Robbie Lee, you’re going to wear a path in Mrs. Bailey White’s Oriental rug,” I said, watching
him pace back and forth. We had to decide if we were going to go after her. “I need to get back to
New York,” he said, “but I’m not leaving until I see her. You know she’s back at her place, probably
talking to that bird and drinking up a storm. I’m worried.” I had told Robbie-Lee about the night heron
but he hadn’t seemed surprised. He liked the fact that she had named the bird Peggy Sue because he
used to sing that song and make her laugh. “Well, you could go see her and then tomorrow you could
catch the morning bus northbound,” I said. “I’m sure—” “I have a better idea,” Robbie-Lee said, a
little impatiently. “Let’s you and me go see her together.” “No,” I said firmly, “I’m not ready to see
her.” “Well, fine,” he said. “I’m going there now.” Great, I thought, we’re already quarreling like
brother and sister. The others wisely stayed out of it.
• • •
I SPENT THE AFTERNOON PLAYING with Dream. Mrs. Bailey White was resting; Jackie
went back to her house to be with her kids, and Plain Jane puttered around the garden. I was glad for a
chance to be with Dream, who was beginning to warm up to me. She liked it when I played on the
floor with her. I had not spent much time with an infant since my babysitting days in high school. I got
to thinking how strange it is to be alive in this world. It’s not like anyone asks to be born; you just
arrive whether you like it or not. You’ve got
no say whatsoever in who your parents are. And yes, life is good and even wonderful. On good
days you say to yourself, “My, it’s good to be alive!” or “Ain’t life grand?” or “Thank you, Jesus!”
But other times, when things go badly, you say, “What the heck is this thing called life?” or “What
exactly am I doing here?” Or even, “Lawd, what kind of trick you be playing on me?” Now the last is
sacrilege, of course, but I bet there’s not a human being alive who hasn’t had moments of despair. Of
course, Dream was a long way from having thoughts like these, good or bad. She was still living in her
own world, as yet unformed as an actual person, her future a question to be answered in time. What
questions, I wondered, would Dream ask her mother one day? Would she be angry at Priscilla for
going away to college and leaving her behind? Would she demand answers about who her father was?
By the time Robbie-Lee returned from his hike to the fishing shack, Dream was fed and asle
Ep I was
waiting for a chance to talk to Robbie- Lee, but I must have dozed off, too, because when I awoke in
Dream’s room it was dark and I heard the sound of his voice coming from the kitchen. As I came
quietly down the stairs, I said a little prayer. I wanted to clear the air with him before he went back to
New York. He had showered and changed his clothes, and was sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs.
Bailey White. The remains of a Key lime pie—one of Mrs. Bailey White’s specialties—sat in front of
him. “Why, hello, Dora!” he said, sounding like his old cheerful self. “Mom is doing fine. I gave her
some money to buy some things she needs. I wish she had let me know she was so tight on money!
But that’s Mom—she’s nothin’ if not prideful and stubborn.” “So . . .” I said, searching for words,
“she’s okay then?” “Yes,” he said. “And it’s up to you if you want to see her. She and I talked about it
and of course it’s your decision. I’m sorry I tried to push you. I was wrong.” “So I should—” “You
should do what you want to do, whenever you’re ready to do it,” he said, taking another mouthful of
pie. Hearing the commotion, Plain Jane, wearing an old plaid bathrobe, joined us in the kitchen. The
only ones missing from our old book club were Jackie, who was at her home, and Priscilla.
Mrs. Bailey White left the room for a moment and returned with a copy of The Adventures of
Huckleberry Finn and, just as we sometimes did, back when the book club met regularly, we took
turns reading it aloud, passing the book around the table. Just like old times.