Spinning (7 page)

I got the sense that Diane had never shared these feelings before. I don’t know why she picked me to talk to. We barely knew each other. But her heart was open and I found that this meant a lot to me. I noticed a tear trickling down her cheek. I put my arm around her and held her. She squeezed harder than I thought she possibly could especially now when she seemed so delicate. Her long black waves brushed against my face, as she pressed her cheek against mine. Her tears had nowhere else to run, so they followed the lines of my face into the corners of my mouth.

“I’m a big girl, Dylan. I can take care of Spring,” she said with a catch in her throat, “and we’ll be okay. I know we will. I know Spring will. This is a good change for us.
She took a deep breath. “But I worry about my little girl. She’s the only perfect love I’ve ever known.”

I sat there for a moment, listening to Diane breathe and rock her daughter. Maybe this was what Waverly was talking about. He said something about knowing the difference between family and work. Why would anyone ever abandon this feeling?

After a few minutes, she stopped crying but my face remained damp. As I hugged her, I wanted to tell her that I understood, that I could help. I also wanted to thank her for sharing something so important although I hadn’t completely understood. “Diane, Spring is a beautiful girl and she has a wonderful mother.” I hugged her close and waited for her to say something, but she had fallen asleep in my arms.

“Wake up! Wake up, everybody!” I yelled, closing the door to my apartment. Diane and Spring were still in their pajamas.

“Wake up? We’ve been up since 7:00. I thought you were still sleeping.”

“Sleeping? Ha! This late in the morning?”

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Exactly.”

“Yesterday, you were still sound asleep at 9:15.”

“That was yesterday! Today is today. I smiled at Spring, as I walked by. She frowned. “Still a grumpy girl?”

She shook her head.

“Two grande hazelnut lattes from the place around the corner and one small fresh-squeezed OJ for the duck whisperer.”

Spring took the lid off the cup and looked inside, disapprovingly. “What’s this stuff?” she said warily.

“Thanks, Dylan. That’s pulp, honey. Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Diane looked at her daughter. “We had a little accident while you were out.”

“Is everyone okay?” Looking around the apartment, I noticed nothing that seemed disturbed. Spring was walking to the living room.

“Oh, yes. Not that kind of accident.” Diane bit her lip, which made her look surprisingly sexy. The thing that was really interesting about Diane was that she did things so differently even biting her lips. Instead of biting the bottom lip, she bit the top one.

“Spring wants to show you something…” She flashed a fake smile. “… that I will clean up.”

“What?”

“In the living room.”

When I followed Diane, Spring scrambled to her feet, and like a game show spokesmodel, she stepped aside to reveal her masterpiece. I had never seen anyone so proud of her work. Behind her, where the morning sun lit the wall, she had drawn what had to be her interpretation of The Angel of the Waters Fountain at Bethesda Terrace. In blue crayon, she had drawn the water spewing onto yellow duck-like creatures with orange feet and, in the middle, a stick person waved beneath a happy sun. At least I think it was a sun. It was yellow and had squiggly lines and a smile. It appeared to be a synthesis of Early Baroque and Pre-Mesopotamian Cave Dweller and said, “Me see duck and wave under happy sun” in a long-abandoned language.

I wasn’t entirely sure how to react. If I showed anger, Spring might have collapsed in tears. If I showed appreciation, it might encourage her to chronicle her daily adventures on the remaining walls. I searched my vast resources for a proper spin and opened my mouth…

And closed my mouth.

There had been no real damage to the wall and she hadn’t touched the real imitation art I had on my walls. The happy sun was rather cute, actually.

Spring backed away from the drawing and gave a quick bow.

“Where did you ever learn to draw like that?” I said.

“You certainly are talented. I can see it now, Spring. In 20 years, you’ll have murals plastered all over Greenwich Village. Artists will stand in line, waiting for you to inspire them.”

Puzzled, Spring looked at her mother.

“He means he likes it,” Diane said.

Spring bowed again.

The Giants were playing the Cowboys Sunday afternoon, so I was glued to the couch. Normally, Jim would have been there with me, but he still had the kids and his oldest didn’t like football. He preferred skateboarding instead.

As I watched the game, my eyes began to drift away between plays toward the Angel of the Waters with its yellow duck and happy sun, which had yet to be cleaned from my wall. I was starting to get used to it. It was just crayon. I was sure I could wash it off with something. Besides, it made Spring feel good. Admiring the Angel
wasn’t much different from appreciating any new artistic acquisition.

As the Cowboys pulled away in the fourth quarter, I called in to Diane, who had recently come back from an afternoon at the park and was playing with Spring in their room.

“Have you eaten? What time do kids eat anyway?”

Diane walked into the room, with Spring close behind. “Kids eat at a lot of times. But Mommy is hungry now. ”

“How about we order a pizza?”

Spring made it clear that she wasn’t fond of this suggestion.

“She doesn’t like pizza,” Diane said.

“Don’t all kids like pizza?”

“Sooner or later.”

I looked at Spring. “Sushi?”

She looked scared.

“Chinese?”

She shook her head.

“What then? You’re not hungry?”

She whispered something I couldn’t understand, and Diane repeated, “Mac and cheese.”

“Macaroni and cheese?”

Spring nodded in exaggerated fashion.

“Hmmmmm. Mac and cheese. Let me think.” I looked squarely at Spring. “What’s in it?”

Spring turned confusedly toward her mother.

“He’s kidding, Spring.” Diane smiled in my direction. “She’s not really used to anyone kidding her yet.”

“Mac and Cheese, it is. Follow me, please.”

Spring and I went into the kitchen. On the way, she accidentally bumped into a Raku vase, which I managed to catch before it hit the floor.

“I might want to spend a little time child-proofing the place, huh?” I suggested, turning back to Diane.

“Don’t worry about child-proofing, Dylan. We’ll be out of here as soon as I find an apartment.”

“Affordable apartments don’t grow on trees, you know. I removed a bowl from the cabinet. “Take your time. Don’t just take any old place. In the meanwhile, what takes crayon off of a wall?”

Spring put her hands to her mouth in horror. I hadn’t realized that she would even know what I was talking about.

“Because I want to make sure that we don’t get any of that stuff near Spring’s drawing, ”I said.

She smiled.

When I checked the refrigerator, I saw my marinated goat cheese from Balducci’s and Jim’s leftover can of squirt cheese from his special “homemade” nachos. I assumed all kids would prefer their goats at the zoo and removed the squirt cheese and some milk before getting a box of artisinal pasta from the cupboard. When I closed the door, I wondered about all the drawings I did as a kid. I remember that when I first went to school, my mother would hang some of them on the refrigerator, but then she stopped doing it. My mom had said she sent some of my “artwork ” to my grandmother, but in light of my own desire to remove the crayon from the wall, I had to wonder if they hadn’t found that great trash can in the sky.

“Spring, do you think you could hold off on the artwork on the walls until we come up with someplace better
for you to draw?” I said, then sniffed the milk carton when she and Diane weren’t looking.

Spring nodded. I believe it meant okay. It wasn’t quite an up and down motion, but it wasn’t back and forth, so I took it as an okay.

I boiled the pasta and then mixed it with the milk and squirt cheese.

“It’s mac and cheese, Spring.” Diane said, staring at the concoction when I served it. “Real mac and well, real squirt cheese.”

Diane said Spring wasn’t accustomed to someone else’s recipe.

“How many different ways are there to fix macaroni and cheese?” I said, staring at the contents. “You’ve got your mac and you’ve got your cheese. A little butter, which I’m out of, and some milk. What’s left?”

“She’s used to me making it from scratch.”

“Isn’t this from scratch?”

“Technically, I guess,” Diane said, smiling. “We like whole wheat mac and cheese that isn’t
cheese food
, don’t we, Spring?”

“You’re kidding me, right? I have some marinated goat cheese.”

“No, I don’t think she’d like that.” She checked the nutrition label on the back of the can of squirt cheese. “Well, if this is what our host has, the least we can do is be polite.”

Diane looked worried and she had good reason, given what I knew was in that stuff. I probably should have protested that the cheese was Jim’s and not mine, but that seemed beside the point now.

During dinner, Spring poked around, not eating more than a bite. Diane politely ate her portion, and without complaint.

“Sorry, Diane. This was the worst damn mac and cheese ever made.”

“Worst damn mac and cheese… ”

“Oh, shit.”

“Shit.”

“I mean quack.”

“Quack.” Spring knew something had happened. “Quack, Mommy.”

Diane looked askance at me.

“Really, I’m sorry about the food. I’ll get something better for tomorrow.”

“You’ve been so generous. Let me get the groceries, Diane said with a smile to change the subject. “I know a little duckling who needs to take her bath…”

“Quack!”

I could not remember enjoying a bath as a kid. Then I realized, I couldn’t remember bathing, but I’m pretty sure it happened.

“Quack, quack, quack… Spring disappeared into the back bedroom.

“She likes water, doesn’t she?”

“She loves it so far.” Diane set the bowls of uneaten macaroni in the kitchen.

“Come on. You can help.”

“I’m not really good at…” I let my voice fade, hoping that Diane would understand that many men, including myself, don’t get into that kind of thing.

“At what? Bathing? Come on. I’ll teach you. But first, why don’t you find me a story or two to read before she goes to sleep? And we’ll need a glass of water.”

“A book or two and a glass of water. Are you going to do a magic trick?”

Diane disappeared in the back and I went to find the books.
Locating a story or two shouldn t be a problem.
I went to the bookcase. I slid my finger along the titles and passed by
The Great Gatsby
too complicated.
A Farewell to Arms
unlike the movie, she dies in the end.
The Art of War
not tonight. And we could hold off on John Irving’s
The Cider House Rules
for at least a few more weeks. It was looking pretty slim until I finally found my number one management-training book,
Green Eggs and Ham
.

I got a cup of water, and set it and the book next to the bed.

“Diane?” I called tentatively, as I knocked on the bathroom door. “Is she a prune yet?”

“Come on in. We’re almost done.”

Come on in?
It had been a long time since I’d been involved in the whole bath process, having taken showers for the last 20 years. Then I recalled being a kid, and my brother helping bathe me. Mostly, he dumped water over my head and told me not to inhale. I’m sure it was more for his amusement than my personal hygiene. “Are you sure?”