by Shawn Inmon
DJ and Veronica had initially planned on staying in New York for a few months. By the following spring, they were still happily working at The Cellar Door and managing to get by.
That changed in April, 1965, when Veronica’s biological clock, which had always been as steady as a metronome, skipped a beat.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Veronica didn’t even realize she had skipped her period until she looked at the small calendar she carried in her purse. For many lives, it had been her habit for her to circle the day her cycle started on a small calendar. When she thought to look, it had been forty-five days.
Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I’ll give it a few weeks. But, should I tell DJ?
Almost immediately, she answered that question on their short walk to work that same day. As casually as she could, she said, “I’m late for my period.”
DJ stopped dead on the sidewalk. “You’re always on time, aren’t you?”
“You could set your watch to it.”
“There aren’t any home pregnancy kits yet, are there?”
Veronica shook her head, realizing this was a conversation she would have only been able to have with DJ. ‘Not for a few years, yet.”
“So, a trip to the doc, then?”
“I think so, yes. Beth Israel Hospital isn’t far away, but it’s big. I think I’ll go to the little medical clinic here in the neighborhood. They can tell me if I’m preggers or not, I’m sure.” She stared into DJ’s eyes. “Would it be a good thing?”
“Two time travelers having a baby? Sure, what could go wrong? But, Ronnie, the chance to have a baby with you is worth any risk. Of course it would be a good thing. I just don’t want to get too excited yet.”
They worked their shift that evening, but DJ kept rushing out of the kitchen every time Veronica tried to pick up a heavy tray of dishes. Finally, she said, “I might be pregnant, but I’m not sick. It will be fine.”
Or it won’t, she thought, but didn’t dare say.
The next day, they both went to the clinic that was a few blocks from their house. The waiting room reminded Veronica of the laundromat back in Middle Falls—humid, tile floors, and many people sitting in chairs, reading months-old copies of Time and Newsweek.
When they finally got in to see the nurse, she drew Veronica’s blood and told her she could come back the next day for the results.
Twenty-four hours seemed like a long time to wait, so they went to see What’s New, Pussycat? At the Bleecker Street Cinema near their apartment. The Bleecker usually only played more experimental fare, but Pussycat starred Greenwich Village denizen Barbra Streisand, so they made an exception.
They returned to the clinic the next afternoon and picked up the results. Once they had the envelope in hand, they were nervous to open it. Instead, they wandered by Washington Square Park and bought two dogs from a street vendor. They sat and listened to a long-haired man strum his guitar and sing a gorgeous, melancholy arrangement of Mr. Tambourine Man.
Finally, Veronica ripped open the envelope and read for a few seconds before she looked at DJ and said, “Your footloose ways are over. You’re gonna be a dad.”
AS SOON AS THEY CONFIRMED the news, they knew their time in New York was over. As much as they loved the never-ending excitement of the city, they both agreed it was not where they wanted to raise their baby.
“Not to mention that my Bunica will put a three-generation curse on us if we have a great grandchild three thousand miles away from her,” DJ said.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“That’s the thing about Bunica. She’s incredible, but she’s still a little bit scary.”
They put their notices in, both at The Cellar Door, and at the cramped closet they had called home for the previous seven months. Tony was sorry to see them go. He said that Veronica had been right. He wasn’t sorry he had hired them. It was the nicest thing he had ever said to them.
Their landlord managed to rent their apartment sight unseen on the same day they gave their notice. Greenwich Village was still the place to be.
They counted their money, and to their surprise found they still had more than half of the three thousand dollars they had landed in New York with. That was more than enough to buy them tickets home and to get set up a place of their own in Middle Falls.
They spent their last day in New York in their favorite places, all of which were within walking distance of where they had lived and worked.
Finally, Veronica said, “I have so loved this place, and I have loved being here with you. It’s been a dream come true.”
“For me, too,” DJ said.
“But now, it’s time to go home.”
They didn’t tell anyone they were coming back . They still only had their suitcases with them, and so hopped a Greyhound from Portland to Middle Falls.
They spent their first night at home in the small motel on the edge of town, too tired to see anyone. Early the next day, they took a cab to DJ’s parent’s house, where they had been storing his car and the rest of his belongings.
They did their best to sneak into the house, but DJ’s Bunica was standing in the entry way waiting for them.
“Bunica, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?”
“I knew you were coming,” was all she would say.
DJ didn’t bother to ask how she knew. He had learned as a young boy to never question his Bunica.
The old lady walked directly to Veronica, laid her hand across her stomach, nodded, then turned and walked away.
“See? I told you. Scary old woman.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
It didn’t take Veronica and DJ long to get settled back into Middle Falls life. After they had been back a few weeks, living in the non-stop atmosphere of New York seemed like a dream, or another lifetime.
DJ chose not to go back to Artie’s. No matter how much they loved him, they still only paid minimum wage, which in 1965, was still only $1.25 per hour. Instead, his uncle got him a job working at a construction site. He was more exhausted every night, but they paid $2.25 an hour to start.
DJ thought Veronica shouldn’t work while she was pregnant, but she thought that was crazy. Even though both families wanted to help out with getting things for the baby, she wanted to have some money to get what she wanted for him or her, too. So, as she had done so often, she made the trek back to Perry Zimmerman’s small office and said, “Whadya say, Zimm? Got room for a middle-aged, pregnant carhop?”
Perry looked her up and down. “I guess maybe I can believe our man DJ has put you in the family way, even though you’re sure not showing. I refuse to believe you’re middle aged, though.” He squinted, did some math in his head, and said, “You’re what? Twenty-Five? If that’s middle-aged, I’m putting in for my retirement pension tonight. You know there’s always a spot open for you here, Ronnie. Are you sure you want to work through the heat of the summer?”
She nodded. “You’ve still got that lifetime supply of salt tablets, right?”
He agreed that he did.
“Then we’ll be good to go.”
Veronica kept very few things from DJ, now that she knew they were both on the same unusual life path, but she did her best to hide her worry. The money from a part time job would be helpful, but mostly, she wanted to work to keep her mind off her pregnancy. She had been three months pregnant when she had lost her baby in her second life, and she was anxious to get past that milestone.
So, DJ worked all day, hauling scrap wood and metal on the construction site of the new Safeway store right there in Middle Falls, and Veronica worked at Artie’s. At night, they both collapsed on the used couch DJ”s family had donated to their little rental house, both too tired to either cook or eat.
When Bunica saw Veronica next, she said, “Too skinny. Too skinny.”
The next thing DJ and Veronica knew, their refrigerator was stuffed with casseroles and other easy to heat dishes.
When Veronic
a had her next checkup, the doctor told her that all looked perfect with baby and mother. Her due date was December 6th.
She decided to keep working at Artie’s until a month or so before the baby was born. She gave her notice to Perry Zimmerman for the final time on Halloween, effective November 15. That gave her time to get everything ready for Thanksgiving and the baby without juggling shifts slinging burgers.
November 15th dawned overcast and unseasonably cold in western Oregon. By the time Veronica reported for her final shift at noon, the temperatures had dropped into the mid-twenties. When she came in through the employee’s entrance, Perry looked at her stomach pushing her winter coat to its breaking point. “Ronnie, why don’t we pretend like yesterday was your last day. I don’t want you out there in this weather.”
Veronica laughed and said, “I’m an Oregonian born and bred. No way a little chilly weather is going to keep me inside. I am going to enjoy my last day here, no matter what the weather looks like.”
Perry shrugged and went back to what he was doing.
Veronica did her best to savor this last shift at Artie’s. She knew that unless or until she started life over again, this would be her last few hours at the place she had loved so much. That thought—starting life over again—brought another pang to her.
I’d never found a reason to care about one life over another, but this one I do. I don’t want to leave it. Carrying a tray with one hand, she unconsciously rubbed her stomach with the other. This little one is a precious chance to truly start over. To be everything I’ve ever wanted to be—a wife, a mother, a part of a family.
Veronica was daydreaming and not paying attention to where she was going. Crossing the parking lot, she stepped on a patch of ice. Her feet flew out from under her. The tray flew away from her, and even as she fell, she did her best to hold her stomach to protect the baby. She hit the frozen parking lot butt first, then slammed over backwards, hitting her head with a sickening crack.
OH, GOD, PLEASE DON’T let me be back in 1958. That would be too much.
Veronica opened her eyes and saw a strange man’s face hovering over her.
“You’ve had a nasty fall. You’re in an ambulance heading to the hospital. We’re getting you there as quickly as possible.”
Everything was spinning, as though she had been thrown in a dryer like a load of laundry.
No, no, please. This life is too precious. I love this life. I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to start over.
She tried to shake her head, but the man reached out and touched her temple. “Try not to move. You’ve got a head injury. We’ll be to the hospital in less than two minutes. We’ve radioed ahead, and they’re ready for us.”
“My baby?”
“Close your eyes. Try not to move.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Veronica opened her eyes.
The first thing she noticed was DJ, holding her hand, his face wet and strained with worry.
She moved her eyes and saw Doris, Wallace, and Barbara.
“I’m still here.”
DJ leaned in close. “You’re still here, my love.”
“The baby?”
She closed her eyes. She didn’t think she could bear to hear the news.
“The baby’s fine,” DJ said. “Whoever he or she is, they’re a tough little nut. Don’t try and move. You’ve had surgery to relieve pressure on your skull, but you came through it with flying colors.”
He backed away a little and let Doris, who had been hovering over his shoulder, move closer.
“Lay still, baby. That was a terrible fall, but you’re going to be fine now.” She stroked Veronica’s cheek like she had when she was a baby. “It’s going to be fine.”
INSTEAD OF BUSTLING around the cozy cottage she and DJ called home, getting the baby’s room ready and helping with Thanksgiving dinner, Veronica spent the next few weeks in the hospital. She was never lonely, though, as either DJ, Doris, Wallace, or Barb was there with her around the clock. They were augmented by many members of DJ’s family, including his Bunica, who came the first day and waved her hands over Veronica’s head and stomach, blessing both her and the baby.
As soon as she began to feel better, Veronica complained about lying in the hospital bed. She wanted to be up and moving. The doctors thought it best for the baby if she stayed, though, so she did.
Doris and Wallace made arrangements with the hospital so they were allowed to bring Thanksgiving dinner to Veronica, since she couldn’t come to it. It was as cozy a scene as any Thanksgiving could be in a hospital room.
The week after Thanksgiving crawled by. DJ ran to the library for her, but one symptom of the cranial bleeding and concussion was that she had a terrible time focusing on anything, including her beloved books.
Finally, on December 8, two days after her projected due date, Veronica’s labor pains started in earnest. Shortly after, he water broke, and it was time. The doctors had discussed this moment in advance with both she and DJ, and they had all agreed that a Caesarean was the best method of delivery. They believed it would be safest for both mother and baby because the wound in Veronica’s head was still healing, and could be damaged during delivery.
At 2:05 p.m., Veronica was wheeled into the surgical room.
At 2:45, the doctor came out to a waiting room as full of people as he had ever seen. “Who’s the father?”
DJ stood up, the very picture of every nervous father ever. “I am.” The man who had a joke for every occasion had run completely out of witty things to say.
“Congratulations, son, you’ve got a healthy seven pound, six ounce baby girl. You can see baby and mother in just a few minutes. A nurse will come get you.”
His last few words were drowned out by cheering from all assembled.
In 1965, it was normal to keep mother and baby separated, but Veronica insisted that they bring the baby to her as soon as she was awake from the surgery. Doris, Wallace, and DJ were all in the room with her when they brought the red-faced, wriggling baby into the room. Veronica waited until everyone had a chance to hold her, then asked her parents to leave, so she could talk to DJ alone.
When they were finally alone with their baby, Veronica held her against her chest and cried. DJ laid his face against the baby and sang a gentle song she didn’t recognize.
“What’s that song?”
“It’s the song my Bunica sang my mother, my mother sang to me, and probably the song my great-grandmother sang to my Bunica. It’s like our family version of Itsy Bitsy Spider, or you are my Sunshine, I suppose. The lyrics are mostly, “We are glad you are here, you are loved, you are our blessing,” that sort of thing.
“I want you to teach it to me, okay? We can’t let a tradition like that die out.”
Veronica unwrapped the baby and DJ counted her fingers and toes. They kissed her little face and told her how loved she was.
Finally, DJ looked at Veronica and said, “Do you recognize her?”
Veronica nodded, silent tears running down her face, but was unable to speak around the lump in her throat. She looked at the ceiling, frustrated by her inability to speak. She took a deep breath and finally said, “Husband, meet Sarah. Sarah, meet your Daddy.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Many babies, especially newborns, and especially newborns from the same mother look alike, so it was not surprising that this baby would match Veronica’s memory from four lifetimes ago. Be that as it may, there are some things a mother simply knows, and there is no arguing with. One of those things was that first time Veronica held that little baby, she knew it was her Sarah. She recognized her spirit.
Over the next few weeks, months, and years, that was confirmed to her again and again. Every little habit, speech pattern, and peccadillo that this baby named Sarah had, was an uncannily accurate echo of the Sarah she had held so many years before.
Veronica became pregnant again two years later. This time, she gave birth to an active, always on-the-move littl
e boy. They named him Maximillian. Veronica had never met the other Max, of course, but DJ knew him as soon as he saw him. There are things a father knows as well, and he knew his own son.
Nellie was the last to join the party, arriving just after Valentine’s Day, 1969. This time, Veronica had every reason to believe she might recognize the baby when it was born, and it came to pass. She cried grateful tears when all three babies were born.
In between having babies, Veronica put her degree from Pacific University to good work and began teaching English at Middle Falls High.
In 1970, Veronica invested as much money as they had been able to save in one of her magic stocks that had been permanently added to her brain. It wasn’t enough to make them rich, but it was enough to start a nice college fund for the kids,. She also put enough away for them to take thrifty vacations around the country. She wanted Sarah, Max, and Nellie to grow up appreciating the beauty and majesty of this life they had been born into.
Just for fun, Veronica started a lady’s investment club in 1972. She invited Ruthie, of course, a few friends from the neighborhood, and several of DJ’s cousins. They called themselves the “Tea and Cookies Investment Club.” Even though Veronica didn’t use much of her knowledge of what was to come, the club’s investments flourished. They had one simple investment philosophy. If they used it and loved it, they invested in it. It was a wonderful excuse to get together once a month, and it made a difference in their lives.
Once Veronica got the household a little ahead of their household budget, she sat down with DJ one beautiful Sunday morning in May of 1977.
