“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Ma said.
“Your ma thinks Ryan’s a hitter,” Harris said.
“Ryan is a hitter,” Ma said. “I can always tell a hitter.”
“He hits?” I said. “He hits Renee?”
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Ma said.
“He better not start hitting that baby,” Harris said. “Sweet little Martney. Kid’s super-cute.”
“Although what the beep kinda name is that?” Ma said. “I told Renee that. I said that.”
“Is that a boy or a girl name?” Harris said.
“What the beep you talking about?” Ma said. “You seen it. You held it.”
“Looks like a elf,” Harris said.
“But girl or boy elf?” Ma said. “Watch. He really don’t know.”
“Well, it was wearing green,” Harris said. “So that don’t help me.”
“Think,” Ma said. “What did we buy it?”
“You’d think I’d know boy or girl,” Harris said. “It being my freaking grandkid.”
“It ain’t your grandkid,” Ma said. “We bought it a boat.”
“A boat could be for boys or girls,” Harris said. “Don’t be prejudice. A girl can love a boat. Just like a boy can love a doll. Or a bra.”
“Well, we didn’t buy it a doll or a bra,” Ma said. “We bought it a boat.”
I went downstairs, got the phone book. Renee and Ryan lived over on Lincoln. 27 Lincoln.
3
27 Lincoln was in the good part of downtown.
I couldn’t believe the house. Couldn’t believe the turrets. The back gate was redwood and opened so smooth, like the hinge was hydraulic.
Couldn’t believe the yard.
I squatted in some bushes by the screened-in porch. Inside, some people were talking: Renee, Ryan, Ryan’s parents, sounded like. Ryan’s parents had sonorous/confident voices that seemed to have been fabricated out of previous, less sonorous/confident voices by means of sudden money.
“Say what you will about Lon Brewster,” Ryan’s dad said. “But Lon came out and retrieved me from Feldspar that time I had a flat.”
“In that ridiculous broiling heat,” said Ryan’s mom.
“And not a word of complaint,” said Ryan’s dad. “A completely charming person.”
“Almost as charming — or so you told me — as the Flemings,” she said.
“And the Flemings are awfully charming,” he said.
“And the good they do!” she said. “They flew a planeload of babies over here.”
“Russian babies,” he said. “With harelips.”
“Soon as the babies arrived, they were whisked into various operating rooms all around the country,” she said. “And who paid?”
“The Flemings,” he said.
“Didn’t they also set aside some money for college?” she said. “For the Russians?”
“Those kids went from being disabled in a collapsing nation to being set for life in the greatest country in the world,” he said. “And who did this? A corporation? The government?”
“One private couple,” she said.
“A truly visionary pair of folks,” he said.
There was a long admiring pause.
“Although you’d never know it by how harshly he speaks to her,” she said.
“Well, she can be awfully harsh with him as well,” he said.
“Sometimes it’s just him being harsh with her and her being harsh right back,” she said.
“It’s like the chicken or the egg,” he said.
“Only with harshness,” she said.
“Still, you can’t help but love the Flemings,” he said.
“We should be so wonderful,” she said. “When was the last time we rescued a Russian baby?”
“Well, we do all right,” he said. “We can’t afford to fly a bunch of Russian babies over here, but I think, in our own limited way, we do just fine.”
“We can’t even fly over one Russian,” she said. “Even a Canadian baby with a harelip would be beyond our means.”
“We could probably drive up there and pick one up,” he said. “But then what? We can’t afford the surgery and can’t afford the college. So the baby’s just sitting here, in America instead of Canada, still with the lip issue.”
“Did we tell you kids?” she said. “We’re adding five shops. Five shops around the tri-city area. Each with a fountain.”
“That’s great, Mom,” Ryan said.
“That is so great,” Renee said.
“And maybe, if those five shops do well, we can open another three or four shops and, at that time, revisit this whole Russian-harelip issue,” Ryan’s father said.
“You guys continue to amaze,” Ryan said.
Renee stepped out with the baby.
“I’m going to step out with the baby,” she said.
4
The baby had taken its toll. Renee seemed wider, less peppy. Also paler, like someone had run a color-leaching beam over her face and hair.
The baby did look like an elf.
The elf-baby looked at a bird, pointed at the bird.
“Bird,” said Renee.
The elf-baby looked at their insane pool.
“For swimming,” said Renee. “But not yet. Not yet, right?”
The elf-baby looked at the sky.
“Clouds,” Renee said. “Clouds make rain.”
It was like the baby was demanding, with its eyes: Hurry up, tell me what all this shit is, so I can master it, open a few shops.
The baby looked at me.
Renee nearly dropped the baby.
“Mike, Mikey, holy shit,” she said.
Then she seemed to remember something and hustled back to the porch door.
“Rye?” she called. “Rye-King? Can you come get the Mart-Heart?”
Ryan took the baby.
“Love you,” I heard him say.
“Love you more,” she said.
Then she came back, no baby.
“I call him Rye-King,” she said, blushing.
“I heard that,” I said.
“Mikey,” she said. “Did you do it?”
“Can I come in?” I said.
“Not today,” she said. “Tomorrow. No, Thursday. His folks leave Wednesday. Come over Thursday, we’ll hash it all out.”
“Hash what out?” I said.
“Whether you can come in,” she said.
“I didn’t realize that was a question,” I said.
“Did you?” she said. “Do it?”
“Ryan seems nice,” I said.
“Oh God,” she said. “Literally the nicest human being I have ever known.”
“Except when he’s hitting,” I said.
“When what?” she said.
“Ma told me,” I said.
“Told you what?” she said. “That Ryan hits? Hits me? Ma said that?”
“Don’t tell her I told,” I said, a little panicked, as of old.
“Ma’s deranged,” she said. “Ma’s out of her frigging mind. Ma would say that. You know who’s gonna get hit? Ma. By me.”
“Why didn’t you write me about Ma?” I said.
“What about her?” she said suspiciously.
“She’s sick?” I said.
“She told you?” she said.
I made a fist and held it upside my head.
“What’s that?” she said.
“A lump?” I said.
“Ma doesn’t have a lump,” she said. “She’s got a fucked-up heart. Who told you she’s got a lump?”
“Harris,” I said.
“Oh, Harris, perfect,” she said.
Inside the house, the baby started crying.
“Go,” Renee said. “We’ll talk Thursday. But first.”
She took my face in her hands and turned my head so I was looking in the window at Ryan, who was heating a bottle at the kitchen sink.