The Figgs, page 4
“Remember this?” He leaned back and caressed the edges.
“Yes,” June replied. “What’s it doing in the living room?”
“I was working on the basement and found it tucked in the crawlspace under the stairs.” He was pleased. “I was going to throw it out, but instead I’m going to clean it up and save it for Jaxx. The kids loved it.”
June remembered. Derek in particular. He had pushed his blue dump truck through it with the sound effects of a vehicle travelling in reverse. A slow and high-pitched beep, beep, beep, though he always moved it forward, crushing things in its wake. Plastic shovels, Vanessa’s lumpy legs. Tom’s Millennium Falcon.
Randy heaved himself out and beckoned June to follow him to the kitchen where he poured himself cereal.
“Want some?”
“No, thanks.” She carved a grapefruit in half. “Did Derek come back yet?”
“He was going to spend the night at the hospital.”
She touched Randy’s shoulder. “Why were you up so early?”
“Well, aside from working on the basement and fixing up that sandbox, I’m building a cradle. I found a great design online. Wanna see it?”
She sprinkled sugar over the grapefruit and nodded.
Randy put down his spoon and dug out a piece of paper from his pocket, placing the drawing in front of her. It was a traditional-style cradle. Pencil measurements were scrawled all over it.
“I don’t think people use these kinds of cradles anymore.”
Randy snatched the paper back. “Don’t use cradles? Of course they still use cradles.”
“Not wooden ones. They use bassinettes that vibrate.”
“That’s silly,” he said, heading for the basement. “It’s probably not that people don’t use them anymore, it’s more likely that nobody knows how to make them.”
June shrugged and slurped her coffee. “Wait,” she called. “Did Derek get his name on the birth certificate?”
“Not yet,” Randy thumped down the stairs. “They hadn’t received the paperwork, but he will.”
June went to the fridge for cream, when Derek barrelled through the door. His eyes were bloodshot, and last night’s T-shirt was stretched and sagging beneath his unzipped coat. There was something white on his hat.
“Diaper paste,” Derek explained.
“Coffee?” June held up the pot.
He shook his head and grabbed a can of Mountain Dew from the pantry. “I’m so tired, Mom.” He gulped crudely. “Marissa puked all over the bed, and Jaxx was up every two hours. Plus, they stuck this big fucking needle in his foot.”
“That’s all normal,” June assured. “It’s not easy, but normal.”
“That’s what the nurse said.” Derek belched. “Excuse me.”
June refilled her coffee. “How’s Jaxx eating? Is Marissa breastfeeding?”
“Heck, no, he hated it. Totally prefers a bottle.”
June cringed. “Breastfeeding takes time, Derek. It’s not that Jaxx doesn’t like breast milk; it’s more that he has to learn how. Babies have to learn how to latch.”
“Nah, Marissa said some babies just don’t like it. Can you make me an omelette?”
June collapsed into a chair. “Let me finish my coffee first.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m taking a shower.”
June cracked eggs into a bowl. She thought of Jaxx drinking formula because he didn’t like breast milk. Where were the nurses? Why weren’t they helping Marissa breastfeed? Why hadn’t the La Leche League surrounded Marissa’s bed the way they had circled hers? Next Derek would be feeding him Sunny D through a syringe.
Randy tapped her on the shoulder.
“Randy, you have to stop doing that.”
“Are you crying?”
“They’re feeding him formula.”
“Honey, formula isn’t the end of the world. You gave Vanessa formula.”
“Only because I couldn’t produce enough milk. Marissa’s convinced Derek that Jaxx doesn’t like breast milk. What next? Is she going to tell him that Jaxx prefers to sleep on his face or that he prefers riding his car seat shotgun?”
“He’ll be fine, June. Millions of kids drink formula every day. In fact, you probably drank formula.” He paused. June knew it was true.
“I mean, most of us did at some point,” Randy fumbled. “Besides, it’s better now than it used to be.”
June ate a handful of chocolate chips.
Randy placed a hand on her back. “Can you help me?” He thrust a different cradle pattern in front of her. “What does this part say?”
June squinted at the small print. “Thirty-two-point-five inches.”
Randy grabbed a marker from the junk drawer and wrote the measurement in large numbers. Sawdust covered his plaid shirt like autumn snow. “That’s what I thought.” He kissed her and retreated back to the basement.
June dabbed her eyes with a tissue and chopped a tomato. She pulled a slab of ham from the fridge and picked apart slices. The phone rang over the buzz of Randy’s table saw. She waited for a break in his work, then picked up the cordless, hands smelling like pig, a smattering of tomato seeds on her robe.
“Hello?”
“June!” It was her friend Birte. “Earle and I were just sitting here at the breakfast table and it occurred to us that we haven’t seen you since Christmas.”
June plucked the seeds from her robe. “Has it been that long?”
“How about dinner tonight?”
June stared at the ribs she’d taken out, thawing on the counter. “Sure. What time?”
“Whatever works,” Birte replied. “We’re just going to order in. Earle’s knee’s bugging him again. It keeps giving out. Honest to God, it’s fine one minute and seconds later he’s limping like I don’t know what, something that limps.” Birte’s voice faded. “Earle, what’s something that limps?”
June set a pan on the stove. “Dinner sounds great. We’ll bring dessert.”
“Perfect,” Birte replied. “We bought some new lattes for the Keurig.”
June hung up and pushed the eggs around the pan. Birte and Earle were one of those happy couples that met later in life, making them both grateful and smiley and affectionate. They held hands when they grocery shopped. He watched her paint. And they kissed all the time. June had noticed the latter at their Christmas party. No other couples kissed, let alone like bus-stop teenagers. Instead they only nudged each other to top up a wine or find a heartburn pill.
Derek returned to the kitchen barefoot.
“Here’s your omelette,” June said, sliding it onto a plate.
“Thanks.” He slicked his hair under a toque and finished in three bites. “I was starving.”
“Are you heading back to the hospital?”
“Yeah, but I have to go get a car seat first. Can I borrow the car?”
“Keys are hung up.” She gestured to the wall. “Do you know how to buy a car seat?”
“I ask for an infant one, because apparently there’s different kinds.”
“Do you have money?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Mom.” He pulled his toque over his face the way he had as a child when he was irritated.
“Dad and I are going to Earle and Birte’s tonight, but I’ll throw something in the slow cooker.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back door and took the keys off the pegboard Randy had built. “Cool. I’ll text you later.”
June cleared Derek’s plate. The sound of Randy’s table saw had been replaced with the radio. She warmed her coffee in the microwave and carried it to the basement. Vanessa’s stuffed animals had not been put away and were having a séance. She called, “How’s the cradle coming?”
There were a dozen planks strewn across the workshop floor and a half-eaten pear balanced on the drafting table. Meatloaf bellowed from the radio.
“I’m on the computer,” Randy replied.
June kicked away the same board game she’d moved yesterday. “Are you looking for another pattern?”
He jumped a little, and swivelled in his chair. “Trying to figure out how to do something.” He tipped his head up and down as though his glasses were an obstacle, and then punched the keyboard with his finger. He spent hours trolling online woodworking forums with the screen name WOODNINJA. “I don’t like the head and footboards on the last one I printed.” He closed the screen.
June picked up a ping-pong racket. The rubber coating had been scraped off. Someone had set the other paddle on fire. June tugged at the net. “Wonder if we should put this in a yard sale?”
Randy unbuttoned his shirt and placed it on the back of the chair, his face flushed.
“You okay?”
“It’s hot down here.” His undershirt had sweat marks. “Had the saw going all morning. Is Derek still here? I want to show him this new pattern.”
“He went to get a car seat.”
“How’s Jaxx, other than drinking formula?”
“Fine, I think. They’re all just tired.” June replaced the lid on one of the boxes containing her mother’s belongings. There were about six boxes in total, most of them jam-packed with old photographs, faded recipes and papers, the furniture long gone when they sold her house and moved her into the nursing home. “Birte and Earle invited us for dinner tonight. I said we’d bring dessert.”
Randy placed a ruler on the crib pattern. “Should I make cookies?”
“I’ll just pick something up.”
“But I always make them.” He took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses. “I need a break from the cradle. It’s more intricate than I thought.”
“What are we going to do about this baby?”
Randy threw his hands up. “What can we do?”
June looked around the room. “I guess I’ll keep working on the basement. Can you send Vanessa down to help?” She picked up Randy’s plaid shirt and tossed it in a laundry bin.
“I can try.”
June put on rubber gloves and opened a bin filled with Lego. She fished out an empty chip bag and a hardened sock and moved the bin to the sell pile. She opened another box full of old computer stuff. A noose of cords, a keyboard, and a mouse the size of a catcher’s mitt.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“With what?” Vanessa was at the bottom of the stairs eating a cinnamon bun.
“These computer parts.”
“Make Tom deal with it. Most of that stuff is his.” She tied her Petland apron and batted her hair away from her face. “I only have fifteen minutes.”
“The stuffed animals,” June pointed. “Do something with them first.”
“I’m not getting rid of them.”
“Then pack them up and find a place for them in your room. They’re not staying down here.”
Vanessa sat on the floor and shoved the animals into a garbage bag.
“What about your candle-making stuff?”
“What about it?”
“Keeping or selling?”
“I don’t know, selling, I guess.”
“Then move it over there.”
Vanessa kicked the box into the corner. “Can I have this?” She held up a blender.
June rifled through a box of winter gear. Some of the hats had pom-poms. “The blender upstairs works better. What do you want it for?”
“I just want it.”
“Then take it up to your room.”
Vanessa hurled the bag of stuffed animals over her back and tucked the blender under her arm. “I can’t do any more today or I’ll be late.”
When Vanessa was gone, June moved a stack of Tom’s unused textbooks into the giveaway pile and removed her gloves. She picked up her ukulele and strummed it. She wished she’d bought the mahogany one. The phone rang. It was Derek.
“Got the car seat. It was two hundred bucks.”
“They aren’t cheap.” She pulled her music stand closer. “Are you back at the hospital?”
“Yeah, and the doctor said Marissa could go home this afternoon as long as Jaxx doesn’t lose any more weight. They’re going to weigh him again in about an hour.”
“That’s good, Derek. Keep up with that formula.”
June hung up the phone. Go home, she considered. Where was Jaxx’s home? Did he have a home? Did he have a crib? Why was he losing weight? She still hadn’t heard about Marissa’s parents. She closed her book of sheet music and placed her ukulele on the floor.
Randy stood in front of the vanity in his underwear. His legs were the colour of mashed potatoes. The dresser drawers were open.
“Just something casual,” June said. “They’re ordering in.”
He picked his favourite golf shirt, which was yellow and too long because he bought it on clearance from a store intended for tall men. June put on jeans. They were tighter than she remembered.
“You think we’ll have time to see Jaxx before dinner?”
June checked her watch. “Probably not. Derek said they might go home today, but that was hours ago and he hasn’t called.”
Randy finger-combed his beard. “Well if they’re still there, maybe we can drop in on the way back?”
June straightened the pillows on their bed even though they smelled like workshop. “We can call him when we’re leaving.” She closed their bedroom door and bumped into Tom.
“How come you’re home? I thought you were going out?”
Tom shrugged. He was holding a puzzle. “I don’t know. What’s the point?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged again. “What’s the point of doing anything?”
“If you’re bored you can come with us to Birte’s.”
“I was thinking of going to visit Grandma. Thought I’d bring her this puzzle.” He held up the box. It was of an English garden. June had found it yesterday in the basement closet.
“I’m sure she’d love that.” June fixed the collar on her shirt. “You know, she finished the little barnyard one I brought her last time in only two days.”
Tom forced a smile and wandered down the hall.
Randy tucked in his shirt. “What was that all about?”
June grabbed her purse. “I don’t know. He seems kind of depressed.”
Randy waved goodbye to Jerry and then followed June to the driveway, carrying a container of macaroons. “I think he took all that ambition talk personal.”
“It wasn’t aimed at him, specifically.” The sun was blinding, so June put on her big sunglasses.
Randy pulled down the visor. “He’s working a ton of hours, and he’s nowhere close to paying off his debt.” He gazed out the window. A man was jackhammering the sidewalk. “I think he’s struggling a bit with his masculinity.”
“Tom? But he’s very masculine.”
“In the traditional sense, yeah. But it’s different now. Men of our generation were raised to provide. To figure things out. To get things working.”
June bumped over a pothole and stopped at a red light. Hadn’t they raised Tom to do the same? “He fixed the suction problem in the upright vacuum,” she said. “And he taught himself how to make a panini.”
“I taught him that.”
June frowned.
“It’s more than that. Men nowadays don’t have enough to provide even if they wanted to. Why do you think they all still live at home?”
June immediately worried about Derek. Wasn’t it worse when you didn’t have enough to provide when there was actually someone who needed provision? “At least he doesn’t have a baby.”
“That might be part of the problem. Tom has nothing to define him. Our grandfathers had war. Our fathers got jobs straight out of university. Tom has a vacuum.”
June pulled into Birte’s driveway, troubled. Earle was on the front steps watering a bush.
“I just found my ring.” Earle set down a watering can, held up his hand and showed off a thick gold band. “Thought I’d lost it, but found it right here when the snow melted. Been there all winter.” Earle polished the ring with the flap of his dress shirt, exposing a ring of brown belly.
Randy stared and sucked in his gut. “Earle, you must have lost thirty pounds.”
Birte pushed open the screen door and wrapped her arms around her husband from behind. “Doesn’t he look great?” Her body was egg shaped, her limbs small and thick. “Hi, Junie.” She winked.
Earle kissed Birte on each cheek, leaving wet marks. “Come on in.”
Inside, Birte peeked from the galley kitchen, holding up a bottle of white wine. “Can I get anyone a glass?” The couple’s tabby padded by, licking its chops.
“Sure,” Randy and June replied in unison.
Birte disappeared from view and returned with two glasses of wine. She set them on the coffee table. “So, what’s all the news?” She plunked down on a loveseat and tucked her knees up. Earle rested his hand on her thigh.
“Actually, we have some exciting news to share.” Randy stood up and then hunched over the coffee table to make a drum roll.
Earle, about to eat a chip, paused.
“We’re grandparents!” Randy said. “We have a grandson!” He clasped his hands together.
“Well, congratulations!” Earle dipped his chip. “Fantastic news.”
“Whose baby?” Birte asked.
“Derek’s,” June croaked.
“Derek’s? Get out of here!” Birte said. “You never told us he was expecting a baby.”
“It was a surprise,” Randy offered.
“What a great idea.” Earle picked up another tortilla.
“Not that kind of surprise,” June said.
Birte raised her eyebrows and lowered her eyes. Her Nordic skin flushed a deep pink. Blood on snow. “Who is she?”
“Her name’s Marissa. She and Derek used to work near each other.”
Birte asked, “Is he still at the depot?”
“Yes,” Randy replied.
“He’s good.” Earle took a handful of chips. “Fastest one there. I was in a few weeks ago, got Derek, and I was finished before the two people that were ahead of me in line.”
June tuned out. She watched the cat, whose name she’d forgotten, weave in and out of the sheer curtains that covered the dining-room window. The cat stopped to lick its front paw, the curtain draped just behind its short triangular ears like a veil, and for a moment June thought back to the day Jaxx had been made on the counting table. The slip-slide of Derek’s long body. His sucking Marissa’s fingers down to their knuckles. The angle of his knees. She drank her wine.
