her tomorrow.”
Josh wanted to hold on to hope, but the bad feeling wouldn’t go away. Sure, it was possible that Semolina had gotten scaredand run for the woods or the Binochettes’ farm—only if something was chasing her, she’d never make it, her being old and not much of a runner. You could be certain if a fox had her in his sights, she’d be sitting meat.
These thoughts so filled his head that he couldn’t eat his supper. He mashed the tuna sauce and pasta with his fork and worry-wrinkled about trying not to blame Grandma. Tonight, though, tonight he was going to leave his window wide open, and if Semolina jumped through it, she could poop all over his quilt if she wanted. Then Grandma would pack her bag and go home and he and Semolina could be together and happy again.
Grandma had poured herself a big helping of brew. She stared at him across the froth on the glass. “Don’t fret,” she said. “She’ll come home when she’s hungry.” Then she turned to Tucker. “Saw his boat today. Good job for a young one. It’s in his blood. Elizabeth told you my granddaddy was a sea captain?”
Tucker put down his fork. “No! I don’t think she knows that!”
Grandma sniffed. “Memory on her like a bottomlessbucket. Captain of a collier, he was, a coal ship—” She stopped and said briskly, “Josh, you need a tissue?”
He realized that tears were running down his nose and dropping onto his plate. He shook his head and leaned sideways to get a handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. What he pulled out was a paper napkin full of squashed applesauce muffin.
He didn’t say anything while Tucker told Elizabeth. He was all right until his mother’s eyes filled up with water and she said, “Oh, Josh! Dear, dear Semolina!” Then in one movement he was out of the hospital chair and onto the bed beside her, his head against her shoulder, crying wetness on her nightgown. She held him, her fingers tracing little circles on the back of his head. “Josh, I’m so sorry.”
Tucker said, “Danged chicken could have run off into the woods.”
Josh shook his head against his mother’s hand.
“You must be feeling very sad,” she said.
A voice in his head was yelling, It’s Grandma’s fault! Semolina’s gone because of Grandma! He might have said it out loud except that Tucker spoke first. “Probably no fox,” said Tucker. “She’s old. Animals do that. They know when their time comes and off they go, just themselves, to lay down in some quiet place.”
Again Josh shook his head.
Elizabeth massaged his scalp and the back of his neck, and her fingers felt as if they were a part of him. “I’ll tell you a secret, Josh. Sad always comes with happy. That’s true. Always. But sad is so big, we don’t see the happy thing.”
What was she talking about?
“So—do you want me to tell you the happy thing?”
He thought for a moment, then nodded.
“This little baby is putting on weight. She’s a whole eight months grown and the doctor says she’s out of danger.”
He raised his head to look at her. “You’re coming home?”
The silence was too long. He put his head down again, wiping his wet cheek on her pillow.
“Not until she’s born.” Elizabeth hugged him. “We’re going to call her Tori. On paper it’ll be Victoria, like you’re Joshua. Josh and Tori Miller. Does that sound like a happy thing?”
She wanted him to nod, so he did.
Tucker cleared his throat. “I’m thinking it’s too early to think sad. That crafty old bird might be on the back porch waiting for us to get home.”
“Could be,” said Elizabeth. “Could well be.”
Then Josh felt it. His mother’s round belly suddenly moved like it was trying to push him clean off the bed. He sat up, astonished. “The baby kicked me!” he said.
That night he opened his bedroom window as wide as it would go. When Grandma came in to say good night, she looked at the window but kept hush about it. As she was going out the door,
Josh wanted to hold on to hope, but the bad feeling wouldn’t go away. Sure, it was possible that Semolina had gotten scaredand run for the woods or the Binochettes’ farm—only if something was chasing her, she’d never make it, her being old and not much of a runner. You could be certain if a fox had her in his sights, she’d be sitting meat.
These thoughts so filled his head that he couldn’t eat his supper. He mashed the tuna sauce and pasta with his fork and worry-wrinkled about trying not to blame Grandma. Tonight, though, tonight he was going to leave his window wide open, and if Semolina jumped through it, she could poop all over his quilt if she wanted. Then Grandma would pack her bag and go home and he and Semolina could be together and happy again.
Grandma had poured herself a big helping of brew. She stared at him across the froth on the glass. “Don’t fret,” she said. “She’ll come home when she’s hungry.” Then she turned to Tucker. “Saw his boat today. Good job for a young one. It’s in his blood. Elizabeth told you my granddaddy was a sea captain?”
Tucker put down his fork. “No! I don’t think she knows that!”
Grandma sniffed. “Memory on her like a bottomlessbucket. Captain of a collier, he was, a coal ship—” She stopped and said briskly, “Josh, you need a tissue?”
He realized that tears were running down his nose and dropping onto his plate. He shook his head and leaned sideways to get a handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. What he pulled out was a paper napkin full of squashed applesauce muffin.
He didn’t say anything while Tucker told Elizabeth. He was all right until his mother’s eyes filled up with water and she said, “Oh, Josh! Dear, dear Semolina!” Then in one movement he was out of the hospital chair and onto the bed beside her, his head against her shoulder, crying wetness on her nightgown. She held him, her fingers tracing little circles on the back of his head. “Josh, I’m so sorry.”
Tucker said, “Danged chicken could have run off into the woods.”
Josh shook his head against his mother’s hand.
“You must be feeling very sad,” she said.
A voice in his head was yelling, It’s Grandma’s fault! Semolina’s gone because of Grandma! He might have said it out loud except that Tucker spoke first. “Probably no fox,” said Tucker. “She’s old. Animals do that. They know when their time comes and off they go, just themselves, to lay down in some quiet place.”
Again Josh shook his head.
Elizabeth massaged his scalp and the back of his neck, and her fingers felt as if they were a part of him. “I’ll tell you a secret, Josh. Sad always comes with happy. That’s true. Always. But sad is so big, we don’t see the happy thing.”
What was she talking about?
“So—do you want me to tell you the happy thing?”
He thought for a moment, then nodded.
“This little baby is putting on weight. She’s a whole eight months grown and the doctor says she’s out of danger.”
He raised his head to look at her. “You’re coming home?”
The silence was too long. He put his head down again, wiping his wet cheek on her pillow.
“Not until she’s born.” Elizabeth hugged him. “We’re going to call her Tori. On paper it’ll be Victoria, like you’re Joshua. Josh and Tori Miller. Does that sound like a happy thing?”
She wanted him to nod, so he did.
Tucker cleared his throat. “I’m thinking it’s too early to think sad. That crafty old bird might be on the back porch waiting for us to get home.”
“Could be,” said Elizabeth. “Could well be.”
Then Josh felt it. His mother’s round belly suddenly moved like it was trying to push him clean off the bed. He sat up, astonished. “The baby kicked me!” he said.
That night he opened his bedroom window as wide as it would go. When Grandma came in to say good night, she looked at the window but kept hush about it. As she was going out the door,
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