Special Blessings

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “No coffee for me,” Therese said, “but that would be lovely. I’ve heard they have good subs. Lew hasn't had supper yet.”

  “Oh, well then, let's go.” Candace picked up her handbag and the large tote she had brought and flipped off the lights after the couple preceded her out the door. Leaving their cars parked where they were, they made the short walk across the street to the Diner on the Corner. Even in the evening, the yellow café curtains created a cheery atmosphere. Candace herded the couple toward a table at the far left end of the long, narrow room, assuming that Therese would find it easier to get in and out of a chair than a booth.

  When the three of them were settled and had given the waitress their orders, Lewis cleared his throat. “We want to talk to you about ultrasounds. Our doctor wants Therese to have one done.”

  “Another one? It's a little soon, isn't it?”

  “We have never had one.” The tips of his ears grew red.

  Candace tried to hide her surprise. “You haven't had one already? I thought those were practically standard procedure now.”

  Therese's face grew as red as Lewis's ears. “No, and it's my fault.” She lowered her face and lifted one hand to her forehead. “I’ve never been through this before, remember? When the doctor mentioned an ultrasound, I thought it involved a needle.”

  “No, that's amniocentesis.”

  “I know that now.” Therese shook her head in a self-deprecating manner. “But that's why I said no ultrasound. The doctor didn't really try too hard to talk me into it, so we let it drop.”

  “It's partly my fault too,” Lewis added. “When she said she didn't want one, I didn't ask why. I just figured she knew what she wanted, and I’d support that.”

  Candace nodded. “Being supportive is important. Ultrasounds are harmless and painless, and they’re helpful in seeing if the baby is growing normally. Did he say why he wants you to have one now? Was there something unusual in the AFP screening results?” The alpha-fetoprotein test was routinely done between sixteen and eighteen weeks' gestation to detect the presence of certain chemical markers that could signal birth defects.

  There was silence. The bustle and clatter of the restaurant suddenly seemed very loud around them.

  “I, ah, never had that test done.” Therese looked apologetic. “I was four months along before we even realized I was pregnant. And even after the positive pregnancy test, I spent a couple of weeks in denial. I was so sure I couldn't be pregnant.” She shook her head. “So at the time, it would have been most useful, I wasn't ready to consider it. Plus, there was the whole needle issue.” Her voice trailed away, as she shuddered.

  “A lot of people feel that way about needles.” Candace knew Therese didn't need someone sitting in judgment; she already felt bad enough.

  “I’m sorry now that I didn't have it done,” Therese offered, confirming Candace's instinct.

  “So how about having the ultrasound?”

  “I guess,” Therese said. “If you promise me there are no needles.”

  “It's noninvasive and painless,” Candace assured her. “They’ll put some jelly on your abdomen and slide an instrument called a transducer over your belly. It uses sound waves to create pictures.”

  “All right.” But Therese still looked apprehensive.

  “Would you like me to go with you?” Candace offered.

  “You would do that?” Therese looked amazed.

  “I’d be happy to.” Candace smiled, as Therese nodded. “Great. Let's set it up.”

  The weather was nearly perfect for jogging, Elena thought as she stepped outside her home on Wednesday morning. The heat and humidity of summer hadn't struck yet, and the air was pleasantly cool.

  Cesar came out the door just as she was beginning to stretch, and they limbered up together. As she pressed her heel down to stretch her calf, she said, “Isn't it a beautiful morning?”

  Cesar took a moment to respond. “Yeah.” He sounded less than enthusiastic, and Elena smiled to herself. Cesar hated getting out of bed. Once he was up, he always was glad he’d gotten an early start; but he used to hit the alarm three or four times until it began to wake Izzy, and Elena had begged him to stop.

  “Ready to go?” she asked a moment later.

  “Yeah.”

  “You want to set the route today?” They often took turns choosing the way they ran. Elena often drove a new route before running it, so she could get an idea of how long it was.

  Cesar nodded. “Sure. It's going to be a little longer than usual.”

  “Why?” She began to work on regulating her breathing as they struck a pace.

  “I want to gradually increase my distance until I’ve doubled what I normally do.”

  “Doubled?” To say she was surprised was an understatement. “Why on earth do you want to do that?”

  He shrugged. “I want to get in better shape.”

  “You’re already in better shape than most men your age,” she commented.

  “Most isn't all.” He turned his head and flashed her the roguish grin that always made her stomach flutter. “Don't you want to see me in better shape than anyone else my age?”

  She laughed at the mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, of course I do, but I don't want to you make yourself crazy trying to get that way.” She studied him as they ran. “What's behind this sudden drive to get in better shape?”

  Cesar's grin faded. “I told you, I just do. No big deal.”

  But as they continued to run, she had a distinct sense of disquiet. Why was Cesar suddenly so worried about exercise? Was there something he wasn't telling her?

  That was silly. She knew it was. If he had some major issue going on, he would have mentioned it to her.

  Wouldn't he? The question bothered her all day, becoming an almost constant distraction.

  At home after work, forcing herself to set her worry about Cesar aside, Elena decided to keep herself busy. She took a basket of clean laundry to her bedroom and began to fold items, sorting them into piles on her bed. When she pulled out a small pair of pink shorts, she smiled and shook her head. It definitely was time to retire those.

  Folding the shorts, she laid them on her dresser to put away with Izzy's other outgrown clothing. If no one in her family needed them in the next few years, she could give them away.

  A short while later, she finished cleaning the hall bath and headed for her room to clean up before she started dinner. When she walked into her bedroom, something looked wrong. After a second, she realized the pink shorts were no longer on her dresser.

  Hmm. That was odd—

  A strange noise from the kitchen grabbed her attention. What was that? She hurried out the hallway and into the kitchen, to find Izzy dragging a chair toward the counter. Scattered spots of white on both her and the floor prompted Elena to look at the counter, where a bag of flour lay and a mixing bowl already had been placed.

  “Izzy, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Isabel finished moving the chair to the counter and climbed up on it before she acknowledged her grandmother's question. “Hi, Buela. I’m going to make some cookies for dinner.”

  Elena raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. What kind shall we make?”

  “No. I’m making cookies by myself.”

  “I see.” Elena shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey, but you can't be near the oven by yourself when it's hot.” Not to mention small details like reading the recipe and measuring proper amounts. “I’ll help.”

  “No, I want to do it alone.” Izzy's volume increased as her attitude disintegrated.

  “Isabel.” Elena made her own voice calm and quiet in response. “We do not shout in the house.”

  There was a moment of electric silence during which Izzy clearly struggled with a desire to respond but prudently managed to control the impulse.

  “You may not work in this kitchen without supervision and help. So you have two choices today: Let m
e help you make cookies, or put everything away and forget it. Why don't you take a minute and think about what choice you want to make.”

  Sighing to herself, Elena began to clean up the flour.

  A moment later, a sullen little voice said, “You help, Buela.”

  Chapter Eleven

  GIDEON AND NELSON WERE LATE COMING HOME from school on Thursday.

  James felt discouraged. He had had a talk with Gideon after last Friday's escapade, when Gideon had admitted that he had dropped Nelson off and gone over to his “friend” Jenni's house.

  “But her mom was there,” he’d argued. “It's not like anything happened, Dad.”

  “Oddly enough, that wasn't my primary concern,” James had said. “We have taught you right from wrong, and we expect you to behave honorably regardless of whether or not there is an adult present.”

  Gideon's eyes had slid away from his, and James's level of concern had skyrocketed. But he’d forced himself not to overreact.

  “The issue, from my point of view, was your choice not to follow our family rules. You did not ask permission to go anywhere after school, and you didn't let us know where you could be reached. That's not okay.”

  “You could have called my cell if you really needed me,” Gideon had muttered.

  “I did,” James had tried to stay calm. “If you recall, I left three messages. You never called me back.”

  “But you said there was no emergency.” Gideon apparently hadn't grasped the fact that he was really on thin ice.

  Just thinking about that exchange was enough to raise James's blood pressure, which was rising steadily anyway with each minute that ticked by with no sons coming home from school. Funny, but he’d thought his relationships with his sons were too solid to be affected by the problems so many parents of teens faced. Ha!

  “I’m not going to try to call,” he told Fern, “because I don't want to get in the habit of having to track Gideon down. And I don't want him to think he can stay out until we call.”

  “I agree,” Fern said. “But do you think they’re all right?”

  James knew what she was thinking. He too was imagining all the bad things that could happen to a teenage driver. “I do,” he said, more to calm her than because he believed it himself. “I’m sure they’ll be home very soon.”

  Just then, the sound of car tires on the driveway broke the quiet. The automatic garage door opener whirred. An engine cut off, and the garage door closed. A few moments later, Nelson came through the side door. Gideon followed at a much more leisurely pace.

  “Where have you boys been?” Fern asked.

  “Just hanging out with some friends,” Gideon said. He gave her a quick buss on the cheek and headed for the refrigerator.

  “Oh yeah, some friends,” Nelson said sarcastically. It was clear that he wasn't pleased at arriving home late. “And that girl.”

  “I was with my friends,” Gideon informed his father.

  “Were not,” Nelson retorted. “You were with Jenni.”

  Gideon turned a look of utter loathing on his younger brother. “Why do you have to run to Dad and tell everything?”

  “Hey!” If there was one thing that James did not tolerate, it was disrespect for another family member. “You need to remember our family policy, Gideon. If you can't treat everyone in this family with respect, then we’ll discuss revoking some of your privileges.”

  “Oh, great,” Gideon said. “I should have known that was coming.”

  “Honey,” said Fern, “you’re acting like we’re the enemy. Why are you so angry?”

  Gideon's face flushed a deep red. “I just don't feel like you need to know every little detail of my life,” he said. “It's my business.”

  “When it impacts your brother or us, it becomes our business.” James was unyielding. “Nelson depends on you to bring him home at a certain time. Your mother and I have entrusted you with a car because we thought you were dependable.”

  “So now you’re going to take away my car?” Gideon sounded outraged.

  “Did I say that?” James was losing patience with his elder son's belligerence and leaping to wrong conclusions.

  “You said—”

  “I said we depend on you.” James couldn't recall ever being so furious with one of his children before. “I said we trust you. Are you telling me I’m wrong to do so?”

  There was silence in the kitchen. Gideon stared at his father, waves of resentment emanating from his rigid stance. “No,” he finally muttered. “I’m dependable.” The phrase sounded like an epithet as he wheeled and stalked out of the kitchen.

  James barely resisted the urge to shout, Then you’d better show it! after the boy. Instead, he sank into a chair and heaved a deep breath of frustration. “Who is that stranger, and what happened to our pleasant, well-behaved son?” he asked Fern.

  “I don't know,” she said sadly. “What are we going to do, James? I’m really worried about the way his attitude has changed since he started seeing this Jenni. Or hanging out with or dating or whatever the kids call it.”

  Gideon was sixteen, finishing his sophomore year of high school, and this was the first time he’d ever been involved with a girl, as far as James knew. He nodded. “She certainly hasn't improved him, that's for sure. The only thing we can do, I think, is give him guidelines, explain our rules and the consequences for breaking them, and let him make the choice to follow the rules or not.”

  The following Sunday, Skip and Margie Mullen brought their family to Riverview Chapel again. This time, they came to Sunday school, placing each of the children in the appropriate class and joining Heath and Candace in their book-discussion class.

  “I was a little concerned about leaving Violet in a room full of strangers,” Margie confided to Candace as they took their seats. “But the teacher seemed so pleasant, and she assured me she would stay close.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Candace tried to remember who taught the toddlers’ class. “The ladies who work with the babies and toddlers were great when Howie was little. They always called me promptly if there was a problem.”

  Margie indicated the small pager she had been given. “Yes, this helps. They promised to let me know if they needed me.”

  Candace reached over to pat Margie's hand. “And I’m certain they will.”

  Skip leaned over, smiling. “We may have found our new church home.”

  “You haven't even sat through a Sunday school class yet,” Heath reminded them. “Give yourselves time.”

  But the Mullens did seem to enjoy the class, speaking up during the discussion, since both of them had read the book that the group was studying. Afterward, they migrated toward the fellowship hall, where each teacher brought their students to meet their parents during the coffee hour.

  Indiana was beaming when she arrived. “I have a new friend,” she announced to her parents. “Her name is Ashley, and she helped me meet a whole bunch of kids.” Moments later, Ashley came by and took Indiana off to get some cookies. Brooke came in still talking to her young teen girlfriends, and Margie retrieved her youngest child, Violet, from the toddler class, where the teacher had been delighted with her easy transition.

  Howie and Eason were in the same class, and when they arrived with their classmates, the noise level in the large room went up significantly.

  “My goodness, there are a lot of them, aren't there?” Margie commented.

  Candace nodded. “That class has been especially large since they were all babies.”

  The group of children descended on the snack table like locusts. Eason grabbed cookies with both hands, but when Candace saw Howie about to mimic him, she shook her head sternly. “Manners,” she called to her son.

  Howie looked chastened as he took a single cookie. But moments later, the cookie was gone, and the little boy was zooming around the edges of the room with several other high-octane little boys. Candace noticed Eason was among them, and she wasn't really surprised. The Mullens�
�� son, like Howie, seemed to have far more energy than he did outlets for it. As she watched, Eason forgot to look where he was going. He ran squarely into a woman crossing the room with a glass of juice.

  Eason fell to the ground, the woman nearly fell over him, and the juice splashed all over the bodice of her dress. Thankfully, it was a bold floral and didn't show a stain. But the woman looked quite annoyed. To Candace's surprise, neither Skip nor Margie appeared concerned about their son's collision. The woman hauled him to his feet and shook a finger beneath his nose. Eason nodded vigorously. The moment she released him, he scampered off in another direction. Candace glanced at Heath, who discreetly shrugged, as if he too was surprised by his friends’ laissez-faire attitude.

  The conversation moved from one topic to another. When Heath mentioned that they were planning to take a vacation in a few weeks, Skip Mullen asked, “Where are you going?”

  “We haven't decided yet,” Candace said. “We’re looking at some of the places along Lake Michigan.”

  “I’ve heard Grand Haven is marvelous,” Margie told her. “Just yesterday, I was speaking to a woman who said it's her absolute favorite.”

  “Where's Grand Haven?” Heath asked.

  “On the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, about halfway up the west side of the mitten,” Skip said, referring to the lower peninsula of Michigan that jutted up between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron.

  “That would be a long drive,” Candace commented.

  “Only five to six hours,” Skip replied. “We’ve been looking at vacation places too, and I recently looked it up online.”

  “Hey,” Margie said. “I just had a fantastic idea. Why don't we go on vacation together? The children play so well together. I’m sure they’d enjoy having each other to play with, and heaven knows I’d enjoy having other adults to talk to!”

  Heath and Skip laughed. And then all three adults turned expectant eyes on Candace. Oh no. “It would be nice,” she hedged, “but I’m not sure. I’ll have to check with Mom and see if the kids have any conflicts with their summer activities.”

  “Why don't I e-mail you a couple of possible dates,” Margie said, “and you can see what might work?”