Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby

by Ann M. Martin

  He trudged upstairs again. More giggling and scrambling noises.

  Logan poked his head into the room.

  The girls were in the same positions. But the dinosaurs were gone. Now Marilyn and Carolyn were watching a basketball game.

  “Are you guys sure you’re okay?” Logan asked.

  “Yup,” Carolyn answered casually.

  Logan sighed and went back downstairs. He figured the girls were channel-surfing to safety from the dinosaurs.

  More homework. More snack.

  At the third sets of screams, Logan became suspicious. He ran up again, two steps at a time.

  Now a rerun of The Mary Tyler Moore Show was playing.

  “Uh, I guess Lou was being a little rough in the newsroom?” Logan said.

  “Huh?” Carolyn said.

  “I mean, you guys sounded pretty scared. Maybe this show is a little mature for you.”

  Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Lo-gan …”

  “You’re not switching channels to something you shouldn’t be watching, are you?”

  The twins quickly shook their heads.

  On the bed was an open TV magazine. Logan scanned the day’s listings. The programs on the networks and regular cable stations seemed harmless enough. He skipped over the cable-movie section, because the Arnolds don’t subscribe to any of those channels. (The twins love to complain about that.) The dinosaur special was definitely the scariest show.

  Logan glanced at the VCR. Could they possibly have sneaked a forbidden video cassette in there? Hmmm …

  He lumbered downstairs loudly. But this time, when he reached the bottom, he tiptoed back up.

  Through the door, Ted Baxter was bragging on and on about something. When he was finished, the laugh track blared.

  And then it suddenly stopped. The next thing Logan heard was deep, gloomy music and the crack of thunder. A quavery female voice asked, “That … thing. In the bicycle basket. What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” a guy answered. “Looks like a mask or something.”

  The music became louder.

  “It’s not a mask,” the female said. “It’s a … a — YEEEEEEAGGGGGGHH!”

  The TV character’s scream was joined by Marilyn’s and Carolyn’s. Which were even louder.

  Logan pushed open the door.

  On the TV screen was a close-up of a bicycle basket in the rain. In it was a … well, I don’t want to say. It’s too gross. Let me put it this way, according to Logan, its expression was not happy.

  And the liquid it was floating in was not rain.

  Logan almost barfed. He strode into the room, picked up the remote, and pressed OFF.

  “Heyyyyy!” Marilyn complained.

  “You guys aren’t supposed to watch scary movies,” Logan reminded them.

  “That wasn’t scary!” Carolyn protested.

  “Turn it back on!” Marilyn added.

  Logan shook his head. “Sorry, guys, a rule’s a rule.”

  “Party pooper,” Marilyn muttered.

  “What was that, anyway?” Logan grabbed the guide again.

  “The BB Channel,” Carolyn said grumpily. “Boxoffice Busters.”

  “Carolyn, shhh!” Marilyn snapped.

  “I thought you didn’t get any of the premium stations,” Logan said.

  “It’s a free sneak preview,” Carolyn replied. “For two weeks.”

  Logan read aloud the eight o’clock listing for the BB Channel: “ ‘Horrorville: Head’s Up … serial killer stalks suburban New England town. Graphic but stylized violence.’ ”

  “It’s not as scary as the one we saw last night!” Carolyn said.

  “You watched one of these last night?” Logan asked.

  “Until Mom turned it off,” Marilyn said sheepishly.

  “You’d like this one,” Carolyn piped up. “The town was just like Stoneybrook.”

  “And the girl looked like Mary Anne,” Marilyn added.

  “Listen,” Logan said, “it’s already nine o’clock. Let’s brush teeth and get ready for bed.”

  “Ohhhhh,” Marilyn groaned.

  The twins trudged toward the bathroom. In the hallway Carolyn stopped. The hall was dark; a light glowed faintly from around a corner.

  She looked back over her shoulder. “Go ahead.”

  “You go!” Marilyn retorted.

  Logan chuckled. “The movie wasn’t that scary, huh?”

  He walked ahead of them and turned on a light.

  “Could you turn on the bathroom light, too?” Carolyn asked.

  He did. The girls came running.

  Logan let them wash up. Then they asked him to go to their bedrooms with them.

  They put on their pj’s in Carolyn’s room while Logan waited patiently outside the closed door.

  When the door opened, Marilyn peeked out and asked, “Can you bring me my sleeping bag? It’s in my bedroom closet. I’m going to sleep in Carolyn’s room tonight.”

  Logan retrieved the sleeping bag and brought it back. “Do you want a night-light?” he asked as he walked out.

  “The overhead light is fine,” Carolyn said.

  “And leave the door open,” Marilyn added.

  “Okay,” Logan said. “Good night.”

  When he reached the kitchen, he pulled his chair back from the table and sat down.

  “What was that scraping noise?” Marilyn shouted.

  “The chair,” Logan answered.

  He let out a yawn.

  “That was you, right?” Carolyn called.

  “Ye-es. Now go to sleep!”

  Five minutes later, Logan heard footsteps and bumping. He went to the bottom of the stairs and listened.

  The girls were whispering and moving things around.

  Up went Logan again. “What’s going on now?”

  They were at the window, propping a Halloween mask between the shade and the glass.

  “Just, you know, putting this here,” Carolyn said.

  “For protection?” Logan asked.

  Marilyn scowled. “Just for decoration, that’s all.”

  Logan nodded sagely and left.

  Later he said he felt as if he’d been at a track workout, after all that stair-climbing.

  He heard more noises but decided to stay put. When they finally settled down, about forty minutes later, Logan crept quietly upstairs.

  The bedroom light was still glaring. Around Carolyn’s bed and Marilyn’s sleeping bag, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, were dolls, stuffed animals, and a model skeleton, in a big circle.

  Guarding the twins. Keeping them safe.

  Logan smiled. This time, when he went downstairs, he veered into the family room and flicked on the TV.

  He sat on the sofa as the last part of Horroville flickered on the screen. In it, two girls were in a dark bedroom, clutching each other as footsteps approached.

  Eeeeeee … Slowly a door opened. A silhouette appeared in the wedge of light that shone into the room.

  The kids’ mouths opened in an expression of horror.

  “Go waaaaayyy!”

  Logan nearly jumped to the ceiling. It was a real voice.

  Carolyn’s.

  He ran to the stairs.

  “Eh —” He choked on the word, then cleared his throat. “Everything all right?”

  No answer. She must have been having a nightmare.

  He ran back and turned off the show. Just in case they might have heard it through the ceiling.

  Not that he was scared himself, you understand.

  Not at all.

  I put down my marker and examined the banner. Then I double-checked the words in my dictionary. It was lying open to the W section on my desk, just below where I’d hung my handiwork.

  I ran my index finger down to the word welcome.

  Perfect.

  Have I told you about my spelling? It’s absolutely horrible. On the Claudia Kishi Dunce Meter, I believe it is the only topic below math. So I check everything.

&n
bsp; I leafed through to the H section … home. No tricks there.

  Lynn, I knew, was correct. I may not be a speller, but I do know my own middle name.

  It was Saturday, about ten o’clock in the morning. In two hours, baby Lynn’s life in the real world would begin.

  Russ had already left for the hospital. At noon, he was going to bring Peaches and Lynn back to their house.

  And when they arrived there — Ta Da!

  Lynn’s very first party. Courtesy of godmother Claudia and her family.

  It had been a couple of days since Peaches had asked me the big question, but I was still flying. I had thought a lot about the responsibilities of being a godmother. I’d read that next to immediate family, the godmother should be the most important person in the baby’s life. The job was not to be taken lightly.

  At first I felt a little funny that Peaches hadn’t asked Janine. I mean, Janine is Lynn’s cousin, too. And she’s the oldest in my generation.

  I mentioned this to Janine, and she smiled. “You and Peaches have a special relationship. You deserve this, Claudia.”

  I thought that was nice of her. And I was determined to be the best godmother ever.

  Starting with this wonderful, multicolored banner. I wanted it to be super-special. A keepsake. Someday, when Lynn was older, she would find the banner folded at the bottom of an old steamer trunk. Clutching it tearfully to her chest, she would remember her beloved godmother Claudia.

  And remark on how perfect the spelling was.

  “Janine, what do you think of this banner?” I called out my door.

  Janine, who was still in pajamas and slippers, shuffled into my room. “Who’s Home Lynn?”

  “Huh?”

  “Home Lynn,” she repeated. “You wrote, ‘Welcome, Home Lynn.’ The comma is supposed to go after Home.”

  “Oh.”

  As Janine shuffled back, I did a slow burn. Then I reached in my supply drawer for a pair of scissors.

  No, I did not go after Janine with them. (How dare you think that!) I carefully cut a circle around the comma. Then I put it where the comma belonged, traced around the circle, and cut that out.

  I switched the two circles and taped them from the back. Then I crossed to the other side of the room to look.

  Hideous. Lynn would cackle if she found this in the steamer trunk.

  I had to set an example. No cutting corners for my goddaughter. I ripped down the banner and hung another swath of material. Back to the drawing board.

  By the time my parents returned, Janine was dressed and my new banner was completed to perfection.

  “Wagon train, ho!” my father called from downstairs.

  I grabbed my camera off my closet shelf and slung it over my shoulder. Then I scoured my room for all the other presents I’d stashed away for Lynn, and I put them in a plastic bag. Last, I rolled up the banner, tucked it under my arm, and headed out to the car.

  Dad opened the trunk. He pushed aside about a dozen bulging grocery bags.

  “Your mother thought we ought to take them a lot of prepared food,” Dad explained. “They’ll be too busy to cook for a while, so they can eat some now and freeze the rest.”

  I told you my parents are smart.

  With everything jammed into the trunk, we drove off.

  At Peaches’ house, we brought the bags into the kitchen. I set my camera down in the living room. Quickly Janine and I hung the banner over the front door, then went back inside to help. It took awhile to wedge all the food into Peaches’ freezer, which was crowded with about a hundred half-empty pints of ice cream. (I helped by storing some of the ice cream in my stomach.) Then Janine and I dumped chips, salsa, pretzels, and M&M’S into separate bowls.

  “You bought M&M’S?” I cried out in amazement.

  “Peaches will be needing extra energy today!” Dad called back.

  While Janine and I spread the appetizers around, Mom prepared a plate of cold cuts and Dad cleaned up around the house (which Russ had left a pigsty).

  I set all my presents out in prominent places. The bright-colored wrapping paper really livened things up.

  At eleven-forty-five we plopped onto the living room sofa.

  Done. Whew. All we had to do was wait.

  “Is your camera ready?” Janine asked.

  I grabbed it and took the case off. “Ye —”

  The readout on top of the shutter said zero.

  “No film, right?” Janine said.

  I sprang up. “What am I going to do?”

  “It’s all right,” Mom said reassuringly. “Use your mind’s eye.”

  “Those kinds of pictures don’t go in albums!” I shot back. “Lynn will never know what she looked like on her first day home. Take me to the store!”

  “But they’ll be here any minute,” Janine protested.

  “I will not let my goddaughter down!”

  Dad looked at his watch. “Vámonos. We’ll hit the drugstore on Beech Street.”

  You have never seen two people move so fast. We hopped into the car and Dad tore off. I spent about five seconds in the drugstore and bought three rolls. Dad took off again as I loaded the camera in the front seat.

  “Whoopee,” Dad said. “We’re a bit like Bonnie and Clyde.”

  As we turned onto Russ and Peaches’ street, guess whose car was driving along in front of ours?

  “Oh, no!” I cried.

  “Should I head them off at the pass?” Dad asked.

  “Dad, this isn’t funny. Can we make it there first if we go around the block?”

  Honk-honk!

  I could not believe it. My father was blowing his horn!

  Russ waved to us in the rearview mirror. He blew his horn, too.

  So much for our secret.

  Oh, well. If you can’t beat them …

  I started taking pictures.

  Baby Lynn’s Trip Home from the Hospital in Dad’s and Mom’s Car, as Viewed from Behind.

  Lynn’s Dad’s and Mom’s Car, Stopped in the Driveway.

  The Rear Door Being Opened by Lynn’s Dad.

  Baby Lynn Asleep in Her First Car Seat.

  Peaches Cuddling Baby Lynn in Front of the House …

  I was on the second roll before we walked inside.

  Peaches’ eyes moistened when she saw the banner. “Oh, my goodness, you didn’t have to do that!”

  I made Janine take a photo of me and Peaches and Lynn under the banner. Then I held Lynn closer, so she could see it firsthand.

  She whimpered a little, then burped.

  Well, Peaches and Russ adored our little fiesta. Janine put a classical music CD on the player and I danced around with Lynn.

  She loved it. I could tell. She burped again, which was becoming her favorite mode of expression. Then, degassed and happy, she stared at me for a long time.

  “So so seeeerious,” I said as we twirled around.

  Then, without warning, Lynn puked. Just a little white stuff out the side of her mouth, and it didn’t seem to bother her a bit.

  But Godmother Claudia was on the case. I took Lynn into the nursery that Peaches and Russ had set up. I lifted a cloth diaper from a stack and wiped Lynn’s mouth.

  Then I checked her own diaper, which was a little wet, so I changed it. She had a bit of a rash on her leg, so I put ointment on it.

  “What a quiet, patient girl,” I said.

  She flailed her arm, whacking herself harmlessly in the head.

  “You have a natural painter’s stroke,” I remarked. “Could you do that again?”

  “Hey, don’t hog the baby!” Russ called out.

  “Come, your fans await,” I whispered. Putting a cloth diaper on my shoulder for protection, I walked out to the admiring throng.

  We all gabbed and laughed and ate and drank. I made sure Janine took practically a whole roll of pictures of Lynn and me.

  Once in awhile, I let other people hold her. But most of the time I rocked her and looked into those deep, serious eye
s.

  When Peaches took Lynn into the nursery for a nap, I sank back against the couch cushions and sighed. “I already miss her.”

  Dad smiled. “Love at first sight.”

  “That’s what I call major-league bonding,” Russ remarked. “Way to go, Godmom.”

  A moment later I ducked into the nursery for a sneak peek. Peaches had wrapped Lynn up tight in a baby blanket, so that only her head showed.

  From my baby-sitting experience, I recognized that method. It’s supposed to remind newborns of that cozy in utero feeling.

  “It’s the baby burrito look,” I said. “Very chic.”

  Peaches giggled. “Claudia, you’ve been so wonderful. Lynn is a lucky girl to have you in her life.”

  Peaches and I threw our arms around each other. We held each other, rocking silently, just enjoying the high, wispy sound of Lynn’s breathing.

  Eventually we headed back to the living room and joined the Kishi family gabfest.

  About a half hour later, Mom stood up and said, “One thing I remember most about having a newborn: Short visits were the best visits. So on that note …”

  “No, don’t be silly,” Russ said.

  “Stick around,” Peaches insisted.

  But Mom stood firm. She, Dad, and Janine hugged Peaches and Russ and said mushy good-byes.

  “I’ll stay,” I volunteered. “To help out.”

  “Claudia …” Mom said.

  “It’s okay,” Russ assured her. “I’ll take her home later.”

  “Well, all right,” Mom agreed. “But don’t stay more than half an hour, Claudia.”

  I could tell why Mom had suggested that. Peaches did need some downtime. But I made myself useful. I cleaned up the kitchen and put the bowls in the dishwasher.

  Then I watched Lynn sleep. And dreamed of all the stuff we were going to do together.

  Russ invited me for dinner, and I accepted.

  Peaches seemed pretty wiped out. She didn’t say much at the table and excused herself early.

  “Would you like me to stay over?” I asked Russ. “I could make some formula, do a nighttime feeding —”

  “Thanks, Godmom,” Russ said. “But not tonight. We’ll take you up on it some other time.”

  It was seven-thirty when Russ drove me home. Mom was a little upset. She thought I’d stayed way too long. But she got over it. On a day like that, no one could remain in a bad mood.