by Pete Fromm
“Worried?” he says.
She smiles, draws herself up. “If it worked out all right.”
It’s like talking to Rudy. Then he gets it, smiles himself. “She’s teaching till Christmas,” he says, and doesn’t miss the touch of color that comes back to her cheeks.
Midge grabs Taz’s fingers, tugging on them, climbing up onto his feet. She tugs again, like putting her heels against a horse, shouts, “Go!” Taz starts walking her around on his feet, her new favorite game.
“I didn’t just sit around all day myself,” Lauren says.
Midge steers by pulling on one finger or the other. She directs him into the kitchen, around, back out. “Spending a day with Midge isn’t much like sitting around.”
“Ted,” she says, serious enough to stop him.
He turns.
“I talked to some realtors today,” she says, out with it, fast.
Taz blinks. Midge keeps after his fingers.
“There is nothing for me anymore that is not right here.” She waves toward Midge, still on Taz’s feet, pulling him toward the toy box.
Her living here?
“I won’t even start looking if it’s not something you think you can handle.”
He staggers over to the toy box, lets Midge loose to do her worst. “Sounds like you’ve started already.”
“Ted,” she says. “I’m trying here.”
“I did some looking, too,” he says, before giving it a second’s thought. “Back in the darkest days. Talked to my parents.”
She goes blank, as if he’s left the planet, zoomed off into a whole other world.
“They live in New Zealand. I don’t know if you knew that.”
“Marnie said.”
“I, my dad, he nosed around, about getting me work down there.”
She puts a hand down, steadies herself on Marnie’s gigantic table. Where she wanted to entertain the multitudes. At least build forts underneath with Midge.
“They’ve never seen Midge,” he says. He glances up to her. “They never even met Marnie.”
Lauren takes a second, collects herself. “They could come here if she meant anything to them. Could have at any time.”
“It was just talk. Like what you’re doing with the realtors.”
She’s shaking. “But I am talking about moving here. To Midge.” She stares at him. “You would, would you really take her that far?” she says, like she might come across the table at him. Fight him to the death for her.
Taz shakes his head. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
She doesn’t say anything, but drops her gaze, the stare down.
“Truth?” he says. “I don’t really think I could move. Away from here?” He waves his hand around. “After all we did? All the work? The whole fell swoop?”
She looks down, brushes some invisible crumb from the table. “I was afraid you’d leave just because of all that.”
“I know,” he says. “And maybe I should. Still can’t face the bathroom. Even after tearing it out. I can’t even go into the mountains for a Christmas tree. The way she’d eye about a thousand, finding all these invisible flaws, then pick the perfect one, no different, far as I could tell, from any of the rest.”
“She was good on invisible flaws,” she says.
“Wasn’t too bad on visible ones either.”
“Good god, no. I had all mine paraded before me, believe me.”
He keeps nodding. The way she could pick a thing apart. A person. The way she could put him back together.
“So,” her mother says, “my talking to realtors?”
“It’d be a big step,” he says, “just to be the grandma. You know, the old lady down the block she’ll visit less and less?”
Lauren coughs as if punched. “Well,” she says, “Marnie gave you the gift, didn’t she. The old lady down the block?” She smiles. “And you know who you’ll be, don’t you? The dad. The old man who embarrasses her. Who she’ll fight to get away from. Who she’ll lie to, to run off with boys. Right to your face. All your trust. Whose heart she will break as surely as if—”
Taz chops the air between them with the edge of his hand. “Enough!” he says, but he gives out a long “Phew,” says, “Mercy,” says, “Maybe we’ve both got the gift.”
Lauren raises an eyebrow. “We’ll both be obsolete before we know it. It’s in the job description.”
“She’s not even two,” Taz says. “Not even one and a half. Let’s give her a while.”
“Well on her way,” Lauren says. “Believe me. I’ve raised one before. Didn’t even see the sidelines until I realized that’s where I’d been left.”
“That’s our job, though, right? To make sure they leave us behind?”
“It is,” she says. “But who on earth would ever take such a job?”
He says, “Who’d be begging for a second round?”
She spreads her hands flat on the table, bows her head. “Touché,” she says.
They stand that way for a minute, just looking at the tabletop, their hands, the room quiet around them, just Midge’s babble as she searches through the bottom of the toy box, looking for any last thing she hasn’t hurled out into the world.
DAY 461
After most of a week of no work, Marko calls, out of the blue, talks his ear off, another job, a meeting in the morning, another rocket launch, the sky the limit. Taz hangs in there, letting him wear himself down, and when he’s finally finished, Taz clicks off and falls into the chair at the kitchen table. Can’t believe the raw stupid luck of it.
He calls Lauren, tells her about the new work, and she just says, “Well, thank god I didn’t get that ticket.” She’s all but laughing.
But she snoops enough to learn that Elmo might be back for the weekend, and maybe that’s why she tweaks her back, or says she does, why, Friday afternoon, as soon as Taz gets back from meeting with Marko, she’s off to her motel, says she might just get a hot pad, watch movies all weekend, maybe venture down to the hot tub.
And, an hour or so later, there’s a knock at the door, so tiny Taz might have missed it if he hadn’t spent a week hoping. He eases the door back, and they stand smiling at each other, until Midge comes to see who now, and cries, “Mo!”
Elmo drops down and they cling to each other. It goes on and on, the two of them recharging.
Midge eventually begins to squirm, to pull away. Elmo lets her go, and Midge takes her hand, takes her back to her room, showing her everything that’s changed, which is pretty much nothing except a new stuffed toy from Grandma. A Cookie Monster to go along with her disheveled Elmo. There’s no difference between the two, as far as Taz can tell, other than color, but the Monster has sat pretty much untouched since Grandma brought it out of her bag. Midge only calls it “Blue Mo,” kind of like one word.
From the living room, Taz hears Midge cackle, cry, “Mo, Blue-mo!” and barely Elmo’s, “Seriously?” and he smiles, knowing that’s what she’d say.
When they come back out, Midge drags the stuffed Elmo by a leg, still laughing, tugging at him, saying, “Mo,” then tugging on the real Elmo’s hand, saying, “Mo,” cracking herself up no end. Elmo gives Taz a what-can-you-do?
They take her out, a milk shake, then back home they set up an elaborate block castle together—Taz has made her more blocks than any ten children should possess—and when Midge finally settles into bed, Elmo hits the couch like she’s ended the longest day of her life. “You can’t believe how much I’ve missed her,” she says.
“I can,” Taz answers.
Elmo smiles, says, “I guess you could.” She closes her eyes, sighs. “Where’s Grandma?”
“Motel. She, I think . . .” Taz wonders, but goes on. “I think she’s giving us space.”
“No lie?”
Taz says, “I think so,” and Elmo pushes herself up, says, “Well then,” and takes two quick steps forward, and kisses him, a quick peck, and just as quickly steps back. “There,” she says. “Co
uldn’t let Grandma’s deal go to waste.”
She pulls the door open, slides most of the way out. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.
Sometime middle of the night, that kiss lingering into his dreams, the nightlight flares and Taz, not quite awake yet, feels his blankets being pulled back, and then the light crush of his mattress, and his heart does a leap that comes out as a gasp, and he turns, lifting his arm for Marnie, only to feel Midge crawl up and in with him.
He says, “How?” and then, “Midge?” and then, “Sweetie, what?” and she only crunches in tight against him, and says, “Toady,” which means that she’s cold.
He props himself up on an elbow in the dimness and looks down at her snarl of hair, her eyes already closed, and then over to the crib, imagining the high wire/prison break/mad ninja moves she must have used. He grins, picturing her concentration, her effort, and eases back down, puts an arm around her, and though she’s already almost completely out, he starts another installment of Marnie the Mariner for her, Marn running up the rigging, leaping along the masts, swinging back down to the deck, all of it just exactly like the Mighty Magnificent Midge rappelling down the face of her crib.
She’s still curled tight to his side at dawn, and Taz gathers his breath, holds it, begins to sneak toward the edge of the bed, moving his legs inches at a time, rolling over and out, but keeping his arms pressed against the mattress, squelching any bounce. He throws the little blanket from the crib over his own blankets, and tiptoes around the bed, gathering clothes, and slips into the kitchen, starts the coffee, wondering if Midge is finally going to use her own big-girl bed. He remembers bringing in his stupid blind fox joint, wanting Marn to marvel over it as much as he had himself, and Marn maybe already seeing how the real marvel—their daughter coming into that bed and making it her own—was still years in coming.
DAY 504
Finally, Christmas looming, the schools wrap up classes, the streets suddenly deserted. Old snow blows along the empty pavement, and Taz warms up the truck before strapping Midge into her car seat, Lauren shivering beside him in the driveway.
“Really, Ted, I can watch her. There’s no need to drive her all over the country.”
Taz cinches the belt, turns out of the cab. “She likes going places. She’ll go nuts when she sees El.”
Midge, on cue, starts chanting, “Mo, mo, mo!”
Taz says, “Look at her.”
Lauren looks down the street instead. “But it’s so far, and it’s winter.”
“Roads are fine. I checked.”
“But . . .”
“Lauren, we’ll be fine.”
She looks down at the frosted ground. “I just—once she’s—I just don’t know how many more days I’ll have her to myself.”
Taz puts a hand up on her shoulder. “You’re not being replaced. She’s just done with her student teaching. She’s moving back home. She’s going to be looking for work.”
Taz glances over at Midge, double-checks that the diaper bag is there, her new book, the extra blankets. “We’ll be fine, back by this afternoon.” He slips in behind the wheel, the heater charging the whole cab. “I’ll shoot you a text,” he says, “when we hit town.” Then he closes the door, tells Midge to wave, and puts it into gear.
The roads are clear, other than the pass, though the sky is ominously low. Midge conks as usual, leaving the cab empty but for the push of air out the vents, the rush of road around them.
He pulls up in front of Elmo’s apartment, walks around the truck, drops the tailgate, and Elmo charges down the walk, already carrying the first box, skidding to a stop when she sees Midge. “Taz?” But Midge is pounding on the arms of the car seat, shouting, “Mo!” and Elmo hands the box over to Taz and hauls Midge out, both of them laughing as they go up the stairs.
They’ve emptied the whole apartment before Taz asks, “Your car?”
Elmo winces. “Um. In back. Dead. You okay with driving?”
“Great with it,” Taz says, and Elmo grins, bundles Midge into the cab, Taz climbing in after them, turning the key.
“Rudy’s better with cars than wood,” he says. “Maybe we could—”
“Tazmo and Rude goes all auto mechanic?”
Taz says, “Why not?” and Midge grabs Elmo’s hand, swinging it up and singing that they’re all going for a drive, a drive, a drive.
Elmo says, “And what brings Midge up here? Grandma too busy?”
“Just thought it’d be fun. Even before I knew you’d be joining us.”
“Driving to Helena and back? True fantasy vacation stuff.”
“So,” Taz asks, “once the fantasy is over, then what?”
“Start putting out apps. Big time.”
But Midge won’t take any divided attention. She points to the diaper bag, says, “Mo, book,” and as Taz gets back on the highway, Elmo starts to read One Fish, Two Fish.
It snows on the way back, nothing predicted, and Midge doesn’t give Elmo a second of peace, telling long, indecipherable stories, wanting her to read Bish again, and again, asking for snacks, the front of the truck a sudden fog of Cheerios. Taz works the wipers, squeezes the wheel, drops the speed down once, then again, so it’s dark when they get into town, Midge cranky, head drooping, too thrilled to be riding with Elmo to nap, the drive failing to do its knock-out trick.
Taz glances over to Elmo, catches her eye, and she says, “My place, I suppose,” and Taz doesn’t say a word, just eases through the dark and the snow, Midge finally dozing off three blocks before Taz pulls up in front of Elmo’s, the porch light on, a few Christmas lights draped in behind the window glass.
“Homey touch,” Taz says.
“Rudy’s, probably.”
Taz smiles.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get yours up to speed,” Elmo whispers. “Unless, you know, you’ve already gone all Griswold over there.”
“No, saving that for you, for sure,” he says, and reaches up and switches the dome light off before Elmo opens her door. “I’ll back it into the shop,” he says. “It’ll keep your stuff dry. We can unload tomorrow.”
Looking just as worn-out as Midge had, Elmo says, “Thanks, Taz, for everything. Especially for bringing her.”
Taz thinks it has been his biggest mistake of the day, hardly a word exchanged between them, but he nods, says, “We’ll see you tomorrow,” and she reaches over Midge to hold his hand for an instant, give it a squeeze.
“I hope she sleeps for you,” she says, then slips out, carrying her coat, one box she’d been resting her feet on for the whole ride. Taz watches her up the walk, until she’s got the door open, turns and waves. Then he gentles out away from the curb, onto the nearly trackless street, keeping Midge asleep until he backs up his drive, parks, and undoes the car seat’s straps.
She murmurs something when he lifts her out, so warm under her blankets she’s almost hot to the touch. Her face hits the cold air, the touch of snow, and she scrunches in against his sweatshirt. “Home?” she says.
“Home,” he says.
He carries her up onto the porch, reaches, turns the knob, pushes the door in on the darkness.
“Mo?” she says.
“No,” he says. “No Mo.”
She whimpers, pushes away from him. He sets her down, on her feet. She goes straight for the toy box. Drags toys out, barely over the lip, scattering them behind her, across her lap. But she’s not really awake, not really into it, and she comes back to him, holds up her arms. He lifts her, carries her into their room to get her jammies.
She says, “Want Mo.”
He gets her down, knows, with the sleeping on the way over, he’s maybe in for a night, then finds his phone and punches in a text to Lauren. “Home again, all safe.”
It seems he’s hardly hit Send before the phone chimes back. “Thank you,” then, “Welcome back.”
He goes out, opens up the shop doors, moves the saw out of the way, the jointer, and backs the truck in.
He leans a
gainst the truck seat, drops his head against the glass separating him from all Elmo’s stuff, everything in its place, a truckload of decisions to be made. He sits long enough for the cold to seep in, his breath starting crystals of frost climbing the windows.
Taz? Marn whispers.
He smiles, knew she’d show up.
It’s time to go, she says. You’ll freeze out here alone.
He nods, his head still against the glass, his eyes closed against the glare of the shop lights. Midge will feel like a furnace when he goes in, makes sure the blankets are right. Maybe he’ll move her to the big-girl bed. Make the move back down the hallway. Finish the bathroom.
DAY 505
Midge stays in her crib, asleep, all night, and when Elmo comes over the next morning, she doesn’t knock, just slips inside the door, sees Taz on the couch with his coffee, says, “Morning, Ralph.”
Taz smiles. “Night, Sam.”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.”
“Me too. Any more coffee in there?” She gives a wave toward the kitchen.
“Should still be hot,” he says.
She comes back with her cup, sits down beside him. “How’s our little terrorist,” she says.
“Still out cold.”
“The big one?”
“Not here yet. Should be though, any sec.”
“Work? Pretty busy?”
“Not too bad.”
She nods, as if the two of them have never spoken a word to each other before.
Taz keeps looking into his cup. “So,” he says, but then they both hear it at the same time. A little rattle of crib bars. No babbling. And only a moment later there’s the plasticky shush of feet pajamas, a slow shuffle across the floor. El turns first to Taz, then peers over the top of the couch, toward the bedroom door as Midge comes out, rubbing her face, dragging her stuffed Elmo. She comes around, flops against Elmo’s leg, worms her way up onto the couch, into her lap.
Elmo rubs her back, blinks at Taz. “How long has this been going on?”