All That's True (15 page)

It’s a good thing I didn’t get into gardening. I’m on a major new project. St. Lucy’s is hosting a babysitter’s class complete with CPR training. I think of Joshua and immediately sign up. The classes will run every Friday afternoon for three weeks and then it will be time to leave for the cruise, so I’m going to be wall-to-wall with stuff to do. Saturday mornings I still have altar class and mostly hate it as much as always. But the sitter class sounds very exciting. After I sign up I get this handbook. It’s filled with really cool information. Did you know that there are specific things to check on if babies are crying? Naturally, I know to first check and see if their diaper is wet, and maybe it’s time for them to eat. But you are also to check to see if a thread from clothes is caught around their fingers or toes. I would never have thought about that.

I invite Bridget to join the class, too. She’s not a Catholic, but you don’t have to be to take the class. You just have to pay the fee. It’s twenty-five dollars, which is a lot, but then you get the use of a life-like baby doll and diapers and clothes to practice on and you also get CPR training, so maybe it’s really a bargain. They teach about taking care of older children too and cover things like leaving the house as orderly as you found it. The manual says the easiest way to do that is to not put things down, but put them away. It also says to stay awake until eleven or twelve unless you’ve been told otherwise. That’s in case a baby or one of the kids wakes up and you need to be alert to hear them. Today we’re practicing diapering a baby. Bridget is much better at this than me.

“How do you know how not to make it too tight?” I ask her. My diaper completely falls down to the doll’s knees when I pick her up.

“Here,” Bridget explains. “Just put two fingers on the tummy when you fold it over their stomach and then sort of pull it snug against your fingers and pin it in place.”

I try that but my diaper still does not look as good as hers. Mine droops a bit on one side. I’m not concerned. Every baby I’ve been around has had on Pampers. They’re a snap to put in place.

Next, we practice burping a baby. They say the best and easiest way for a beginner is to place the baby over your covered shoulder and gently pat the baby’s back between the shoulder blades. I think most people know this, but our instructor insists we practice it. Her name is Mrs. Evans. She’s like eighty years old. Where they found her do not ask me. I have no idea. It wasn’t from Sunny Meadows nursing home, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen her before, so she can’t be from our parish either.

“Remember to burp the infant once or twice during a feeding and also afterwards,” she says, holding one of the dolls up to demonstrate.

I have this part down pat and am anxious to move on to the next part, which is the CPR.

“Pay attention, now, girls,” Mrs. Evans says. “This is critical.”

Of course, she’s right about that. If you come to a situation where you need to do CPR, basically you’re in trouble to begin with, like did you let the baby crawl around on the floor and swallow a button, or something?

“The first thing you do is clear the airway,” she explains. She has one of the baby dolls lying on its back with the head tilted backwards.

“For a baby or a very small child, place your mouth over the child’s mouth and nose, making an airtight seal. For an older child, cover the child’s mouth with your mouth, also making an airtight seal. Pinch the child’s nose closed.”

She looks up at us to see if we are paying attention. We are.

“You won’t of course pinch a baby’s or small child’s nose closed, your mouth will be placed over it.”

I think about when Joshua had a sneezing fit and snot was running from his nose. I prefer never to put my mouth over a child’s nose.

“Now, give slow, gentle breaths into the child’s mouth, one every three seconds. Pause after each breath to take in a replenishing, oxygen-rich breath.”

Mrs. Evans leans over the doll and makes like she’s breathing into its mouth. “Look to see that the chest rises when you blow a breath in. If the chest doesn’t rise, the child’s airway may be blocked. We’ll go into that later.”

Mrs. Evans sets the baby aside and clasps her hands together. “We will be having actual demonstrations when the Red Cross joins us for our next session. Any questions?”

Not one of us has any. Actually, I want to ask what happens if the baby throws up while you’re breathing into its mouth. I’m thinking by the time you stop gagging over it, the baby will be a goner. I sit there and let the question rest in my brain. I hope I never have to even consider giving CPR, but decide that I will pay attention just in case I do. Maybe the Red Cross covers the part about throwing up. Maybe they’ll explain during an emergency like this you will not even be aware a person has thrown up in your mouth. Your adrenaline is pumping so hard you don’t even taste it. That would be a lot to expect. I think about all the paramedics and what they go through. They should get paid double.

Henry is sick. My mother wants to take him to the hospital, but oh no, he will have nothing to do with that. He says he’s fine.

“I’ve felt a lot worse than this before,” he says.

Beth brings him some of Rosa’s chicken soup. She sits on the edge of the bed and spoon-feeds it to him and it is such a beautiful sight, sort of like watching a bird feed another bird. Not that Beth is a bird, but you know what I mean. It’s just so tender it takes your breath away. I can hear Henry as he slurps a little off each tablespoon. He’s so grateful. He pats Beth’s hand and says, “It’s very good,” like she cooked it or something.

I want to do something for him, anything, so I fold the blankets next to the bed and put them on the chest next to the window. That doesn’t seem like nearly enough compared to chicken soup so I tuck the sheets back in at the bottom of the bed and pat his feet. Henry smiles and it’s more than worth it. Henry has been with us since before I can remember. He’s like a grandfather.

“You have to get well,” I say. My face is determined, like that will make it so.

I still think he should let my mother take him to the hospital, but that is still out of the question. I stand by his side and wonder if he is thinking of his wife. Her name was Millie and when he talks about her he always says her name like a little whisper on the wind, it comes out so softly. And I’m thinking that maybe he’s thinking he wants to see her again, even though he has always said he’s perfectly happy, maybe he hasn’t been and he really wants to join her all along. It makes me very nervous.

“How are you feeling, Henry?” I say. He doesn’t answer. He is sound asleep and looks just like an angel. Henry has that kind of face. Some people absolutely do.

Henry has recovered, which is a major relief as we’re leaving for Cape Canaveral to go on the cruise. Vivian is coming with us. Beth has decided not to join us, even though my father thinks it’s a good idea. There are no more rooms available in order to book a private one for her and she’s not into sharing one with me and Bridget. What a relief. I prayed for ten hours that she would not want to go. Me and Bridget would have extra eyes watching us at all times and we really want to run off and be sort of wild. Not bad wild, but just sort of. We’re going to be touring exotic islands. It just screams at you to let your hair down and go for it.

The one part that is upsetting is my father and Howard, Vivian’s husband, are not going. I don’t care about Howard, but I counted on my father going to reconnect with my mother. Say, another honeymoon for them, where he’d discover he wants nothing more to do with Donna and what was he thinking, he should have his head examined and my mother is all he will ever need for his entire life and he’s so glad he found out. So right now that is not going to happen, but what really worries me is that he will be spending all of his time with Donna, because Rodger, Bridget’s father, is in England and will be there for two more weeks. My father couldn’t have planned this better if he planned it. And then I realize he did plan it.

“We can’t let this ruin our trip,” Bridget says. “Just ignore them. Let’s make like they’ve never even met.”

Right, like I’m going to be able to do that. But for sure, I don’t want it to ruin our trip so I try to put it out of my mind. I get busy finishing my packing. First I hang my certificate I earned from my babysitter’s class on the wall. My mother bought a plain black frame for it to rest in. I passed CPR and it says so right on the certificate. Passing was pretty amazing because the whole time I was thinking about snot and vomit and was having a hard time not gagging when it was my turn to demonstrate.

“Very good,” Mrs. Evans said when I finished. A major relief is what it was.

It was exciting to finish the class but mostly because it would be time for the cruise and I have counted on this to be one of the best times of my life. I hope I haven’t jinxed it or something. My mother comes into the room while I finish my packing and starts snooping about in my suitcase, supposedly to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Actually, I’ve removed most of what she laid out for me to put in and have pilfered some really neat stuff from Beth who could care less, when before she would have screamed my head off if she so much as caught me in her room. Since she’s become a philanthropist nothing fazes her anymore. It’s a miracle. I should be on my knees.

“What’s this?” my mother says and holds up a skimpy striped tank top of Beth’s that I have wanted to wear since the first time she wore it.

“Ah, I sort of borrowed it from Beth.”

“Andi, this is not appropriate for a child your age.”

There you go—she thinks I’m a child and how do you answer that? There is no answer. It’s useless. I watch as she fumbles through the rest of the clothes I’ve packed. She takes out half of what I’ve put in. I was going to look so hot.

“Where are all the new outfits I bought you?” she says.

She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She goes to my closet and finds the missing items and carefully folds each and every single piece. She places them in my suitcase. She’s ruining everything.

“There,” she says, “That’s better. Now you’re all set.”

Right! In ten minutes I’ve gone from being totally cool to totally dorky. If I do meet any boys, they probably won’t even notice me.

“Thanks a lot,” I say, trying to sound nice. Once she’s gone I drag all the stuff back out and decide to mix and mingle a bunch of Beth’s stuff with it. Maybe she won’t notice once we’re cruising.

***

Henry is taking us to the airport. He’s back to being his normal wonderful self. He’s poking about in the garden and he is doing the dearest thing! He’s planting a complete herb garden. It has everything Rosa uses. She’s out there with him now nearly jumping off the ground she’s so excited. She’s chattering away in Spanish, which Henry does not understand, but he smiles and shakes his head.

“No Español,” he says.

Rosa starts chattering away in English, which I love to hear when she speaks it, because she leaves out words and it’s so cute, like a toddler just learning to speak.

“Cilantro,” she says, “Is good, no?”

Henry says yes he can plant cilantro.

“Epazote,” Rosa says.

Henry repeats it like he hasn’t heard right.

Rosa smoothes her skirt and lifts her head high. “Sí,
epazote
,” she says and sticks her chin up in the air. “No gas, eat
epazote
. Is good.”

Henry takes off his straw hat that has seen many better days from way back to who knows when, and says, “Epazote smells like gasoline. Not a good plan.”

“No,” Rosa says, “Smell like mint.”

Henry is never one to argue. He nods and takes a tiny pencil out of his pocket like you get at a miniature golf course and writes something down. Rose nods like she is very pleased and continues with her list. She raises her hands and motions wildly. “
Mejorana
,” she says and does her best to explain this spice. Henry is amazing. He understands and nods his head. “Marjoram!” he says and Rosa claps her hands. It’s understood. They’ll have marjoram.

“
Romero
,” she says, which turns out is rosemary and “
Tomillo
,” she says raising her voice at least an octave, which Henry decides is thyme. So there’s our garden and my mother and I do not have to do anything but sit back and eat. That’s my kind of garden. I can breathe in these spices already. I close my eyes and they grab my nose. I nearly sneeze.

We’re in Cozumel, the first stop on our cruise. I don’t know who’s more excited, me or Bridget. We keep dancing around in circles taking everything in. Right now we’re on a tour of the city. My mother insisted on it.

“To understand the history and get a feel for the culture,” she says.

Not that I’m interested in that. I’m just soaking up the sun and marveling how beautiful it is here. The water is the most amazing shade of blue. “Azure,” my mother says. It’s hard to believe how white the sand is on the beaches. I picked up a handful. It slipped through my fingers like the grains were made of silk.

Our tour guide is a young local girl of Spanish descent. She has dark honey skin and jet black hair. She’s petite with large white, even teeth. She’s wearing her hair in a braid that hangs down to her waist and has on a colorful cotton skirt with a white blouse that keeps slipping off one shoulder.

“My name is Maria Contreras,” she says. “Welcome to Cozumel.” She spreads her arms out in the air and smiles. “Cozumel was a little fishing village until 1961,” she explains, “when a Frenchman by the name of Jacques Cousteau declared us one of the most beautiful scuba diving areas in the world. We have dazzling coral reefs and a variety of tropical fish.”

We learn that the people native to Cozumel are of Mayan descent. They ruled for two thousand years before the Spanish explorers arrived in the fifteenth century.

“One of the more interesting sites here on the island is called San Gervacio. It was once a sacred site where Mayan women journeyed to worship the goddess Ixchel, the goddess of fertility.”

So bring two teenagers here, will you. By the look on my mother’s face I can see she’s thrilled with this little bit of culture. It’s no concern to me—I’m not planning on being pregnant. Besides, it’s beginning to sound like a history lesson. I’m anxious for the tour to end so we can go snorkeling. We’ve got reservations on a glass-bottom boat in Chankanaab. It’s a three-reef trip. Vivian and my mother are coming along to enjoy the scenery, but don’t want to snorkel. Vivian’s just had her hair done at the salon on the ship and my mother doesn’t like fish or anything from the ocean touching her.

“We’ll be there to make sure you have a great time,” my mother explains. Actually, since Bridget and I are under eighteen we’re required to have a parent or guardian accompany us, so they have to come along.

A man named Luis greets us as we board the catamaran. We’re offered a soft drink and shown how to use the snorkeling equipment. It’s a snap to learn. Nothing to it—put the mask on, bite down gently on the rubber mouthpiece, and slap on your fins. Bridget and I are eager to get into the water. The catamaran takes off and we head to the first reef on our tour. They have to drag me and Bridget out of the water when it’s time to leave for the next stop. We’re having so much fun. Luis spots a big fish and dives down to point it out. There are tons of fish here, thousands really. Every color imaginable—it’s like a kaleidoscope. Luis dives into the middle. A swirl of fish fans out around him. There are angelfish and sergeant fish that swim within inches of you and six huge parrot fish that must weigh forty-five pounds each. We have a disposable underwater camera and Luis offers to takes picture of us. This could be the highlight of our trip, which is kind of sad seeing as we have six more days. Maybe we should have saved the best for last, but the ship has a certain route they follow. Next we head to Grand Cayman.

“There is good snorkel there, too,” Luis explains, “but not good like ours!”

So maybe I’m right. This is the highlight of the trip. Now what do we have to look forward to? Even so, we are very happy with our trip. Everything is going as planned. The only problem is eventually we get into major trouble.

***

I wake up the next morning and know instantly I’m going to pay for all the sun I got snorkeling. My skin feels like it’s been slapped all over with a sledgehammer dipped in hot pepper sauce. When I look in the mirror it’s hard to believe I’m a regular person. I look like a tomato in pajamas. Bridget’s not in any better shape. She moans when I roll her over.

“You awake?”

“I am now,” she says. She leans over and the sheet scrapes against her back. “Ouch!” She strains her neck to get a good look at her shoulders.

“I think we overdid it,” I say.

We go next door to wake my mother. She’ll have some cure. She has an opinion on everything.

“Oh, dear,” my mother says when she gets a good look at us. She calls our cabin steward and asks if he will please bring us a bottle of vinegar from the galley.

“One cup of vinegar in a tub of cool water is what you need,” she explains. She takes the bottle of lotion she has packed in her suitcase and puts it in our little refrigerator which is the cutest thing.

“This will feel good when you get out of the tub.”

I can’t believe we’re as burned as we are. We used a ton of sunscreen. Just goes to show how hot a tropical sun can be.

After we bathe, my mother applies the lotion first to me and then to Bridget. Vivian is busy getting a facial. Tonight is the first of two formals nights they have on the cruise. There’s another one on Thursday. We will be dressed to the nines. My mother bought me a special dress that even I’m happy with. It has spaghetti straps and is made of the softest material. It’s short and has an empire waist. Buttercup yellow, the tag said. It’ll go great with my sunburn. And, I’ve got these strappy little sandals that lace up my ankles.

Bridget is wearing a navy blue strapless knit dress that also has an empire waist. Hers is a little sexier than mine, but I’m not complaining because I figured my mother would have me looking like Shirley Temple, so what she let me pick out has me tap dancing on the clouds.

For dinner they have several entrées to choose from like always, but tonight they have lobster and filet mignon on the menu as well. Bridget and I order a serving of each. You are allowed to do that. You simply say, “I believe I’ll have both the lobster and the filet mignon.” The waiter doesn’t even blink. He writes down on his pad what you’ve ordered and asks you if that will be all. Amazing!