Seasons Under Heaven Page 4

  She went back to the laundry room, started the load of jeans, and slid the condom into her own pocket. Then, trying to ignore the dismal thoughts flitting through her mind, she went back out to the pickup. Across the street, her neighbor Brenda stood in a huddle with her four kids, all with different shades of red hair. They were up to something, but that wasn’t unusual. Brenda, who homeschooled her children, had the most creative mind Cathy knew when it came to stimulating them. She was probably doing some sort of nature hunt or demonstrating the food chain by collecting bugs in the yard, imparting some type of life lesson that they’d never forget.

  Suddenly, Cathy felt like a terrible mother who didn’t deserve the children who’d been entrusted to her.

  As she backed out of the driveway, she saw David, Brenda’s husband, dragging picnic tables to the lot between the houses. He was always there, an active partner in raising the children, making a living as a cabinetmaker from the workshop in the backyard. With his wavy red hair and his slight paunch, he had never been the catch of Breezewood. But given the chance, Cathy would have traded every material possession she had to have one just like him. She gave him a cursory wave, swallowing her swelling anger at her ex-husband. She deserved better than to be raising three children alone. More importantly, they deserved better.

  CHAPTER

  Five

  “Come on, hurry up, let’s go. We’ve got to get the decorations up before the party.” Brenda Dodd’s tone was more grand marshal than drill sergeant as she looked around at the empty lot between her house and Tory’s house next door. David had moved the two picnic tables he’d built to the center of the lot for Joseph’s birthday party.

  Though Joseph had sprung out of bed mat morning and declared that he was well, he still looked weak. “But we don’t have any crepe paper,” he pointed out. “What are we gonna put up?”

  Brenda grinned and lifted her eyebrows. “Did you grab a roll of toilet paper like I told you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see why the kids can’t just go in the house if they have to go to the bathroom,” Daniel said.

  Brenda laughed. “The toilet paper’s for decoration, Kemo Sabe.”

  All four children looked down at the rolls of toilet paper in their hands, expressions of complete bewilderment on their faces. “We’re decorating with toilet paper?” the birthday boy asked, his flaming red hair making him look even paler in the harsh sunlight.

  “Isn’t there some rule against that in Amy Vanderbilt?” Leah had found a thirty-year-old copy of Amy Vanderbilt’s Book of Etiquette at a used book sale, and read it like a novel when she wasn’t doing schoolwork. “I mean, I never saw it in the book anywhere, but it just seems kind of rude, don’t you think?”

  “Trust me,” Brenda said. “Observe.” Like a scientist attempting to demonstrate a life-changing experiment, she unrolled two yards of toilet paper from her own roll. “Follow me, troops. I’m about to show you how to do the most fabulous party decoration known to man, and all for the price of a sixpack of toilet paper.”

  The children all followed, doubtful.

  Brenda laughed at the looks on their faces as she reached the center of the empty lot. “Oh ye of little faith.” She looked up at the canopy of huge oaks and elms throughout the yard. Rearing back, she threw her toilet paper roll into the branches overhead. The paper caught on a limb, and the roll fell to the ground, unrolling a stream of paper behind it.

  “Cool!” Daniel shouted. “Mom’s letting us roll our own yard!”

  The confused looks turned to expressions of sheer delight as the children joined in the act, squealing and laughing and flinging their rolls. When Brenda’s naked cardboard roll fell to the ground, she stood back, watching her kids send long swoops of white toilet paper draping through the trees like crepe paper purposely placed.

  “Brenda! For Pete’s sake, what are you doing?” David called, leaning out the window of the workshop behind the house. “What have you taught them?”

  “How to decorate on a shoestring, David,” she called with glee. “Come help us.”

  He came out in a moment and stood there with his hands at his sides, a worried grin on his face. “How are we gonna get this stuff down?”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll come down. We’ll just pull it all off after the party.”

  “What if it rains?”

  “It wouldn’t dare.”

  The look on his face was so comical that she had to laugh out loud. “You up for blowing up balloons? We couldn’t afford the helium kind, so I figured we’d just all blow until we ran out of air.”

  “Mama, can we have more toilet paper?” Rachel asked. “I ran out of mine.”

  “That’s enough,” Brenda said. “Look at it. Isn’t it beautiful? Now, come help with the balloons. We’re going to blow them up, tie them in bunches, and set them on top of the birdhouses.”

  Her children’s faces testified that they had caught their mother’s vision. She could have suggested that they grab some shovels and dig a ditch, and they would have been convinced they were having fun. They worked on the balloons until they’d blown up half of them, but it was getting hot, and she realized that by the time the party began, they would be nearing meltdown. Joseph was looking particularly peaked. He was pale, perspiring, and breathing hard. “David, why don’t you hook up the sprinkler in the backyard while we blow up the balloons?” she suggested. “That’ll be one of the activities at the party. They can run through the sprinkler when they get hot.”

  “Good idea,” David said. He was sweating himself, and his red hair had separated into wavy wet strands.

  “But they’ll be soaked,” Leah said. “Whoever heard of going to a birthday party soaking wet?”

  “Ms. Vanderbilt would have loved it,” Brenda assured her as David headed to the backyard. “Come on, now. Get some more balloons and start blowing.”

  She watched the kids huff and puff. But when she noticed that Joseph, too, was only watching, she tousled his damp hair and said, “Joseph, are you feeling okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m just hot.”

  “Wanna go sit in the air-conditioning for a minute? Get a drink?”

  “No, ma’am, I’ll just stand in the sprinkler to cool off.”

  “You’re the birthday boy. Have at it.”

  She would have expected him to run at the rare treat, but instead he only walked around to the back of the house. “Joseph,” she called after him, “remind Daddy to make sure the water doesn’t reach the toilet paper.”

  “I will.”

  They finished blowing up balloons, and by the time two o’clock came, the yard looked festive and inviting. Two cars pulled up at the same time, and out spilled eight delighted homeschooled youngsters. Brenda sent the parents on their way for some rare time alone, assuring them that there would be plenty of supervision. She saw the front door of the Sullivan house open, and Tory came out with Spencer and Brittany.

  Spencer took one look at the toilet paper draping the trees and sprinted away from his mother. Brittany began to jump into the air like a pogo toy. “Look, Mommy! Look!”

  Tory, dressed in a pale blue shorts set that enhanced the color of her eyes, looked like a model about to do a photo shoot. Brenda wondered why she bothered to fix her hair and makeup when she would probably sweat it all off. Tory gave her a what-have-you-done-now grin as she reached the crowd. “Brenda…”

  “It’ll come down, I promise,” Brenda said, raising her right hand in a mock vow. “The kids love it.” She knew Tory didn’t consider that a good enough reason to risk a potential mess in both their yards, but it was the best she could do.

  Spencer and Brittany flung their presents to the center of the table, where the other gifts were piled. “Open mine first, okay, Joseph?” Spencer demanded. “Open it now!”

  Joseph, who was cooler now that he was soaking wet, shook his head. “I can’t, Spence. It’s not time yet.”

  “Aw, man,” Spencer said, then immediate
ly switched gears. “How come you’re wet?”

  “There’s a sprinkler going in the back. You can play in it if you want.”

  Spencer didn’t wait to hear more. He leaped down from the picnic table and tore around to the back of the house.

  “Spencer, no!” Tory shouted. “I’ve bathed him twice today, and he’s on his third outfit.”

  “It’ll dry,” Brenda laughed. “Come on, Tory. It’s part of the activities. David’s back there supervising.”

  “Well, we could run back home and put on bathing suits…”

  “Nooo!” Spencer protested. “It’s more fun in clothes!”

  Tory sighed and seemed to resign herself to a fourth outfit.

  Brittany almost had a conniption fit. “Me, too, Mommy? Can I get wet, too?”

  Brenda knew that Tory didn’t see the appeal of “getting wet”—to her it represented another mess—but finally, she surrendered her second child to the water. As if to force her own mind off wet children, Tory looked around at the other kids. “These kids are all different ages. Aren’t any of them in school?”

  “They’re all homeschooled,” Brenda said. “We go on field trips together and stuff. I thought they’d enjoy a party. I sent their mothers away—they could use a break.”

  “Mama doesn’t make us do school on birthdays,” Joseph said, putting a balloon to his mouth to blow up. The balloon inflated slightly, and his face began to redden as he tried harder to blow it up.

  “Here, I’ll help,” Tory said, taking one. She blew it up quickly, tied it in a knot, and handed it to Rachel, who was waiting with ribbon to tie around it.

  Joseph was still working on his. Finally, he gave up and let the balloon go. It twirled in the air and collapsed on the table.

  Brenda stopped what she was doing and gazed down at him. “You couldn’t blow it up, honey?”

  “I don’t want to,” he said.

  “You want to run through the sprinkler again?” She pushed his wet hair back from his face and touched his forehead. It wasn’t feverish. “Go ahead. It might pep you up a little.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He got up from the bench as if to do just that, but stopped and steadied himself.

  Brenda bent over to meet his eyes. “Joseph?”

  He didn’t answer right away, just stared blindly into space, wobbled slightly, then went limp and hit the ground.

  “Joseph!” Brenda fell to her knees beside her unconscious son. “Tory, go get David!”

  But David was there before Tory could move. “What’s wrong?”

  “He passed out! Get me a cold rag or something.”

  Daniel, who was soaked from the sprinkler and had run up behind his father, pulled his wet T-shirt off and thrust it at his mother. She was shaking as she began to stroke Joseph’s face with it. “Honey, wake up. Joseph?”

  His eyes slowly opened and rested blankly on her.

  “He’s awake,” Brenda cried. “David, we’ve got to get him to the doctor.”

  “But the party!” Leah cried. “We can’t leave all the guests. Their mothers aren’t here!”

  Tory looked helplessly at David and Brenda. “Look, you two take him on. I’ll take care of things here.”

  “He’s okay, aren’t you, sweetie?” Brenda asked, trying to calm her voice to keep from frightening Joseph. “I can take him by myself. David, you can stay and have the party. Just save Joseph some cake and all his presents. There’s no need for everybody to go home, is there?”

  “Okay,” he said, and Brenda knew that he too was trying to keep the concern out of his voice. “Joseph’ll be fine, and all this loot’ll be here when you get back. Leah, go get him a change of clothes so Mama can get him out of the wet ones when they get there.”

  Already, she had Joseph on his feet and was walking him toward the car. She fumbled with the door, and David came to her aid. “David, I’ll call you when we see the doctor, okay? Just have fun. Joseph is fine.” How many times had they said that? she wondered. And were they saying it for the sake of the kids—or themselves?

  David helped Joseph into the car as the children, some wet from the sprinkler and some from sweat, crowded around. Leah cut through them and handed Brenda her purse and a change of clothes for Joseph. As the car pulled out, Joseph looked sadly out the window.

  “Well,” Brenda said cheerfully as they left the cul-de-sac. “This will be a party to remember, won’t it? For years, we’ll say, ‘Remember Joseph’s ninth birthday when he passed out cold?’”

  Joseph was still gazing out the window. “Toilet paper is better than crepe paper, isn’t it?” he asked quietly. “Prettier, too. It was fun even before the people got there.”

  Brenda tried to blink back the tears in her eyes as she sped to the doctor’s office.

  CHAPTER

  Six

  The pediatrician’s office was packed to capacity with sick children and babies waiting for their monthly checkups. As they waited to be worked in, Brenda could only imagine the disappointment that Joseph must feel at having to miss the birthday party he’d spent weeks talking about. Her own heart was deflated, and she couldn’t put aside the fright she’d experienced watching her child pass out before her eyes.

  Maybe it was his blood sugar, as Daniel had suggested. Maybe the cinnamon rolls she’d made for breakfast had been a mistake, but she’d wanted to make something special for his birthday. Maybe he still wasn’t a hundred percent after his virus a few weeks ago. Maybe it was just too hot for him.

  As badly as she wanted to believe these simple and nonthreatening explanations, her heart found no comfort in them. Something was wrong with Joseph. Something was terribly wrong.

  He laid his head back in the chair, his little body almost limp. His face still lacked color, and his hair was mussed from drying without being combed first.

  She racked her brain trying to think of something to help him pass the time. She had promised him no school today, so she didn’t want to practice his multiplication tables or drill him on his spelling words. No, she would keep her word. Today would only be for fun. Even if they did have to have it in a doctor’s office.

  She reached into her big purse that carried all sorts of childoccupying paraphernalia and pulled out a miniature legal pad. She got a green marker from the ziplock bag of markers and crayons in the bottom of her purse. Joseph looked as if he expected her to hand it to him, but instead she dropped the bag back into her purse and began to draw with the green marker.

  “Whatcha drawing?” he asked.

  “Never you mind. Just wait.”

  “Is it for me?”

  She grinned and covered her paper so he couldn’t see. “Just a minute. You’ll see.”

  She finished drawing, then tore out the page and brandished it.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She wrote a one and then six zeros in the center of the page. “It’s a million dollar bill,” she said proudly.

  “A million dollar bill?” he asked. “They make those?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “But I was just thinking a kid like you on his ninth birthday probably deserves nothing less than a million dollar bill. So I wanted you to have it.” She handed it to him.

  He grinned. “Gee, thanks, Mama.”

  “And now you have to spend it.”

  He looked skeptically up at her. “Spend it? How?”

  She reached back in her purse for a pen, and handed him the legal pad. “You have to write down everything you’d spend your million dollars to buy, and you have to spend every cent.”

  His smile turned to a suspicious frown. “Are you tricking me into doing math?”

  It would have been a good trick, but she’d had no such intentions. “No, it’s just a game.”

  His eyebrows arched as his grin crept back.

  “Let’s just see if you can. A million dollars is a lot of money, you know.”

  He smiled down at the bill, as though he couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Okay.”r />
  “What’s the first thing you would buy?”

  He leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. When he opened them, she saw the twinkle there. The excitement. Already he was feeling better. “I know,” he said. “A truckload of toilet paper so we could roll everybody’s yard in our whole neighborhood, and up and down the streets, all the way down the mountain.”

  She gave him a disgusted look. “You’ve got a million bucks and you’d use it to buy toilet paper?”

  “Well, it was fun.”

  “Okay, then. Write it down.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Depends on where you get them. At Sam’s Club, I guess it’d be about ten, fifteen bucks. What else?”

  He thought for a while. “How much does a swimming pool cost?”

  “Depends,” she said. “One of those little inflatable jobs? Or an Olympic-sized pool with marble sides and lily pads floating on the top?”

  “Yeah, one of those.”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, but thirty thousand dollars ought to be safe. What else?”

  He subtracted the thirty thousand. “I’ve still got a lot left over. How about a convertible?”

  “A convertible what?”

  “A convertible…” She imagined him flipping through his mind’s database of minivans and used pickups.

  Finally, he surprised her. “A convertible Jaguar!”

  Television, she thought. There was a whole database he got from the hour a day she allowed him to watch.

  “Okay, what color?”

  “Red.” He started to write it down, and she began to think about what a car like that might cost.

  “Put a hundred thousand dollars. No telling what a car like that costs, but it’s probably in the ballpark. How much left?”

  “Too much,” he said. “I’ll never spend it all.” He spent some time thinking, then looked up at her with wide eyes. “How about a big nice house for you? Like something that cost forty thousand or something like that.”