Crossing the Street

by Campbell, Molly D. ;

  I put my hand over my heart. Yup. It was thumping as if trying to escape out of my chest. “Let me get this straight, Mom. You want the three of us to become some sort of nomads, cycling in and out of my apartment? For weeks? My sister and my ex and their baby will be using my apartment as a home base?” This was incredible.

  To her credit, Mom sounded unsure. “I know this isn’t the greatest solution in the world, but Diana needs me. Us. She is at the breaking point, Rebecca. And we have to think of what’s best for Alexander. I just can’t think of any other way around all of this. We are a family, and who else can your sister turn to?”

  Bryan came to mind. “Don’t other couples who have babies with colic somehow manage to handle the situation by themselves?” She didn’t say anything. “Mom?” Perhaps she was formulating a retort.

  “Mom. Here is my situation. I have taken on both Bob and her gran. As you mentioned, I have basically moved across the street, I have temporarily quit my job, and now you need me to also become a colic-sitter? Mom! I love you, but have you lost your mind?”

  She tutted at her end. “Rebecca. Of all people, you should understand. After all, you didn’t hesitate to jump into the breach to help Ella Bowers and her granddaughter. You are a Good Samaritan! That is what humans do for one another. And so now your sister needs us, because she is at the end of her tether. If you don’t believe me, just call her. You will see what I mean. We don’t have a choice. This is for the good of our family. My daughter. Your sister. And our adorable Alexander.” Another long pause.

  “Ugh, this is just unbelievable.” The wind was just rushing out of my sails.

  Funny thing—I heard my mother snort. “Honey, she is coming, whether we like it or not. You know your sister; she’s made up her mind about this.”

  “Mom. Oh, my God.” Now I was in a cold sweat.

  “Call your sister. You will see what I’m talking about. There is no alternative. I mean it.”

  I set my cell phone down and laid flat on the living room floor, gazing up at Ella’s elegant crown molding. I pondered this predicament. Pondering time was limited, as my cell phone vibrated. Caller ID: my maniacal sister—I wouldn’t have to call her, after all.

  “Oh, my God. Beck. In addition to the colic, Alexander has an ear infection! SO NOW HE CRIES TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. It seems like he’s dying! There is nothing we can do about it, because the pediatrician doesn’t want to start him on antibiotics because the infection is mild. I can’t give him Tylenol because he is too young, he spits up all over me, Bryan is worthless in a crisis, and I think my milk is drying up! I cannot stand ONE MORE MINUTE OF THIS!”

  “Hi, to you, too, D. Feel better, now that you have spilled guts over cell towers from Illinois to Ohio?”

  She seemed to calm down a little. “I have to get out of here.”

  I have to admit, I heard the baby howling in the background.

  “I know. Mom told me you want to come back to Framington.”

  Diana gave a rueful laugh. “Yeah, but I have to bring the baby with me.” The howling was becoming louder.

  I wanted to stab her. Yup. “You want to come over here for some back up. From me and Mom. Oh, this isn’t too much of a problem. I am not that busy, heck NO! I am just OCCUPIED. OCCUPADO. Twenty-four/seven. I am taking care of an eighty-four-year-old with a broken bone; I am a surrogate gran to her great-granddaughter who is afraid she will lose the only parental unit she has at the moment. I have quit my job in order to do this!” Saying I quit my job to do this made me feel so gratifyingly martyr-y.

  To her credit, D sighed and said, “Oh. I see.” Now Alex was screaming.

  But Diana is a Pit Bull; she doesn’t like to let go. “If I don’t get some help, I don’t know what I am liable to do. I think I have postpartum depression. I have to get a break here, before I do something desperate, do you understand, Beck?”

  By this time, it sounded as if Alex might be breaking his own eardrums with the noise he was producing. Despite myself, I felt a stab of sympathy for this hysterical duo. What can I say—I caved. “Go ahead, get your hopeless ass in the car, or on a plane or something, and come home. Mom already offered up my apartment—I have moved temporarily across the street. All l can say is, it’s a good thing my neighbors are all elderly and hard of hearing, because all that screaming won’t be any picnic.”

  This apparently took my sister aback. “Wait. You are living at that old lady’s with the little girl?” A pause. She had to raise her voice to be heard over her son’s bellowing. “And you quit your job?” Another pause. “My God.”

  Apparently, Diana had a eureka moment. “First, you have a fake feminist epiphany and decide that you can’t be in a permanent relationship with Bryan. Then you use me, the boyfriend robber, as a scapegoat to explain away your own irrational fears about marriage—so scared that if you got married it would be a repeat of Dad and Mom.” She paused to let that sink in. “So now you’re compensating by saving this little girl? Whoa.”

  There it was, in a nutshell. I put my head on my knees. “So, Dr. Freud, are you coming, or not?” I felt a huge headache coming on. Alex’s roaring was getting to me.

  “Of course I’m coming. I already went online and got plane tickets. I will text you my itinerary. I have to go; he’s beside himself!” And she hung up.

  I tried to imagine what it would be like to have my sister living in my apartment, with all the equipment that it would entail and that I would most likely have to scrounge up for her: bouncy seats, diaper genies, some sort of crib arrangement, educational toys, and stuffed animals. I pictured her stomping across the street with Alex yowling—and thrusting him into my arms as I tried to cook dinner and help Bob with her homework. I pictured having to see Bryan over there. Living with his little family in my apartment. Shitballs. Then I added Ella into the mix, home from Oakmoor, but not recovering the way she should. I pictured Ella holding Alex and dropping him, me helplessly looking on. Bob weaving in and out of the image, offering everybody Popsicles. It was a depressing daydream. I banged my head against Ella’s polished hardwood floor, hoping to put myself out of my misery.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was an uncharacteristically gloomy day for the beginning of fall in Framington. The glorious foliage was dimmed by the cloudy day, and leaves clattered in the breeze. It felt humid, and my mood matched the weather. Mom and I sat on her sofa, drinking green tea. Mom looked as put together as ever, but there were worry circles under her eyes.

  “I know that this is going to be a challenge for all of us. You have so much on your plate already. I can barely remember what taking care of a tiny baby entails. Neither of us is looking forward to walking the floor with a screaming infant, I know. And they say that colic can last until the baby is three months old.” Mom shook her head slowly, set her tea down, and got up to look out the window of my apartment toward Ella’s house. Currently empty—Bob was at school and Ella still at Oakmoor. We weren’t exactly sure when Ella would be released. Her being in the convalescent center and Diana’s arrival were synched perfectly. For D. “Have you cleared out a space for her and Alex in your room?”

  Ugh. I motioned for Mom to follow me into my bedroom, where I had spent the better part of an afternoon clearing out. “What do you think?”

  Mom looked around. I had removed all the stacks of books that filled the corners of the room. That immediately made things look more spacious. Because babies need to breathe clean air, especially ones that had sensitive systems already tainted by colic, I had actually Swiffered the blades of my Venetian blinds free of the thick layer of dust that typically adorned them, and washed the nubby linen curtains. They shrank about two inches, and I am sure that Mom noticed, but she said nothing. She ran her palm over the top of my bureau (I had emptied two big drawers—one for D, and one for Alex). “Beck, this is immaculate. I am proud of you.”

  I opened my clos
et door. “Look at this. You won’t believe it, either.”

  The floor of my closet, usually strewn with mismatched pairs of shoes, dirty clothes, dust balls, and Simpson’s litter box, was clear. The hardwood floor didn’t gleam, but it was clean. I had washed it out with vinegar water. When I dumped out Simpson’s litter and soaked the box with bleach water, I cried a little. But afterwards, I propped the box against the back of the closet, because I had not totally given up hope. My clothes were shoved over to make room on the hanging bar for D’s stuff.

  “Oh, honey. This is so nice. And I know you didn’t want to do any of this.”

  I shut the closet door, and Mom and I sat on my bed, both of us lost in thought. “Does colic really last for three months?”

  Mom slowly lowered herself onto her elbows and gazed up at the cracks in my ceiling. And the cobwebs that I never noticed until right that second, as I leaned against my headboard. “It can. Usually it comes without any warning and disappears just as suddenly as it comes. They still have no idea what causes it, but perhaps it’s a developmental sort of thing that they just grow out of. It can be a lot worse than what Alex has—he cries just a couple of hours a night. Some babies are colicky all day and night.”

  I looked heavenward with gratefulness.

  Mom sighed and looked over at me. “We just have to gird our loins for this. I think it will be easier for us to deal with all the crying, because we aren’t Alex’s parents. It’s much harder for them. You had colic, did you know that? It was no fun. I walked the floor with you for what seemed like months, but you only had it for six weeks. It nearly killed me.”

  I bounced my head against the headboard. “Well, I can’t imagine that listening to my nephew cry as if someone is stabbing him in the gut every night for hours will be a breeze. And they don’t have any medicine for this? We put a man on the moon, but we don’t have medicine for colic?”

  Mom bounced her head a couple of times, but I guess she didn’t like the sensation. She stopped and looked over at me. So I stopped, too, and smiled at her. She laid a hand on my stomach. “No. No medicine. There was something we used to use back when you two were babies, but it had belladonna or something in it. We will just have to get used to it. And maybe get some earplugs. And remember, it won’t be every night. We will take turns minding him. At least Diana will get some rest.” A bright look crossed her face, but I leaned over and squelched that one fast.

  “Mom. Don’t. I know what you’re thinking. You have put your usual optimistic spin on this situation, haven’t you? This will NOT be a great chance for the three of us to bond. There isn’t necessarily a silver lining here.”

  Mom only smiled a bit more brightly. “You don’t know that, Rebecca.” She bounced her head a couple of times for good measure. “Well, you DON’T.”

  ▷◁

  So, Friday after school, Bob and I got into the car to go to the airport to pick up my self-centered sibling. Bob had a few questions.

  “Is Alexander cute? Do you call him Alex, or Alexander?”

  “Both.”

  “Does he have hair?”

  “A little.”

  “Are you still mad at your sister for stealing Bryan?”

  “Sort of.” (Note to self: come to grips with this, you idiot.)

  “But don’t you love Theo now?”

  “I like Theo a lot. But to be honest, Bob, he hasn’t called me since your gran went into the hospital.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that why you aren’t really talking to me, but just answering my questions like a robot?”

  I looked over at Bob, who was chewing on her cuticles now, having run out of actual fingernails. “Bob, I have a lot on my mind.”

  Bob continued chewing. “So can I babysit for Alex sometimes while your sister is here?”

  “Maybe.”

  I think Bob realized that conversation was futile. She was silent until we entered the terminal.

  We stood at the end of the corridor, waiting for the Chicago arrivals to trickle down the entrance to the luggage claim area. One old man in a frayed windbreaker, leaning heavily on a cane. A heavyset woman wearing hearing aids and carrying a gigantic Macy’s shopping bag. A harried mother with frizzy pigtails, pushing a stroller containing a frustrated looking child, dragging her feet against the floor. There was a lull.

  And then we saw her. A tall, leggy blonde, hair swept up in some sort of messy French starlet bun, held up with a red chopstick. Dark red jeggings. Probably Jimmy Choo sandals. Aaah. She was obviously getting her shit back together—she was wearing false eyelashes at least a half-inch long. A crimson-and-black geometric tunic. And strapped to the front of it, Alex—his tiny, baldish head barely visible.

  Bob gasped. “Is that your sister?”

  Still monosyllabic. “Yes.”

  “But she didn’t look like that when she was here before! She looks like a Disney princess!”

  I threw up a little in my mouth. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  Diana glided up to us and put out her cheek for a kiss. “I am exhausted.”

  “We are fine, thank you. Oh, and you might recall this person standing beside me? D, this is my best friend Bob.”

  Bob shot me a look of sheer happiness at the “best friend” part. Then she recovered and stuck out her small hand to my sister. “Hi! I remember you from before, but you look a lot better now. May I hold the baby?”

  Diana immediately unbuckled the Baby Bjorn, or whatever the hell the contraption was called, and untangled Alex. She plopped him unceremoniously into Bob’s arms. I nearly had a coronary and jumped with both hands to catch him in case Bob dropped him. But Bob was a pro, and she cradled him in her arms, cooing. He smiled at her.

  “I have a bag and a stroller. Come on.” Bob, who looked as if she was struggling, relinquished Alex to me with a look of relief. Diana strode off to the carousels, her Michael Kors diaper bag slung over her shoulder, leaving us to follow in her wake.

  Before we left baggage claim, Diana handed off the Bjorn thing, the car seat, and the collapsed stroller. “Carry Alexander, it’s too much trouble to unfold this damn thing.”

  She also stopped at the Starbucks kiosk for a large skim-milk latte. We trooped to the car—me pulling the stroller behind me and gripping Alex with my free arm, Bob struggling to heft the car seat, the Bjorn strap draped over her forehead like a tumpline—she looked like a mini Sherpa. D strolled beside us, pulling her roller bag and sipping her coffee.

  At the car, we set all of D’s paraphernalia on the pavement and turned our attention to getting Alex legally installed as a passenger in the backseat of my car.

  It took me ten minutes to figure out how to affix the car seat to the clamps built into the car for that very purpose. (Who knew? D informed me between sips that all cars have them.) I looked at her for help. “Bryan always does that.” Sip, sip.

  “DIANA. You are here because you need me and Mom to help you. Help is the operative word—we are not your minions.”

  To her credit, that sort of shook her up. She came to her senses, sweeping the perfectly platinum bangs out of her eyes and focusing on us as if she hadn’t noticed us before. “Sorry. Old habits.” She smiled, most likely putting Bob under her spell forever, and handed me her coffee. “You can finish this.” She grabbed the stroller, took back the baby carrier, and loaded all of her stuff into the trunk. Slamming it shut with a bang, she pushed me aside and deftly clamped and snapped Alex into the car seat, like a total professional mother. Wow.

  Bob clambered into the backseat and beamed at the baby facing backwards, who by this time was absently sucking his thumb and looking as if he were in a trance. She made duck faces at him as Diana descended gracefully into the front seat beside me.

  “Hey, you two. Alex is just about out cold. The ear infection is nearly cleared u
p; he should sleep for a while. So do you want to stop at the Dairy Queen drive-thru on the way to Beck’s? I would kill for a dipped cone.” The fun was about to begin.

  ▷◁

  Mom took the first night shift. “I have the most experience with this. Diana needs to get settled in and rest. You need to go over to Mrs. Bowers’ and get organized there. She’s coming home, and you must have a lot to do to get things ready for her.”

  That was fine with me. It only took me two trips to carry over my suitcase, my laptop, the four books I was reading, and my toiletries across the street. I had been bouncing back and forth, but now I had to make the more permanent shift. Ella had agreed that when she returned, she would stay in Charles’ room (now a guest room) downstairs, and I would move into her room upstairs, across the hall from Bob. Ella would not be doing stairs any time soon. As I unzipped my suitcase on the floor of Ella’s closet and stared down at my clothes, I wondered how long I would be living out of my suitcase over here. I felt a stab of uneasiness. What on earth was I getting into? Old ladies, little kids, and an infant who screamed all night? What happened to my spinsterish existence, and the only excitement being the orgasms I typed into my manuscripts?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  We sat my sofa, drinking tea. Mom reported that the first night wasn’t too bad. Alex only cried for two-ish hours, and Mom said the earplugs she got helped a lot. Also, she played Baroque music on the public radio station, which she thought helped.

  “Frankly, you guys, I am scared to death of my first shift. Baroque music notwithstanding. And he doesn’t even know me that well—how am I supposed to soothe a baby to whom I am a complete stranger?”

  Diana, holding the infant in question in her lap, gazed down at him, sleeping soundly as if nothing in the world could possibly bother him. “Well, I have him tonight. Go to the CVS and get some earplugs before tomorrow. And you do have an iPod, you know. He might like your playlist even better than classical music. Knowing you, you have Michael Bublé on it. He’s soothing.”