Chapter 9

Susan’s turn:

As that skunk says in Jason’s favorite Warner Brothers cartoons – “Le sigh...”

Yes, I knew all this going in – marrying Jason, a responsible male, having children, that would be our JW right now. We’re discussing the follow-on. Mizz Donna’s the first of us to do a double.

Mommyhood weighs heavily upon my life. I’m an engineer. A REAL engineer. I can take a client’s requirements and block out a substation, and I know what every chunk on that paper is used for and why it’s there. Mommyhood says that I may well be doing this with JW and some of the other toddlers sitting on the floor.

Okay, forget ‘sitting’. They’re toddlers. By definition, they do indeed ‘toddle’, a wobbly walking gait that covers an amazing distance when you’re focusing your attention on something other than them.

I don’t work much on the two days a week that Mimi’s NOT doing her ‘community nanny’ thing, though. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my domestic days with my son. Oh, I’m seldom isolated. Between me and Tina and Mizz Donna and Johanna, if she’s in town, we’re subject to all gather for coffee and to be happy about life.

Yesterday Nikki joined us. She’s a week from delivery. Big as a house, well, not really. She avoided all but the tiniest amount of weight gain, but add a baby to a hundred and ten pounds of starting weight, it shows. Did on all of us. She’s funny. She’s one of my sisters, got the warped sense of humor that seems to pervade our bunch, and we all laugh when she explains how HER ‘help me roll over’ moments happen.

“He asked me if I needed a trapeze above the bed.”

“Should’ve told him that’s for AFTER you finish being pregnant,” I giggled.

“Or BEFORE,” she retorted. “Not that any help at all was needed.”

She’s happy being pregnant. We all were, for the most part, although the normal complaints like whacky balance, changes to mobility, very short-range bladder. Like flying home to Jason’s folks. Four hour flight.

“Hit the next airfield, baby,” I said.

Jason looked over at me. “I thought you went before we took off.”

“I did. I need to go.”

“Seriously?”

“Either that or I soak this seat...”

On the return trip, we planned the stop. Jason felt guilty, so while I was attending to my newly discovered two-hour bladder, he topped off the tanks at the airfield’s pumps.

But that’s a three year old story – mine. I know Nikki’s in the same position. She and her Dan have flown back to Louisiana several times, combining work with visits to Dan’s family. His bunch are excited for the new arrival.

And we have our own “Peppermint Patty”. I don’t know who made the connection between Dana, likely the most athletic of our bunch, and the little athletic girl in the Peanuts comic strips, but it stuck.

She was asked to try out for the university’s female soccer team.

We all knew that she was athletic. Our group regularly gets out in the field and does flag football or kickball or soccer, not formal games, you know, just informal taking of sides and playing. We HAVE to do that because behind us is the Pavilion with its kitchen and outdoor smokers and grills and that is just TOO much good food.

Some of the guys are getting a bit slower, into their forties. My Jason in his early thirties now is still good, but we have a bunch of young females as well, and we have fun. But Dana ... And a soccer ball ... She has moves. She can juggle that thing, and so when somebody saw her playing at a city park, next thing you know...

“I don’t know if that’s what I wanna do,” she told us in conversation. “Formal team sports at the collegiate level, it’s about the team and winning ... I’m not giving up academics for sports.”

I know we supported that view, but she went out for a practice session with them, came back...

Sighed. “They want me on the team.” Another sigh. “I’m flattered. Really. Feel privileged.”

Cindy spoke for all of us. “Proud of you, Dana. That’s quite a mark.”

“I understand that,” she said. “But it’s not who I am. Soccer’s fun, the way we play here. I do not want the stress of trying to play at that level – precision, intensity...”

“Somebody at the engineering department told me that they’d be relieved if you’d terrorize the athletic department for a while,” Nikki grinned.

“Ain’t happening. I know dozens of places that will hire a new engineer. I don’t see ads online looking for girl soccer players.”

I laughed. “You coulda been like Pele’, with tits.”

“Susan!” she squeaked. “One, I’m not near that level, and two, I’m the flattest of the bunch...”

“You wear that sports bra,” I said. “De-emphasizes ... And I can just imagine how much Ed complains...”

She smiled demurely. “I worried. I don’t think HE does...”

“No,” I smiled. “I bet he doesn’t.”

Bill Carmody’s turn:

The ancient Chinese curse probably applies: “May you live in interesting times.” Yup, been getting interesting around here. Maybe things will settle down, now that my son (!) has been born. Cute little guy, Bill Junior (we’re calling him “Will”, until he can state some other preference).

Nicknames are important in the south, you know, and they come from so many different sources. Everybody around here knows several Bubbas. They usually have younger siblings and ‘Bubba’ is the younger one’s attempt at ‘brother’. Same thing on the distaff side of things with ‘Sissy’.

So we start out with ‘Will’ and see how Elise works it. At least she’s too young to name him ‘whiny little shit factory’. I know about that one as applied by an older sibling to a late arrival.

But this apartment is getting a little cramped, so me and Donna have been talking about building a house out at the airfield. Talking about it right now at breakfast, in fact, when my phone buzzed. Unfamiliar number. Hmm.

“Hello, this is Bill Carmody.”

“Mr. Carmody, my name is Denise Watkins, with Child Protective Services in Robertsdale. I apologize for the early call, but I’m trying to resolve some next-of-kin issues with one of our clients.”

Now you have to know that a statement along those lines livens up my thought patterns. “OK. How may I help, Denise?”

“Sir, did you ever know a lady named Angela Simmons?”

Ouch. There’s a boarded up corner of my memories that has that name plastered across it. “Actually, yes I did, must be twelve or thirteen years ago. At one time, I actually hoped that we could marry.”

“Thank God!” she blurted. “I was afraid this was a dead end. Sir, this will probably come as a bit of a surprise, but we think you may be this girl’s father.”

Okay, Bill, let’s show your vocabulary off. “Huh? Excuse me?”

“There’s some conflict about the evidence because her birth certificate doesn’t show you as the father,” she said. “That block says ‘unknown’, but she has a letter from Angela stating that it’s you. Is there any way that you could come down here to help us sort things out?” A heavy sigh. “If you’re interested.”

“Uh, you might imagine that this is rather startling information. There are other factors. I’ll get back to you.”

Almost sadly, “Thank you, sir. I do hope you can help us here. There’s a precious young lady involved.”

My wife must’ve been intrigued by the changes I imagined my face made over this news. Donna asked, “Do we have a problem here?”

My wife. I love my Donna. It’s evidenced by the little pink thing wiggling in her arms and by that toddler over there dutifully putting her toys away. I backed into a perfect wife and I don’t want to mess that up.

She deserves the truth, though, and I have to trust in the strength of the love between us and the strength of her character that pulled her out of a bad situation.

I drew a breath. “Yes, Donna, I’m pretty sure we do. It relates to a situation long before I knew anything about you. I told you about some of my life prior to us meeting...”

“Yeah, baby. You met me TWICE. Once before – the old Donna, and once after – the new Donna. You bought the second one. I love you. You love me. So what’s gonna cause your face to look like that?”

“Donna, my love, mother of my children,” I started, then realized that I thought she was the ONLY mother of my children. Okay, Bill, she loves you. So tell ‘er. “It appears I may have another daughter. I told you little about Angela. She was a lovely young lady, but not as smart as you. Worse, she was a redhead, and I have a certain weakness for redheads. I have a hard time telling them ‘no’.”

Silence. Eyes looking into mine. Then, “Bill, I never expected you to be a monk, so I’m certainly not upset.” She sort of did that little smile thing she does. “Seeing the surprise on your face, I don’t think you were hiding something.”

“Donna, I had no idea...”

“Bill, honey,” she said. “You’re MY mate. I KNOW you. If you’d’ve known this before, first, you’d’ve been part of this child’s life. Second, you’d’ve been supporting her. Since my particularly honorable husband was doing neither of these, you have just been surprised by something you didn’t see coming. So what are we going to do about it?”

I noted the ‘we’. “Baby, I don’t know if this is something I can even ASK you to do. It’s not fair...”

She caught me in her gaze, quite serious. “What’s the saying that they keep tossing around here? ‘Fair is someplace you can buy funnel cakes.’ ‘Fair’, my dear husband and father of these children, is that we approach this like adults and do adult things. You know – like taking care of kids. So what are WE going to do?”

“I guess I need to call ‘er back, baby, and see what the next step is. I would imagine I need to go down there.”

She was in the process of breastfeeding our son. “Obviously, I can’t go down there with you. But Bill ... if she’s your daughter, I want her, here, with us, if there is a way. Your daughter is MY daughter.”

I’m thinking that if I drive, at the best I’d kill the day, getting back home at almost midnight. Let me think of who’s going to fly me. Dammit. I can’t fly. Never had the itch.

“OK, Cindy’s not here—she’s on her way to western Louisiana. Let me call Alan.”

“One more thing, Bill,” Donna said. “We need to get that house going, NOW. With a fourth bedroom. No rush, so long as it’s done by tomorrow.”

Now I’m feeling a little better. That’s my kind, smart, little bit snarky Donna. Somewhere in her life, she found strength. She’s sharing it with me now. I punch Alan’s speed-dial.

Answering, he said, “Good morning, Bill. Kinda early. What’s up?”

“Alan, I apologize for the early call, but I just found out about this myself. Is there any way Tina could fly me down to Gulf Shores this morning? And back this afternoon, probably?”

“Fine with me, Bill, but let me put Tina on the horn.”

I heard his phone hit the table, then Tina. “Morning, Mr. Bill. Sounds like you need some help.”

“Hey Scooter,” I said. I have a whole list of pet names I toss around this bunch. It’s mix and match, so occasionally I get “But Mister Bill! Last week I was ‘Scooter’.” “Let’s just say an emergency just arose, and I need a quick day-trip down to Gulf Shores and back. Can you do that?”

“It’s gotta be important or you wouldn’t’ve called ME,” she told me. “I’ll have to arrange some things. Mimi’s got the kiddo until four today, but if I need to run longer ... Pretty urgent, I suppose?”

“Yes it is, baby. We need to get going as soon as possible.” I was thinking that I call Mizz Watkins and get something set up for late morning. And optimistically, “And Tina, we may have a passenger coming back with us. It’s a rescue mission, I hope, and I’ll explain when I get there.”

“Cool! Meet me at the airfield, and I’ll punch up a flight plan. And pack an overnight bag, just in case. Also, could you arrange for a car? At, uhh, looks like Gulf Air Center.”

“Yes, ma’am, Tina.” Jeez, I wonder if they’re ALL this bossy? Probably so, and we’re lucky they are.

“Looks like a bit less than 160 miles, nautical. We won’t even need to refuel. Have the car ready for about 10:30am.”

“Yes ma’am, Captain Tina.”

To which she answered “Pfffft! Cindy’s THE captain,” and hung up.

I turned to Donna.

“Tina?”

“Yep,” I said. “Lemme call Mizz Watkins.”

“Do it, baby,” she smiled. “We’ll get this going OUR way.”

“Thank you, love,” I said.

I back-dialed the number from the earlier call. Got a receptionist, then “Mister Carmody ... Pleasantly surprised.”