Magic Sometimes Happens Part 11

'Yeah, I guess,' conceded Joe. 'When's Polly going to die?'

'Oh, not for years and years,' the doctor said. 'I'm guessing Polly here will live to be a hundred.'

'Yeah?' said Joe incredulously. 'I thought she was dying. The gerbil in our homeroom died. It had a rash as well.'

'No kidding, little buddy. That jacket, is it made of wool?' the doctor asked me, pointing to it.

'I don't know.'

'I guess there'll be a tag?'

I checked the tag and it said wool.

'Okay,' said the doctor. 'Polly doesn't like wool next her skin. I'll let you have some cream. Apply it four times daily and the rash should soon clear up.'

'She won't need any other meds? No painkillers? You don't need to run some blood work to be sure it's just an allergy?'

'No blood work,' said the doctor wearily. 'No other meds. You guys remember no wool next the skin and Polly here is going to be fine.'

'We got it, Doc,' Joe told him, man to man.

The doctor gave him a high five.

I got a prescription and was told to take it to the pharmacy.

As we were walking down the corridor, the candy striper happened by again and asked Joe if he'd like a juice or popsicle? Joe beamed at her and said he surely would and thank you, ma'am. She beamed right back at him and took his hand. I could see her thinking, a kid with good, old-fashioned manners, someone's raising children right today. Then she said if I would like, she'd take him to the hospital canteen and meet us there. She also told me where to find the pharmacy, like I was dumb or something and couldn't read the signs.

As I was waiting in the pharmacy, the nurse we'd seen came in. She nodded hi and then went through a door into an office. But she left the door ajar.

'That's the guy through there?' asked someone else.

'Yeah, that's him,' the nurse replied and I could hear the giggle in her voice. 'A case of weekend father syndrome, he was panicking because his baby had a little rash.'

'What was it?'

'Just an allergy. He'd dressed the kid in a wool jacket and she had a lanoline reaction.'

'He should have known, the klutz. No wool next to the skin on babies, it's an irritant.'

'Quiet down, Mary-Lou, he'll hear you.'

'Well, perhaps he ought to hear me? Guys like that, they say they're fathers, but they never change a diaper, never read a tag. They never use their brains.'

'Their brains live in their shorts and they-'

I didn't hear the rest because they realised they hadn't shut the door and now they closed it, snickering.

'Mr Riley?' said the pharmacist. 'Okay, this is a moisturising cream. It's very light and you can use it any time. Just smooth it on your daughter's skin, don't rub, and soon ...'

She rattled on like I was stupid and had never seen a tube of cream in my whole life. I took the stuff and headed out the pharmacy with Polly and her discharge papers, feeling like a fool.

'Dad, is Polly going to die?' asked Joe as I strapped them both into the backseat of the trash-mobile then offered them some bran-rich cookies from a store of sugar, salt and allergen-free snacks that Lex kept on the dash.

'No,' I told him. 'Polly won't be dying yet awhile. You heard that doctor, didn't you? She's going to live at least a hundred years.'

Joe looked so disappointed. I thought he would cry. But the little guy was tired. He'd had a busy day. He'd been to the zoo and to the children's hospital. He'd seen tigers, foxes, doctors, nurses, candy stripers, kids with plasters on their wrists and ankles, kids with pirate patches, just like on TV. He'd have lots to say to Mrs Daley on Monday, wouldn't he?

Oh, and to tell his mother, too.

'Mommy, Mommy, we went to the hospital! Polly nearly died!'

'What?' Lexie stared at me in horror. 'Pat, whatever happened? Did you let her fall, eat something bad?'

'She had an allergy.' I shrugged. 'But I didn't know it at the time. I thought it needed checking out.'

'You took her to the children's hospital?'

'Yeah, we went to the ER and Joe thought he had died and gone to heaven.'

'Please don't talk about my children dying. Pat, you should have called the doctor's office. There's a weekend number in the binder. You say she had an allergy. What caused it?'

'It was a wool reaction.'

'Oh, I see,' said Lexie and did her best school-princ.i.p.al-from-h.e.l.l impression folded arms and mouth set in an angry, disapproving line. 'She wore her robin jacket, is that right?'

'Yeah, but she-'

'Patrick, you should know no wool next to the skin, particularly in the case of little ones and babies.'

'So why do you dress the kid in wool?'

'When she wears that little coat, she also wears a tee with a high neck and sleeves that come down to her wrists. If you ever noticed what your children wore, you would have noticed that.'

'Why don't you put it in the garbage and buy her a new jacket made of cotton or whatever?'

'Your mother sent it on her birthday.' Lexie sighed. 'I never would have bought it. The stupid thing's hand wash, and that's a drag. But Polly really loves it. She loves the birds on it. They all got names. She sucks the cuffs as well that's why they're fraying.'

Yeah, I thought, it figured. It was the sort of jacket Mom would buy. She loves to get new clothes for Polly, real expensive stuff she can't afford, perhaps because I had a little sister who died of scarlet fever before I came along.

'Good weekend?' I asked to change the subject and hoping Mr Wonderful had fallen off a bridge and drowned to death. Or somehow got himself burned up in a precisely-targeted incendiary attack.

'Yeah, it was great.' At the thought of Mr Wonderful or so I guessed Lex became all bright and glowing, and I wondered if I'd ever made my wife light up? I never checked.

'What did you do?' I asked.

'I told you, one of Stephen's friends got married. Come on, kids, it's late and you got school and stuff tomorrow. You should be in bed.'

As Lexie hurried them toward the door, Joe turned to glance at me. 'Thank you for the weekend, Dad,' he said. 'I had the best time ever.'

'Why was that, then?' I was curious to know what I got right and to hear him talk about it while his mother listened.

'Come on, guys,' repeated Lexie. 'Stephen's waiting.'

Let him wait, I thought. I hunkered down so that my eyes were level with my son's. 'What did you like best about the weekend, little buddy?'

'The zoo was awesome, we got fries and shakes, and you took us to the hospital.'

'You bought them fries?' snapped Lexie, adding this new crime and misdemeanour to the charge sheet for, according to the Gospel of St Lexie, fries were the Great Satan.

'You'll take care of The Terminator, Dad?' said Joe as Lexie zipped his hoodie.

'Yeah, sure I will,' I promised. 'I'll see you kids tomorrow after school. We'll bake up cupcakes.'

'I get to put the frosting on?'

'Of course.'

'Joe and Polly, do I have to tell you for the third time?' Lexie glared at me. 'You're doing this on purpose, Patrick, trying to alienate my children. My attorney warned me about devious guys like you.'

She pushed them out the door.

I fed The Terminator, shot the breeze with him awhile. But I have to tell you now that hamsters aren't the greatest when it comes to conversation.

I took a shower and grabbed a beer, lay on the couch and watched some trash TV, missing my kids, my cotton-candy-scented baby, my little tough guy Joe.

I missed Rosie, too and missing Rosie made me hurt like I had never hurt before. If hearts and minds can truly ache, mine did that Sunday night.

ROSIE.

I got so excited.

I did my hair and did my nails and gave myself a special lime-and-mango facial that was guaranteed to make me glow. By Friday lunchtime, I was more than glowing. I was almost radioactive with antic.i.p.ation.

But Patrick didn't come. On Friday evening, there were just the three of us for dinner, which we had at home a takeout pizza, coleslaw, garlic bread because there was a game on television Ben wanted to see.

Okay, perhaps on Friday Pat was tired? But surely he'd turn up on Sat.u.r.day, if only to see Ben? I wasn't going to ask. I wasn't going to say his name out loud because I knew I'd colour up. Tess was sure to notice and she would laugh and tease me.

But I'm sorry, this was not a laughing matter.

On Sat.u.r.day I said I had a headache when Ben suggested he and Tess and I should go and check out something scenic, a waterfall or lake or something wet, I didn't catch its name. So he and Tess went out while I stayed home, because for some ridiculous reason I was certain Pat would call me.

I was wrong, of course. I mean, good heavens, psychic me? I'm just about as psychic as a box of jelly doughnuts.

'What's the matter, Rosie?' Ben enquired when he and Tess came home again with their usual clutch of carrier bags more clothes for Tess, gadgets for him. 'Your colour's very high. Perhaps you have a temperature? I said we ought to get that foot checked out.'

'She's wearing make-up, stupid.' Tess looked hard at me. 'You going somewhere, are you?'

'No, trying out some samples. Fan wants feedback for a magazine.'

'The eye-shadow's well cool. No streaks, no lines, no creases. It's subtly metallic but not trashy bright. The lipstick's horrible. That kind of scarlet isn't good on everyone and it's not good on you. But it might suit me. I'll go and try it, shall I? You can tell me what you think?'

'Okay.'

'Do you need a sealer? Does it bleed?'

'It doesn't bleed.'

But my heart was bleeding because Patrick clearly wasn't coming and I could have cried and cried.

On Sunday morning, while we were having breakfast and I had got my hopes up high as skysc.r.a.pers all over again today, I thought, he's sure to come Ben happened to observe that we would not be seeing Pat because he had to watch his children all weekend.

'Hey, you don't take sugar in your coffee,' Tess said, frowning as she watched me spooning it into my mug. 'It's very bad for you.'

'I fancy something bad for me today.'

'So be a little more adventurous? Sugar, it's just empty carbohydrate. All it will do is make you fat and spotty and give you diabetes. I read about it in a magazine. Let's go shopping, shall we get a little healthy exercise?'

On Monday afternoon, while we were at the MoA and getting healthy exercise and Tess was buying casual clothes for Ben in Gap and Urban Outfitters she was taking his restructuring programme very seriously indeed, but wasn't getting any real designer stuff for him just yet because she didn't want to frighten him her mobile rang.

Maybe it was Ben to say he wouldn't be home for dinner?

That morning, he'd gone into college early for a meeting with the dean or that was where he'd told us he was going, anyway smelling like he'd fallen in a vat of aftershave. I'd wondered if the dean was twenty-five and blonde and s.e.xy. I sort of guessed Tess might be wondering, too.

'You mean this week?' she said, sounding surprised. 'Well, I suppose so. Yeah, it's very exciting. We'll see you later, shall we? Yeah, I love you, too.'

'What was that about?' I asked.

'Ben's going to New York tomorrow. He needs to see his publisher.' She slipped her phone into her bag and then glanced up at me. She looked apologetic. 'I'll feel very mean about it, leaving you to entertain yourself, but he wants me to go.'

'Of course he does,' I said. 'Tess, you're his wife.'

'Yeah, I'm Mrs Fairfax Three.' She shrugged. 'I'm wondering now, if he wants company, maybe I should say take Mrs Fairfax One or Two? One lives in Virginia and Two is in New Jersey. One of them could go with him, perhaps?'

'But don't you want to go?'

'It'll probably be quite boring, listening to Ben and Mr Publisher droning on about Ben's books. I'm not an intellectual, as you know. But One and Two are intellectuals, and Ben and they are still good friends, whatever that might mean. They're still in contact, anyway, especially Ben and Mrs Fairfax Two. She's his literary executor.'

'Why is she his literary executor?'

'Oh, she's a professor in some college. So she knows all about that sort of stuff.'

'She might, but you're Ben's wife,' I said. 'I think it should be you.'

'But she's welcome, Rosie. The whole thing sounds a total waste of time and energy. He sends her copies of all his paperwork and emails, photographs, the lot, so she can keep them in a special archive and write his authorised biography, that's when the time is right. I mean, is he up himself, or what?'

'You mean every letter, every email, this woman gets a copy?'

'Yeah, that's what he told me.'