read that twins should be kept together for the first few weeks—and a changing table and a huge laundry hamper and a large upholstered rocking chair with a matching ottoman and another chest of drawers besides the one already in the room. Opened gift boxes were stacked in the corners, their contents waiting to be used or put away. They’d come from the baby shower that LuAnne had hosted before Christmas, and every time I saw them I cringed a little, always uncomfortable about social events that required the bringing of gifts.
“Oh, look at this,” Etta Mae said, spreading a tiny yellow garment on her knees. “It’s the cutest thing. Just look at all the smocking.”
Hazel Marie beamed with pleasure as she held up another garment just like it. “I love it too. And of course I have two of them. Two of everything, actually.”
“Yellow is a good choice,” I said. “It’ll suit either boys or girls, or one of each.”
Etta Mae asked, “You still don’t know what you’re having?”
Hazel Marie shook her head. “No, sometimes I think I want to know, but we decided we wanted to be surprised. The doctor thinks he knows what one of them is.”
Lillian started laughing, then Etta Mae did too.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Etta Mae said.
“I don’t,” I said.
“It mean,” Lillian said, still laughing, “that one of ’em have something extra, something he can see.”
“Oh,” I said, finally getting it and trying not to be embarrassed at what came to mind.
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, “it’s hard to tell one thing from another on those sonograms—I don’t care what he says. So I’m not counting any chickens before they’re hatched.”
Lillian looked her over, then with a sage nod of her head said, “They’s at least one girl in there ’cause you carryin’ ’em so low.”
“Well, of course she’s carrying them low,” I said, discounting another old wives’ tale. “With that heavy a load, she can’t do anything else. She’s sagging, Lillian.”
Hazel Marie laughed, then put her hand on the small of her back, stretching to ease the cramped muscles. “I’ve got to get up from here,” she said. “Maybe walk around a little. Everything’s so crowded up inside that I can hardly breathe sometimes.”
Etta Mae helped her to her feet. “Let’s walk to the kitchen and see if that helps.”
Lillian was out the door before the rest of us. “She need a little snack too.”
Hazel Marie whispered to me as I took her arm. “Bless her heart, Lillian’s going to snack me to death.”
Etta Mae got Hazel Marie settled at the table, while I brought over the coffeepot and Lillian fixed her a cup of spiced tea because she was off coffee for the duration.
After putting a plate of cookies on the table, Lillian asked, “Anybody heard anything more ’bout that dead body they found?”
“Just what was in the paper this morning,” I said, hoping to move the conversation on to other topics. “That seems to be the extent of what anybody knows.”
“Well, let me tell you what I heard,” Etta Mae said, perking right up. “When I stopped at McDonald’s for a biscuit, there was a bunch of construction workers talking about it—some of them were volunteer firemen, so they knew. They said it was definitely a man, and he’d been dead for at least a couple of days. And he was wearing a real nice overcoat and a suit under that. They said everything was dirty and stained, but you could tell that his clothes were better than you’d expect on a hobo or something.”
“That may not mean anything,” I said. “People occasionally donate some very good things when they’ve outgrown them or gotten tired of them. I heard Maureen Langley say one time that she’d taken an armful of Carlisle outfits to the Salvation Army, and Louise Murphy heard about it and went right down there and bought them for herself. So I’m not sure that the quality of his clothes tells us
“Oh, look at this,” Etta Mae said, spreading a tiny yellow garment on her knees. “It’s the cutest thing. Just look at all the smocking.”
Hazel Marie beamed with pleasure as she held up another garment just like it. “I love it too. And of course I have two of them. Two of everything, actually.”
“Yellow is a good choice,” I said. “It’ll suit either boys or girls, or one of each.”
Etta Mae asked, “You still don’t know what you’re having?”
Hazel Marie shook her head. “No, sometimes I think I want to know, but we decided we wanted to be surprised. The doctor thinks he knows what one of them is.”
Lillian started laughing, then Etta Mae did too.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Etta Mae said.
“I don’t,” I said.
“It mean,” Lillian said, still laughing, “that one of ’em have something extra, something he can see.”
“Oh,” I said, finally getting it and trying not to be embarrassed at what came to mind.
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, “it’s hard to tell one thing from another on those sonograms—I don’t care what he says. So I’m not counting any chickens before they’re hatched.”
Lillian looked her over, then with a sage nod of her head said, “They’s at least one girl in there ’cause you carryin’ ’em so low.”
“Well, of course she’s carrying them low,” I said, discounting another old wives’ tale. “With that heavy a load, she can’t do anything else. She’s sagging, Lillian.”
Hazel Marie laughed, then put her hand on the small of her back, stretching to ease the cramped muscles. “I’ve got to get up from here,” she said. “Maybe walk around a little. Everything’s so crowded up inside that I can hardly breathe sometimes.”
Etta Mae helped her to her feet. “Let’s walk to the kitchen and see if that helps.”
Lillian was out the door before the rest of us. “She need a little snack too.”
Hazel Marie whispered to me as I took her arm. “Bless her heart, Lillian’s going to snack me to death.”
Etta Mae got Hazel Marie settled at the table, while I brought over the coffeepot and Lillian fixed her a cup of spiced tea because she was off coffee for the duration.
After putting a plate of cookies on the table, Lillian asked, “Anybody heard anything more ’bout that dead body they found?”
“Just what was in the paper this morning,” I said, hoping to move the conversation on to other topics. “That seems to be the extent of what anybody knows.”
“Well, let me tell you what I heard,” Etta Mae said, perking right up. “When I stopped at McDonald’s for a biscuit, there was a bunch of construction workers talking about it—some of them were volunteer firemen, so they knew. They said it was definitely a man, and he’d been dead for at least a couple of days. And he was wearing a real nice overcoat and a suit under that. They said everything was dirty and stained, but you could tell that his clothes were better than you’d expect on a hobo or something.”
“That may not mean anything,” I said. “People occasionally donate some very good things when they’ve outgrown them or gotten tired of them. I heard Maureen Langley say one time that she’d taken an armful of Carlisle outfits to the Salvation Army, and Louise Murphy heard about it and went right down there and bought them for herself. So I’m not sure that the quality of his clothes tells us
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