Butterfly Soup. Nancy Pinard

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СКАЧАТЬ would have loved a whole houseful of kids.

      “Just don’t expect it to be easy. You can’t throw him in the crib and talk on the phone.”

      “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not like that Diane Locklear. Why are you always lumping me with the crazy kids in the news?”

      “I don’t. I brag about you all the time. About your flute playing. And how well you speak French.” She looks up, her face the picture of motherly pride.

      “We speak English in this country, Mom. And no one in Eden cares that I play the flute.”

      It’s true, what she’s saying, why she will never be popular.

      “What do you think? That everyone’s going to gather at Millie’s on Saturday night to hear me play Mozart? Or how about at the Pizza Carryout? I could toodle away in front of the road map while the dropouts sprinkle mozzarella.”

      “That’s honest work, Valley. And I certainly don’t insist you play the flute. You can quit this minute. I have more to do than drive you to Dayton every week for your lesson.”

      “I don’t want to quit, Mom. That’s not the point.” What would she do without her flute? Being an only child is no fun at all. “And I could drive myself if you ever let me take the car out of Eden.”

      Her mother lets out a long sigh. “How was your date last night? Did that boy behave himself?”

      “I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “Don’t get huffy. I just asked And take that necklace off. Babies break necklaces. You don’t want to lose it.”

      Her mother now turns a bar of soap over and over in her palms and rubs it around between her fingers and under her nails. The suds drip on the chicken skins, and Valley grits her teeth, as if soap and chicken should somehow be kept separate.

      Valley drops her bowl into the chicken mess. “I’m going to be late. Goodbye, Mom.” She listens with satisfaction when the screen door thwacks shut behind her.

      Joey Harper starts fussing the second his mother hands him to Valley. Mrs. Harper retrieves her pocketbook from the dish-cluttered table and wipes her brow with her forearm. “Will you be all right?”

      Valley nods. Mrs. Harper has walked her through Joey’s routine, demonstrating how to lower the gingham blind, raise the crib rail, fill the humidifier and wind the teddy’s music box. “My mother’s home in case anything happens,” Valley assures her, though she has no intention of calling home. When it comes to nervous moms, she knows the script.

      Mrs. Harper looks back at the two of them on her way out the kitchen door. “He’s just been changed and fed. The phone numbers are on the wall next to the phone, and there’s a Coke for you in the fridge next to his bottle. I threw clean rompers in the dryer. They’ll be done in a bit if you need one.”

      Valley crosses her arms around Joey’s diapered bum while he waggles his face into her chest. He’s a cute little guy, especially when he isn’t fussing. “I’ll be fine. Enjoy the wedding.”

      Mrs. Harper sends Valley a tired smile. Valley goes to the door, shifting Joey to her hip so they can wave. She pumps Joey’s arm up and down. Joey yowls and strains toward his mother. “Hush, Joey.” Valley grips his chubby thigh. “Mummy will come back.”

      Mrs. Harper backs out of the narrow driveway, honks twice, and heads down the street. Valley’s used to crying kids. At first the Johnson twins fussed when their mother left, but they’re four now and cry when their mother returns. Joey scrunches his fists into his face. Valley thinks he’s settling in, but he surprises her and exhales another loud howl. He sounds, in fact, as if he’s just warming up. Valley jiggles him on her hip. A high-pitched squeal pierces his longer wailing, dividing it in sections. She stops jiggling. The squealing continues. The pitch ascends half an octave higher on the next breath. A sweat breaks out on her upper lip. She lifts him from her hip to her chest, cuddling his head under her chin, but his screaming is too close to her ear. “Jeez, Joey, you sound like Joanie’s pigs.” She imitates the pigs. Joey stops, looks at her, then takes a breath and yowls louder. Valley tilts her head away. The roots of her hair tingle. Just when she thinks it can’t get any louder, he pulls out another stop. “This little piggy goes to market. This little piggy stays home,” she chants in his ear. Joey shrieks back. She’s heard of pitches high enough to shatter glass. Mrs. Harper will come home to a house full of broken windows.

      She spies a vacuum cleaner on the dining room floor. From the crumbs on the rug, it looks as though Mrs. Harper never got to use it. Valley switches the canister on with her foot. Its whine breaks into Joey’s crying. He snorts a minute, body shuddering, then lowers his pitch to match it, just missing. The interval is awful. Valley switches it off, heads to the living room rocker and sits down. He arches his back and flails his arms, toothless gums spread wide around his bawling. His legs pedal at her stomach and thighs. He is hard to restrain, but she rocks anyway. How can a four-month-old baby be so strong? With the chair still moving, she doubles over him and shhs in his ear, but Joey can’t hear. His blue romper is damp with sweat. Tears streak down his cheeks.

      Valley sings “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain” at the top of her lungs, clapping his hands and adding a “wheeha!” at the end of each line. The Johnson twins love that. Joey wails.

      Facedown at her feet is a fluffy teddy bear. Valley seizes its behind and snuggles it up to Joey. “Look, here’s your bear, Joey. Let’s name your bear.” Joey bats the bear away, arms flailing. “How about Sebastian?” Valley has a bear named Sebastian. But Joey hates the name. He arches his back and howls. She tosses Sebastian on the couch.

      Panic flits at the edge of her consciousness. What is wrong with him? With her? How hard should it be to rock a baby? The TV commercials with the mother smiling at her sleeping baby play lullabies in the background. It looks so serene. Chalk up another way television romanticizes everything. She should have known.

      What if her mother is right? What if she can’t manage an infant? Valley’s arms feel numb, as if her blood is too thick for her veins. Her heart thuds, trying to push it around. Joey’s voice rises and falls like a siren, its overtones playing tag around the edges of her mind. She can hardly hear the voice in her own head. He’s too young to bribe with a Popsicle as she does when Mary Jane Walker has a temper tantrum. “Man, you’re really on a roll.” She tries to calm herself by laughing at him. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.” She bobs her head up and down as if he has her doubled over. He out-yowls her laughter. What should she do? Weddings go on and on. He’s showing no signs of fatigue. What had her teacher said about this in Home Ec? She can’t think. If Joey would shut up, maybe she could remember.

      Valley gets up and tromps around the living room, jostling Joey with every step. Snot is smeared down his romper. His face has turned an ugly red-purple, and she wonders that a mere fifteen minutes ago she thought he was cute. Her toes curl with every shriek. She holds him away from her ear. He looks like a slimy beet. “Stop it!” she hollers. She’s instantly ashamed.

      She lays Joey on the couch next to Sebastian and watches Joey thrash while she takes several deep breaths and decides to try a bottle. His mother said he just ate, but anything is worth a try, and with all the hollering, he might have worked up an appetite. She runs to the kitchen, finds the bottle in the fridge and sticks it in the microwave. “Never mind. I’m coming back,” she yells, though she doesn’t know why it matters. Joey doesn’t care. He cries whether she’s there or not.

      While the microwave СКАЧАТЬ