16

 

 "Daddy what were you thinking," whispered Sally to her father as he and Linna walked through the door and into the living room.

"You're plannin' a wedding.  She wanted to help.  She has great ideas.  So much style.  You should be glad I brung her."

Not betraying any of her feelings, Annabeth placed on the coffee table a large painted tray containing a carafe of hot fruit punch, some glass mugs, and a platter of cookies.  Sally and Jackson sat on the couch, her small hand clenched in his huge one.  Next to them sat Linna, holding an enormous three-ring binder of the type used by high school students.  In an overstuffed chair, sat R.J., surprisingly sober and dressed in clean clothes.  Annabeth sat in a straight chair once she had poured the cranberry-orange punch into the glass mugs.

"Now, don't worry, Daddy, we're not planning anything elaborate," said Sally, looking nervously at each of her parents in turn.  It was touching the way Sally always came to her rescue, but surprisingly Annabeth didn't feel so badly to see R.J. or his little girlfriend.

"We just want a simple afternoon wedding," said Jackson.

"Yes, maybe right here in a tent outside, just punch and cake really.  Maybe a few hors d'oeuvres.  That's really it."

Linna looked around the room, took a breath and smiled, beginning to speak in her usual high-pitched, nasal whine.  "I have a lot of wedding information right here."  She held up the notebook as both Annabeth's and Sally's eyes widened.  "I've wanted a big wedding all my life," she continued, hearing no protests, "And I've been collecting this information since eighth grade."

"We really just want something simple," insisted Sally, "More like a party than some flashy event."  Jackson nodded in agreement and squeezed her hand.

"Of course you don't want anything too elaborate.  I mean nothing like Di and Charles with all those horses or the quarter-million dollar wedding of Delta Burke and Gerald McRaney."  She flipped in the book to a category titled celebrity weddings and showed all present photos and other documentation.

"Something simple," Sally said.

Linna nodded.  "But of course you'll want a wedding dress.  Every girl wants that."  She sighed a poignant sigh then looked down happily at her left hand. On it was a rather large diamond ring and Annabeth wondered if R.J. really had sprung for a diamond that large or was it zirconium.  Even zirconium was more than he'd given her….

Sally nodded, reaching into her purse for a clipping of the sort of dress she had in mind, but before she could speak, Linna had turned to the wedding gowns section of her notebook and was busy sharing information.  "You have to go to Atlanta or New Orleans you know, though New York would be better.  Los Angeles even better.  Now look at this gown.  The beading is exquisite, don't you think."  Nobody in the room flinched, although all but Linna realized she had pronounced exquisite ex-kwis-ITE.

"That's very fancy," said Sally.

Linna nodded, "No not so much.  About five thousand I think."

"Dollars?" asked R.J., then he became silent.

"Well, Buzz, a wedding is a once in a lifetime thing.  It has to be just right, doesn't it Sal?"

Sally, growing irritated, said, "Just something simple, Lin."

Linna smiled, clearly pleased. She had missed Sally's disdain and mistakenly thought she'd been accepted.  There was something kind of poignant about her and it was impossible for Annabeth to hate her.  She smiled brightly then continued, "I just know you wouldn't be caught dead in one of those tacky five-hundred dollar wedding gowns at the mall."

"Actually I was thinking of something like this, Lin, if you don't think it's too tacky."  Sally held up a clipping of a simple gown, tailored and straight, a bit of lace at the throat, no beading.

R.J., in the grandiose manner he used when trying to impress someone, spoke up, "That's a beautiful dress, but why not get somethin' a little better."

Linna beamed on hearing this then looked around her.  "After all, you're important people in this town.  You live in this beautiful house, practically a historic landmark and all.  You can't get married in some crappy gown."

"And me spending more is all right with you, Daddy?  I mean you are going to pay for the wedding, right?  Mom certainly can't."

Annabeth, still silent, blushed on hearing this.

"You betcha I'm paying.  My baby gets married.  Just call me Daddy Warbucks," said R.J., smiling at Linna, who returned his grin.  Annabeth probably should have felt jealous; it had been a long time since her husband had smiled at her like that, but R.J. and Linna just seemed too comical for jealousy.

"Now, for the food," said Linna.  "You can't expect people to come on out to a big event like this--and you know they will all be in new clothes--so you have to give them a nice meal.  Maybe have it catered.  Of course in big cities people get married in hotel ballrooms, but we don't do that here."

"Maybe that's because we don't have any hotels with ballrooms," said Jackson.

"A shame isn't it?" asked Linna, oblivious to everything.

"Well, you hire a caterer then.  Have a nice buffet."  R.J. nodded like the generous dad he had never been.  "Whatever you decide is fine with me."

"Remember, Sal, I'm here for you.  Whatever you need, just give me a call," offered Linna.

Annabeth watched Linna silently, noting how earnest she was, how she yearned to belong, to be somebody.  Linna must make R.J. feel important in a way she never had.  What next?  Would Linna start talking about how much she wanted to be a grandmother--to Annabeth's grandchildren?

"Don't worry, Mom," said Sally after her father had left, "I'll make sure that Daddy never brings her here again."

"Oh don't worry about it.  You just plan a wonderful wedding.  Sal."  Annabeth broke down then and began laughing, and so did Sally and Jackson.

She had so much on her mind, yet Annabeth was most obsessed with the attic and she couldn't wait to get up there every day.  She opened the bottom drawer of the armoire.  There, wrapped in tissue paper and gently folded was a baby blanket.  Hand crocheted of blue yarn, and trimmed in ecru ribbons, it was in perfect condition.  There was not a stain on it, no pulls in the yarn, no sign of use or abuse.  Annabeth held the blanket to her face, burying her nose in its softness, taking a deep breath, yearning for one sniff, one olfactory memory of the soft, sweet baby smell that had once been on it, but if it had a scent at all, it was of the special laundry soap used for babies' clothes.  She stood for a long while, inhaling the scent of the blanket, feeling the softness against her cheek, a gentle river of tears falling from her eyes and being absorbed into the yarn.

Mother Welner with her arms around me, holding me hugging me, a mother holding me, been so long, three years.  "I had three sons, one dead in Vietnam, one gone away, and R.J., no daughters, now I have you."  Mother Welner hugging me, looking at me, think she knows about the baby?  She'll find out.  "I wanted a daughter all my life," Mother Welner, her arm around me, "Someone just like you, pretty, quality, a stabilizing influence."

"My mother died three years ago."  So hard to say that without tears in my eyes.

Mother Welner hugging me, "So you need me just as much as I need you."  Mother Welner tugging me toward the back of the house, toward her bedroom, Buzz watching and smiling.  He thinks we're silly.  "R.J., go get us some lemonade," Mother Welner ordering Buzz around and he does what she says.  He must want to make a good impression on me.  Is that possible?

Mother Welner gently pushing me down on the end of the bed, "Here, sit," and reaching in a drawer at the bottom of her double dresser.  A little lap blanket of some sort, looks homemade, so pretty.  "My mother-in-law gave me this.  She made it herself, for R.J., and now it's for you."

It seems so small for a man.  It barely covers my lap, oh I see, it's a baby blanket.  Blushing, and she sees my embarrassment.  So she knows.  I feel like such a slut.  Pregnant.  Not married.  My mom would have died.

Mother Welner taking my hand in hers, watching me, so quiet.  "You'd probably never have agreed to marry him if you weren't pregnant.  Quality girl like you.  Father a lawyer."  Blushing.  Listening to her talk.  "He pretends he's a pilot or he was a pilot, what is it?  Named Buzz."  Buzz pretending, she's saying, he isn't a pilot.  Is his uniform make believe then?  "He's a mechanic, works on the planes, for the Air Force, you know don't you?" Mother Welner looking into my eyes.

Stuttering.  So confused.  Uncomfortable.  "I didn't know but I don't care.  I really love Buzz--um--R.J.--ma'am."

Mother Welner hugging me, so tight, so long.  "I love him too."

Five boxes of junk, hauled down from the attic and piled up for the trash men to take away.  Annabeth stood back and nodded.  She was getting rid of a ton of crap and it felt so good.  She walked into the kitchen and sank down at the table.  Her back ached, her arms ached, her feet ached, but Annabeth felt wonderful.  All she did was work, and she'd never felt so satisfied.  She was never hungry; she rarely ate, instead it was enough to gobble some fruit and race back to whatever work she was doing.  Must be adrenaline.  She reached for her datebook, noting all the information for shows she'd attended with Becky and for all the shows yet to attend.  She was making a lot of progress.  And plenty of money.  She could live on her own income;  that plus what she got from R.J. was more than enough to live just fine.  It felt great to be making her own money; someday maybe she wouldn't need money from R.J. at all.  But Christmas was coming soon and there wouldn't be many shows after that.  Would she still have enough money then? 

Reaching for her paints, Annabeth resumed work on her series of cottages.  She had done so many already and there were many more in her head.  She closed her eyes briefly, envisioning exactly what she intended to paint, then like a slide show, she saw the next painting and the next.  It was odd, but she didn't think about knick knacks as much any more; she thought about paintings, about the cottages with all their flowers, but also about other things, homey little pictures, cheerful people, families, things to make you feel good when you looked at them.  It was comforting to paint them, the world the way it ought to be, what she didn't have any longer.  She dipped the brush into the paint and in broad strokes, outlined the cottage, then the places where flowers would blossom.  Then there was the detail to add, to bring it all to life.

Back in the attic the next day, Annabeth removed from the armoire drawer a black teddy and laughingly held it up to herself.  It was a size petite, something she had never been, for even if she were thinner, she was never quite that short.  It was trimmed in red ribbons, really quite sheer and not at all subtle.  Although there are teddies that are glamorous and sensual, this wasn't one of them; this was merely provocative.  Annabeth looked in the mirror, the teddy pressed to her body.  Imagine wearing that!  She had been cleaning out R.J.'s closet when she'd found the thing, not long after he'd begun his route.

What a jumble; dirty clothes, clean clothes; shoes; he's worse than the girls.  Look at this--why doesn't he just toss this crap?  I've asked him about it a million times.  He'd never miss them if I just ditched these old things.  I just ironed this shirt and here it is on the bottom of the closet.  So careless!  There!  Better!  All the shoes in order, clothes neat again. What's this?  Fancy box…hmm….  I shouldn't look maybe.  Just a peek.  What?  Ah look, a teddy.  Must be a present.  Oh I've spoiled his surprise.  Smiling.  After all these years.  So romantic, even if it is kind of tacky.  So see-through!  Maybe if the lights were very dim.  Let's see.  Oh…it's tiny!  What size is this?  Petite!  I've been a fourteen for years.  Petite!  Imagine trying to squeeze into that!  R.J., so cute of him to do this, even if it is the wrong size.  Think he just thinks of me as that small or thinks it'll be sexy to see me squeeze into it?

"Annabeth!  What are you doing?"  R.J. walking into the bedroom suddenly.

Flinging my arms around his neck.  "Oh honey, that's so sweet of you!  I love it, really, it's beautiful."

R.J. gulping, funny look in his eyes, so uncomfortable I spoiled his surprise.  "I'm glad you like it."  R.J. patting me on the backside like he always does.

"It's a petite!  Did you think I was that tiny?"

R.J. scowling, stammering, looking out the window, back at me, away from me, mumbling, "Damn salesgirl.  I told her your size.  Lemme take it back."

Blushing shyly, "For a moment I thought you planned it that way--so it's tight and sexy."

R.J. kissing me, pushing me toward the bed, not talking, not answering.  Not talking, pushing me down, fast and hard like he always does.  Concentrate.  Oh there it is, I can do it.  Oh there it is.  Oh there.

"No man has ever cooked supper for me," said Annabeth to Doug, hours later when they stood together in his kitchen, preparing a meal.  "Your house is beautiful.  So gracious here right on the water.  And what a kitchen."

"I work too hard and don't cook often, but when I do, I like nice equipment."  Doug winked at her, squeezed her hand, then said playfully, "Like you, baby."

Annabeth smiled, but her look was distant.  Seeing him observe her, she knew what his next question would be, so she answered it before it was asked, "I've been cleaning out the attic."

"Oh?"

Feeling sad and nostalgic about R.J., yet conflicted; something was there under the surface and Doug could help her unravel it, she was certain, so Annabeth continued, "I found this black teddy."

"Yes?"

"Years ago, I had been cleaning out R.J.'s closet--I used to do it every month or so--he's a terrible slob.  Anyway, at the very bottom in a fancy box was this black teddy with red ribbons."

Doug's expression gave nothing away.  He listened intently, but made no remark.

"It was a size petite."  She laughed.  "I was never a petite.  Always too fat.  And too tall."

"You're not fat at all.  In fact I was thinking that you seem to be losing weight."

"Well, I'm no petite.  That's like a size four."

"I know."

"Anyway I thought it was so sweet of R.J.  I held it up to myself and thought how sweet it was of him to be hiding this gift for me.  Things couldn't have been so bad between us.  It wasn't even my birthday or an anniversary or anything."

"Hmm," said Doug.

"And he walked in and found me with it.  Looked so embarrassed.  Then he pushed me down on the bed and made love to me.  So fast.  He was always so fast."

"And I suppose the sex was great?"

Annabeth nodded.  "I concentrate, and it's always fine."

Doug smiled then became serious.  "What did he say about the size?"

"Oh he got all flustered then blamed the salesgirl.  Probably didn't want me to think he was some sort of bozo who didn't know what sizes mean."

"Could be," said Doug, clearly implying that there was more.

"He looked around the room, out the window, you know, like people do when they're feeling awkward."  Annabeth watched Doug's reaction to her story.  His expression was guarded, but in his eyes was a message, something she could see, but couldn't quite make out.  "Oh!  You think he lied?  That he picked the wrong size himself, with no help from a salesgirl?"

"Maybe," said Doug, his face still betraying no opinion.

"You just think he lied, don't you?"  Annabeth suddenly faced the truth.  "That teddy was never for me."

Doug's hand reached out to squeeze Annabeth's.  Looking deeply into her eyes, he gave her a quiet smile, something that comforted her.

"And he made love to me then to take my mind off it, to distract me from the truth, not because he was swept away by the idea of me in the teddy.  Oh, I see.  But at least he was good at the lovemaking."

Doug looked at her once again, silently, the look in his eyes a touchstone for Annabeth, who was replaying the scene in her mind.  He sat quietly, holding her hand, allowing her to review the past and glean from it the truth as she was ready to absorb it.

"You know," she said softly, slowly, thoughtfully, "He was always in a hurry.  Maybe he was never the world's greatest lover."

Doug nodded.  "Probably not."

"I saved that teddy all these years, wrapped in tissue paper, up in the drawer of an old armoire in my attic.  I always thought maybe one day if I lost weight, but really it wasn't that I was going to wear it.  It was just a sentimental treasure.  Of my husband's devotion."  Her voice trailed off then gathered strength, "But I threw it out today, even when I didn't realize."

"Good for you."

Annabeth smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.  Doug, in seeing them, reached for his handkerchief and gently touched her face, absorbing the moisture before the tears even rolled down her cheeks.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, feeling silly.  Doug wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest, allowing her to relax against him and be supported.  When he released his grip slightly, she leaned back in his arms and looked up at him, "Thank you so much.  I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back to be my best friend."

He said nothing but a soft "Ah," and pulled her close again.

They sat down to the table then and talked of less serious things.  Later he took her on a tour of his house and they stopped in his den, which was a large and pleasant room, containing a big oak desk with many pictures of his children on it,  a solid filing cabinet, a large bookcase filled with leather-bound books and a comfortable couch.  "I plan to put a pool table over there.  I just haven't had time to shop for one."

"What's in this box?" Annabeth asked, seeing an opened box padded with newspaper on top of the filing cabinet.

"It's my baseball collection."  He reached inside and pulled out a baseball signed by someone famous whose name Annabeth thought she may have heard, although she wasn't certain of it.  "I'm going to have a cabinet built and put them on the wall.  Sometime when I get around to it."

Annabeth nodded.  "How many do you have?"

"Seventy-eight."

"Wow."

"I used to collect model cars too, but they're all down at work."  They sat down then on the couch and talked for a bit about collecting various things until Doug took a deep breath and said, "You know I had such a crush on you in high school." 

"You're kidding!"

"I figured you'd never go out with me, though, so I didn't do anything about it.  Just stayed friends.  Well…." 

"I had a crush on you too, but you were too smart for me, I knew that."  And now he had Patsy for his girlfriend.

"Too smart!  You're kidding."

"No.  I never thought anyone as smart as you are would ask me out."

"I was going to ask you out.  I mentioned it to Grady and he said…um…said he was dating you."

Annabeth's eyes opened wide.  "But why?"

"Just to give me grief I guess.  We had a fight about it the day you bought your car."  Annabeth watch Doug as he continued, seeing the tension on his face.  "Remember I asked you if you had dated him?"  When she nodded he said, "And you said no, so after you went on the test drive I went out to confront Grady.  I said 'You never slept with Annabeth,' and he said 'Slept with her?  You didn't even let me sell her a car.'"  Annabeth laughed, but Doug was serious.  "Then I said, 'I mean in high school.'  And Grady laughed, 'Oh yeah, I remember, I said I was fucking her.  So what if I did?  You could never take a joke.'  And he glared at me like I was the biggest jerk alive, and the thing was, I knew it was true.  I was a jerk to listen to him then and ever since.  So I hauled off and socked him on the jaw." 

"You're kidding," she said, shocked. "He asked me out a few times recently."

Doug's eyes were shaded with concern. 

"But I never went.  Just didn't make sense to me that a football star would want me.  Now I see--he was trying to use me to hurt you.  I'm glad I didn't go--at least the slut thing didn't kick in then."  She smiled at him and touched his hand.

Doug shook his head.  "A smart guy wouldn't want you.  A football star wouldn't want you.  Who did you think would want you?"

They answered that question simultaneously, "R.J."

Doug squeezed her hand.  "You have to stop selling yourself short, Annabeth."  He took a deep breath, hesitated, then continued, "You need a real man, not a jerk like R.J., someone like me." 

Annabeth looked deeply into Doug's eyes, seeing the twinkling that was always there plus the light that came from within, and in it she took comfort.  Of course he'd say she needed someone like him; he was a loyal friend and he had a girlfriend now--he'd been over her a long time.  But he must still feel something or he wouldn't have socked Grady.  She would have to think about this when she was alone.  He squeezed her hand then and smiled at her, making his eyes twinkle even more.  Oh!  He was teasing her again.  She smiled back then and said, "Oh you're just thinking of me in that teddy.  Swept off your feet again."

Doug tossed her a wicked grin and said, "Nope.  Not at all.  I'm thinking of you without that teddy."

"Sure.  Keep dreaming."

He leaned in then, grasping her hair in his big hand and bent her head back against the couch, his lips coming closer, closer, closer to her neck, but stopping just beside her ear.  "You weren't meant for quickies, so wake up and think about it.  Imagine how it's going to be.  Hours.  Long hours.  Come on, Annabeth, you can't think straight, can you.  Can't breathe right.  Look at you.  You're mine."

Her eyes opening, astonishment on her face, a quickening deep inside her, she struggled to right her breath, to take control, to show him she could do it.  Hours, long hours.  How she wanted to say yes.  Hours.  She was about to reach for him, to turn her face toward his, to kiss him, to let it all happen, but then she thought of Patsy and Doug together, thought of all the times she'd given in when she shouldn't have, and although she knew this was different, she leaned away, took a deep breath, and said triumphantly, "I'm no nymphomaniac!"

His voice, strong and confident, his eyes merry, Doug said, "Yes you are.  Just wait."  Then they laughed together for a long time.

The next day, Annabeth and Sally toured the Women's Club with Julie.  It was located in an old house, one deeded over by a member who had no children to claim it after her death.  On a large piece of property, there was a lot out front for cars, street parking for any overflow, and several gracious rooms inside where many local events were held.  In the back was room for a tent, and of course the best thing about the location was that it lay on the water, so there was a pleasantly salty smell in the air. 

"I went to a wedding held here," commented Julie, "And it was just lovely.  They used the front two rooms, had a buffet, and the bride came down this stairway."

"Who was that?" asked Sally.

"Katie Hemming, you know her, don't you?"  Both Annabeth and Sally nodded.  "Anyway it was really lovely."

"How many people were here?" asked Annabeth.

"Hmm," said Julie considering the crowd she remembered.  "Maybe seventy.  I'm sure not a hundred."

"That seems about the right amount, I think, what with us and Jackson's group and friends from school.  Maybe a few more.  Bank people.  Law office people.  And Uncle Chip will be coming back from California with his whole family, do you think?"  Sally asked.

"Gee, I don't know," answered Annabeth.  "Chip hasn't been home but a few times since he moved out West."

"Yeah, he went out there for college and basically never came back.  Anyway you can always invite him and see if he comes," said Julie. 

"How much do you think to use this place?" asked Sally.

"I'll find out for sure, but I think maybe two hundred, maybe three."

"Wow," said Sally, "I had no idea.  Maybe we should just have the tent at home.  The back yard at home is just as pretty, even if there is no dock to take pictures on."

"Is it worth looking at the Garden Club or are they about the same?"  asked Annabeth.

Julie shook her head.  "You've lived in this town all your life.  How did you manage not to get involved in the right clubs?"

Annabeth shook her head.  "Just not interested, I guess."

"Well," said Julie in a condescending voice, "As you can imagine, the garden at the Garden Club is nicer.  Of course in February, there's not much of anything to see, plant-wise anyway.  But it's a nice house, like this, more lawn, basically similar."

"Oh, Gosh!" exclaimed Sally, "I've gotta get back to work."  She hugged her mother and aunt and raced off.  "We'll decide later," she said waving.

"I'm going to need something nice to wear to the wedding," commented Julie.  "Now this is what I was thinking.  A heavy silk, something not too complicated to sew."

"To sew?" asked Annabeth.

"Sure.  There's nothing good enough to buy in this town.  You might as well sew me something, don't you think?"

Annabeth felt like groaning, then kept silent.  She didn't have time to sew a dress for Julie.  She didn't even know what she herself would wear to the wedding.  But how could she say no, after Julie'd been so helpful today and was counting on her?

"I was thinking a tailored dress, a soft skirt, not too straight, maybe some fancy trim at the throat.  Have you seen any patterns like that?"

Annabeth remained silent for a moment, then thought back to her conversation with Doug about always saying yes to everything that was asked of her.  She took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve then reached out and put an arm around Julie's shoulder.  "You're my sister and I love you so much," she began.  "I've always enjoyed sewing clothes for you, you know that."

Julie nodded happily, "Yes, you're the best."

"But I can't make you a dress for the wedding."

"What?"  Julie's voice rose three octaves.

"I just don't have time.  I'm working around the clock on my art--painting knick knacks to sell--it's the only way I have to make money now, you know.  Plus I'm cleaning out the house.  I'll probably be moving soon and I haven't even had time to look at places yet.  I just can't take on any more work now."  Annabeth looked imploringly at Julie, "Please understand."

Julie sighed, but Annabeth remained firm, praying that there would be no need for an argument.  "Okay then, guess I'll have to take a shopping trip."

That was so easy!  Annabeth thought of Julie hours later as she climbed the steps to the attic.  She should have been firmer earlier.  She could stop being a patsy.  She laughed then.  Yes!  Be an Annabeth.

In the very bottom of the armoire drawer was a long, narrow box, which Annabeth opened and immediately began to weep.  Lifting the object from the box, she examined it.  It was a baby's mobile, storybook characters suspended in air, a music box at the base that could be wound up and played while the baby fell asleep.  Biting her lip, Annabeth paused, then steeled herself and started the music.  Her mind filled in the familiar lyrics, lullaby and good night….

"You're a big boy aren't you, two months old, so big and so smart."  Cooing like that, Richard loves it, loves to hear me coo, "Big boy, yes my big boy."  Holding the baby to me, the smell of him, the feel of him, soft in my arms, baby soft and warm, molding to me, so tender, oh the feel of him, this baby of mine.  Kissing his forehead, him smiling, silly baby grin, my baby, oh my baby.  Mother I am, to be this thing, this mother, caring for this baby.  Oh to hold him to me.  All I think of is to hold him, the feel of him, the love in me like a tidal wave for this person, my baby.

"You're going to spoil him," Mother Welner teasing me and then laughing, hugging me. 

Smiling at her, "Oh I hope so."

R.J. scowling, "I need some attention too."

"Of course you do."  Touching R.J. on the cheek, but I don't put the baby down.

"We could go away for a weekend, leave the baby with Ma," R.J. insisting.

No, I can't, not yet, no.  So small.  My baby.  "Soon we will, I promise."

Winter, so cold in that garage apartment.  Big boy now, seven months old.  Bundle you up.  Make it warmer in here, yes better.  Wriggling on my lap, so big so strong.

"Too warm in here," Mother Welner insisting, lowering the thermostat.  "Babies don't need to be smothered."

But I want to smother him, want to surround him with love, with myself the way he was when he was inside me.  Holding him, always holding him, oh the feel of this baby.

Mother Welner kissing him.  "He's too warm.  Doesn't need all those clothes."

"He's not too warm, he's growing.  Thermo-nuclear energy, really."

"What?"  Mother Welner bewildered.

At the table in the house, R.J. insisting, "Come on, it's just a weekend.  Ma will watch him.  You said we could months ago."  Always too cold in this house. 

I don't want to go.  I want to say no or to take him with us. 

"I insist," R.J. always winning.

Kissing Richard, so small, such a big boy.  Oh, my baby.  Never want to let go.  Of course he'll grow up and wriggle free but for now, I can hold him, breathe in his smell.  He does feel a little warm.

R.J. and me, all alone, how strange, no baby sounds, no need to hurry, can talk.  R.J. talking about business, wanting more, so full of ambition and dreams.  "We won't be in that garage apartment forever, you know."  Nodding, agreeing with him, thinking of Richard back with his grandmother, missing my baby.  "I'm going to start my own business, make money, working for someone else, you're a jerk.  Big dreams, baby, that's the answer."  Nodding, looking into his eyes, blazing with light, breathing fast, R.J. so excited, then kissing me, pressing me down, kissing me.

Going back to the house.  Richard!  A weekend is so long.  A new tooth I bet or rolling over differently.  I missed it.  Mother Welner at the door as we walk in, her face haggard, looks so tired.  Before I can touch her arm, ask was Richard a lot of trouble, she says, "Baby's been deathly sick all weekend."

Gasping, my heart pounding, going back to where he is, lifting him.  Deathly sick….

"I called the doctor and gave him some baby aspirins.  Probably a bad cold."  Mother Welner looking frantic.

"I always give him Tylenol."  Holding Richard, burning up, he's burning up.  Kissing him, so hot, oh my baby.  "You should have called us."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

Taking Richard to the hospital.  Deathly sick.  Waiting, cradling him, burning up, and in a hospital bed, vomiting, so strange, the look in his eyes, doesn't recognize me, deathly sick.  Pacing, cradling, trying to help him sleep, cool down, deathly sick.

Big, strong babies don't die of a virus any more.  No never.  They get better.  They come home.  They grow up and then when you tell the story of how once they were deathly sick as infants, they laugh at you and say "Sssh, Ma, you told me that a million times."

"Reyes Syndrome," the doctor explaining, maybe aspirin after a virus making it worse, I can't think, head pounding, throbbing, can't see straight. 

Walking into the corridor.  Mother Welner, her eyes on mine.  My baby, all I can think of, Tylenol not aspirin.  She knows what I'm thinking.  It's her fault.  Her face, tortured, guilty.  It is her fault.  She knows it, trying to touch me, but I'm thinking you're not my mother, and I pull away, walk away, outside that hospital, some air, my baby inside, dead, gone, no more Richard, dead. 

Sitting for months in that apartment, R.J. at work, Mother Welner making me tea, bringing cookies, sitting with me.  I can't look at her.  Go away, I think, go away.  You're not my mother. You're a murderer.  You murdered my baby.  I want to scream at her, but no, I say nothing, let her be, see the look on her face, the guilt, she knows she's a murderer, should be locked up, the throbbing in my head for years, 'till after Laurel was born and was safe, far away from Mother Welner.

Tears streaming from her eyes, Annabeth sank down to the floor, buried her head in her hands and wept until she had no more tears left.  A thought, a treacherous thought, found its way into her consciousness.  Mother Welner loved Richard too.  She didn't do it on purpose.  It probably wasn't even her fault; he might have died anyway.  But there was guilt on her face.  She thought it was her fault.  No wonder she hated Annabeth.  It had to be her fault because…because…because…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault, it must have been…no she couldn't…she couldn't…yes…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault it must have been hers.

"Oh," said Annabeth aloud, "Oh,"  pressing her hand to her throat, struggling to right her breath.  "Sometimes people get sick and die, like my mother did.  Nobody's fault, just happens."  She thought about the years of migraines, the hatred she felt for her mother-in-law, and the hatred that was returned to her for decades.  She didn't know, Mother Welner didn't know.  How could she know he would get so sick, that Mother Welner wouldn't know what to do?  Nobody could know and she didn't know either.  She didn't murder Richard.  He died, he just died.  Yes, but if Annabeth been there…if she hadn't left him.   She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.  Reaching into the armoire, Annabeth removed the baby blanket, so carefully wrapped in tissue paper and stored in a sturdy department store box and then walked down the stairs and out the front door.

She drove first to a florist, bought a bouquet of pink roses intertwined with baby's breath, and then another bouquet, just the same, only red.  It was a short drive to the cemetery, one of two in town.  The sorrow as intense as it was all those years ago, Annabeth walked toward the grave.  There was a small headstone, simple lettering, a dove carved into it above his name and the dates of his so very short life.  Annabeth stood silently shivering without a coat in the chilly December air, remembering her child, the smiles, the tears, the way his life ended.  Laying the flowers down on the ground she touched the stone lightly, and in her mind she saw the life he might have led, the triumphs, the laughter, the love they might have shared. He was gone, he died, and by some stroke of fate, she was not there to prevent it.  If only she could have done something to save him.  If only….  She stood for a long moment, feeling all her sorrow, not knowing how to stop it, then she walked toward her mother's grave, and set down the other bouquet.

I got the Chicken Pox while Mom and Dad were away at that legal conference that time.  I was only four.  Gram took care of me.  She gave me baby aspirins.  And I didn't die.  "Possible complications caused by administering baby aspirins with a virus.  No real proof, though, so sorry,"  The Doctor saying no proof, just Richard sick with a deadly disease.  I didn't die from the Chicken Pox.  People stayed with me all the time and I didn't die.

The distance between the cemetery and her mother-in-law's house was short.  In a moment she was ringing the bell, and feeling as though she hadn't been at this door in years rather than only six months.

Mother Welner, standing straight and scowling at her, opened the door quickly, then said, "R.J. isn't here."

"I'd like to talk to you."

Annabeth entered the living room then and seated herself on the couch, facing Mother Welner, who sat down in her usual chair.  "I've been cleaning out the attic, and I found this."  She opened the box and removed the blanket, handing it to her mother-in-law whose face turned ashen.  "I thought I should give this back to you.  Maybe you'll want to give it to Linna if there are more children, or maybe save it for one of the girls."

Clenching her jaw, Mother Welner answered, "I don't think anyone will want it."

Annabeth struggled to know what to say next.  "I really wanted to blame someone when Richard died.  Anyone but me.  Even now I think that if I'd been here, maybe I could have done something."  Her eyes filled once more with tears.

"You had someone to blame, me."

Wanting to stop hurting, but not knowing how, Annabeth said, "You didn't know.  And the doctor said maybe it wasn't even the aspirins."

The old woman looked into her eyes.  There was no hatred there, only pain, and she replied honestly, "I should have known."

"And I should have been here."

Two mothers looked into each other's eyes, each knowing that you can do only what you can do, that you can't be there every moment, that somehow you have to trust the fates to keep your children safe, to let them live.

"I'm sorry," they both said at once.

"We should have had this talk a long time ago," said Annabeth.

Mother Welner nodded, reaching out to touch Annabeth's hand, which opened to hers.