And Yesterday Is Gone (37 page)

“This one will be a linebacker,” I said as I felt the vigorous push and the roundness became a peak.

Rica laughed. “Two ballet dancers in pink tutus.”

“I suppose if one is a boy, his tutu will be blue?”

“Go to sleep,” Rica said. “I'll coordinate the tutus.”

Despite Dr. Teddy's assurances, I still worried. She comforted me with the suggestion that “perhaps Rica should come in a few days early.” Against Rica's protests, I fell back on my second line of defense, “Dr. Teddy said…”

Rica was soon established in a private room and looking very comfortable.

•  •  •

J.W. was more than generous after a gruff, “Twins, huh? I suppose next time it will be triplets. How many times am I expected to put up with this? I'm not keeping you busy enough. Two weeks I'm giving you.”

As I backed out, he called, “Relax, don't worry; it's wimmen's work.”

A
t one a.m., the phone rang. Rica's excited voice cried, “Steve, my water broke. We're on our way. Are you coming?”

“Of course I'm coming—leaving now,” I said as I managed to put both feet into one pants leg, hopping around, trying to fight my way out for another try.

We had planned to leave Billy in Juan's care, but we had not expected anything to happen so soon. By all calculations, this was three days early.

I was looking forward to Juan's stay at our house. It seemed as though we never got much time together to talk and have a beer.

I called him in a panic.

“Don't worry, relax. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

As I was ready to turn the key, he drove in. “I hope you left the bed warm for me…” The rest was lost as I sped away.

Arriving at the hospital, I found Rica's bed empty. She had already been taken to the delivery room. I was allowed to see her for just a moment. The pains were constant but several minutes apart. I heard the same old refrain, “Don't worry.”

I sat in the waiting room, closed my eyes for a moment, and awoke six hours later when Dr. Teddy nudged me. She said with a smile, “I guess I won't have to tell you not to worry.”

I walked down to the café for a cup of coffee, suddenly wondering about the man whose young daughter was about to give birth, and with whom I had shared the waiting room just yesterday, it seemed.

Drinking my coffee, I scanned the newspaper and was pleased to see a rerun of an article I had written some years ago. I smiled to myself. J.W. was getting mileage out of it.

In the back of my mind, I asked myself some questions. How is Rica doing? It's been six to seven hours. What if it takes twice as long? Dr. Teddy had assured me that they had ways to control the pain.

I called Juan. He and Billy had just finished breakfast. Juan said, “Thought I might take him shopping for his birthday present.”

“Don't do that,” came my quick reply. “Why don't you take him to Sara for a while if she isn't busy?” Then, half joking, I added, “Am I expected to go through this alone?”

“You are such a baby. Rica doesn't need another one with you around. Billy and I are going shopping.”

My best friend and he couldn't be here when I needed him.

An hour later I looked up from a magazine dated two years earlier and gazed at Juan's laughing face.

I couldn't stand that waiting room another instant. It was nearly noon and I hadn't seen Dr. Teddy for a couple of hours.

“Let's see if there's anything good to eat at the cafeteria. I haven't had any breakfast.”

Sitting in the café looking at a leftover sweet roll, suddenly, I heard my name paged. I almost ran down the corridor. Juan followed, telling me, “I'm going back. I promised Billy and I know he's waiting.” He waved me on. “You don't need me.”

I found Dr. Teddy waiting for me. “She's nearly ready to deliver, Steve; stay close. Everything is as it should be.”

I sat down on a chair. The months of trying, the unhappiness, nine months of waiting, and now, at last—at last—the culmination of our dreams.

The feelings struggled within me, but I determined children are not for the faint of heart.

Shortly thereafter, Dr. Teddy appeared with a huge smile stretched from ear to ear. “Well, Daddy, Rica has given you two beautiful little girls, healthy but small. One weighs four pounds, the other weighs three-and-a-half pounds. Rica is fine but heavily sedated. We'll bring her to her room shortly. You may as well wait there. The babies will go to the nursery for a final check.”

“Twin girls? Pink tutus?”

I don't care, I don't care. Everyone is all right.

I heard the almost noiseless wheels of the gurney when Rica was moved to her bed fast asleep. I got a wet cloth from the bathroom and wiped her sweaty face, found her brush and pulled her hair back. Her eyes never opened. The long black lashes lay against the pallor of her skin.

I moved a chair close to her bed and sat holding her hand for a couple of hours, my mind contemplating the future.

Dr. Teddy appeared. “She's worked hard and needs her rest. I'll keep her and the babies for a few days. They will need special attention they are so small. The nurses will take good care of her. I'm going home for a while.”

Two hours later, those big brown eyes opened. I put my arms around her, holding her tight, unable to say a word. Her arms found their way around me.

“I love you, Steve,” she whispered. “Ring for the nurses—we want to see our babies.”

What words can describe the miracle of childbirth? Wrapped in pink blankets, the babies were brought in by two nurses and laid at Rica's breasts. We marveled at the closed eyes with black lashes, the tiny working mouths, perfect little faces, downy black hair covering the tiny heads like a doll's cap. Carefully, we unwrapped these little creatures, counting fingers, and toes—all perfect.

“How will we ever tell them apart? They're identical.”

“I'll know,” Rica answered with a tremulous smile that quivered on the edge of tears. I let mine drip off my nose.

They were so tiny I could have held one in each hand. But they were so fragile-looking that I was actually glad when the nurses took them back to the nursery.

Juan and Sara came later. Sara's heart burst as she admired the babies through the nursery window. Juan was very reserved and outwardly almost disinterested as he arranged a mound of red roses.

Sara laughed and cried as she and Rica clung together.

“What have you named them?”

“I have named the larger baby after my best friend, Sara—Sarita.”

Juan turned his head away quickly, but Sara's tears overflowed.

“Steve has named the smaller girl Margarita for his mother, who said it was the most beautiful gift she had ever been given.”

“Then they look exactly like you, Rica. I wish them health,” declared Sara.

Juan stood quietly, then leaned over and whispered softly, “Your babies are beautiful, Rica. I wish them health and happiness always.”

Dr. Teddy spoke seriously. “These babies are so tiny, they will need to stay here in an incubator with supplementary feedings and around- the-clock supervision until they are safely stabilized and gaining weight.

“Rica, mother's milk is by far the best. You will need to use a breast pump.”

Noting the look on Rica's face, she added, “These babies are healthy, but absolutely must have every chance to maintain and gain weight.

“You can wear a hospital gown and help the nurses so you won't be isolated from your babies.”

The time seemed to pass so slowly and we tried to be patient.

We understood, of course. Rica was keenly disappointed; comforted later with the time she spent in the nursery and the feel of their closeness as she held them.

I was secretly grateful, content to see them in her arms through the nursery window, marveling at this living part of her and the life they had drawn from her body.

The babies did seem to grow a little each day and it wasn't just our imagination. The scale didn't lie.

•  •  •

Billy's fifth birthday was upon us. Hoping to beat Juan to the punch, we bought Billy a small two-wheeled bicycle, a baseball and a bat.

Sara and Dr. Teddy came to dinner bearing a beautifully wrapped package. I cringed as I watched Billy rip the expensive paper away from the fancy pair of cowboy boots. I thought perhaps a broomstick horse was hidden somewhere.

The dining-room door had remained shut to keep the balloons and gifts a surprise. Billy's eyes grew big and round as he heard the birthday song, and his laughter and excitement were contagious.

Juan hadn't arrived so we waited dinner, a dinner that included Billy's favorite, mac and cheese. The birthday cake, three layers of decadence, was a thing of beauty.

Then Juan walked in, carrying nothing but his coat. “Sorry I'm late.”

No present? I eyed him suspiciously. Instinctively, I knew that our bicycle was outclassed.

The dinner was delightful. Sara declaring not even Mrs. Mackey could have prepared a better roast. Finally, we laid down our forks and leaned back to watch Rica light the candles. Billy was fascinated with the dancing flames. I instructed him, “Make a wish for something you want very much and, if you can blow out all the candles, you will get your wish.”

Juan coached him with a few practice puffs. “Now blow really hard.” With the next effort, the candles were sputtering smoke.

“Now, what did you wish for?”

“A horse,” he said clearly.

“A horse? A horse?”

He looked me right in the eyes. “Yes, I want a horse.”

Juan slid his chair back and quickly walked out of the door.

Rica looked puzzled; Dr. Teddy and Sara exchanged glances.

My razor-sharp mind knew he had a broomstick or something similar outside.

When the front door opened, Juan entered, leading a small spotted pony, complete with saddle. There was a moment of shocked silence. Walking across the Persian carpet, Juan handed the reins to a chubby little hand that shot out with the speed of light to receive them.

Juan lifted Billy into the saddle and somehow I was not surprised to see how perfectly the new boots fit in the stirrups.

“We're both going to take riding lessons and he needs a real horse,” Juan explained halfheartedly.

I wondered if I could get my money back for the bicycle. I'd take the loss on the ball and bat.

I marveled at Rica's composure. More than once I had been instructed to take off my shoes. “Those are Persian carpets, you know.” Now Juan was leading the pony from room to room, receiving no such admonition. Amazingly, the little hooves left no indentation on the deep carpets.

Billy's whoops of delight and his “giddyup, giddyup” kept all of us rooted in our chairs, wordless.

Then Rica shrieked, “Not the kitchen, not the kitchen,” and broke the spell.

“The pony is tired now. More tomorrow,” Juan promised as Billy dismounted, his smile beatific.

I glanced at Juan. The look on his face told me that he didn't know anyone was in the room but the three of them: Billy, the pony, and Juan. The rest of us were laughing and clapping.

“What will you name him?”

“Horse,” Billy said with finality. “His name is Horse.”

The pony's quarters had been built behind the cottage in a fenced area. It was just big enough to accommodate a stall, a tack room, and a haymow for three bales of hay and a sack of grain.

Juan took Billy to an equestrian training school and we grew accustomed to seeing him riding confidently down the path that connected our properties, shouting, “Giddyup, Horse” to a pony that never got past a slow trot. It seemed unreal to see a five-year-old child eat his breakfast quickly so he could run to the barn to feed his pony the correct amount, then rake his stall. Responsibility in someone so young caused me to brag shamelessly, but I'm sure it was common knowledge who had done the teaching.

On my time off, I taught Billy how to throw a ball or catch one, but he was more interested in showing me from which side to mount or to explain what a farrier is.

Billy was tall for his age and I thought that Horse's time was limited. But I was wrong—Horse died in his stall at the age of eighteen.

•  •  •

Even though I had returned to work, I managed to go by the hospital daily, sometimes gowned so that I might enter the nursery where I nearly always found Rica with a baby in her arms.

So many incubators in the nursery, but I could find my girls almost by instinct. For whatever reason, the smaller of the babies always seemed to find her place in my arms. Not that I noticed, but she had gained a pound. Her big dark eyes looked up at me unblinking as she seemed to melt into every beat of my heart.

Now I understood perfectly the feelings that had taken Juan prisoner when I had put Billy in his arms. The indescribable love that engulfed me at the feel of her tiny body in my arms made me feel even closer to Juan.

I loved Sarita the same, only different.

As I was about to leave the hospital one day, I saw the black hair with just a hint of gray above massive shoulders, and the long, unmistakable stride of Alfie—Dr. Alfred Myers, so dignified in his white coat.

I ran to catch up. “Alfie,” I called, “slow down.”

He turned to me and a great smile split his face. “Cowboy, what are you doing here?” As he wrapped me in a bear hug, my ribs screamed for mercy.

“Twins,” I bragged, as if the idea had been my own. “See the shoe salesman hasn't got me yet. Got time for a cup of coffee?”

For two hours we dawdled over empty cups. He was busy and loved his work. My sentiments echoed his, except that I had a wife and children. His talk turned to politics, and then to a war he predicted was imminent and his desire to enlist.

We recalled the time he had tried to enlist when the Vietnam War was in progress. He had been refused because he was a medical student with an A average.