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good for you. TV commecials about cancer frightened Adine. Mrs. Vorlob lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Smoke streamed upward as she spoke. “Some of the other babies at the hospital did need batteries, so to speak. They were so tiny they couldn’t live on their own. Baby’s lucky—or I should say we’re lucky that Baby’s as healthy as he is. A few of the other preemies had enough wires and tubey things attached to them that they looked like miniature astronauts.”
    Adine imagined a whole crew of Cabbage Patch Preemies floating through outer space in suits of metallic silver, her tiny brother leading the way.
    â€œIs Baby retarded ?” Bernice asked, curling her upper lip.
    â€œNo, sweetie,” Mrs. Vorlob said. “He’s just little because he was born early. And he’s special and bright and beautiful—like all of you.”
    The refrigerator was humming-buzzing in the corner, as if it were gossiping with the stove.
    Mrs. Vorlob leaned back, tilting her chair. “When I was in the hospital,” she said, “Dr. Hunter told me I couldn’t have any more children. Baby’s our last.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Carla.
    â€œWell, I guess you could say my body just won’t take it anymore.”
    â€œLike how your body won’t take riding the roller coaster at Great America?” Bernice asked.
    A grin cracked across Mrs. Vorlob’s face. She eased her chair forward again, the front legs clipping the floor twice, like hooves. “Kind of, honey. But I can take pills so I can ride the roller coaster. I can’t take pills to let me have more babies.”
    â€œBut I thought we were going to have a baby for every letter in the alphabet!” said Dot. “ A, B, C, D, E, F, G . . . ,” she sang.
    Mr. Vorlob hooted until he coughed.
    â€œSince Baby’s our last,” Mrs. Vorlob said, “we have to come up with something really special for his name. It’s got to be perfect. I want to do something different with the nursery, too.”
    â€œYou mean, we have to redo the F wall?” asked Adine.
    â€œWell, maybe,” answered Mrs. Vorlob. “You girls did such a nice job, though. Let’s just wait and see.”
    â€œIt’s because Aunt Irene ruined it by putting that cat on it,” Carla whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
    Aunt Irene shot Carla a toxic look.
    Mrs. Vorlob crushed out her cigarette and got up. “Let’s all go to the nursery and see how that new brother of yours is doing.”
    â€œCan I hold him?” Adine asked.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œMe, too?” asked Dot.
    â€œMe! Me!” yelled Effie.
    â€œYou’re not strong enough, silly,” Carla said to Effie.
    â€œ Every one can hold him,” said Mrs. Vorlob, as she pulled the old list of names off the refrigerator door and tossed it into the garbage pail by the sink. “Baby’s as light as dandelion fuzz.”

7

Baby
    One by one, Adine, Bernice, Carla, Dot, Aunt Irene, and Mr. Vorlob, who was carrying Effie, filed into the nursery behind Mrs. Vorlob and crowded around the crib.
    â€œRemember, he’s very fragile,” Mrs. Vorlob cautioned, hovering over the crib. “Be gentle.”
    Baby was curled up under a fluffy white blanket, a sparrow hidden in a cloud. He was sleeping, his tiny breaths moving the blanket up and down ever so slightly. Mrs. Vorlob pulled the blanket back, giving everyone a full view. Something about him—his size, shape, posture—suddenly reminded Adine of the chickens that hung in the old butcher shop downtown.
    â€œHe’s ugly! ” Carla piped up, poking at Baby through the rails, over the bumper pad. “He’s so—pink! And purpley! And he looks worse than in the pictures you took, Daddy.”
    â€œHis head looks like a tomato,” Bernice whispered.
    â€œHe’s really, really, really little,” Dot sang,