Charlotte Rogan - Now and Again

Dolly had been getting conflicting signs for weeks. Only that morning, a crow had landed on the new hand railing at the front steps just before the doctor had diagnosed inoperable tumors in a twenty-five-year-old woman. The doctor sent her home with assurances that he would make some phone calls to other specialists. That had seemed like a good sign, but as soon as the woman was gone, he turned to Dolly and said, “I know what you’re thinking. I know you’re thinking, What’s the point?”

Dolly had been thinking, Hang in there, girlfriend! She had been thinking, You got to hold on to hope! Even though she knew the doctor was talking to himself, she turned to him and answered anyway. “The point is to let her know we’re doing everything we can. The point is to give a miracle time to happen.”

“Miracles,” said the doctor. “Now there’s an idea. When’s the last time you saw one of those?”

“Every blessed day,” said Dolly. Quiet Moments 1563 was one of them, as was her pretty apartment, as was any boy who held his pregnant girlfriend’s hand. The biggest miracle of all was sleeping in a basket near the reception desk because Dolly’s mother had been unable to babysit that afternoon. Every now and then Dolly or Tula would peek into the basket and catch her breath. “He’s perfect,” Tula would say. Or Dolly would say it, and Tula would reply, “He absolutely is.”

New tumors had appeared on the woman’s body and throat virtually overnight. She would die within weeks if not days, yet she was making lists of baby names for a baby that would never be born. “What do you think of Verna?” she had asked Dolly while her husband pulled the car around.

“Verna is nice,” Dolly had replied.

“If it’s a girl, of course. Just Verne if it’s a boy.”

The thought of little Verne or Verna just about broke Dolly’s heart, but she reminded herself that most of the babies were born healthy — that’s what she needed to focus on. But then she remembered the grapefruit baby and the baby with the whitish glaze, and while she believed in focusing on the positive, it didn’t seem right to forget them. But they weren’t forgotten. There was the website, and recently the doctor had been asked to speak on television, which was a major miracle all by itself.

“You sure you don’t want to introduce him to Danny?” asked Tula.

“I’m thinking about it. I just want to give it a little more time.”

“He’s gonna need his daddy,” said Tula.

“I know,” said Dolly. “I know you’re right.”

“Do you ever think about what his life was like? When he was in the army, I mean.”

“I try not to think about it. I try to focus on the positive.”

“I do,” said Tula. “I’ve been reading about the war and trying to imagine what it’s like for Will. It makes me feel closer to him, and not just emotionally. Sometimes I even think I’m there.”

“Where?” asked Dolly. She was half listening to Tula and half listening to the music that was softly emanating from some recently installed ceiling speakers. I Feel Like Traveling On was one of her favorites, and now she tried to decide if the song was telling her to go to Danny or if it held a darker message. She used to be so sure about things!

Outside the window, the men Dolly had hired to spread the gravel were arguing over who would shovel and who would drive to the stone yard for another load. Their negativity carried in through the open window, and Dolly was relieved when the larger, gentler of the two men picked up a shovel and the lean one strode over to where the truck was parked in a patch of shade. The gentle man reminded her of her father — was it better to fight or to give in peacefully to the inevitable?

The men were only halfway finished, but already the driveway looked fresh and welcoming, and Dolly could easily envision how lovely everything would be once she had filled the new planters with geraniums and ornamental sweet potato vines.

“Speaking of sweet potatoes,” said Dolly, holding the baby up to her face and breathing in his milky fragrance. “You’re just about sweet enough to eat.”

“Did you pick a name yet?” asked Tula. “You can’t keep calling him Tadpole.”

“I’m thinking Danny Junior fits him. He’s the spitting image of his dad.”

As she said it, the baby blinked its long eyelashes and gaped at them with the wisdom of the ages shining from his eyes. Miracles were everywhere — to see them, you only had to look.

11.7 Lyle

Lyle tried calling Maggie at work, but it was the attorney who answered the phone and said he hadn’t heard from her in over a week. “May I inquire who’s calling?” he asked.

“No, no,” said Lyle. “I’ll call back.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” said Lily. “You can try her again tomorrow.”

Some nights Lyle slept on Lily’s couch, but most nights he slept in the truck. He had a few leads on jobs, but if those didn’t work out, he’d go to Phoenix. There’s nothing stopping me now, he thought. Nothing he could put his finger on anyway.

He’d had an interview at McKnight’s earlier in the week. The manager had said he’d get back to him in a day or two, but it was already Friday and he had heard nothing. He knew by now to talk in terms of the interviewer’s interests, but it was hard to know what those might be for the pencil-necked man with the rash of acne who had beckoned him in from the waiting room. Lyle had mentioned cars, the war, and the Texas-OU rivalry in quick succession, and then he decided to turn the tables and ask the manager right out.

“What are your interests?” asked Lyle, and when the manager just stared at him, he added, “What is it you want most in the entire world?”

“I’d kind of like a cheeseburger,” said the manager. “Can you get me one of those?”

“You need to be thinking bigger,” said Lyle. “You need to be thinking of your career, which is something I can help you with.”

“O-kay,” said the man, smiling for the first time.

The interview had lasted only ten or fifteen minutes, but it got Lyle thinking about the munitions plant and how when it came to bosses, you couldn’t do much better than MacBride.

“I know the manager,” said Lily as she headed off to work. “I can put in a good word for you, but you still oughtta go on over there today and see what’s what.”

“Good idea,” said Lyle. “I guess I will.”

It was almost noon when Lyle got in the truck and started it up, but instead of driving toward the chicken farm, he found himself in the part of town where Tula lived. The houses on Ash Creek Circle had once been identical, but over the years their owners had made additions and improvements. The Santos house was one of the few without a second story or a sunroom added on. A dilapidated swing set squatted in the dusty yard, and the spokes of an ancient wash rack clattered in the wind. Over the past weeks Lyle had driven by several times, but except for once when a load of washing was hanging out, he never saw any signs of either Tula or her mother. He wanted to know if Tula had heard from Will, but he hadn’t seen her since the day of the high school graduation.

Now he got out of the car and knocked on the front door; he didn’t expect anyone to answer it and no one did. His reflection in the glass panel startled him because it looked like someone else’s face, and he couldn’t help thinking about killers lurking in the dark and waiting to attack him.

After checking behind the house, Lyle returned to the truck and drove along the creek before circling back toward town. He had just turned onto the Main Road when the sheriff’s pickup pulled him over and Hank Conway got out and swaggered over. “What did I do?” asked Lyle. “Is my taillight out again? And I’ve been meaning to get that muffler fixed.”