Red Sky in the Morning. Elizabeth Laird
thing happened. Dad actually cried. He didn’t sob or anything. He just crumpled up a bit. That set me off, of course. I’ve never been able not to cry if someone else is. It’s infectious, like giggling, or yawning or something. And then Mom started, and we were all crying, and I felt really sad, but one horrible part of me was looking on from outside, and thinking,
“Well, well. Fancy Mom and Dad and me all crying together over a serious family matter, and Katy still being asleep. That makes me feel really one of them.”
I still couldn’t imagine the baby. I knew with my brain that it was sad, him being disabled, but I couldn’t really feel it, if you know what I mean.
It’s funny how you feel when you stop crying, if you’ve been crying with someone else. It’s embarrassing of course, but quite comfortable too, in a way. You feel loving, and close together, and empty, too.
After a while, I began to think awful thoughts. What did disabled mean? Would he look funny? Would his legs and arms jerk a lot? Somehow, because we’d all been crying together, I felt especially daring, so I came right out with it to Dr. Randall.
“What do you mean, disabled?” I said.
Dr. Randall shook his head. “I was just telling your parents, Anna,” he said. “We don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Yes, but will he be blind, or deaf?” I asked.
Mom and Dad were sitting in an especially still kind of way, and I knew they were dying for the answer too. Dr. Randall looked more cheerful.
“Oh no, I’m sure he’ll be able to see and hear all right,” he said.
“Will he look nice, or will he look funny, and dribble and all that stuff?” I asked. It sounds awful, but I cared about that more than anything.
“I don’t know, Anna,” Dr. Randall said. “I honestly don’t know. But all babies are very sweet, you know, even when they’re . . .” he stopped.
“Can’t you even tell us,” I said, “if he’ll be able to play, and go to school, and talk, and laugh, and everything?”
The cheerful look wiped itself off Dr. Randall’s face.
“He’ll be able to laugh,” he said slowly. “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll laugh. But for the rest, let’s wait and see, shall we? I think we all need some sleep now.” He patted Mom’s hand.
“You should try to rest,” he said. “I’m sure you’re very tired. You’ve done well to manage a home delivery with a birth of this kind. Quite unusual, in fact. I’ve given you a good strong dose. Make the most of it. You can phone the hospital anytime, but there won’t be any news until tomorrow morning. The nurse will be here to sort you out at breakfast time. And try not to worry. He’s quite stable, you know. There’s no danger.”
He picked up his bag and clicked it shut. He seemed suddenly in a hurry to go. The strain, I suppose. Mom always says that emotional upsets are more exhausting than anything else. Still, he didn’t have much to upset him. It wasn’t his baby that wasn’t going to run around. All in a day’s work for him, I should think.
He’d only been gone half a minute when he poked his head around the door again.
“There seems to be rather a lot of steam coming out of the kitchen,” he said.
Steam! Boiling water! Of course! I’d left the four burners on full blast. I jumped up like a startled rabbit, and squeezed past Dr. Randall and was in the kitchen in a flash. There was so much steam I could hardly see the cooker. Fortunately, none of the saucepans had boiled dry, but the walls were streaming with water. I felt like such a fool. I was afraid they’d laugh at me. Dr. Randall had never even mentioned needing any boiling water. I decided I’d try to empty all the saucepans, and clear up quickly before Dad came down and saw, and then I could say that in my excitement I’d left the kettle on. But it was too late. Dad came into the kitchen right behind me.
“Very sensible, Spanner,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. He’s always calling me silly names that rhyme with “Anna.” It drives me crazy sometimes, especially if he forgets and does it in front of other people. It sounds so weird. But he won’t stop. He just laughs, and says, “You know what they say, ‘A loved child has many names,’ so you be grateful, Gloriana.”
I was relieved, anyway, that he didn’t laugh.
“Well,” I said, “I know boiling water is the right thing to do when a baby’s born, but quite honestly, I don’t know what it’s for.”
Dad didn’t seem very sure either.
“Oh, sterilizing instruments or something, I suppose,” he said vaguely. “Anyway, we’d better go to bed now. There’s not much of tonight left.”
But I didn’t feel tired at all. Not yet, anyway. I knew I’d feel awful the next day. But just now there were too many things I wanted to know.
“Does it always hurt that bad?” I blurted out. I hadn’t meant to ask Dad that, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Does what hurt?” he said. I excused him for being so thick and insensitive on the grounds that he was an ignorant male and didn’t know any better.
“Having a baby, of course,” I said. “Mom’s face, and then the way she screamed . . .”
“You’ll have to ask her,” he said. “I wouldn’t know, would I? But Mom seems to think it’s worth it. It’s how you and Kate were born, after all.”
“And now you’ve got a son, too,” I said, and then I wished I hadn’t said it, because Dad looked very sad.
“Yes,” he said. “And now I’ve got a son. Come on Susanna. It’s bedtime.”
Two
I felt pretty funny going to school the next morning, partly because I was completely exhausted, I suppose. Dad said I could stay at home if I liked. He’d gotten the week off work. But I wanted to go. One reason was to get out of the house, because there was an awfully gloomy atmosphere, and Mom cried a lot, and Dad was on the phone all the time. Katy was a pest too. She’d gotten it into her head to be all fluffy, and sugar sweet, and babyish, and I could have kicked her.
The other reason was that I was bursting to tell everyone at school. It’s not often that I have some real news. Not like Sandra, whose older brother is in the Marines, or Miranda, who goes to tons of clubs, and does things with boys. Actually, I’m not all that popular at school. I used to be best friends with Debbie, ages ago, and that was fine, because everyone likes her, so they let me into their group too.
Debbie’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. She’s got this wonderful deep chestnut hair that she can flick about her face and it falls back into place, like on the shampoo ads. And she’s got a long, finely chiseled nose, and perfectly even teeth, and transparent skin covered with a sort of bloom, like a peach, and huge luscious eyes that are big and brown like a spaniel’s. It sounds corny, but it’s true. I can gaze at Debbie for hours. It’s not that I’m in love with her, or anything weird like that. I don’t even like her anymore, since she started going off with Emma, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me a health hazard because of my acne. I just like beautiful things, that’s all. I’ve got a strong aesthetic sense. And looking at Debbie is like looking at a perfect work of art.
Ever since I knew Mom was pregnant, I’d been planning my announcement at school, so I couldn’t bear to put it off. And it was lovely. Even better than I’d hoped. Everyone was fascinated.
I told it really dramatically. Well, it was dramatic, after all. It’s not every baby that’s born at home because it all happened too quickly for the mother to get to the hospital. And then there were two ambulances, one arriving after the other, and the doctor, and me knowing how to boil up lots of water, and the doctor telling me how sensible that was (well, it was Dad really but I cheated on