Look How You Turned Out (32 page)

Angela's real drug troubles came out of post-partum depression. That's what led to her dependence on the drugs and her addiction escalated to the point where she got hooked on street heroin. She ran after that rocket ship and away from Marcus and Juney.

So that left Marcus a little skittish about me, even though he knew I wasn't going on the same path, but he worried I'd suffer the depression like she did. He admitted this to me recently. At the time I went through it, I had no idea the depth of his worry.

I had two bad days in my second week of recovery after having Rebecca, days where everything just went south and I saw the smoky fringes of a land called, 'Despair.'

Marcus took it badly. We were straddling two houses then. He stayed with me, constantly taking my emotional temperature, just holding me, like whatever edge I was on, he could keep me from going over.

Elaine came. She took Juney which was a relief. I didn't want him to see me like this.

It was one bad weekend. I wanted to stay in my room. I just wanted to nurse my child and my woes in private.

So we got through that time and the dark cloud lifted. Not only my mind, but my body started to return to some semblance of what it had been before. By that I mean I could finally zip my old jeans.

And Rebecca, soft little jewel of mine…the first day we brought Rebecca home Juney surprised me and scooped her right up while I was in the bathroom. I came out, and he was rocking her in the chair in my room.

I caught the, "Oh no," before I said it. He hadn't dropped her, and her spine was not snapped, and she didn't have a concussion. He hadn't turned her upside down and flipped her liver or something. He held her very nicely, cradling her head even.

"She's so little," he looked up at me and said.

I just nodded. I made myself breathe and relax. They were beautiful together, and he was so big by contrast, and I realized with a fresh stab how much I'd missed with him, and how much I loved the two of them, so much I ached. I went for the camera and snapped the first home-shot of brother and sister. Welcome to our reality show.

Juney continues to be properly fascinated with Rebecca, even as he now realizes she is the great Oz behind the family curtain…running everything.

And I have my own cycles, most days reveling in the two of them and the daily challenges and changes, and it's all good.

But there are days.

At my worst I'm sure I'll ruin Rebecca and am well on the way to ruining Juney.

Guilt. I have lots. Marcus tells me it's a part of parenting…perpetual guilt. He reminds me of when I told him he pitied Juney. Now I'm doing it.

"Look," Marcus says, "he's happy. He's fine. You're a saint in his eyes."

But I'm not. I'm no longer Juney's good friend, or overgrown peer, or big sister. I'm officially General Mom, career soldier.

He has to resent that somewhere.

But he's so busy with school and his dedication to his after school work at Billy's. He has youth group and band practice, so I hold out hope that he barely notices my witch-spells. Yet I fear if Angela shows and offers him a one-way ticket out of here he'll flee.

The big wake-up call is the game of Life. He doesn't always want to play it now, prefers the Xbox and Marcus or friends.

The last time we played the game, I knew he wasn't really into it, but he just did it for me.

"You don't like this game anymore," I accuse him like I've caught him watching porn or something.

"No, I do," he says.

He has the roundy lying eyes. My God. He is trying to spare me.

I take it well. "Just go…play your X-Box," I say petulantly. I think I shoved the board too. Well…I did.

He can barely fit me in. Soon, he'll be in college.

"Bedilia," Marcus says, "Juney loves you. That doesn't go away because you're busy with the baby."

"But I yelled at him," I say confessing my latest offense.

"Okay," Marcus says. "Next time he makes a milkshake in the blender and forgets to put on the lid, I'll yell at him."

"He didn't mean it," I say, defending him now.

It is after the milk-shake-shake-up that I find a Twinkie on my pillow at bedtime. When I thank Marcus, he admits it wasn't from him. I know Rebecca didn't put it there. I have already told Juney goodnight. "I'll be right back," I say.

"Babe," Marcus says.

"Yes?"

"Don't…don't cry on him," he says all sheepish.

"I'm not," I say defensively.

But I cross to Juney's room. He is asleep. Scrapper greets me, and I enter and sit on the chair by his bed and look at him still so young, especially like this.

He's still awake, watching me unwrap the treat. He knows how I like to do it, one bite, then I go for the goo. He always laughs and gets disgusted on this part so I play it up.

"Sorry, I yelled," I say with my mouth full.

He smirks. "Hormones," he says.

I laugh now as I cram the last bite in my mouth. "What?"

"Hermoine," he says.

I suck off my thumb. "Liar. I heard what you said. That is so Artie."

"Nu-uh."

"Yeah. You've been talking about me. Went to the police. Next, it's children's service."

He is grinning. "He's retired," he says.

"Yeah. He'll never retire."

He doesn't say anything.

"I know you," I say.

"What?" he says.

"You." I fold my arms. "Who you are."

"I'm Junior Stover," he says.

"Yeah. That's your alias."

"What?" he says. Then, "Hey," and he's doing the twirly thing by his temple.

"Cute. Doesn't change anything. Crazy people see things." I wag my unplucked eyebrows.

"What?" He's up on his elbow. He's always game.

"Seem pretty interested. Got something to hide…Junior?"

"No…Bedilia."

"Oh. Big guns, huh? Little Markie."

"I like Mark."

"Really?" We're suddenly more serious.

"Yeah. I'm going by that."

"Since when?"

"I can't go to high school and be Junior."

"Why not? And you're not anywhere near high school." But he is. Way too near.

"Two more years," he says rubbing it in.

"Two long years. Like seven hundred days." I'm serious.

He plops to his pillow and sighs. "It's Mark."

"You tell your dad?"

A pause. "Grampa."

"What he say?"

"He said Juney was a great football name."

That damn Artie. "Football?"

He looks at me, those eyes. He has these insane lashes, like Marcus.

"It's not worth it," I say staying strong. "Those knees, that back have to last a lifetime."

"I'm playing," he whispers. "Like Dad."

I lift my chin a little.

"I mean if you and Dad say so," he repairs.

Like I have any power to say no. Marcus will want this. Artie…he's eating this boy stuff up.

Marcus and Juney, how many times do they go outside and throw the football, the baseball. They throw and catch things, and it means something.

"Juney…Mark…I know I'm the last one to hear about this…but…if it's okay with Marcus then…yeah, but I don't want to see you get hurt."

"That makes no sense," he says. "It's football."

"I know," I whisper. It makes perfect sense to me.

Looking at him…my heart is so full. I have this idea of who he is going to be. A really great Dad, like Marcus, only he won't have to make Marcus's mistakes because Marcus will stay close to him. I know his kind heart will stay kind. He'll always have a dog. His feelings will continue on his sleeve, close at hand, but inside where the world can't see.

He'll love—big and easily. He'll trust. He'll protect. He'll be generous, and he'll work hard. And smart? Don't get me started.

Scrapper steals the Twinkie wrapper out of my hand, and I have to chase him all over the room while Juney laughs.

Back in our room, "He's…changing his name," I tell Marcus.

"I heard. Did you cry?"

"No," I scoff, falling into bed next to him. Then he puts his arms around me and before he can kiss me I fall apart.

Marcus settles us better, for the long haul.

"You can still call him Juney," he says softly. He reaches over me and grabs a Kleenex and puts this in my hand.

"I know," I say taking the hankie and wiping.

I have a family. We are puzzle pieces that can't be hammered into place. But love keeps us turning this way and that and time has gone by, and a picture has formed and look….

How we've turned out.

I am back at work after a month, part time anyway. I've kept up with the books on my computer, but Connie has filled in for me as far as overseeing things in the dining room. She keeps it moving like a pro, and it's clean. Eat off the floor or your plate, it's all shining.

I know it's Artie. He did the same for the department. People get better around Dad. Coy is taking cooking classes at the community college. Our food is outstanding and also cost effective as we're committed to finding local suppliers.

We're busier than ever. Perkinson's hasn't slowed Artie down. Not in his mind. He takes a class at the hospital twice a week and he exercises at home. He'll do what he can as long as he can to stay open and strong. That's my dad.

I outfit my office with a travel crib, a swing, and a bouncing seat for Rebecca. It isn't hard to keep her happy. Mostly I hold her against me in her snuggler or push her in her stroller. But I don't wait tables anymore unless we are crunched or someone gets sick. Thanks to Connie, I don't have to.

So we are starting to get back to some routine, and I continue to struggle for balance. But Marcus seems to know all about it…this struggle. He is never surprised at what caring for a baby entails. He is so patient with her, and she feels it.

She goes right to sleep in his arms.

"I've still got the touch," he tells me.

Boy does he. I always want him, even when I don't. And sometimes I don't. I am just tired, but he'll start rubbing my back, and pretty soon…magic.

It's January and freaking cold outside. We thought of going somewhere to celebrate our anniversary, belatedly at that, but Elaine has Juney, and even Scrapper for the weekend so we stay home so I can nurse Rebecca and we make our party there. Yeah, we are lazy and just want some uninterrupted sex. Marcus does. My fantasy is sleep. But he has a way of bringing me around.

So here we are…celebrating.

"I…," I can barely speak. Marcus is taking me somewhere new in this universe called our sex life. We're having adventures. A few months ago at my six-week check-up, I was pronounced good to go. Lately, since we moved downstairs, he's louder than me.

He gives me a last kiss, and I'm a total mess.

I am adored.

And it shows. Dad just laughs. Teresa really laughs. And poor Juney. We try to keep it under wraps but mutual mezmerization like we seem to work on one another…it's hard to contain.

Now we're laughing at the state of things, our wrecked bed, and our sweaty selves. Rebecca has been awake this whole time but she's in her little room, and the receiver is on the nightstand beside our bed, and she's just jabbering. Here is the kicker, we moved down here at Juney's request. Rebecca often kept him awake or woke him up. And he said he couldn't have friends over to spend the night with us all crammed up there.

We couldn't believe he wanted to get rid of us, especially after we had sacrificed to be up there in the first place. So I moved downstairs a little whipped, and Marcus was downright gleeful about it.

We get all lazy and hazy for a few minutes. It feels so good. "Come on," my husband says taking my hand and pulling me up, grabbing the monitor and leading us into the bathroom.

"What?" I say—I whine-knowing this whole routine but not really. He's full of surprises.

He sets the speaker on the sink and leads me to the shower and turns on the spray, gets it right. "Get in," he tells me like I don't know. We have an en-suite down here thanks to the remodel and Marcus's brilliant planning.

I get in, and he gets in after, and he's behind me, holding me in the warm needles, and I lean against him. It feels so good. I turn my head, and he's right there, and he kisses me, and let me tell you there is love in this man's lips, I don't care what, he's got a way.

"I'm so happy," I tell him cause that's my deal—saying that, letting him know. I don't hold back.

"Me too," he says, and we kiss some more while that perfect water sluices over us cause he didn't go cheap on the fixtures or the pressure.

He's wrapped around me, and it's heaven, it's heaven and a drain, two souls singing harmony…singing in this rain.