lined up beside the fence. Dress-up clothes in the trunk—that’s where the pennant belonged. She took another sip of wine. She had more to be upset about than a misplaced toy.
When she finished her wine, she returned to the kitchen and confronted the yellow pages again. Water coolers. Water damage emergency service. Water gardens. Water heater dealers. The Building Center ad said, “Same-day installation. Complete ordering with one call. Low prices, guaranteed.” That’s what she needed. Surely she could arrange a monthly payment plan. She dialed the number.
Chapter 4
Anna
E vening settled over their house and the lengthening shadows promised an end to her miserable day. Back and forth she paced across the family room, round and round between the piano and the toy box. Eddie’s head nestled on the crook of her left elbow and his legs were tucked beneath her right arm. The warmth of his body seeped through her shirt as he squirmed against her chest. With each step she twisted at the waist, rocking him as she walked.
Surrounded by quiet, she hummed a nonsense tune. Note after note, her song climbed the scale, then hovered at the high tone for a long moment and finally tumbled down to the bottom of her register. Eddie seemed heavier than usual that night. His weight tugged against her arms as if she were carrying a bag of bricks.
Every fifth or sixth round, she pulled a sheet of Kleenex from her sweater pocket and dabbed her nose. This was the fourth day of her cold—maybe tomorrow she would feel better. But first, she had to get beyond the rest of today.
Through the family room window she watched the evening sun float like a fireball above the treetops. Its rays backlit the clouds in wavering shades of orange and purple. Earlier in the day she caught the smell of spring—fresh and crisp as young parsley—while it rode the breeze, a welcome hint of warmer weather to come. The days had grown longer and the air had finally lost its winter bite; patches of emerald dotted the straw-colored lawn. She was eager for summer, for lilacs and irises and daylilies and tomatoes off the vine.
“Mommy, why’s Eddie so crabby?” asked Chris. His question echoed her question, earlier in the afternoon, of him. “Why are you so crabby today?” she had asked. His words often reflected hers, reverberated back her observations, her wonderings, her impatience. Chris’s legs stretched into a wide V on the family room floor and his back rested against the toy box, against the field of violets she had painted on that pine chest when he was a baby. At this moment, he was sanguine, easygoing, focused on play. One after another, he fitted LEGO pieces together. He was building a fire station.
“I don’t know,” she said. Sometimes she answered his questions that way, just to stop the constant inquiry. He could go on forever, asking her to explain a seemingly endless, and random, litany of things. What’s a breeze? Why doesn’t that bird fall down from the sky? Where does hair come from? Do snakes poop? Does it hurt when he’s dead? he asked after Gordy, his pet gerbil, had died.
But this time she really didn’t know the answer to his question. Eddie was an ordinarily happy baby, smiley and bubbly and quick to charm everyone who met him. When he was hungry, he’d fuss for a moment and then, as she nursed him, he’d settle down immediately, nuzzling at her breast like a satisfied puppy. She’d rate his contentedness a 9.5, while, some days, Chris barely made a 7.
But tonight Eddie was whiny and restless. Earlier, when she laid him in his crib, he cried until she picked him up again. She’d fed him, then changed his diaper. He’d never been like this. Maybe he was getting sick, too. He hadn’t been ill at all, not even a cold, in the six months since he was born.
“Time to put the toys away and head to bed,” she announced.
“I want a story.” Chris stared at her through commanding, hazel eyes
When she finished her wine, she returned to the kitchen and confronted the yellow pages again. Water coolers. Water damage emergency service. Water gardens. Water heater dealers. The Building Center ad said, “Same-day installation. Complete ordering with one call. Low prices, guaranteed.” That’s what she needed. Surely she could arrange a monthly payment plan. She dialed the number.
Chapter 4
Anna
E vening settled over their house and the lengthening shadows promised an end to her miserable day. Back and forth she paced across the family room, round and round between the piano and the toy box. Eddie’s head nestled on the crook of her left elbow and his legs were tucked beneath her right arm. The warmth of his body seeped through her shirt as he squirmed against her chest. With each step she twisted at the waist, rocking him as she walked.
Surrounded by quiet, she hummed a nonsense tune. Note after note, her song climbed the scale, then hovered at the high tone for a long moment and finally tumbled down to the bottom of her register. Eddie seemed heavier than usual that night. His weight tugged against her arms as if she were carrying a bag of bricks.
Every fifth or sixth round, she pulled a sheet of Kleenex from her sweater pocket and dabbed her nose. This was the fourth day of her cold—maybe tomorrow she would feel better. But first, she had to get beyond the rest of today.
Through the family room window she watched the evening sun float like a fireball above the treetops. Its rays backlit the clouds in wavering shades of orange and purple. Earlier in the day she caught the smell of spring—fresh and crisp as young parsley—while it rode the breeze, a welcome hint of warmer weather to come. The days had grown longer and the air had finally lost its winter bite; patches of emerald dotted the straw-colored lawn. She was eager for summer, for lilacs and irises and daylilies and tomatoes off the vine.
“Mommy, why’s Eddie so crabby?” asked Chris. His question echoed her question, earlier in the afternoon, of him. “Why are you so crabby today?” she had asked. His words often reflected hers, reverberated back her observations, her wonderings, her impatience. Chris’s legs stretched into a wide V on the family room floor and his back rested against the toy box, against the field of violets she had painted on that pine chest when he was a baby. At this moment, he was sanguine, easygoing, focused on play. One after another, he fitted LEGO pieces together. He was building a fire station.
“I don’t know,” she said. Sometimes she answered his questions that way, just to stop the constant inquiry. He could go on forever, asking her to explain a seemingly endless, and random, litany of things. What’s a breeze? Why doesn’t that bird fall down from the sky? Where does hair come from? Do snakes poop? Does it hurt when he’s dead? he asked after Gordy, his pet gerbil, had died.
But this time she really didn’t know the answer to his question. Eddie was an ordinarily happy baby, smiley and bubbly and quick to charm everyone who met him. When he was hungry, he’d fuss for a moment and then, as she nursed him, he’d settle down immediately, nuzzling at her breast like a satisfied puppy. She’d rate his contentedness a 9.5, while, some days, Chris barely made a 7.
But tonight Eddie was whiny and restless. Earlier, when she laid him in his crib, he cried until she picked him up again. She’d fed him, then changed his diaper. He’d never been like this. Maybe he was getting sick, too. He hadn’t been ill at all, not even a cold, in the six months since he was born.
“Time to put the toys away and head to bed,” she announced.
“I want a story.” Chris stared at her through commanding, hazel eyes
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