Chapter 3

Wednesday morning was special. It was Christmas Eve. Bob's father was home. Vi was coming on the afternoon train.

"You will get your wrapping done before that, won't you dear?" Katherine said. "I want Kathleen to have the wrappings before church." Katherine was practicing. Kathleen Violet Brennan had been Vi for most of her life. She had decided to be "Kathleen" as soon as she entered medical school. It made sense; it is hard to imagine a woman less like a violet. Her family took its time getting used to the change, though. "Kathleen" would have been easier to learn if Kathleen had ever been at home.

Although this was addressed to Bob, I answered it. "I still have to do the fancies for a few presents. Bob has most of his wrapping done." Bob wraps a very neat package as long as it has a regular shape. (In the Brennan family, more than half of all gifts are books, counting magazine subscriptions in the other half.) He does not put ribbons or bows on them. So he puts the paper on gifts from me, and I put the "fancies" on gifts from him. I might say that I am not a real Brennan child in that I bring my own gift-wrappings, or -- at least -- take less from the family stash one year than I left behind the year before. Bob and Vi think that access to the wrappings is part of their birthright.

"Too bad that now I can take a long vacation, she can't," I said.

"I get the impression, dear, that she took some time to spend with Charles. Apparently, she is very lucky to get a vacation at this time of year. It would be disloyal of her to ignore him, don't you think, dear?"

"Loyalty is one thing," Bob's father said, "silence is quite another. I don't know what we did to our kids. Bob was practically a blabbermouth in comparison to Vi." He would wait until she got there to use her new name. "Did you hear about her last visit home? Kate? You were on the phone."

"She called me up, dear, to ask if she could bring a friend home with her for a visit. Of course the answer was yes, of course I suspected that 'a friend' meant a boy. But there was no reason to jump to conclusions. 'Of course, dear, ' I said. 'I'll fix up Bob's room for her. I hope that she'll be comfortable without a carpet on the floor.'

"'Don't bother, mother, ' she said. 'Charles will be sleeping in my room.' Of course, I'm not going to put a male guest in my daughter's bedroom, and I told her so. What they did after we had shut our door is another story."

"She told me that you asked her to make it look like both beds had been slept in," I said.

"And they looked like both beds had been slept in. On separate nights, but both beds." I looked over at Bob's father. He was slightly amused. Vi thought that he hadn't known about that part. "I probably would have abandoned my principles if he could have visited this Christmas," Katherine continued. "Trying to pretend that he was sleeping on the couch would have been inconvenient and absurd. It ruins one's self-image to realize that your principles yield to convenience. Anyway..."

"Anyway," said Bob's father. "The first time that she mentioned his name to her mother -- to either of us -- was 'Charles will be sleeping in my room.' Had you heard of him before?"

"I don't know how much before," I said. "I think that she may have organized her visit to us before she organized her visit to you. We had to schedule a baptism, after all, not just a visit. And she had called during her first year in medical school, crying about breaking up with a boyfriend. She identified that time to Charles as 'the first breakup.' She never told me about the reconciliation. But then, I was shoulder to cry on, not a social secretary."

"Well, we worried about you, dear," Katherine said, "and look how you two turned out. So my worry about her might be needless. On the other hand, we had actually met you, dear. And you two never broke up." I looked over at Bob. He was trying to look innocent; he can't do that look. "Parents do worry. I don't like that pattern of breaking up, but at least they've known each other for a long while."

"I think," Bob said, "that you are making too much of my silence. I didn't keep you informed about every conversation with Jeanette, but you knew about most of my dates. I asked for the car to drive to a dance. I didn't specify that the dance was at my school rather than in Wichita; I didn't specify that we were dancing on the floor rather than the ceiling; and I didn't specify that I was taking Jeanette.

"As for Vi, you knew that she was dating in high school. She kept dating in college. I never suspected that she would stop dating because she was in medical school. Though it might happen. At some point, you stop reporting your dates to your parents."

Well, this was classical Bob. Not one statement was untrue. (Although outrageously untrue statements are also classical Bob, he scrupulously avoids certain kinds of lying.) There were a few points that he passed over, however. If Bob took the car for dates, he needed permission; he also dressed up for dances and such. Those were "dates." We met a lot of times between dates, and I doubt if his parents had known any more about those meetings than my parents had.

Parents don't expect to hear about each and every date that a college girl has. They do expect to hear about someone about whom their daughter is serious. Of course, I am in no position to talk. But my parents were different.

"Wait fifteen years," Bob's father said. "You know that your daughter is an autonomous human being," (I told you that my parents were different) "but she is still half your future. You'd like reports on critical areas. She knows that she is welcome in this home; and she knows that her friends, bar outrageous behavior, are welcome. I'd just like to hear that she is dating a man before that I hear that she is sleeping with him and contemplating marriage."

"Are they thinking about marriage, then?" I asked. Vi usually tells me things like that as soon as she tells her mother.

"Well, dear," Katherine said, "she hasn't said so, but they did visit. You know how hard it is for them to co-ordinate times off. The visit was no casual event. Vi never said so, but it was something of an announcement."

"I don't want to press her," Bob's father said. "They have to be sure, and residencies in different cities would make a mockery of marriage anyhow. I just would like to walk down the aisle at my daughter's wedding. Please don't quote me." He had a bypass operation years ago. He is reasonably healthy, but the whole family is conscious of the contingency of his life. "Anyway, I've seen both my children graduate and receive advanced degrees; and I've held my grandchild. Although not this morning." On this hint, Katherine yielded her up. The Kitten explored his pockets and found chewable wonders. He had taken one of those sets of plastic "keys" that they make for babies and cut the connection; those and the pens filled both his pockets.

"Maman," she said, and was immediately handed to me.

"Yes, darling," I said and gave her a big kiss. "Je suis ta maman." She wasn't much impressed by that information. A minute later she wanted to go back to the man with the abundant pockets. Sheer bribery, I call it.

I was determined to add another jar feeding to The Kitten's schedule. (Or a second feeding of baby food. But I do think that "baby food" applies to breast milk as much as to anything Gerber sells.) So when she showed some signs of hunger, I had her grandfather plunk her down in the highchair.

I made the funny face; she responded; I shoved the spoon in. She was a little surprised, but closed her mouth on it. We went on from there. It didn't go as smoothly as it had for Katherine; for one thing, when The Kitten wasn't grabbing at the spoon, she was reaching toward my breasts. She knew the schedule. We got a jar of fruit and a significant amount of cereal down, however. The mess was much less than it had been previous times. I cleaned her up and cuddled with her for ten minutes before handing her over to Katherine. "Come to Grandma Brennan, dear," she cooed. The Kitten had very little quilt time that morning. Her grandparents acted like a tag-team.

Of course, I should have waited to change the schedule until we were home. She got hungry much earlier than I had expected, just before an early lunch. We couldn't delay that because Bob's parents were due to leave for the train station. "I'll change her first," said Bob. "Why don't you feed her upstairs?" Everybody went their various ways. When I got upstairs, Bob had the special pacifier in her mouth.

Bob ate with his parents, but he brought sandwiches upstairs as soon as they left. They were lunchmeat sandwiches with mustard. Greater love hath no man than to spread a condiment that he hates on his wife's sandwiches. He stood behind the rocker and fed me. "I can't speak like this," I said.

"I'll do the talking," he said. "Nod when it's time." When the Kitten would pause, I would nod, and Bob would say a sentence. It must have confused The Kitten no end. At first he used lines of verse, then he changed his tune.

"Your mother, dear Kitten, is ... the kindest mother in the whole world ... But she is more than that ... She is also the sweetest wife ... She is beautiful, ... and kind, and sexy, and smart ... She can manage an office, ... and find her way around a foreign city ... She runs a house, ... and reads French handwriting, ... and wows professors ... She prepares good food, ... not quite so intimately for me as for you, ... but delicious nonetheless, ... and she keeps the house clean, ... and translates documents, ... and reminds her husband ... of birthdays and such ... Good as her cooking is, ... it can't match the sweet milk ... that she prepares for you ... Doesn't it taste good? ... Daddy has sampled it, ... and the taste is delicious, ... but not so sweet as the source ... She is a woman flowing in milk and honey.

"She makes the milk for you, ... though Daddy steals a bit ... She makes the honey for Daddy ... It leaks out down below ... It has the most enticing aroma in the world, ... but its taste is a thousand times more arousing ... That is how you came to be ... Your mommy's shape attracted your daddy ... Her smooth skin and cute ears brought him near." At this point, he touched my ears. I was blushing while he said this, but he kept my mouth full. Okay, there was a lot that I could do to stop this line of blarney, but it excited me while it embarrassed me. It wasn't the sort of thing one should tell an innocent child about her parents, but The Kitten was too young to comprehend. And I had confided some of my plans for papa to her. Anyway, he was going on.

"The breasts that you suck aroused him ... But the honey made him gasp with its aroma, ... maddened him with its taste ... It made him desperate to enter her, ... and then it smoothed that entry ... Anointed with her honey, ... driven by her beauty, ... excited by her acceptance, ... clasped by her loving warmth, ... Daddy moved faster and faster within Mommy until he shot you out ... But Mommy was holding part of you, too ... When those parts came together, ... it was a Kitten ... And Grandma Brennan was glad ... when she heard that it had happened, ... and Grandpa Brennan was glad when ... he heard that it had happened, ... and Aunt Kathleen was glad when ... she heard that it had happened, ... and Mommy was ecstatically happy when she found out, ... which she did first of all ... Daddy was happy that ... there would be a Kitten, too, ... even though he didn't know how cute, ... and sweet, and funny, and clever, ... The Kitten would turn out to be ... But Daddy was happy when The Kitten was started, ... before he knew that she was going to arrive at all."

Okay. That would need editing before we used it for a sex-ed lecture for The Kitten, really for Cat -- which would be her name as soon as she could walk. Still, there were worse ways of expressing it.

Aside from brushing my cheek with the arm that was feeding me, Bob had touched only my ear and my neck, both of them briefly. I was, however, aroused enough to be nearly squirming in the rocker. Neither The Kittens sucking nor the rocking motion helped a bit (or they both helped, depending on how you figure it).

"So, darling daughter," Bob continued. "As soon as you are quite done, ... we will set you on the quilt over there, ... and Mommy will go to make sure that what Daddy shoots into the honey, ... doesn't cause any rival sibling, ... to our very own Kitten ... Then, since you won't need ... the rocker, ... Daddy will use it instead ... And he will rock and rock in the chair, ... and rock and rock in Mommy, ... until the honey is flowing freely, and ... Daddy and Mommy will rock ... together in the chair, ... and rock against ... each other as well ... Then they will be real real happy ... They will try to keep you happy too ... N'est-ce pas, ma femme?"

"Certainment, mon mari," I said. And we rocked in silence for a minute while Bob played more and more with my hair and earlobes, and The Kitten played less and less with my breasts. "I think that she is done," I whispered to Bob. I handed her to him for the burping. That is much less necessary these days, but I think she enjoys the contact. I know that he usually does, although perhaps not that afternoon.

He was still dressed when I came back from the bathroom in my robe, but he stripped quite rapidly. The Kitten's quilt was fairly close to the heater, but separated from it by some shelving. We need fear neither a chill nor a burn. Bob placed our suitcase between the rocker and the quilt.

We kissed gently while we were standing there, then quite hotly. Bob's hands roved all over my body before he removed the robe.

The Kitten was watching us in the sun-lit room. "Bob," I said, "I can't." He looked as though I had struck him. "Let's go to the bed."

Bob relaxed. "Sure, the bed isn't 'no.' Can you sit on the foot?" That was pretty-well hidden from The Kitten. I nodded. He kept kissing me and stroking me. I broke for the bed. I sat on the foot while Bob knelt between my legs. I bent over to exchange one last hot tongue kiss. I looked at The Kitten before flopping back on the bed. She was looking at a rattle that she had just found.

I dropped back and pulled a corner of the bedspread over my shoulders. Bob kissed my stomach, circling my navel before sticking his tongue into it. I wiggled. "Bob don't," I said. It was an entirely different "don't" than I had said to the rocker. He kissed my mound. "Are you sure you don't mind the hair?" I asked.

"I love your hair," he said. "I loved your offering to me." I had shaved it for his birthday. I had never said for how long, but I felt like an "injun giver" for letting it grow back. Bob kissed the mound a few more times, before he dropped to the thighs.

"Remember that Vi's train might be on time," I said. "I want you up here on top of me well before they get back." Then I lay back to enjoy the trip.

I had been fairly wet down there when I left the room, Bob's comments about honey having drawn some. I had cleaned all that off before inserting the diaphragm, of course, and been totally dry when I came back. Bob's lips and tongue were changing that situation, but I was really farther along in my arousal than Bob could tell. I grabbed a pillow just in case. He parted my outer lips with his fingers. He could have done the same with the inner ones, but he licked the edges until they slowly spread.

"I do love you," I told him. I couldn't help lifting my hips as his tongue finally swept along the length of one lip. "You think it is just your genitals,..." I shivered as he licked the other lip. "and your fingers,..." I was quite juicy now, and he sucked up a bit. "and your lips,..." I tensed as he licked across my bud. I wouldn't say anything coherent any more. I pulled the pillow across my mouth as he settled in to lick me to ecstasy.

"Oh Bob," I moaned. My hips were moving under his mouth now, but that didn't keep his tongue from kindling more fire to feed the one burning in my belly. "Bob," I shouted into the pillow. The fire tensed my body into an arc, pressed against his mouth near the top. He accepted this offering with a long, sucking, kiss. I screamed something unintelligible into the pillow as the fire flared through me, shook me, and dropped me back on the bed.

"Oh Bob," I said when I could breathe. He came onto the bed and held me. "Love you," I managed to gasp out.

"I love you, too," he said. He kissed my face and head, avoiding my mouth to let me breathe.

"I know you love me," I said after a while. "Tell me you'll love me forever."

"Forever, despite anything, as long as I live."

"Is The Kitten watching us?"

"Not now" he said. "She is playing with her toes."

"Give me five minutes."

"Of course, as long as you want. Do you want me in you then?" Well yes, but I had been getting too many of my wants lately.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Not making an exhibition."

"Could you manage an encore?"

"You'd have to manage it, but I could participate. Kiss me here first." I meant with us both lying on the bed.

He chuckled. "Anywhere you ask. How about here?" He kissed my shoulder. "Or here?" He kissed my temple. "Or here?" He kissed my ear. "Or here?" He kissed my mouth and licked my lips and played tag with my tongue. I had to break it to breathe, but it was lovely while it lasted. He hadn't any more questions, but he had lots more kisses.

"Try here," I said and guided him onto the breast that The Kitten had just left. "Be very gentle." He was gentle, worshiping it with his mouth more than actually sucking on it. "Anyway, you think it is just your lovely lips and tongue and fingers and the other part that fills me and make me feel so nice. But, beyond them, I love your voice, and your gentleness, and the way that you talk and read to The Kitten." He licked all over the areola then, a game in which he tries to avoid the nipple. He can't quite avoid it, but the touches are unpredictable, and very light, and incredibly tingly.

"Oh Bob," I said. He kissed the nipple. It was a light peck for goodbye.

"I love you," he said as he started to kiss down across my stomach. I was recovered now, and anxious for him to get to his goal. Bob kissed everywhere on his path, jumped from the path to tickle my navel again, and continued from there to my mound. He went on kissing there a long time, probably because he had to leave me to go any farther.

"Check on The Kitten," I reminded him.

"She's fine," he said from a point above my knees.

Because of everything that I had been through already, my inner lips were exquisitely sensitive. Bob guessed that, or wanted to tease, or was just expressing his tenderness. Anyway, his kisses and licks were soft and slow and sprinkled all over that tiny area. Then the tension of promise captured me. I pulled the pillow back to my face. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through me from his tongue, each leaving me wound tighter than the last. One last kiss wound me the tightest.

Then the tightness broke, and flowed through me, and pulsed inside me, and carried me away, and then stranded me.

Bob was up on the bed beside me, kissing my temple and my forehead. "I love you," he said. "From the instant in the schoolyard, to the day we talked of our future, to the long afternoon, to the time in the woods, to the day you forgave me, to seeing you walk down the aisle, I have loved you. I loved you in the hotel room, where you were so brave and accepting. I loved you in the forest, in the tent in the rain, in the furnished apartment, the birthday and Christmas presents. When you followed me to Boston as if it were the ends of the Earth, when you led me through Paris as if you were born there, I loved you and admired you and lusted after you. When you asked me for a baby and wanted to lie there until it was born, when you presented me with our daughter, when you do so much to care for her. From meeting you until this moment, I love you, and want you, and want to care for you. I always shall."

"Let me get all on the bed," I said. I moved up towards the head of the bed, Bob trying to help. "I love you, too. I always shall. Can I have you in me this time?" We kissed, and he stroked me all over, not concentrating on the sensitive parts. Then our kiss got hotter, and his hand stroked over the insides of my thighs.

I was running like a river by this time, as Bob found out when I parted my legs to let his hand reach their juncture.

"Oh love," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Love." It seemed a meaningful statement at the time. And it must have been, because he kissed me passionately but briefly on my mouth and climbed between my legs. Which was precisely what I had wanted him to do.

He entered me quite smoothly. His motions were pleasure and fulfillment to my body and spirit both, until they became need. I met his thrusts with mine, and he speeded up. He reached between us to touch me. I tensed as he did this, and spasmed two strokes later. He was only an instant behind me, pulsing into my depths.

We lay entangled and gasping for breath until The Kitten cried. Bob picked her off the bare floor, patted her into comfort, and put her back on the quilt. I dabbed up our mess and grabbed my robe. Given the chance, The Kitten will suckle a bare breast within half an hour of filling up.

I went into the bathroom first, though we might have gone together at home. I dressed while Bob was gone, but he came back wearing only his shorts. He dropped down on The Kitten's quilt, and gestured to me to take the other side. We didn't touch each other, but formed walls to her play space.

She shook a rattle for a minute then flung it away. Bob retrieved it but put it behind him. I got another toy from the pile at the wall end of the quilt and offered it to her. We hardly talked to her and not at all with each other. The Kitten rolled until she ran into Bob. He captured her and blew across her hair. She laughed and tried to roll away. After a second, he let her go. She laughed more and rolled all the way into me. So I captured her. Instead of blowing on her hair, I kissed the top of her head. Rolling back, she got turned a bit. She ran into fuzzy bear. She started playing with it, the rolling game forgotten.

I think we may both have dozed.

We were surprised by the slam of the front door. Amtrak, which you can't depend on for anything, had been on time. I slipped on my shoes and closed the door before running downstairs.

As my fifteen-year-old bridesmaid, Vi had been strikingly mature. As an intern of twenty-six, Kathleen (I might as well make the change here) exuded youthful enthusiasm. We hugged. "How have you been doing?" I asked. "Did you stop in Ohio?"

"Only two days. I'm fine. Slept almost all the way in the trains, and have cut my sleep debt almost in half. Char sends his love."

"I thought that all of that was taken." She laughed. "Talk later?" She nodded.

"And how come he got pictures that I didn't?" she asked.

"Because he isn't on my Christmas gift list." He only got a set of pictures from the baptism, anyhow. She had already received more pictures than that. We hugged again. Bob came clattering down the stairs.

"Dr. Brennan, I presume," he said. (Have I mentioned how proud we are of her new status as an M. D.?)

"Dr. Brennan, I presume," she answered. They hugged. That settled, Bob went out to get the rest of her luggage from the car. The conversation became general, which is a polite way of saying that four Brennans were talking at once. "Enough of this chit-chat," Kathleen said. "I have to inspect my god-daughter's religious progress. I think that inspection will take until we leave for church."

"I'll go get her," I said. Bob slid off into the kitchen, where the remains of lunch hadn't cleaned themselves up while we were otherwise engaged.

The Kitten was still on her quilt. She wasn't complaining about her diaper, but it was certainly ready for a change. I took care of that before bringing her downstairs. She was two hours away from any sulks and happy to greet a new admirer. I don't believe that she could possibly remember Kathleen.

"Catherine Angelique," Kathleen said. "Oh how you have grown."

"Dear," Katherine said, "let me tell you something that I've told the others. This is Jeanette's child. Jeanette is providing her with the food that she needs, and the comfort that only she can provide. You may have your share of play and cuddling with her subject to two rules. One, Jeanette makes the rules; you don't do anything she says not to do, whether you think it is safe or not; you give her back to Jeanette on demand, no ifs ands or buts. Two, there are five of us; Jeanette is providing most of the input; we four take care of the output. If you can't change her diapers, you can watch the rest of us hold her."

"Mother, I'm a medical intern. I just went through med school. A dirty diaper from a healthy baby is nothing. For that matter, I've changed her before; and I certainly can again. Maybe I should start now."

"You shouldn't," I said. "I changed her upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Bob's father said. "Bob came down not ten minutes ago. Bob! Come here!" Those last three words could easily be heard in the kitchen, probably could be heard in the street outside.

"Yes sir," Bob said.

"You were included in your mother's rules. You left a wet baby for your wife to change. Do you duck all the dirty jobs?"

"Sir. I have changed a third of my daughter's diapers since we arrived here. If Jeanette does a few changes, it's because she is there when it's necessary, and I am absent or asleep. I have changed my first-born's diaper almost every day since she came home from the hospital."

"One diaper a day?"

"Not one diaper a day, many diapers most days. I have held my first-born child every day of her first seven months except when holding her was a threat to her health. I have changed her every day that I have held her since nurses ceased being available.

"Jeanette does primary care. I won't compare myself to her. I would, however, ask if there is any other father in this room who saw his first born once in every week of that child's first seven months. For that matter, Jeanette needed me for the month before The Kitten's birth more than for the month after." (That wasn't quite true. Bob was forgetting how traumatic the "minor surgery" was that I had after The Kitten's birth.) "I was there for her then." (Now, that was quite true -- whichever way you interpret "then.")

Bob had not raised his voice through any of this, though the intensity came through and some of the 'S' sounds were hissed. Now his volume dropped in half. There wasn't another sound in the house; no one missed a word he said, much as we wished that we could. "I was with my wife and child virtually from the time that you walked out of that door until you walked back through it. The Kitten was happy and didn't particularly need changing when I left her, which was minutes after Jeanette left her. You know that Jeanette wouldn't have ignored her child in need; why do you assume that the need developed while I was there instead of during the time when I was gone."

"There was no urgent need," I said. "I'm grateful for Katherine's rule, but it isn't fair to The Kitten to present her to someone when she is wet."

"I'm considered a good teacher," Bob continued without taking any notice of that statement, "a fair scholar, a responsible father. The only person entitled to an opinion considers me a decent husband. Every employer that I have ever had has asked me back as long as there was work available. I can't remember ever being out of the top third of my class. I graduated on time, completed my course work on time, completed my dissertation on time. I have all the negative virtues, not a drunk, no arrests. I even get insurance cheaper for being a safe driver. I don't consider myself to be a world shaker, a record setter; but the only person in the whole fucking world who considers me a failure is my own father. And he considers me a failure in everything."

"I never said that," his father answered.

"You don't say 'everything.' You say them one. Thing. At. A time!"

I looked at Vi. "It's Christmas Eve," I said.

"If not now, when?" she replied. "You sit there," she told her father, pointing to one end of the couch. "And you sit there," she told Bob, pointing to the other end. They looked at her without moving.

"Do it," I said. "Or," I told Bob's father, "You won't hold The Kitten another time the rest of this visit. And you," I was pointing at Bob, then I stopped dead.

"She's my child too," he said. I was going to say that he couldn't hold me. But those words wouldn't leave my mouth.

"Because you love me," I said. "I beg of you to sit down and listen because you love me." He looked at me for a moment before dropping onto the couch so hard that it bounced. "Stay there. Katherine, could you hold The Kitten?" She did.

"And get my nitroglycerine, please," said Bob's father. "It's purely precautionary."