All Over Creation by Ruth Ozeki Page B

meandering across her body’s terrain that first uncovered the pea-size lump. Now his fingers stiffened when they touched her chest.
    â€œCass.” He sighed. He placed the heel of his palm against the slick twist of scar tissue. His fingers groped for heft, for bulk.
    But Cass intercepted him, smoothly capturing his wrist as she counted the days. It was early, but you never knew. She guided his hand to her stomach and released it. He was safe down there, no danger. From there he could find his own way. She relaxed into him now, began to let herself answer. A little window of life. She tried to visualize the sperms swarming her egg, picture them coming together. It wasn’t always easy, but she knew it was important to keep positive images in your head.
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    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œYou asked me what she was like.”
    Will took the photos from the freezer bag and flipped through them. There was a picture of Lloyd, holding an infant Yummy in the palm of his hand, making her fly like an airplane. There was an Easter picture of Yummy in front of the church and another holding on to Momoko’s hand in front of hedges of honeysuckle and mock orange.
    â€œCute.” He handed them back to Cass. “What’s that one?” It was a group photo, taken at school after the Thanksgiving pageant.
    â€œAre you in it?” Will asked.
    Cass nodded. He narrowed his eyes, held the photo closer.
    â€œWhich one is you?”
    She pointed to the edge, where she was standing amid the side dishes.
    Will laughed. “Well, if you don’t make the cutest, plumpest little—”
    â€œDon’t,” Cass warned.
    He walked out to the office, still laughing.
    Cass was in two other photos as well. The first had been taken at a birthday party, Yummy’s, of course. Yummy was perched on a footstool in the center of the picture, surrounded by balloons and offerings. Cass sat on the horsehair love seat at the edge of the frame, so far over, it seemed like an accident that she’d gotten into the picture at all. The colors had faded. Pale balloons stuck to the wall behind the love seat, held there by static electricity. It had seemed like magic at the time, Cass remembered, but Lloyd had explained it using simple science. Friction. He’d rubbed a balloon against his thigh, and the sound of the taut rubber against the fabric of his trousers made her want to sneeze. The rough upholstery prickled the backs of her thighs. When the photo was snapped, the rest of the children were facing away. Just Cass and Yummy were caught looking toward the flash. Yummy smiled, poised and self-possessed. Cass, to one side, simply looked stricken.
    The only other picture with Cass showed the two girls, older and in two-piece bathing suits, slouching splay-legged in aluminum lawn chairs on the Fullers’ front yard. Behind them the lawn sprinkler sent jets of water into the air. Blades of wet grass stuck to their legs, and they were eating Popsicles. Yummy glowered at the camera, and again Cass just looked scared.
    Cass placed the photos side by side. Lined up like that, you could see the sea change that had transpired in Yummy—from smiling princess to sullen mermaid, hiding behind damp, seaweedy hair. Cass hadn’t changed at all. Not yet. Her changes had come later. She stared at the pictures, points in time, and felt the years swell.
    Will came from the office, on his way out to the fields. “Looks like fun,” he said, peering over her shoulder. “You two were pretty good buddies, huh?”
    She nodded. She walked him to the door and watched him cross the yard, bundled against the cold.
    She had thought time would just go on, generating more pictures like these: Cass and Yummy, dressed in bathing suits, in prom dresses, as brides and bridesmaids, and then at baby showers. But the images of her friend stopped a year or so after the photo on the lawn. By then it was winter, and