Hazel's Theory of Evolution

by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

  My room was frigid. The thermostat wasn’t programmed to turn up the heat for another couple of hours. Fortunately, I’d gone to bed wearing my long underwear so I wouldn’t have to strip down to get dressed. I pulled on a sweatshirt, overalls, and thick socks and went downstairs.

  “Hey,” Mom said when I entered the kitchen. “You’re up all on your own.” She kissed my forehead as she slid past to grab the huffing teapot off the stove before it started shrieking. She filled her travel mug and added tea—one of her berry-blossom blends, by the scent—to steep. “Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “No, I’ll eat when I’m done with the goats. Where’s Rowan?”

  “He stumbled out to the car already. He’s probably hoping to sleep through the ride so he doesn’t have to talk to me.” Mom sighed.

  “Find a good drive-through,” I said. “A breakfast sandwich and a large coffee will help.”

  “Is that the only way to find out what’s on my children’s minds?” Mom said. “Bribe them with fast food? No, don’t say anything. The answer would probably depress me. Thanks for picking up the slack this weekend, Hazy. It’s a huge help.”

  “I’m happy to do it,” I lied, hoping she was too distracted gathering her things to notice.

  She said, “You know the drill. Milk at six and six. The pasture’s getting sparse, so make sure to keep the feeder full. Give Pax and the girls plenty of nice warm water. And the daytime temp’s supposed to stay in the thirties all weekend, so there’s no reason they can’t spend the day outdoors.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can always call me with questions, and the vet’s number is on the fridge in case of an emergency. But you’ll be fine. I know it.” Mom hugged me. “See you tomorrow night, sweetie.”

  Through the front window, I watched her climb into the van. The headlights flickered on. The engine started. Soon the taillights receded into the darkness.

  I put on my boots, coat, and hat and went outside, leaving Arby in the house. She whined, but I knew she’d wait only a couple of minutes before scampering back upstairs to join Mimi in bed. Frost covered the ground, glittering silver-green under the floodlights. My breath puffed in a cloud around me. It felt good to slip inside the barn with its warm, musky scent and sweet straw crinkling under my feet.

  The moment the door cracked open and I flipped on the lights, Kali roused herself, leading the bleating charge off the sleeping platform. “Give me a minute,” I called, though of course it took me longer because I had to make sure I had everything I needed. I added fresh hay and grain to the feeders and warm water to the trough. Then it was time to prep for milking. Wipes? Check. Clean pails and strip cup? Check.

  Finally, I was ready to let the does into the green room. They crowded in, leaving Pax in the loafing area, and I let Kali into the milking parlor. She hopped up on the stand and put her head through the head gate. I drew it closed and latched it.

  As Kali stuffed her face, I lowered myself to the edge of the stand. I took a deep breath. I’d helped with milking so many times over the years I’d lost count, but Mom had always been around to step in if something didn’t go right. Now everything was on me.

  I wiped down Kali’s udder and teats with sudsy rags. I gave each of her teats three squeezes into the strip cup. The milk was a smooth, healthy white. We were good to go.

  I positioned the pail and gripped my thumbs and forefingers around each teat where they emerged from Kali’s udder. Mom’s voice rippled through my head. Squeeze gently but firmly. Draw down smoothly. Don’t pull. Now, release your pressure. Let those teats fill back up. Good, Hazy, good.

  Left, right. Left, right. With each draw, milk spurted into the bucket. I suddenly realized I was smiling. Mom was right. I was doing great, all by myself. When Kali was empty, I released her from the head gate. “Come on, Your Majesty, time for fresh hay and water.” She backed out without protest.

  I weighed Kali’s milk and recorded it in Mom’s notebook, then poured it through the strainer into the five-gallon pail. Next it was Tiamat’s turn to come through the gate. I repeated the process with her and the rest of the herd. Finally, I took the milk to the soap shack to put away and washed up all the equipment.

  Even though everything went more or less smoothly—Tiamat had kicked the pail, but it was early enough that barely any milk was lost—it took me way longer to complete the process than it took Mom. By the time I was finished, I was sweaty and starving.

  I let the herd into the pasture, double-checking the latch on the gate on my way out. Back at the house, I shucked my outdoor clothes inside the door, not bothering to hang them up until I’d also taken off my sweatshirt and overalls and was back down to my long underwear and a reasonable temperature.

  “Hey, Farmer Hazel!” Mimi’s voice came from the kitchen. “You hungry?”

  That’s when I knew for sure I’d taken ages to do the chores. Mimi was not an early riser. I balled up my clothes and carried them against my chest. Mimi sat at the table with her feet up. Her laptop was open on the table amid piles of paperwork. It didn’t fit on her lap anymore. “Yes,” I said, my stomach growling on cue.

  Mimi swung her feet down. “I’ll get you something.”

  “No, that’s okay. You should take it easy.”

  “Don’t start. You’re as bad as Rowan. Do you know how many times he’s suggested bed rest to me? I don’t know where he got that idea, but as medical advice goes, it’s woefully out of date. He’s sweet, though.” She opened the fridge and began to shuffle things around.

  “I can eat cereal, really. It’s not a big deal.”

  Mimi gave me a look over her shoulder. “I’m offering to make you a real meal—I’m talking eggs, veggies, chicken sausage—and you want Cheerios?” My stomach growled even louder. I made a face, and Mimi laughed. “That answers that. Take a load off. Want me to put on some hot chocolate, too?”

  I sighed. “Okay.” I sank into my chair, tossing my discarded clothes to the floor.

  Seeing how happy it made Mimi made it easier to say yes. Besides, even though she didn’t get excited about cooking the way Mom did, she made good food. She was precise and focused, the way she was with everything, as she cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork, sliced scallions and broccoli and bell pepper. Arby sat beside her, drool bubbling at the corners of her mouth, waiting for Mimi to drop something, but of course she didn’t. She poured everything into the pan.

  Mimi turned to me as the sausage began to spit and crackle on the stove. “This is nice.”

  “What is?”

  “Making breakfast for my daughter. What did you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mimi gave the food a brisk stir. “This weekend—Mom wanted time to talk to Rowan, yes. But I wanted to spend some time with you too. I’ve missed you this fall.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “I’ve been right here.”

  Mimi looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at me. “Is that so? Well, your body may have been. I’m not sure about your head.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you? You dash up to your room right after dinner. I barely see you on the weekends because you’re holed up with your Darwin and your spiral-bound notebook. I’m not stupid, Hazel. I know it’s about the baby.”

  “No, it’s not,” I insisted.

  Mimi shrugged. “Tell me whatever you want. I know the truth.”

  “It is the truth. I’m not worried. Really.” I willed the corners of my mouth to go up.

  Mimi flipped the eggs, veggies, and sausage onto one plate and laid it in front of me. “Look, I get it. We’ve had a string of bad luck. But the past doesn’t dictate the future. Even when we’re scared, we’ve got to hope. It’s the only way not to go crazy.”

  There it was—the H-word. I hated it. It stripped your defenses. It blinded you to reason. It left you as vulnerable as a baby bird fallen from its nest before it could grow feathers and
fly.

  “Aren’t you eating, too?” I asked as Mimi sat across the table from me.

  “Nah, my stomach’s feeling a little weird.”

  I frowned. “Is your morning sickness back?”

  “No, not since it tapered off weeks ago, thank goodness.”

  “Then why does your stomach feel weird?”

  Mimi made a face. “Have I ever told you to become a lawyer? You’re great with the questions.”

  “I’m being serious,” I said, remembering Rowan’s instructions. “What if it’s something bad? Maybe we should call Dr. Cousins.”

  “I thought you weren’t worried,” Mimi said, and looked sorry. “Oh, babe. I appreciate your concern, but I’m just having an off day. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said doubtfully.

  I was so hungry it was all I could do not to inhale my breakfast. The only thing slowing me down was I kept sneaking peeks at Mimi to make sure she was really all right.

  Normally I liked to do my homework in my room, so if I needed a highlighter or a protractor or something, I could pull it out of my desk. But the best way to keep an eye on Mimi was to be where she was. So after breakfast, I went upstairs, gathered all my school stuff, and came back down to the kitchen.

  “Hello again,” Mimi said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “It’s like you said. We haven’t spent much time together lately, and . . .” It was a fib, but if Mimi knew Rowan had assigned me to babysit her, she wouldn’t be happy with either of us.

  “As long as you don’t expect much from me. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Want to choose some background music for us?”

  “Sure.” I went to the family room to pick a few records from Mimi’s collection. I threaded the stack on the spindle and lifted the arm. The first record dropped and, as it hissed gently, the first dissonant piano chords of “Brilliant Corners” emerged from the speakers.

  “Nice,” Mimi said.

  As the morning passed, Mimi typed and scribbled notes and shuffled through stacks of paper from brown accordion folders. I worked on social studies. Arby, resigned that we weren’t going to pet her or feed her a second breakfast, sighed, turned herself in a circle, and slumped on the linoleum by the heating vent, promptly falling asleep. I felt grown-up. First I’d done Mom’s job, caring for the goats. Now I was working at the same table as Mimi.

  I ate my usual sandwich for lunch, took Arby for a walk, and checked on the herd. I topped off their drinking water, just to be safe, but there really wasn’t anything else to do, so I went back in and started on my math homework. I’d made it through only a couple of problems before Mimi said softly, “Oof.”

  I looked up from my notebook. “What is it?”

  “Contraction.”

  My heart skipped. “Like, labor?”

  One hand around her belly, Mimi pushed back her chair and went to the sink to fill a glass of water. “Nah, babe. Not yet. This is just Braxton Hicks.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “They’re mini contractions. Lots of women get them in the third trimester, but it doesn’t mean anything—except possibly I’m dehydrated.” She drained her glass and refilled it at the tap. “I’ve been having them once in a while the past couple of weeks. No biggie.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t call Dr. Cousins?”

  “What, and waste her valuable time?” Mimi smiled. “Besides, the trial starts this week. I can’t let my client down.”

  I must’ve still looked worried because she added, “I’m not taking any chances. You don’t have to remind me of the stakes. But trust me on this. I’ll know when it’s the real thing.”

  Mimi settled back in her chair, and I returned to my homework. But every time she shifted or sighed or rubbed her belly or her temples or her back, I sneaked a look. I thought I was being subtle, but she said, “What is it teachers say? Eyes on your own work?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Mimi said, “I’d have thought you’d caught on by now. Nothing about pregnancy is comfortable. Sore head, sore back, sore belly . . . that’s how it goes sometimes.”

  “Maybe you should take a nap.”

  Mimi shook her head. “Come on, babe. I’ve got a lot to do. If you really want to help me, get me the Tylenol and let me concentrate.”

  “Tylenol? For what?”

  “It’s just a little headache. Hazel, please. Help me out here.”

  I went to the powder room down the hall and got the bottle of Tylenol. Mimi popped a couple in her mouth and washed them down. “Thank you. Now, please, kindly refrain from giving me the hairy eyeball every ten seconds.” She said it jokingly, but I could tell she wasn’t.

  “Sorry. I’ll stop, I promise.”

  But a minute later I sneaked another look. She was grimacing again. Was it the Braxton Whatever? Or the headache? Or something she didn’t like about the files she was studying? Mimi’s eyes caught mine before I could flick them back to my homework. “Hazel.”

  “Sorry!”

  She sighed. “This arrangement is clearly not working for either of us. Much as I appreciate your company, not to mention your concern, we’ll both be more productive when we have some space to ourselves.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to break my promise to Rowan. On the other hand, I could tell Mimi meant it.

  “Go on,” Mimi prompted. “Take your homework upstairs. We’ll reconnect at dinner. Mom left us lasagna.”

  Setting aside my misgivings, I gathered my stuff. Arby followed me up the stairs.

  Through my open bedroom door, I could still faintly hear the record player. Mimi’s phone rang a few times, and the murmur of her voice followed. I felt like a prisoner. I’d been sent to my room for being annoying. It was one thing when Rowan found me annoying, but it hurt that Mimi thought I was, too.

  I kept checking my watch, wishing the second hand would spin faster. The days were so short at this time of year that it was already starting to get dim outside, but it still wasn’t time for the evening milking. I hoped Mimi was getting her work done, because I sure wasn’t. I was too distracted. I paced my room. If something went wrong, Rowan would never forgive me.

  Then came the sound of breaking glass.

  Chapter 23

  I slid down the stairs in my sock feet, Arby scrambling beside me and getting underfoot so that I nearly tripped over her. I went so fast I missed a stair and almost fell back on my head anyway. The full two stories, I yelled, “Mimi! Mimi, are you okay?”

  I expected to find her lying in a pool of blood, but instead she stood at the kitchen counter, bracing herself with one hand. Her eyes were clenched shut like the room was too bright. The linoleum was covered with broken glass. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “I got up to get some more water and felt dizzy.”

  I tugged Arby away from the glass by her collar. “I’ll sweep up.” Then I really looked at Mimi. “Mimi, your hands!”

  I was used to seeing Mimi’s feet a little swollen, especially as the day went on. She often propped them on a chair or a cushion to take the pressure off. And she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring because sometimes her fingers swelled, tightening around the smooth gold band.

  But now her hands looked like someone had taken a bicycle pump to them. They were puffy all over, the skin stretched out. Every vein seemed to be trying to burst through the surface.

  Beads of sweat had gathered on her forehead. Now that I was paying close attention, I realized her face looked puffy, too, her nose like a bruised strawberry. “This time . . .” she said. “This time we should probably call—”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, and she stumbled toward the powder room. A moment later, retching sounds mingled with the Horace Silver playing, incongruously merry, on the turntable.

  I followed her, queasy myself. A shard of glass pierced my sock. I stifled a yelp, hopping as I brushed it from my sole. “Do you want your phone? Should we call Dr. Cousins?”

  She presse
d her cheek to the toilet’s porcelain edge. “We’d better skip to the hospital.”

  “Do you want your wallet and keys?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I can drive.”

  I started to panic. “But I don’t know how to drive!”

  “Did I say I wanted you to? Call nine-one-one. And use the landline so they know where you’re calling from.” To my relief, she was starting to sound like the boss of the courtroom.

  I ran for the kitchen phone. More glass crunched painfully under my feet. I bit my lip to keep from crying.

  I’d known since preschool how to dial 911, but I’d never done it before. It felt weird pressing only three numbers. Just like in the movies, the dispatcher, a woman, said, “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  I talked as fast as I could. “I think my mom is having a baby. She had some contractions, and she said they weren’t important, but now she’s swelling up like a balloon and is throwing up, and do you need directions to our house? We’re out in the country, and—”

  “Slow down, miss. What’s your name?”

  “Hazel Maud Brownlee-Wellington.”

  “Hazel, can you take a deep breath for me?” I half expected her to say, Peace in me, peace in you. Instead she asked for our address and how many weeks pregnant Mimi was.

  “Thirty-four weeks,” I said. “She’s thirty-four weeks, and she lost her last two babies, and it can’t happen again. It just can’t.” My voice started getting wobbly.

  “Hazel, deep breath.” How could she be so calm when she was dealing with emergencies all day? “Help is on the way. While we’re waiting, do you think I could talk to your mom? Put me on speakerphone and take me to her.”

  Hands shaking, I pressed the speaker button and returned to the powder room. “I don’t think she can talk right now. She’s still throwing up.”

  “Okay. How about you answer some more questions for me in the meantime?”

  The dispatcher wanted to know Mimi’s name and how old she was. She made me tell her all about Mimi’s swelling and throwing up and different aches and pains—if she’d had them before, and when they’d gotten worse. She asked me about Mimi’s blood pressure, like I would know anything about that, and her stress level. I said she was a lawyer so of course she was stressed out, she liked being stressed out, and she was working on a big case that had her extra stressed out. “Why?”