by Dana Mentink
Monk gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The baby. I heard it’s gonna have fins, but don’t you pay it no mind. My cousin Swannie had webbed toes and we didn’t respect her none the less. Besides she was an expert at the swimmin’ pool. We’ll love the little bun in Ruth’s oven, fins or no fins.”
Ruth felt a swell of laughter building. She managed a quick, “Twins, not fins,” before she started to laugh.
Alva blinked. “Twins? Ain’t that what they call a pair?” He pointed to her stomach. “Two of them in that compartment?”
She nodded, giggles escaping like spurts of steam. Monk began to guffaw, too, until all three of them roared with laughter.
Alva wiped his eyes. “Well, that’s a relief, ain’t it? I’ll just go back to the hospital and tell ’em they made an error. Whew. I thought we was goin’ to have to keep it in an aquarium.”
Ruth and Monk got the hysterical laughter out of their systems by the time they made it home. Bobby and Jack were waiting on the front step when they arrived. Both shot to their feet and stood awkwardly. Then Bobby wrapped Ruth in an enormous hug, and Jack pumped Monk’s hand vigorously before they all entered the sitting room.
“I can’t believe it,” Jack said. “Twins. Amazing.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Monk’s wide face was still pale. “I don’t believe there’s a propensity for doubles in either of our families that we know of.”
Ruth took the steaming cup of tea gratefully from Bobby’s hand.
“Aunt Ruth, is everything. . .all right with the babies?”
She inhaled the herbal steam for a moment, willing it to sooth her jangled nerves. “Yes, they are perfectly fine, as far as Dr. Ing can tell. One is a little small, but not abnormally so.” She read the question on Bobby’s face. “We decided not to know the gender.”
Jack smiled. “Going for the surprise finish. I like it.”
Monk smiled back. “It seems like we’ve had a big enough surprise for one day.”
The look Monk gave Ruth was so tender it made her want to start crying again. Instead she changed the subject. “Jack, how is the investigation going?”
“Nowhere fast. There is some question about the folks funding this historical project.” He shot Bobby a look. “And Reggie was a man who lived on the fringes, that’s for sure.”
Ruth recalled the strange comment from Roxie. “Have you, er, found out if Reggie was working with anyone besides the college people?”
Jack gave her a sharp look. “Why?”
“Oh, just something Roxie said about her son, comparing him to Reggie. It just struck me as odd.”
“Odd for sure. Her son, Eddie Seevers, was in trouble on and off. Some of it with Reggie. Small time, mostly.”
“Jack, what happened to Eddie?”
“He died. Lost a kidney as a complication from drug use, and his mother gave him one of hers. Died of an OD.”
Ruth sighed. The pain must be unbearable for poor Roxie. “At least she can breathe easy knowing Eddie wasn’t responsible for what happened to Reggie.”
“He’s in the clear for sure.” Jack jammed his hands into his pockets.
“You sound doubtful,” Monk said.
Bobby laughed. “I think he’s always a little doubtful.”
“It’s just a question of who knew whom. Eddie knew Reggie before the guy was strangled. So did Roxie, and she never mentioned it to me. That’s a pretty big omission.”
Monk nodded in agreement. “Yes, can’t exactly blame that on forgetfulness. Any luck tracing that knot?”
Jack shook his head. “No.”
In spite of the shiver in the pit of her stomach, Ruth could not suppress a yawn. “I’m so sorry. This day is catching up with me.”
Jack and Bobby gave her a hug, and Bobby whispered in her ear, “It’s going to be okay, Aunt Ruth. We’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
Too overcome with emotion to speak, Ruth squeezed her hand.
The house settled into quiet. Monk busied himself wiping down the kitchen counters, taking out the trash, and dusting until Ruth couldn’t stand it anymore. “Monk. Stop. Please just stop and tell me this is going to be okay.”
He stood frozen for a moment. Then he came over to the sofa where she sat and knelt next to her. “Ruthy, I’ll be perfectly honest and tell you the idea of having a pair of babies gave me a turn. To think, two to hold and juggle around, and the bills—” His gaze became unfocused.
Her eyes started to fill. “I know. I can’t believe it. At our age. What are we going to do?”
He blinked. “Do? We should take action to prepare.” “How do you prepare for this exactly?”
“We’re going to start by making a list right now.” He fetched a pencil and began writing. “Two cribs for sure.” His brow crinkled. “Is it two cribs, Ruth? Or do you just kind of stack them in one?”
She gave him a look of complete exasperation. “I have no idea.”
“Okay. I’ll put a question mark next to that one. Two car seats and sets of bottles. How about strollers? Do they make two-seaters, or do you get singles and strap a couple of them together?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Lord, help us. We are in double trouble.”
Monk grabbed his keys and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I better go buy a book about this twin stuff. I’ll be back soon.”
Ruth spent the evening fluttering from one thing to the next like a hyperactive bee, accomplishing nothing of consequence. She heard Bryce come home after eight, hair tousled from time spent at the beach. Monk was still gone, trying to catch up on the catering work he’d fallen behind on due to their doctor’s appointment. She lay in the bed, too tired even to get up and see if her son needed anything. The slam of his bedroom door told her he was still brooding about things. She knew firsthand how difficult it was to disentangle two lives. Roslyn was removing herself from Bryce’s life as effectively as Phillip’s death had removed him from hers. She’d never thought of divorce in that light before. It was like a death, in a way.
Divorce. The word sent a shudder through her spine. What would she do if Monk left? How would she cope without him? Alone, with two babies. What if the strain of having an instant houseful sent him over the edge?
Desperate to take her mind off the future, she grabbed the notebook from the bed stand and flipped it open. Indigo’s life was much more fun to think about than her own at the moment.
The spring has been a mild one, praise God. The twisted pear tree outside my tent has a promising collection of buds. I have tagged each blossom with the name of a miner who will pay two dollars and fifty cents for the chance to have his own pear when summer comes. It makes Hui laugh to see the paper tags dancing in the wind, festooning the branches like dozens of kites.
In the afternoons, sometimes, if the sun is shining, we hunt for mushrooms. Hui knows which ones can be eaten and he has shown me how to dry them along with some seaweed he collected. I do not know what we will concoct with these exotic ingredients, but it eases my mind to know that we have started to collect some bits of food against the harsher winter weather which will come.
Hui has shown me something that may help us save enough to buy a little shop someday. He told me about something called a Hangtown Fry. It was hard to understand him at first, but I surmised it to be a type of dish made of an egg scramble with bacon and oysters mixed in. They call it egg foo yung in his country, but here it is a delicacy. The men are quite willing to pay two dollars a plate for it. Two dollars! Hui swims like a minnow, so he dives along the edge of the surf and pries the oysters from the bottom. If he cannot reach the oysters, we use abalone instead and the men seem just as happy. Though it terrifies me to watch his dark head disappear under the water, he is thrilled beyond measure when he hands over the lumpy oysters and whatever abalone he can find.
We pry them open and he crushes the shells to add to the glittering walkway that leads from our tent to the beach. Twice now he has
even found a pearl. They are irregularly shaped and oddly colored so there is no sense to sell them. It brings me greater joy to see how he likes to keep them in his pocket, taking them out now and then when the men aren’t around to see them shine in the sun.
Hui sees treasure in things that other people take for rubbish. To think that Señor Orson worked so hard for his treasure and lost his life in the process while we reap riches tossed up from the ocean straight from the fingers of God.
I have heard that we are lucky to have so many oysters and abalone to make our Hangtown Fry. The miners in areas farther south have stripped all the good sized beds. All the better for us as the rare traveler to these parts will pay handsomely for his supper, too.
Ruth closed the notebook when the phone rang.
“Hello, Mrs. Budge?”
“Yes, hi, Sandra.”
“Hi. Um, I was wondering if you could tell me if there’s a convenience store anywhere close by? Everything seems closed up tight.”
She checked the clock to find it was almost nine. “That’s Finny for you. We roll up the sidewalks at six o’clock. You’d have to drive to the next town for a convenience store open at this hour. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, uh, no, not really. I just needed some disinfectant and gauze.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, no. Ethan is scraped a little.”
“Scraped? What happened?”
“We were out walking, and he fell and cut himself on some metal.”
“Really? Does he need stitches? There’s a hospital right off Whist Street. They can fix him up there.”
“Ethan is kind of private. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Never mind, Ruth. It’s not that important.”
“Why don’t you come over here? I’ve got bandages and gauze. Please. I’d be happy to help out.”
Sandra hesitantly agreed. Ruth threw on some clothes. When Sandra arrived fifteen minutes later, her cheeks were pink from the walk.
Ruth looked around. “You didn’t bring Ethan with you?”
“Ah, no. I told you he’s really private. I’ll just take the supplies back over and clean him up.”
“Are you sure he isn’t going to need some stitches?”
“No, no. He’s fine.”
Bryce came into the kitchen and greeted them. Ruth explained the situation.
“Who would think taking a walk was so hazardous?” Sandra laughed nervously.
“What did he cut himself on?”
Sandra shrugged. “A drainpipe, I think. Sticking up from the ground. Can you believe it?” She grabbed the supplies and thanked Ruth again before she scurried out the door.
Bryce frowned. “You know, Mom, an hour ago I was walking down by the cliffs.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Funny thing, but I saw two people suiting up for a dive.”
“A dive? At night? Who were they?”
“I couldn’t see the guy real well, but I recognized the girl all right.”
Her own face pulled into a puzzled frown. “Sandra Marconi?”
“Uh-huh, and I sure never heard of anyone taking a walk wearing a wet suit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ruth spent Saturday in a blur of activity. She felt the urgent need to cook, clean, garden, whatever would help her prepare her mind and house for the arrival of the babies. She didn’t remember eating, or the sporadic visits from her husband. There was only work and the eventual collapse into bed at an insanely early hour.
She woke the next morning in a mass of twisted sheets, her body covered with cold sweat. Her eyes flew open. Twins. It hadn’t been a dream. She clamped her lids shut and tried to take a couple of deep breaths. When she opened them again, the frightening fact remained: She was still pregnant with not one baby but two.
How did one even birth two babies, let alone raise them? Maybe Monk had the right idea. She should start reading every book she could on this wild and scary topic. No, she thought firmly. With Bryce she’d read every book ever penned on the subject, and all that did was make her feel inferior. She was going to let God handle things this time and hope it all turned out better. What did God do with His children? He loved them unconditionally. He did not spare them from disappointment and sorrow, but He guided them through the pain. She thought about Roxie.
Mothers love their children in spite of everything. Where did we learn how to do that, I wonder? Ruth knew. There was only one model of perfect love.
She felt a surge of confidence. “I can do this,” she said aloud. “I can raise two babies.”
Climbing out of bed, she enjoyed the fleeting moment of peace. Then she went into the bathroom and threw up.
On her way to the kitchen, an iridescent flutter of color caught her eye. It was Alva’s abalone shell, winking against the flood of morning light. She picked it up, thinking of Indigo and her glittering path of crushed oysters and abalone. The thought pleased her. Treasures tossed up from the fingers of God. Absently she stowed the shell into her purse to return it to Alva before the hapless Carson showed up to wreak more havoc on the house.
After a breakfast of dry toast and weak tea she composed herself enough to make it to church, where she slid into the seat Monk saved for her. “How are things at the restaurant?” she whispered in his ear.
“Fine, just fine.” His eyes rolled in thought. “Say, Ruth, do you think we ought to consider having a bathroom added onto the house? I mean, aren’t we going to need two of everything? Maybe we could squeeze in double sinks, but they’ll just have to share a shower. No way we can fit in two of those.”
The look she gave him must have blasted the idea away because he cleared his throat and patted her hand. “Um, never mind. We’ll talk about that later.”
The news had already spread throughout the congregation. Even Pastor Henny exclaimed over the miracle from his spot at the podium. The attendees cheered for Ruth and Monk as if they were rooting for a basketball team. Ruth’s face flushed, and she tried to sneak out after the service.
She was waylaid by people offering their best wishes and folks reaching out to touch her stomach. Feeling more like a parade float than a parishioner, she finally made it to the parking lot. Monk kissed her and offered to drive her home before opening the shop.
“No thanks. I could use a walk to clear my head.” Then she started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking it’s a good thing Alva didn’t persuade everyone the babies were going to come out with fins.”
He chuckled as he drove away.
Ruth strolled along the tree-lined sidewalk, oblivious to the clumps of rhododendron that provided a shelter for dozens of small birds. Her thoughts ran in anxious circles. Twins. How many bottles would she need for two babies? Would their car be big enough for a pair of car seats? High chairs! They only had the old wooden one of Bryce’s. Did they make double seater high chairs now?
She groaned. “I’m beginning to sound like Monk.” To avoid driving herself completely crazy, Ruth turned her energy to Indigo’s writing. One line in particular danced in her head. Señor Orson worked so hard for his treasure and lost his life in the process. What could the treasure be? It must have been some valuable treasure indeed that Orson was willing to book passage on an overloaded coal ship instead of waiting for a proper steamer.
Curiosity drove her to the library, with only a quick stop to snack on the ever-present crackers she carried in her purse. Sundays were the best day to visit the library, as Ellen wouldn’t be in until afternoon, leaving more genial volunteers to run the place in her absence.
Ruth sat at the computer, removing the abalone shell from her purse when it poked her in the side, and did an Internet search on lost treasure. She found several entries about rock bands she’d never heard of, a perfume guaranteed to “turn the wearer into the queen of her destiny,” and many articles about shipwrecks. With a sigh she turned her focus to Indigo’s
more practical treasure, typing in Hangtown Fry. The old computer was still stuck in think mode when a voice made her jump.
“As you can see, I run a tight ship here. No book out of place, no lights on unnecessarily. Every bit of paper recycled, and ink cartridges as well.” Ellen stopped when she saw Ruth at the computer. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”
A weary-looking Dr. Soloski stood just behind her, still wearing his suit from church. “Hello, Mrs. Budge.”
“Hello, folks. I didn’t expect to see you today, Ellen. I was just doing a little research.”
Ellen fisted a hand on her hip. “I see. And what is the topic du jour? Anything you need help with?” She snatched up the shell. “What’s this?”
Ruth felt suddenly embarrassed. “It’s Alva’s shell.”
The doctor smiled. “Ah. I thought it looked familiar.”
Ellen gave a ferocious snort. “You’ve seen one shell, you’ve seen them all.” Her eyes swiveled back to Dr. Soloski.
He looked at Ruth as though he were a drowning man asking for a life preserver.
Ruth began to babble. “Oh, well, this shell is really nice. It’s smaller than the other abalone, and it doesn’t weigh very much.” She decided to change the topic. “Dr. Soloski, Roxie said she saw you at the hospital in San Francisco. I hope everything is all right.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yes. Everything is fine, thank you for asking. I go there weekly to visit Jane.”
Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “Jane?”
“My sister. She’s been disabled since birth. I became her caretaker when my mother died five years ago. I brought her a locket.”
“Ohhh.” Ellen patted his shoulder, relief shining across her face. “Such a good son. Jane is so lucky to have a brother like you.” She returned her attention to Ruth. “You enjoy your research,” she said, taking Dr. Soloski by the arm. “I’m sure you’ll be an expert in no time. Just remember, you don’t get pearls from abalone.” She laughed again, the sound echoing through the quiet library.