “El,” Frank stopped her, “he won’t listen. He wants to do this. You know him. That’s just my dad.”

  Joe.

  There was something about Joe.

  They always got along. Maybe because he liked her and she and Frank were such good friends, Joe didn’t just accept her. He took Ellen into his family. He never left her out of anything. He treated her to dinner when he came up and brought her on those spur of the moment family outings. He called constantly to ask how school was. He always remembered when she had an exam and if she even had a minor cold, a day didn’t go by when he didn’t call to see how she was. Always.

  It baffled Ellen how Joe did it. How could one person be so unselfish? How could he remember every little detail, about all of his sons and her? It baffled her how one man could have so much love, stay so in-depth with his children’s lives and problems, plus hold down a full time job.

  If Ellen were to pin point a vital turning point in her relationship with Joe, her father’s death would have been it. He flew to her aid so quickly and only drove her but stayed the entire time in Michigan. There was no hesitation to be there, no delay, and the moment he rushed through her apartment door to take her home, Joe achieved hero status in Ellen’s eyes, a status he had never lost. Why would he? He was Joe.

  ^^^^

  Where was Joe’s mind? Perhaps it was drifting off in search of one single memory to really take his mind away, but in doing so he was flooded with a tidal wave. There were so many memories to choose from and he was drowning in a reminiscent vat.

  Andrea’s gentle smile on her too close face snapped him out.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “You’re tired,” she told him.

  “It was a long night,” Joe responded.

  “That isn’t gonna help you today.”

  “I know,” Joe said.

  “Try to rest your eyes. Take advantage right now.”

  “I will.”

  Andrea laid her hand on his face. “If you’re up to it and not too tired, Trish’s baby in being christened this afternoon. Fr. O’Brien is coming in for it.”

  “Will he be sober?”

  “Oh, Joe,” Andrea scolded.

  “The man’s a drunk, Andrea. I speak the truth.”

  “He’s a man of the cloth.”

  “And that makes it all right?”

  “The good Lord forgives some things when one works in His name.”

  Joe grumbled.

  “Be good.” She winked and walked to the door. “Remember, you’re the best Futomara a woman can have.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And also . . . the christening.” Andrea’s words trailed as she left.

  “Christening.” Joe sunk back into the reclining chair and closed his eyes. In his mind he immediately he repeated the word only this time on an ‘up’ with a smile. “Christening.”

  He found it. The memory he needed to pass some time.

  The christening. Taylor’s christening . . .

  The small female baby shriek was enough to pierce any eardrum. With a horrible facial cringe and one eye closed, Joe had enough. “Christ, it’s a goddamn snap.”

  “This outfit is impossible.” Ellen fussed over little Taylor as she laid on Ellen’s bed. “She won’t hold still.”

  “She’s a baby.”

  “But, Joe . . .”

  “Watch out.” Joe moved Ellen aside, and reached to Taylor to fix the snap on the back of the dress.

  “Joe, I . . .” Ellen cringed as she watched Joe flip the baby over. “Oh, my God, do you have to be so rough?”

  “She isn’t gonna break for crying out loud. You have to take control. Besides it’s better than twisting her about to try to do this.” He turned the baby back over and laid her on her back. “There. See now she’s not fussing. Go on.”

  “Thanks.” Ellen resumed her position. She reached over, picked up the perfectly knit baby sweater, and gingerly played with Taylor’s tiny arms as she to get them through the sleeves. She exhaled in frustration. “Joe, could you? She’s just so frail compared to how Josh was.”

  “Watch out.” Joe took the sweater. “First of all, you don’t poke the baby’s arms through the sleeve, you bunch up the sleeve and slip it over the baby’s arm.”

  “Joe,” Ellen said, offended, as he manipulated the sleeve. “That is a two hundred dollar sweater. Should you be stretching it?”

  “What!” Joe blasted. “What in God’s name is wrong with you buying a two hundred dollar sweater that a child would never wear again? Yes, I have to bunch it. See how easy her arm goes through. I hope to God you plan on passing this sweater to your brother’s wife for their baby.”

  “No, way. Why would I do that?” Ellen scoffed. “I paid . . .”

  “Two hundred dollars for it. Yes, I know. That is the reason. Why let a two hundred dollar sweater go to waste?”

  “It isn’t.”

  “What, are you gonna do? Stick it in a box?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” Joe moved aside. “She’s done. Now hurry up. We have to get to the church. There’s no parking lot and I want to get a good spot.”

  “OK. OK.” Ellen peered around. “Now where is that bonnet?”

  “Bonnet?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re gonna put a bonnet on this child.”

  “Yeah, Joe. I paid a lot of money for that bonnet,” Ellen defended. “And that blanket.” She pointed to the wrap that laid folded perfectly.

  “You spent more goddamn money on one christening outfit then entire families spend on school clothes. Do you know that?”

  “You only are christened once.”

  “Yeah well, you only lose your virginity once too, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go cheap on it.”

  “Oh, my God. You just embarrassed me.”

  “Who cares? You are not putting a bonnet and blanket over this child,” Joe told her. “She’s wearing a sweater.”

  “But, Joe.”

  “No but Joe. I don’t care how much money you paid for them. You aren’t doing it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s August, Ellen. It’s almost a hundred degrees out there. You’ll give the damn infant a heat stroke. Now just straighten her and let’s move.”

  “OK.” Totally frustrated, Ellen did what Joe requested. “But I bet she get’s totally wrinkled on the way to the church.

  The church was another part of that memory
. . .

  “What, Joe, what?” Ellen questioned in the back pew of the church as they waited for everyone to show up. “What did I do now? I straightened her. Did I do her diaper wrong? What? Why are you staring at her like that?”

  “First off lose the goddamn tone. We’re in God’s house.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Secondly, where in the hell did she get the curly blonde hair?”

  “What?” Ellen asked shocked.

  “The hair. Something is not right. This child has extremely curly blonde hair. Pete’s hair is dark.”

  “Mine’s blonde.”

  “It’s from a bottle, Ellen. It doesn’t slip into your genes.” Joe stared more at the baby.

  “Joe, what are you implying?”

  “I’m just implying that baby’s hair is a little too blonde to realistically be genetically linked to Pete.”

  “That’s so wrong. Don’t let Pete hear you say that when he gets here.”

  “Like I give a rat’s ass about Pete. Where the hell is he anyhow?”

  “He’s at the hall.”

  “Hmm.” Joe looked again at Taylor. “There’s just something familiar about . . .” The bang of the church doors through the vestibule carried into the empty church.

  Ellen spun in the pew and smiled. “Robbie.”

  “Robbie.” Joe nodded and shifted his eyes to the baby.

  “Joe!” Ellen scolded.

  “What!”

  “I see that look in your eye. Robbie has blonde hair.”

  “Yes, he does but Robbie shoots blanks. However . . .” Joe watched the church doors open again. “He doesn’t.”

  Ellen looked. “Hal?”

  Robbie stepped closer. “What about Hal?”

  “Joe thinks Taylor is Hal’s,” Ellen said.

  Robbie snickered. “She does have curly blonde hair. I’d claim her as mine but I shoot blanks.”

  “Both of you.” Ellen shook her head. “I can’t believe you’d insinuate I’d cheat with Hal.”

  After blessing with holy water and cordially genuflecting in a good Catholic manner, Hal approached the pew. “Why is the word cheat and Hal even being used in the same sentence?”

  Ellen answered. “Because Joe said I cheated on Pete with you and Taylor’s your daughter.”

  Robbie pointed. “You were around a lot last year.”

  “Look at her hair,” Joe added.

  “Good God, both of you ought to be ashamed of yourself. We’re in God’s house.”

  “Christ. Hal,” Joe winced. “Lose the pious image.”

  “Pious?” Hal questioned. “Is it pious to want to show respect in church?”

  “Yes,” Robbie answered.

  “Listen to you,” Hal snickered.

  “What?”

  “Boys,” Joe grumbled.

  “You should have come to my defense,” Hal stated.,” instead of instigating.”

  “I came to your defense, Hal,” Ellen said.

  “Thank you.” Hal smiled.

  “Christ.” Joe cringed.

  “See.” Robbie grinned. “Love talk. I knew it.”

  “Robbie!” Hal barked in offense. “She is a married woman. If you didn’t want to defend me, you should have at least defended her while I was parking the rental. Which . . . by the way, is an awesome red car. Ellen, you would love it.”

  Robbie snickered. “See.”

  “Christ,” Joe complained.

  “Dad, must you use the Lord’s name in vain in His house?”

  “Yes, Hal, I must,” Joe came back.

  “You know . . .” Ellen lifted her hand. “This is my child’s christening. Can we not have a family event, especially in a church, without fighting or getting loud and obscene?”

  The loudest of bangs yet rang out from the doors but it paled to the level of the deep voice that blasted into the church. “Who the fuck’s red car is that out there hogging up two fuckin spaces?”

  After turning to see Frank at the end of the aisle, at the same time, Joe, Robbie, and Hal all answered Ellen’s question with a unison ‘no’.

  Joe chuckled in the afterthought of that flashback. Yes, they were loud most of the time and the Slagels were probably labeled heathen more times than not for the actions in church, but they were all together that day. Unlike a lot of families, where the years and miles separated them, that didn’t happen with Joe’s crew.

  They always pulled together for events. Phone calls were never missed and no matter how large the family grew, every July, Joe gathered them, families and all, for one huge vacation. Everyone always showed. It was a given. Sure, at times it was a fight to keep that spirit alive, intact, and the family together but it was a fight Joe would never give up.

  As he rested on the reclining chair in the clinic with the intravenous of his first treatment hooked to his arm, Joe would think of more memories, memories that would make the time pass in yet another fight that he endured that he believed and hoped would help keep his family together, for just a while longer.

  ^^^^

  “Now, Frank, hold still.” Dean brought the monitor patch to Frank’s bare chest as he sat on an exercise bike.

  Frank peered across the huge cryo-lab. He was In a corner with other workout equipment. “Don’t pull any hairs out.”

  “I won’t.” Dean placed the patch down. “Shit.” He pulled it off.

  “Ow.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Why are you so pissy?” Frank asked.

  “I’m pissy because I wanted to sleep in today. I didn’t expect to have Alex wake me up.”

  “Where was El?”

  Dean shrugged. “Alex said she left early.”

  “She probably went to New Bowman..”

  “Probably.” Dean correctly placed the monitor. “I haven’t seen her. She must have really left early. Did you see her when you got up this morning?”

  “I didn’t get up this morning, remember?” Frank said. “Right after we had our pow-wow, I had to position myself at the field gate.”

  Dean winced as he stepped back. “Killer babies were trying to dig in?”

  “Yeah, but they stopped by dawn. I fed them and played music.”

  “Journey?” Dean asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Did you sing too, Frank?”

  Frank smiled. “Of course.”

  “All right. I want to ask some routine questions but before I do . . .” Dean moved to the machines that would read Frank’s results. “Let me just see if I get a reading.” He flipped a switch.

  A loud buzzing rang out followed by Frank’s scream in his mock execution.

  “God!’ Dean shook his head. “Stop that.”

  Frank laughed.

  “It works.” Dean flipped off the switch.

  “Are we done?”

  “No, we aren’t done?” Dean snapped. “I have some questions to ask you for my research.” He lifted a clipboard and walked back to Frank. “Quit reading my mind.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are too, or at least you’re trying,” Dean said. “You get this strained look on your face when you do.”

  Frank quickly went poker-faced, only for a second, then he smiled.

  “All right . . .”

  “Dean? How come we’re down in the cryo-lab for this? I mean, I feel like one of your lab experiment animals.”

  “Well, actually, you are if you think about it.”

  Frank paused to think. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Dean raised his eyes from his clipboard. “Just a few behavioral changes questions then we’ll proceed with the physical stuff.”

  “Shoot.”

  “OK,” Dean said as he pulled up a stool. “How do you feel physically? Any aches, pains?”

  “Nope.” Frank shook his head. “Only when I land wrong.”

  “Now your speed in running has increased. Is that a conscious thing?”

  Frank blinked. “You mean am I sleeping when I do it?”
/>
  “No, I . . .”

  “Because have you ever tried to run in a dream? It’s impossible. Your legs just feel so heavy that they . . .”

  “No, Frank,” Dean interrupted. “Are you trying to run fast?”

  “I always try to run fast.”

  “I mean, are you trying normally or are you intentionally increasing . . .” Dean halted when he saw the confusion on Frank’s face. “Forget it. Next question. Eating habits? Are you still craving roughage?”

  “I love carrots.”

  “I’ll put that down as a yes.” Dean made a note. “Now what about sexual urges.”

  “Towards?”

  “Just urges. Have they changed?” Dean asked.

  “No. I still prefer women.”

  ‘No, Frank.” Dean winced. “Have they increased or decreased?”

  “Has what increased or decreased?”

  “Your sexual urges!” Dean yelled.

  “Toward?!” Frank blasted back.

  “Forget it!” Dean screamed, frustrated.

  “Fuck, Dean, yell, why don’t you? They’re your fuckin questions. But . . .”

  Dean whined, covering his eyes. “Oh, God. But what?”

  “You don’t think if by chance I impregnate El, we’ll have a liter, do you?”

  Slowly Dean peered at him and then just stared. After a moment, he calmly shook his head. “No, Frank. I don’t think you’ll have a liter.”

  “Good, because that would be a lot for her to pop out let alone carry. Speaking of carrying.”

  Wanting to just cry, ‘no-no-no, what now?’ Dean restrained. “Yes?”

  “You don’t think if something should happen to me, like for example I die. You don’t think people are gonna fight over my feet and want to chop them off, do you?”

  “What?” Dean said flabbergasted. “Why in God’s name would people want to chop off your feet?”

  “To put them on a keychain and carry them around for good luck.”

  “They might, Frank.”

  “That would be an awfully big key chain.”

  “Yes. Next . . .” Dean looked down his list. “Bowel movements. Any changes?”