Pregnant Pause (32 page)

I know I'm acting like a baby, but I can't stop crying. I try. I wipe away my tears, but new ones spill down on top of the old and splat onto the concrete. Well, who cares, anyway?

"What the hell have you done to this girl?" the old lady asks.

"Nothing, Ma. She thinks she wants the job. She wants to take care of you, and I told her we were looking for a nurse."

The old lady rolls her chair into the back of the MIL's legs, and the MIL steps aside to make room for her in the doorway. "No, honey,
you're
looking for a nurse. I'm looking for this little bitty right here."

"What?" the MIL and I both say at the same time.

I wipe my face and nose on the sleeve of my T-shirt and stand up. "You're looking for me?"

"Ma, you can't be serious."

The woman draws her head back and takes a deep breath. Her chest puffs out with indignation. "Like hell I can't! When Leo told me what was going on with this little bitty, I was ashamed. So ashamed of all of you. This is the mother of my great-granddaughter! This is the mother of your grandchild! She and that baby need a place to live, and if she thinks she can put up with an ornery old fool like me, and look after me, then I aim to have her live right here!" She pounds her chair, then points her finger at me. "I've been watching you."

"I know," I say. "I know, and I'll do better. I'll be better. Whatever you want. Can I really stay here? I'll take care of you. I will. I'm stronger than I look and I'll—"

"Ma, enough! Leave her alone. This isn't funny," the MIL says. Her eyes dart from me to the old bat. She looks totally rattled.

Then I wonder if this really is some kind of a joke. I wouldn't put it past the old bat. Was she testing me at camp? All those batty things she said to me. Were they tests? Could I possibly have passed?

"Who's joking? I want her to be my nurse. I want her and my great-granddaughter to come live right here."

"Out of the question, Ma. Forget it. It's not going to happen!" The MIL's arms are flailing, and goo is running down the side of her face. "No! I can't—I can't handle it. You know what we went through with our little Amanda. How could you even think of it? And I don't want to be worrying about you and El eanor and her baby up here while we're living down the mountain all winter."

"So don't worry. Who's asking you to? And it's about time you stop thinking of yourself and your twenty-year-old pain over the loss of Amanda, and start looking at what's right in front of you. You've got an opportunity to love and be blessed all over again, and here you are ready to slam the door in opportunity's face. I've never been so ashamed of you in my life!"

"ButMa—"

"'But Ma,' nothin'! The three of us are going to have a blast, aren't we, Little Bitty?"

I nod. "Yeah, sure. If this—isn't a joke."

"When can you start?" the old lady asks, and right on top of her, Mrs. Lothrop shouts, "Ma! No!"

The old bat rams her chair into her daughter's shins. "It's my money, and my life, and I can't think of anything better for an aging old fool than to have a house with a baby in it and a fresh-mouthed young teenager to boss me around. It'll be a gasser! Now, come on in. Let's you and me get acquainted."

I look at the MIL, and wait.

She scowls at me for like three minutes, and I can see her mind trying to process the idea of me back in her life just when she thought she had gotten rid of me. Finally she sighs and shakes her head. "Well"—she backs away from the door—"I guess—I guess—come on in. You can stay here on a trial basis only."

"I can't believe it." I'm grinning my face off, I'm so happy. "Really?" I squeal, and Mrs. Lothrop rolls her eyes and steps aside to let me in.

"You might as well come on in and see what you're in for."

The old lady has turned her wheelchair around so it's facing the living room. She rolls forward and calls behind her. "Come on, Little Bitty, let me show you the lay of the house and the little boot box where you'll be staying when you're not slaving away." She chuckles at her own joke. The old bat has a weird sense of humor.

"Okay, first of all," I say, trotting along behind her, feeling suddenly, and fantastically, on top of the world, "I don't want to be called Little Bitty. And second of all, you've got to act nice around my baby, and no swearing, because I'm going to raise her right. I'm going to do the right thing by her. And third of all, no more ramming into people with this chair of yours. It's not a bumper car, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Li'l Bit."

"That's right, Old Bat, whatever I say."

The old bat cackles.