“Just getting old. Gout in my toe. My hip. What all.” She tossed her hand dismissively in the air. “The question is, how are you?” Claire suspected her mother thought she was too far along to show herself in public. She said, “I feel terrific, actually.” Dr. Sadler walked right up to them, held out his hand to Rosanna, and said, “I understand you’re Claire’s mom. I’m Martin Sadler. I’m pleased to meet you.” His smile was as big as could be. Rosanna put her hand on his arm and asked him if he was engaged or dating anyone.
Paul strapped Gray carefully into his expensive Maclaren baby stroller, tied his hat onto his head, then pulled his socks up and his overalls down. If one ray of sunshine got on the child’s skin, Paul would take him inside. Paul refused absolutely to have a dog, and even though Claire was always saying that a boy needed a dog, it was she herself who needed the dog. But Paul’s favorite words were “I don’t think so.”
Annie had changed overnight — breasts (suddenly large ones), though not much of a waist. Jesse wore exactly what Joe wore, right down to the ill-fitting white shirt and the too-short khakis and the flattop. And he stayed right in Joe’s shadow. When Dr. Sadler asked him what grade he was in, Jesse looked up at Joe before he answered. Lois, as always, looked as if she was minding her own business. She opened the door and received the pie before Minnie turned off the engine.
Claire’s hand went to her own hair. She had sprouted thirty gray ones, all at the cowlick on the left side of her hairline, right up front for everyone to see. She was twenty-eight years old! It was very unjust, she thought. Paul ran the stroller right over her toes.
Lois said, “I’m going to check in to the Machine Shed. I’ll meet you at the crafts,” so they followed Rosanna into the hall. Purple cable knit with long sleeves, regular Aran patterned vest, Fair Isle, hand-knitted Iowa Hawkeyes football jersey, including the number and the player’s name, “Murphy.” After the knitwear, they wandered past the canned goods to the piles of fleece, then tomatoes, longest green bean, biggest onion, heaviest ear of sweet corn. Claire had a little exchange of hard stares with Paul about taking Gray among the livestock, but Claire won — Paul picked him up, and Claire folded the stroller and carried it. It was important not to stand up straight, not to ask for help, and not to pat your belly. There were breeds of hogs here that she would not have recognized without a sign — Old Spots, Mulefoot, Tamworth (these were red) — and cows (Red Poll, Randal Lineback, Belted Galloway). She liked the horses, which were mostly draft and ponies. Paul actually got interested in the chickens. Rosanna took hold of the sleeve of Dr. Sadler’s jacket. “Goodness, we had those Chanticleers. Good birds. Smart. I always heard of those Dominiques, never saw one before. Who was that who had a whole flock of those red Russian Orloffs? Claire, do you remember? Those could stay out in any weather, but they weren’t good layers. Chickens got us through the Depression. And cream!” Dr. Sadler continued to nod. Goats, sheep. Joe lingered at the sheep, his hand affectionately on Jesse’s shoulder, pointing out the Southdowns, like the one he had brought to the fair — oh goodness, was it thirty-three years ago now? Emily, that ewe’s name was. And then he met a girl named Emily, too.
The Southdowns were the prettiest, Claire thought. When Jesse asked for one, Joe said, “We’ll see.” Which was better than “I don’t think so.” Claire knew she was grumpy.
They came out onto the midway, and she felt a breeze. It was almost noon, quite pleasant — not even eighty, she would bet. Paul said, “We could have chickens. The backyard is big enough.” Quite typical of Paul to reject a dog out of hand, but get suddenly enthusiastic about chickens. Dr. Sadler and Rosanna were at the corn-dog stand. Claire waddled away from Paul and joined them there. Dr. Sadler gave her a comfortable smile. She said, “You know the recipe for grilled corn?”
“I shudder to think,” said Dr. Sadler.
“Twelve ears of corn, a cup of melted butter, salt.”
Paul made her cook with margarine.
Rosanna held out her hand, and Dr. Sadler put the corn dog into it. Claire was beginning to feel a little jealous.
Paul insisted that they go to the replica of the first church ever built in Iowa. “Catholic!” exclaimed Rosanna. “Built in Dubuque.” She turned to Dr. Sadler. “Were you raised a Catholic, by any chance?”
Dr. Sadler shook his head, and Claire felt her ears get bigger, but he didn’t say anything except “Nice woodworking.”
The pies, set out neatly on the display table, were judged at four. Claire thought Lois’s did look delicious, but she came in second. After the judging, she went up to the judges and smiled and shook their hands and thanked them for judging. Claire thought that Lois was always excessively polite. You never knew what she was really thinking.
And so they forgot about Tim for eight hours, and Rosanna was, indeed, perked up. As for Claire, she was so exhausted she let Paul put Gray to bed, which he did with better grace than he had all summer. She was lying on her side, and she could feel the baby moving around; she imagined her (him) doing backflips. After Gray was down, Paul came into their room and sat on the edge of the bed, took Claire’s hand, and pushed her bangs gently out of her face. He said, “That was a good idea, enjoying plant, animal, and human variety for a day. Let’s do that every year.” He was patting her hand, and she fell asleep right there, deep as a well and twice as dark — who used to say that?
1968
THEIR CHRISTMAS HAD BEEN bittersweet. Debbie invited her boyfriend, an awkward kid but kind. He helped with the dishes, and he noticed things like rug corners turned up or stove burners left on. Lillian liked him. Tina had taken a class in printmaking and made their Christmas cards. After years of encouraging her because that’s what a mother was supposed to do, Lillian had loved the cards Tina made, two sheep, a goat, and three chickens peering through a door into a shed, and the Star of Bethlehem shining above them. Dean brought home an early admission to Dartmouth, which everyone imagined to be surrounded by acres of smooth ice. Arthur seemed energetic and almost happy, and maybe only Lillian noticed that his hair was nearly all gray now. They hung Tim’s favorite ornaments on the tree and drank to him at the table, and told a few of the funnier stories, just so the boyfriend would know that they had handled their loss.
Yes, when McNamara had turned in his resignation, Arthur was irritated watching it on the news, muttering, “Frank Wisner shot himself. What’s stopping you, Mr. Secretary?” then retreated to his office as he had so many times before. This was the first thing Lillian thought of when she found Arthur under the bed.
He was canny about it. Dean took swimming practice before school, and Tina liked to go in with him and study in the library, so Lillian was up by six, making breakfast. She ironed Tina’s blouse and found Dean a pair of socks, did the dishes, had a second cup of coffee. She thought Arthur had left — he said he was going to sneak out of the house early and not to worry about him. She even went in and out of the bedroom once, noticing only that the bed was made. When she was putting away her robe, she saw a wrinkle in the lower hem of the bedspread. First she touched the wrinkle; then she felt his shoe. There was no blood; he had no wounds, but he was out cold, and she knew he had done it at last. She threw the bedspread onto the floor and called an ambulance.