“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Anna said.
Within seconds, the dog was again nosing at Stuart’s pocket. “Ha,” Anna said. “Baby Jesus! No stealing.” The dog gave her a look of reproach, as though he considered himself blameless. “Do you have something in there he would be interested in?”
“I have leftovers from my breakfast, which I was going to finish later.”
Anna reached in Stuart’s pocket and took out the foil-wrapped food. “Bacon. You have bacon, and you blame my poor dog for his persistence. Sorry,” she said, feeding the strips to the dog. “Teasing an animal means automatic forfeiture.”
“So, where’s the best jewelry store?” Jack looked at Anna in the rearview mirror.
“Boston,” she said.
Stuart snorted. Jack gave him a look.
“Though Seavey’s on Main and Third has nice bridal sets. Wedding bands, I mean.” She leaned forward. “At the next light, left. The college will be on the right.”
The three of them rode the rest of the way in silence. Anna felt the anxiety and fear coming from the front seat. Jack had asked her to check his viral load, and to test Stuart.
Earlier Jack said, “I feel so amazing that I’m nearly convinced of a spontaneous healing.”
“You know that’s not possible,” Anna had said.
“Also, we’ve been extremely careful, but we want to reconfirm Stuart’s status.” Anna reminded Jack that sero-conversion could take months, and that a false negative was possible. “I know. But we’re taking precautions and extra-precautions.”
The three of them walked into the lab, the dog trailing behind. Jack, accustomed to needle sticks, barely flinched. But by the time she rewashed and regloved, Stuart was shaking so badly Anna couldn’t get a steady draw from the vein. “Take a deep breath,” Anna said softly. “Try to relax.” Jack, on the other side of Stuart, squeezed Stuart’s hand, whispered something Anna couldn’t hear. Stuart nodded, and clenched his fist tighter. The blood started to flow. “Done,” Anna said. Stuart let out a deep breath, and collapsed into Jack’s embrace.
Anna walked out into the hallway to give them a private moment. She read the bulletin board twice. Free kittens, furtniture for sale, typing services, and a bake sale benefiting the Bible Baptist Church Youth Group.
Jack and Stuart walked out, hand in hand. “We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Jack said.
“That’s not necessary. I can have results in fifteen minutes.”
Jack shook his head. “We want a little time.”
“Okay. Not a problem. Go pick out some beautiful wedding rings.” She took her wallet out of her purse. “In fact, I was hoping that you would let me get them for you as a wedding present.” She handed Jack a credit card.
“That’s very generous of you, Anna,” Stuart said. “But truly, it’s not necessary. You’ve done so much for us already.”
“Please.” The idea hadn’t occurred to her until the moment the words came out of her mouth; she’d only wanted to reassure Stuart, to steer him toward positive thoughts. But now she found that she truly wanted to buy their rings. “I really want to do this. I mean, please. I have no other family to buy for. Let me.”
Jack took her card, kissed her. Stuart smiled wanly and thanked her.
“Back soon,” he said.
Anna prepared Jack’s slide first. Something amazing had happened. His viral load was nearly nonexistent. She checked his white count. In the high range of normal, what a healthy person might show with a mild infection. The recombination of the protease inhibitors was working beautifully. Jack’s physicians in Boston had recently started him on a new drug cocktail after the ones he’d been on began to lose their effectiveness, and the results were textbook perfect. “Holy Jesus! He’s going to outlive me.” The dog, at her feet, thumped his tail. Who knew how long the effectiveness of shuffling and recombining drugs could last?
She shook as she prepared Stuart’s slide, then went out to have a cigarette while waiting for his results. She imagined calling Stuart’s cell phone the second she saw good news. But Jack said they wanted time. Even good news could be a shock when it came before you’d weighed both possibilities. And how much sweeter to be called back from the precipice after you’d toed the edge.
From the end of the driveway, Jack and Stuart saw Anna on a bench just outside the lab. Jack drove slowly, held his breath until Anna spotted him. She rose when she saw the car, gathered up her things. “Thank God!” Jack said.
Stuart looked at him, alarmed. “What?”
“You’re negative,” Jack said, and gripped Stuart’s hand.
“Don’t say that! You don’t know that.”
“I do know. I know just by Anna’s posture.”
And when she smiled at them, they both knew. Jack and Stuart stepped out of the car. “Plan your future,” Anna said. “Negative. And Jack, your T-cells are beautiful. The knights have slain the dragons. Well, most of them; your viral load is way down.”
“Thank you, Anna,” Jack said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.” She slid into the back seat, Baby J. hopping in after her. “Did you find some rings?”
“No. Nothing we liked. We did make reservations at Boatwright’s for an early dinner. Our treat, of course,” Stuart said. “And, as a gesture of goodwill….” He handed a grocery bag to Anna. “For your boy back there.” Anna opened it. Two pounds of bacon. “Baby Jesus, manna has fallen from heaven,” she said. “From the great space hogs in the sky.”
They drove in the bright afternoon. It was a good day, today was a good day—Anna turned the words over in her mind. Jack caught her eye in the mirror and winked. Anna fluttered her lashes in return, a gesture she’d picked up from Flynn, who couldn’t manage to close one eye at a time. Sometimes when Anna looked at Jack, she saw his boyhood and youth, the toddler, grade-schooler, and pimply adolescent, as if all his years were layered one over another like the transparencies in medical texts. She knew exactly what he was like at twelve—through his stories and her imagination—almost as if he were part of her own history.
Today was a good day—now she believed it—a dry, sunny patch of grass, just big enough for the three of them, after a downpour that had soaked through everything.
Back at home, Anna quickly listened to the messages while Jack and Stuart were unloading groceries from the car. Two from the realtor, whose voice was so chirpy and annoying that Anna deleted them halfway through after getting the gist: Lori would be over Monday to put a sign in the yard; Anna should stop by the office to start the paperwork; the two of them needed to decide whether to set the price according to appraisal or by market value; please call, earliest convenience. The next two were from Greta: “I don’t think I’ll be able to drive up before Saturday.” And the second: “I definitely can’t come till Saturday, but I definitely will be there. Jack, please call me.”
Anna relayed the message as Jack and Stuart walked in. “Greta wants you to call her.”
“Okay,” Jack said, and walked into the kitchen. Anna followed.
“What’s up?” she said.
“What do you mean?” He picked up a note on the counter. “Marvin drove into Boston to take his sculptures to the gallery. He’ll be back late tonight,” Jack said. He pushed the note toward her. “Do you know, those wacky sculptures are selling like crazy. He’s getting rich.”
Anna raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” He walked out. “Stuart?” Jack called.
“In the sunroom. Reading,” Stuart called back.
“Okay, just checking. I’ll be down in an hour. I’m going to take a little nap.”
“Uh-huh,” Stuart said. “Sure you are.”
Anna unloaded the groceries, got out a skillet to fry bacon for the dog. Reread Marvin’s note, sifted through the mail, then picked up the phone. Jack was on the upstairs extension. Anna put the skillet on the back burner, covered the
mouthpiece with her hand, and listened quietly.
Jack was talking to Greta. Anna put the skillet on the back burner.
Greta’s voice: “Did you ask Anna about the possibility of its being your baby?” Greta was saying.
“No. The whole day was about peace and relief. Stuart wanted to be re-tested, and that’s always a major trauma. I mean, we were pretty sure, but it’s completely nerveracking. I used to absolutely unravel every six months when I tested.”
“He’s negative?”
“Oh yeah,” Jack said. “But anyway, Stuart is warming up to the idea of fatherhood. He’s always wanted a child.”
What the hell? Anna thought. What in the holy hell?
“I have no problem with Stuart being the biological father,” Greta said. “But listen, I called because I can’t drive up until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard.”
“And also to tell you that I’m ovulating. Is Stuart willing to start this weekend? Could we try Saturday night?”
“Are you people completely insane?” Anna said into the phone.
“Hi, Anna,” Greta said.
“I don’t know about Saturday night,” Jack said. “Stuart and I have an agreement we’re still working out. One step, then another, quick, quick, quick, but one thing at time. Although, maybe once all the steps are lined up, Stuart would cotton to the idea. I mean, it might be six months before we get a bull’s eye, and nine months after that before the little fellow—or fella—arrives. By that time, Stuart and I will have been married for fifteen months. I’m guessing it will be all right to start tomorrow.”
“No, actually it is not all right,” Stuart said from the extension in the sun room.
“Is this a party line?” Greta said.
“It’s something, of course, Stuart and I will have to discuss,” Jack said.
“This is the most asinine idea I’ve ever heard,” Anna said.
“Ah, the voice of reason. Let’s hear it,” Stuart said.
“It’s wrong to bring a baby into this motley mix, in my opinion,” Anna said.
“Why?” Greta and Jack said together.
“Why? Why is it wrong? Because, Jack, at some point Stuart and Greta will be raising this child without you, to be perfectly blunt about it. He or she will have two broken households, one house with a single mother, and the other with a widowed father,” Anna said.
“The little fella will have a daddy who loves her, and a mother who loves her. I’m the third parent. How many kids have three parents? She’ll have a spare if something happens to one of us. Besides, she’ll have you,” Jack said.
“No,” Anna said, “she won’t. I won’t be a part of the baby’s life, should there be one. I won’t be here.”
A three-sided silence formed, and Anna made it a fourth, closing the square. Anna felt them waiting. Well, now would have to be the time. “I’m moving. I’m selling the house and moving. The house will be listed on Monday.”
“You’re what? And where am I going to bring my children for holidays, Mama?” Jack asked.
“Where will you go?” Greta said.
“I don’t know yet. Maybe to a retirement home where I can finally learn to play shuffleboard. Where I can live out the rest of my days in a depressing state facility as a bitter old woman in a dingy room with urine-stained carpeting. Maybe there,” Anna said.
“Hello and welcome to Maudlin Island, population: You,” Jack said.
“But I’m hanging up now. Hanging up in disappointment and disgust at the three of you. But before I do, I’ll say this. And this is aimed primarily at Jack, but the rest of you should take it under advisement: Grief is probably the second worst condition out of which to have a baby.”
“What’s the first?” Stuart asked.
“The first is having a baby because someone else wants you to. And now, if you all will excuse me, I have bacon to fry.”
“Anna, am I still welcome to visit this weekend?” Greta asked.
“Certainly. This is Jack’s home, too, and he and his partner are always welcome to invite their friends,” Anna said.
“Their friends? Thank you very, very much.” Greta started to cry.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Anna paused. “Greta, I’m sorry.” She waited. “Jack, can you get off the phone for a second?” Anna asked.
“Whatever you have to say, I want to hear. No buffing the monkey. Gilding the lily. Spill it,” Jack said.
Anna sighed. “Greta, grief makes people go haywire. Jack is grieving as much as Marvin and I are. I think he’s way too vulnerable to make a decision like this. And I’ve yet to hear Stuart weigh in on the subject.”
“Well, I agree with you, Anna,” Stuart said. “I do want a child. In fact, very much. But my idea is to take things slowly. House, marriage, baby.”
Jack drew in his breath sharply. “Wait,” he started.
“House?” Anna said. “What house? Mine?” This was all too much. “You know what, I don’t want to know anything else right now. I’m hanging up. I’m going to fry Baby Jesus his supper, then I’m going to bed. I don’t care what you do, but don’t even think about disturbing me before noon tomorrow.”
“Anna—” Jack said, but she’d already clicked off.
Greta did come on Saturday, but the unspoken agreement was that they would not talk about the previous night’s phone call. Anna peeled potatoes for chowder, Jack diced, and Stuart polished the silver. The lines of tension seemed to arise throughout the day in twos: first Greta and Anna, then Greta and Stuart, then Anna and Jack, and by the time dinner was ready to be served, Greta and Anna again.
Anna wondered what had happened between last night and noon today, when she left her room, and if the way Greta was dressed was a factor in any new development. She wore a pinafore-type thing over a skirt flounced with two ruffles, a peasant-style blouse, and Mary Jane T-straps. Her lips and nails were candy pink. From the way Greta was behaving toward Stuart—solicitous, laughing loud and falsely at Stuart’s lamest jokes—Anna suspected that Greta thought this outfit would be less threatening to Stuart than something spangly and beaded or overly vampy. Anna didn’t know. Except that if she were Stuart she’d be insulted. Did Greta really think Stuart would want to sire an heir with Little Bo Peep?
“Did I ever tell you the story of how I once broke both my legs in Vail?” Jack was saying. “I was skiing a run that would have been too advanced for me under the best of circumstances, but halfway down I thought I saw Antonio Banderas. I shushed as fast as I could, and the next thing I know, I’m ass over teakettle, looking up at some sixteen-year-old ski patroller who’s asking if I’m okay. I was in traction for six weeks.”
Greta laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Anna looked over at Stuart, who rolled his eyes.
“Excuse me,” Anna said.
“Where are you going?” Jack asked.
“We need more bread.” She walked into the kitchen. She dialed Marvin’s cell number.
“Where are you?” Anna asked when he clicked on.
“Upstairs. Working. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing really. We’re having dinner. Come join us if you want.” Anna heard Joan Baez in the background. “Please join us, I mean. I’m drafting you to the battle. I have to call in the reinforcements.”
“What’s the war?” Marvin asked.
“The war of I can’t find anyplace to put what I’m feeling war. Among other things.”
The music cut off. “I’ll be right down. Meet me on the stairs.”
Anna grabbed the breadbasket, dropped it on the table as she whisked by. Only Stuart noticed. The dog followed her.
Anna sat midway up the staircase, Marvin beside her. He had clay in his hair and on his clothes and hands, and smelled of something newly made. “What’s going on in there?”
“A kind of love story, I guess.”
He shook his head, held out his hand, palm up.
“I think Greta’s here
to get impregnated this weekend.”
Marvin sat upright, crossed his legs. “Excuse me? She’s what?”
“You heard me.” Anna blew her nose, and Baby Jesus, thinking this one of her niftier tricks, thumped his tail against the wall.
“Impregnated? By whom?”
“Who do you think?”
He paused. “Me?”
“Marvin,” she said.
“Well, who? The Spice Girls in there? I’m the only male in the household who isn’t neutered or gay.”
“I can’t deal with them right now. I can’t deal with tension very well these days.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have to.” He caressed the dog, who rested his head on the step between Anna and Marvin, and the rest of his body over the four below. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go upstairs, and I’ll bring dinner up to you. We can watch a DVD if you want. I’ve been working too much anyway.”
Anna paused. “That would be nice. Listen, thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For always being kind to me, even the times when I didn’t deserve it.”
Marvin nodded, but was silent. He stroked the dog’s silky ears. “God, Flynnie loved this animal. Sometimes I think he’s really a person in a dog costume. Sometimes I’d swear I’ve seen her looking out at me through his eyes.”
Upstairs, Anna played her cello while waiting for the tub to fill. Just for the hell of it, she pitched the Bach suite to an F sharp, the key the old pipes were ringing in as the hot water gushed in through the ancient plumbing. It sounded like the soundtrack to a Hitchcock film. She put the cello down, bored. Went in to check tub and turned off the water. She added lavender salts, took out a freshly laundered gown, and wandered out into the hallway. The door to the room where Lily slept was ajar. Anna walked in.
There was someone sitting in the chair beside Lily’s bed, a hand on the little girl’s back.
“Hi,” Marvin whispered.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Same thing you’re doing. Revisiting the best part of myself.”
Anna sat carefully at the foot of the bed, listened to the deep, rhythmic breathing of a sleeping child.
Above The Thunder Page 34
