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By Root 960 0

in Chris any signs of moroseness, and that’s what mattered—that, and simply being with him again. When Theodore called her “Grandma,” she answered. And while she really couldn’t stand the child, she put up with him, reading him a story one night. (Though when she left out a word and he corrected her, she could have swatted his dark head.) He was her son’s family, and so was she. When she tired of the child, or when the baby cried, she retired to the basement and lay on the bed, thinking how glad she was that she had never left Henry for Jim. Not that she would have, although she remembered that she felt she would have—and what would have happened to Christopher then?

On the third morning, when Ann returned from taking Theodore to school, and Christopher was off at work, the baby splashed in the pool out back while Olive sat in the beach chair. “Can you watch her, Mom, while I collect some laundry?” Ann asked, and Olive said, “Of course.”

Annabelle fretted, but Olive tossed her a twig from nearby, and Annabelle slapped it against the water. Olive gazed up at the deck, looking for any sign of the parrot, who would sometimes say, unprovoked, God is king. “Hells bells,” Olive said, then said it again, louder, and Praise God came from upstairs. She slipped off her sandals, scratched her feet, settled back in her chair, pleased to have maneuvered the response. It did sound just like her Aunt Ora. She got up, went into the kitchen to get a doughnut, and as she stood munching it by the sink, she suddenly remembered the baby.

“Oh, good God,” she whispered, and hurried outside. Annabelle was trying to stand up. Olive bent to steady the toddler, and Annabelle slipped; Olive moved around the edge of the pool, attempting to lift the child and keep her face out of the water. Annabelle got more and more agitated, slipping and crying, turning away from Olive. “For the love of God, stop it now!” Olive said, and the baby stared at her, and then cried again.

Our father who art in heaven, shrieked the parrot.

“That’s a new one,” said Ann, stepping into the backyard with a dish towel.

“She’s trying to stand up,” Olive explained. “And I couldn’t quite get hold of her.”

“Yeah, she’s about ready to walk any day now.” Ann, in spite of her large belly, picked the child up easily.

Olive returned to her chair, shaken with the effort of grappling with the baby. Her panty hose were shredded from running around on this cement.

“Today’s our wedding anniversary,” Ann said, putting the dish towel around the shoulders of the baby.

“It is?”

“It is.” Ann smiled, as though remembering something private. “Let’s warm you up, little goose.” Annabelle had spread her small legs on each side of Ann’s bulbous belly, laid her wet head across Ann’s big chest, and was sucking her thumb, shivering.

So easily, Olive could have said: “Well, it’d have been nice of you to tell me you were getting married, to begin with. It’s a ghastly thing for a mother to find out later.” But she only said, “Happy anniversary, then.” That the baby had not drowned while she ate a doughnut had left her so relieved, that the anniversary seemed—while a painful reminder of how left out she had been—nothing to quibble about.

“Did Chris tell you how we met?”

“Not exactly. Not specifically.” He had told her nothing.

“In a singles group for divorced people. I’d just found out I was pregnant with Annabelle—you know how when you get divorced, you do crazy things—and Annabelle was the result of a crazy thing—weren’t you, chicken pie?” She kissed the top of the child’s head.

This was the twenty-first century, thought Olive. It’s not as though one had to rely on foam for birth control. But the still-relieved Olive said, with feigned generosity, “That’s a nice idea, a singles group for divorced people.” She nodded. “You all have that experience in common.” She herself had gone to one meeting of a “support group” at the nursing home, and found it absolutely foolish, with foolish people saying foolish things—including the social worker who ran it, and said repeatedly in a sweet, calm voice,