by Neta Jackson
If my dad ever said anything to Josh about his transformation from bald-with-a-single-topknot a year ago to hair now only inches away from the hippie look, I never heard about it. In fact, when we got back from the store, Josh and Amanda had my dad shouting with a noisy game of Dutch Blitz, while my mother suckered Denny and me into a game of Scrabble—then kept putting down five-letter words on triple-word-scores. Sheesh.When did my parents get so competitive?
But I knew what I was thankful for this Thanksgiving.Time to just hang out with my parents. For that matter, just hanging out with Amanda and Josh, which hardly happened anymore. Thank You, Jesus! Thank You for Stu reminding me not to take my family for granted.And speaking of Stu—oh God! Cover her with Your grace as she goes back home. Help her parents run to her, just like the father of the prodigal son—
“What? ” Denny was adding up the scores. “Mom Jennings, are you sure you only got 235 points? ! I’m shocked!” My mother giggled like a schoolgirl.
Later, as my dad prayed over our store-bought meal—a rather lengthy prayer that included my two brothers who were spending the holiday with their in-laws, a smattering of missionaries “in foreign lands far from home,” and “all those in our own country with out the comforts and blessings we enjoy” —I peeked at my parents holding hands with Josh and Amanda on either side of them. My dad’s voice was still commanding, even if his hair had lost the battle. My mom’s finger joints, however, looked swollen and misshapen with arthritis. How painful was it? All the ads on TV made it sound like arthritis relief was just a pill or a cream away. Her hair was almost completely gray now, worn short in a nondescript style. Hm.
My mind began to plot. I could take her to a beauty shop tomorrow and get her hair done. Then we’d pick up Amanda and go to lunch, “just us girls.” Though maybe it would be too expensive to do both.
Invest in your relationship, Jodi.What’s money for?
“CLOSE YOUR EYES, GRANDPA!” Amanda hollered into the house the next day, after our Girls Day Out. “Oh, no, I don’t trust you . . . here.” She waltzed to her grandfather’s recliner and put her hands over his eyes as I steered Mom into the living room and stood her in the middle of the room. Then we yelled together, “Ta-da!”
My dad stared. Mom was as nervous as a Jack Russell terrier, but she turned around obediently, her cheeks pink. “Well,” he said. “Well. It’s a change, isn’t it? ”
“Grandpa!” Amanda rolled her eyes.
“Dad!” I echoed. “She’s beautiful, and you know it!” A bit of a sassy cut, a rinse that lightened and brightened the gray, and a set and blow-dry had taken five years off my mom. I laughed and pecked her on the cheek. “Don’t mind him. He’s just afraid all the young bucks are going to start calling.”
That’s when I saw Denny crook his finger at me from the door-way. I followed him into the kitchen, grinning. “You like it? ” I jerked my thumb back toward the living room.
Denny nodded absently and held up our cell phone. “Ben Garfield called. Ruth’s water broke this morning.”
“Ruth’s—what? Her water broke? ” My heart skipped a couple of beats. “But she’s not due till Christmas! Is she . . .? ”
Denny shook his head. “I don’t know. Ben was scared; he called an ambulance. They’ve taken her to the hospital. He wasn’t exactly coherent. Just kept saying, ‘Pray, buddy. You gotta pray for my baby.’ ”
Baby. Singular. Probably meant Ruth.Was she in danger?
We stood in my parents’ kitchen, nursing our thoughts. Mine tumbled through my head like kittens on catnip.Ruth’s water broke! This is it, then. Either she’ll go into labor, or they’ll have to induce it. How long will it take? Are the babies big enough? What if there are complications with the birth? Is anybody with Ben and Ruth? Has Ben called anyone else? We should be praying.They need us to be praying! Not just praying. Praying with them, being there for them—
Denny and I said it aloud almost in the same instant. “We need to go home.”
MY PARENTS TOOK IT PRETTY WELL, CONSIDERING. The kids didn’t complain about going home so suddenly either. “In fact,” I told Denny as we pulled onto the interstate an hour later, “maybe it all worked out for the best.We had a couple of days with my folks, not too long, and we’ll have a couple of days at home too.”
“Yeah. Except . . .” Denny’s face puckered into his lost puppy look. “No turkey leftovers at home. No apple stuffing. No leftover cranberry-and-orange relish—”
“Oh, stop.” I whacked his shoulder. “Feel free to roast a turkey. Make all the trimmings. Knock yourself out, kiddo.”
We didn’t get back to Chicago until almost eight o’clock that night.My heart was pounding as the four of us took the elevator to the second floor of the medical center. Had the babies already been born? Was everything all right? Oh Jesus, please . . .
To my surprise, we found Edesa Reyes curled up in a chair in the waiting room outside the maternity wing. “Jodi!” She jumped up, her delight genuine. “I am so glad you are here!” The young Honduran gave all four of us hugs, even pinched Josh’s midriff and teased, “You don’t look one bit fatter after your Thanksgiving dinner, amigo.”
Josh snorted. “You don’t really want to know about our Thanksgiving dinner.”
Easy. Playful. Friendly. But in my heart, I heard my son’s tortured whisper: “I love her so much, and I don’t know what to do.”
I blew out a breath. Hoo boy, I needed to focus. “Is Ruth all right? Where’s Ben? ”
“Ben’s with Ruth. Delores is too.” The corners of Edesa’s mouth tipped a little smile. “Good thing. Ben’s kind of a wreck. The doctors waited several hours to see if contractions would start on their own, but they finally started a pitocin drip this afternoon. Couldn’t risk waiting any longer. But . . .” Edesa’s dark eyes clouded. “Delores says they’re worried about Ruth’s blood pressure. Way up. If they can’t get it down, they may need to do an emergency C-section.”
We settled down to wait. And pray. Yo-Yo showed up in her overalls and flopped into a chair, complaining that she’d had to wait until Pete came home to stay with his brother. “It’s a blankety-blank Friday night an’ ya want me ta babysit? ” Yo-Yo mimicked Pete’s rant. “’Cept he didn’t say blankety-blank—oh, hey, Josh. Hey, Amanda.”
After we’d chatted a bit, Edesa decided she’d go home since several of us were on hand now. “Ricardo has a gig tonight; José’s with the kids. If Delores has to stay all night, she’d probably feel better if I stayed with them too.”
“I’ll take you,” Josh said. “Maybe I should take Amanda home too. It could be a long night.Whaddya think—Mom? Dad? Want me to pick up Willie Wonka? ”
Oh, that was smooth. But it was a good idea.
The kids left. The big, round clock ticked slowly toward ten. I’d called most of Yada Yada from the car when we finally got a good cell phone signal to make sure everyone knew the situation. Had to leave a message for Avis and Peter. Chanda was still worn out from the radiation, even had to cancel Becky’s housewarming party, but told us to call her soon as we had news. Florida said she’d come soon as she could, but they were supposed to visit Chris at juvie in the morning. Stu was out of town; I decided not to leave a message. Only got Adele’s answering machine. Same at the Sisulu-Smiths.
What had I expected? It was a holiday weekend.
Ben showed up in the doorway of the waiting room around eleven o’clock. The man looked like he’d been roughed up by thugs. His shirt collar was open, his silver hair hung lank and damp, his face strained. But he managed a weak smile. “What, you guys just happened to be in the neighborhood? ” He pumped Denny’s hand.
“How’s Ruth? ” we all said at once.
He sighed. “Worn out. Contractions coming hard, but not making much headway. That Delores, though, she’s the best. Blowing with Ruth, telling her what to do. Me, ha.Might as well be that big purple Barney. Just in the way in there.”
Denny jabbed a finger at him. “Tell you what
, man. Let’s go grab a cup of coffee. Jodi, you’ll come get us in the cafeteria if he’s needed, won’t you? ”
So Yo-Yo and I weren’t invited. Man talk. Maybe that was best. Was Ben still worried about Tay-Sachs? Had he ever talked to Ruth about it?
I remember looking at the clock as it pushed midnight. But I must have fallen asleep then, because the next thing I knew Delores was shaking me. “Sister Jodi! Yo-Yo! Where is Ben? We need him—quickly.”
“What? ” Adrenaline pumped all my systems awake. “He and Denny went to the cafeteria.What’s wrong? Is Ruth OK? ”
“The babies—one is vertex, but the other is breech. Ruth wants to birth them both vaginally, but the doctors don’t want to risk it. Her blood pressure is high, too high. They want to do a C-section—now.”
THE NEXT FEW HOURS passed in a blur. After Ben disappeared into the inner sanctum, I finally got hold of Avis, Florida, and Nony. All three showed up around two a.m.,wearing sweats and no makeup. Avis pulled us all into a circle and we held hands and prayed and cried a little from sheer tiredness and frustration and—OK, I admit it—not a little fear on my part. This had been such a long, hard road for Ben and Ruth. I didn’t have any fancy prayers. Just, “Oh God! Don’t let anything happen to Ruth! And please bring those babies into the world safely.”
And then we waited some more. “The imbecile who invented these waiting room chairs ought to spend the night in one,” Florida grumbled.
At one point Yo-Yo said, “No news is good news, right? ” No one answered.
I dozed again, didn’t realize daylight had invaded the waiting room until I heard, “Buenos dias!” Delores stood in the doorway, a square,white mask hanging loosely around her neck. She was smiling. A weary smile—but a smile, reading the questions on our faces. “Sí, sí, Ruth is fine. She’s awake. She insisted on a spinal so she could be alert during the C-section. The babies are small—barely four pounds each. But doing good. A boy!” She grinned wider. “And a girl!”
For two seconds the words hung in the air. A boy. And a girl.
“Praise Jesus!” Nony cried. And for half a minute, the room rang with all sorts of giddy praise as we hugged each other.
Delores cleared her throat. “Actually, I came to get the Baxters and Yo-Yo for a quick peek. We didn’t know anyone else was here. But I had to grovel like a mendigo to get even three in.”
“Wait up, now.” Florida held up a hand like a crossing guard. “You gonna tell us what they named these babies? ”
“Um, maybe Ruth and Ben should tell you themselves.”
“Delores Enriques! If we was in high school, I’d say, girl, you better not let me catch you in the hallway or you never gonna make it to your next class!”
We were all so tired and giddy, I’m not sure if we laughed or choked. But Delores was already heading out the door, so we privileged three hustled after her. “Here.” She handed us three square masks with flapping strings. “Put these on.”
We tiptoed into a recovery room with a lot of machines and a partially closed curtain. We heard, “But why didn’t you tell me, bubelah? ” Ben’s usual growl was muffled by a loud snort as he blew his nose. “You let me be worried sick.”
“I let you? Oy! Did you ever ask me if my family was a Tay-Sachs carrier? —Oh, look, she’s sucking her thumb. Careful, you big nebbish.”
I poked Denny. Did that mean Ruth didn’t have the Tay-Sachs gene? That if those two had just talked about it, it would have saved Ben all that grief? Denny shrugged and rolled his eyes. I made a fist and shook it in the air.Wasn’t sure if it was a pumped-up “Yes!” to God—or an urge to sock two stubborn old goats.
I calmed down and peeked around the curtain.Ruth, hooked up to an IV and a couple of monitors, looked up and winced. “Ay ay ay, look who’s here. Our favorite goyim.” Her hair was a damp mess, her skin pale. But resting on her chest, skin to skin, were two waiflike creatures, a blue knit hat on one, pink on the other, tiny oxygen tubes taped to their red, elfin faces. I caught my breath.
Ben and Ruth’s babies.
Yo-Yo stuck her hands in the pockets of her overalls and hunched her shoulders, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. “Hey. Guess you two are OK, since you’re fussin’ an’ all that.” Denny and I laughed.
A nurse bustled in and fiddled with the monitors, frowning. “Mrs. Garfield needs to rest.”
“Rest, shmest.” Ruth rolled her eyes. “They wanted to knock me out during the C-section too.What, miss my own babies’ births? Oy!What kind of shmegege do they think I am? ”
Ben crooked his finger at us to come closer. Ruth’s eyes got soft as he reached out a leathery finger and tenderly stroked a tiny cheek under the little pink cap.
“Havah,” he said softly. “My daughter. That’s her name.Havah. It means ‘life’ in Hebrew.” Then he chuckled. “In Yiddish it means ‘little bird.’”
Havah. It had a hushed, musical quality to it. How perfect, I thought.
A tiny fist poked into the air beside the blue cap, as if not wanting to be left out. Ben touched it and the miniature fingers curled around his own. “Yitzak,” he whispered. “Isaac. My son.” He looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “It means laughter. ”
And Ben threw back his silvery head and began to laugh.
44
The hospital discharged Ruth four days later but kept the babies for another three weeks until they reached a goinghome weight of five pounds and had developed good sucking reflexes. I could just imagine the fuss Ruth put up.What, leave her babies? ! C-section or no C-section, she was determined to breastfeed the twins, so she pumped and froze bags of breast milk and made Ben drive her to the hospital every day, where she spent ten to twelve hours holding, feeding, stroking, and singing to her babies.
“We don’t have a life,” Ben complained.
We just laughed at him.The man was a little crazy himself, buying two of everything. “Ben!” I told him. “You don’t need two changing tables! Besides, you don’t have that much room.”
“Sure we need two,” he said stubbornly. “What if they poop at the same time? ”
The hospital must have wondered about the large “extended family” that came to see the twins.We even had our first Yada Yada meeting of December in the maternity waiting room at the hospital again—didn’t actually ask permission, just showed up.
“What can they do? Ask us to leave? ” Adele believed in asserting yourself; by the time the powers that be figured out what to do, you’d had your time in the sun.
So we did, and they did—ask us to leave, that is—but not before we had a chance to catch up with each other and do some quiet praising.
I’d already heard about Stu’s visit to her parents, but she shared again with the other Yadas. “Thank you so much for praying, every-body. I was so nervous driving to Indianapolis that I threw up in a gas station toilet and they didn’t have any soap or paper towels, so I ended up smelling like—well, you know. So I was kind of a mess when I got to my parents’ house, but I told myself that’s the first thing I’d do, clean myself up, calm myself down, have a sit-down talk with my parents. Then, when they opened the front door, my mom just said my name. ‘Leslie!’ . . .” Stu stopped, her lip quivering. Someone handed her a tissue. She pressed it against her eyes a moment, then blew her nose.
After a few moments, she tried again. “Anyway, we all just ended up crying and hugging, and they didn’t even know yet how much I’d messed up.”
“Don’t think that daddy of the prodigal son did either,” Becky said. She grinned. “See? I’ve been reading my Bible.”
As Stu talked, I saw healing in her posture, in her voice. Her parents had cried when she told them about the abortion—the grandchild they would never have—and cried again when she told them the baby’s name was David, and he was waiting for them in heaven. “I invited them to come have Christmas with me.Now that Becky has new digs” —she grinned at her former housemate— “I’ve got my guestroom back.”
“Speaking of Becky’s digs,” Yo-Yo drawled, “what happened to that housewarming we was s’posed to have? Whatchu been eatin’ on, girl? Paper plates? ”
Becky didn’t immediately respond but looked at Chanda, who was picking at her nail polish. “Aw, Chanda, I know you didn’t want me ta say anything, but . . .” Becky’s face turned pink. “Last weekend, Chanda took me shopping. We bought half the stuff on my list at Target—dishes, pots an’ pans, silverware—”
“Stainless flatware,” Chanda sniffed. “Not’ing special.”
“Special ta me. And she bought me a shower curtain an’ towels an’ sheets—all that kinda stuff. But the best thing of all was goin’ ta Wickes Furniture and gettin’ a real bed for Little Andy, so he don’ have ta sleep on the floor when he comes on the weekend.” Becky threw her hands wide. “Y’all have ta come see my place! Not all at one time, though. Ain’t that big.”
I felt humbled. God was so patient. He could use a little boy’s lunch or a lottery windfall, as long as we let Him. Bless Chanda, Jesus. I wanted to hug her. Maybe later.
All the time Becky was talking, Florida had had her eyes closed and was murmuring, “Thank ya, thank ya, Jesus, yes, I thank ya . . .”
“Flo? ” I ventured. “What’s happening with Chris’s case? ” She’d better not give me that “relieved” business either. Even if God was at work, she had to be dying with her son in the detention center.
Florida just shook her head. “Jesus, Jesus, that boy sure do need some kind of miracle.” Her eyes were still closed, so I wasn’t sure if she was talking to us or praying. “Public defender say they wanna put all those boys away for maximum sentence ’cause the perp used a gun. But he didn’t fire at anybody, an’ he was the only one went into the station. But they sayin’ Chris was in the getaway car, so he’s just as guilty.” Tears squeezed out of her eyes and ran unhindered down her cheeks, wetting the scar that lined the side of her face. “I jus’ gotta thank Jesus for what He’s gonna do, because Carl an’ me, we feel like we buttin’ our heads against a brick wall.” She reached out and grabbed Becky Wallace’s hand. “An’ I thank God for Becky movin’ in. Cedric an’ Carla takin’ to her real good—which helps a lot, frees us up to deal with this, go see Chris.”