The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [78]
“I’m taking it on,” she said. “I don’t have to work today, and so I thought I’d start digging into this mess. Want to help?”
“Oh, not really. It’s such a funky, rainy day. It’s put me in a bad mood.”
“Well, have a quick look anyway. Blake’s coming by in a few minutes to take a few things.”
I got a cup of coffee and sat down beside her on the floor, pulling open the flaps of the box closest to me. It was full of books, children’s books. I pulled out The Little Engine that Could, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and The Cat in the Hat. They were worn from many readings, the cardboard corners dented in places, the pages soft.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” my mother said, reaching for Goodnight Moon. “I loved this one. So did you. I must have read it out loud three hundred zillion times. Anyway, I promised Blake this box of books, now that he’ll have a use for them. I’m glad you told me, Lucy, even though it was awkward at first. I mean, yes, Blake was a little upset, but I think he really wanted to talk about it, too, and when he realized I was happy about the whole thing, he relaxed. Really, I can’t wait,” she went on. “People always say how thrilling it is to know you’re going to be a grandparent, but I didn’t imagine it really would be. I’ve set another box aside for them already, filled up with old toys.”
“What about me?” I meant to say it in a kidding way, but even to my own ears I sounded a little shrill. Seeing my mother so excited made Blake and Avery’s baby seem very real, and although it was ridiculous, I felt left out, or left behind, the sweep of life moving on while I kept doing the same things over again in different places. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m in a lousy mood—I didn’t sleep well. I guess I just mean that if I ever have a baby, everything will be long gone.”
“Trust me—people will pass things on.” She looked at me then, and added softly, “But if there’s anything special you want to hold aside—you know, for some day—go ahead. Blake and Avery won’t even notice.”
“It’s okay. Maybe that mobile Dad made when I was born. I’d like to keep that.”
My mother nodded. “It’s already in a box in your closet. I put it away—oh, a couple of years ago. And the trains he made for Blake. I put those away, too.”
She reached into the box in front of her, pulling out a handful of folders.
“So—you and Yoshi have any plans?” she asked, trying to sound offhand and failing so miserably that I laughed.
“New plans every day, it seems. But no. If you’re talking about settling down and having children, no.”
She nodded and rested her hand briefly on my arm, which irritated me because I was afraid she felt sorry for me. “Just curious,” she said, pulling away.
“Need help with any of that?” I asked, glad to change the subject, as she caught a slipping folder. “How’s your arm feeling, by the way?”
“I’m fine. I saw the doctor yesterday. I’m healing nicely, he says. If all goes well, I can get rid of this Aircast next Wednesday, hooray. Oh, look at this, Lucy.”
She handed me a poem written carefully on wide blue-lined paper, back when kids still practiced cursive writing. I’d decorated the edges with dolphins and fish, waves and seashells, even though I’d never been to the ocean.
“Guess my inclinations were clear even then.”
“Guess so.” She glanced at several files full of business papers left from my father’s time at Dream Master and chucked them into the recycle bin.
“Ah, report cards.” I gave her a stack of Blake’s, and pulled one of mine out, from fourth grade. “ ‘Has strong writing skills and loves science . Needs to work on sitting still.’ That was Mrs. Blankenthorpe,” I said. “I remember her. We used to call her Mrs. Battleship.”
“That’s terrible,” my mother said, though we were both laughing.
We kept going, refilling our coffee cups one time, then again.