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A soldier. Before I head into the bakery kitchen, I stop at the computer upstairs and send a quick email to Sofia:

Katie is fine. Dog is here. Any news? How are you holding up? Be sure to EAT! Love, Mom

And then at last I escape into the kitchen, where the scent of yeast can help me forget, at least for a little while, that my daughter is in the first real trouble of her life and there is almost nothing I can do to help her.

Sofia’s Journal

MAY 21, 20—

I am writing this as I sit by Oscar’s bed. He is almost unrecognizable. No, that is not accurate. Not almost. He is unrecognizable. I would never have known it was him. There are so many bandages and tubes. I can see bits and pieces of his face—his mouth and chin are very swollen and red. His eyelids are a deep, terrible red, swollen and marked. His eyelashes are gone, but the nurse said he was lucky he kept his eyelids, a picture that gives me shudders every time I think about it.

He’s a mummy, really. A mummy with one leg. He hasn’t come out of the coma yet.

I thought they were going to fly us back to San Antonio yesterday, but he had a bad turn and then something else happened and … I don’t know. The chaplain is here often, making sure I’m okay, which tells me how worried they are that he’ll die.

He is not going to die. I keep telling him that he cannot give up, no matter what. Katie will be an orphan. Our baby will never see him. He or she will be here in less than two months, Oscar, I tell him. You can make it that long. I know you can.

And if he can make it two months, he can make it forever.

The other thing is, jeez, I am so pregnant! My ankles keep swelling, and I’ve got a backache that just won’t quit. A doctor is keeping an eye on me, and I like her a lot.

In my belly, the baby is doing somersaults or something, I swear! I can feel him banging on my ribs, jumping around, rockin’ out. I keep wondering—boy or girl? Boy or girl? I won’t let them tell me. It seems like opening a Christmas present too early. I think, though, it’s a boy. I’m carrying it high and forward, and one of the other teachers at school did a pendulum thing with a needle before I left. A boy with Oscar’s beautiful eyes. His thick curly hair. His hands, which are so huge and beautiful.

When it gets closer to time, I guess I’ll have to make some choices. It’s hard to imagine having the baby without my mom around, but it’s even worse to think of leaving Oscar’s side. If I think about it too much, I start to panic.

Which isn’t helpful in the least. One step at a time.

I haven’t heard a thing from Katie and must remember to send her an email and be sure to be in touch with her. I’ve been avoiding it because it’s so hard to think of what to say, how to tell the truth.

My stomach is growling. I need to go find something to eat. I wish I could find some of my mother’s French bread. It helps so much when my stomach gets unsettled like this.

RAMONA’S BOOK OF BREADS

EASY WHITE BREAD

Many people fret about undertaking yeast bread, fearing it will be complicated and mysterious. This is the recipe used for centuries to make classic French baguettes. Children love to make this loaf, and it will give any aspiring bread baker a swelling of confidence.

1 cup lukewarm water

1 tsp sugar

1 T dry yeast

3 cups unbleached white flour

1 tsp salt

1 egg white + 1 tsp cold water

Pour the water into a small bowl and stir in the sugar, then sprinkle the yeast over the top and let stand for 5 minutes. In a big bowl, measure the flour and the salt and stir together. When the yeast is foamy, pour the yeast-and-water mix into the flour and stir together until you can gather it into a blob. On a counter scattered with flour, drop the blob and sprinkle more flour over the top of it, then knead for 5 minutes or more, until smooth and elastic. (The dough should begin to have a texture that’s cool and “spankable.”)

Gather the dough into a ball and put it into an oiled bowl, turning the ball until it is