Their Unexpected Life

9:47 a.m.– An officer assisted the owner of a cockatoo stuck in a tree on Marble Road

They’d had a good chuckle over the bird’s great escape, but when Rose hung up the phone, she still felt guilty. Calling from Ireland was expensive, surely. Rose couldn’t understand why he wanted to return, not after she and Patrick had worked so hard to immigrate to America. But Caleb had always been a funny child altogether. Maybe because the child almost didn’t get born. Over the years, Rose had often thought of the day when she told Patrick of her decision.

It had been more than forty years since she had heard his weary steps on the porch that day and made no move to greet him. Rose closed her eyes, remembering every detail.

 

From the sitting room window, Rose could see the top of his hat, bobbing slightly as he wiped his feet.
“What did the doctor say?” he asked when he found her, alone with the day’s fading light. She opened her mouth to speak but the boiling scream of the teakettle demanded first attention. Patrick followed her through to the kitchen, quiet for a change, and planted himself at the sink. His presence, there in her kitchen amongst the hastily rinsed milk bottles and greased skillet, felt too intimate, too close.
Her stiff spine and tightened lips betrayed her casual tone. “He just confirmed what I already knew,” she said.
“You’ve told the girls?” Patrick asked. Yes, she had. Tracy’s scornful words had burned.
“Mother! You can’t be preggers. I’m getting married.” The very idea of child and grandchild possibly born within months of each other—a year at most— infuriated Tracy. “How could you be so careless?” she’d railed, her darkly lipsticked mouth twisting downward. Where did she get her mean streak, Rose had wondered. Surely not from her father. And certainly not from me. Their younger daughter Sharon’s reaction was to be expected. She calculated thoughtfully, weighing the possibilities: childminding duties interfering with her recently granted right to date, minus the potential for hourly earnings in minding money equaled the total impact on her life. Sharon’s shrug wasn’t one of indifference, it signaled the conclusion that she’d suffer only minor disruption, and with the money earned, Sharon would break even. Rose related most to Paula’s blankly confused face. Paula was old enough to understand pregnancy, but unlike Tracy, was too young to voice an opinion.

Rose didn’t need twenty years of marriage to know that tonight, as with all the previous nights, Patrick would eat his ground meat stew with the same neutral intensity she found comforting. He neither relished nor loathed anything he ate at dinner. Dr. Halleran’s news, or any other news for that matter, wouldn’t affect his appetite. Rose used her thumbnail to trace patterns in the worn oilcloth, watching her husband mechanically sop the gravy with a thin slice of white bread. Not until after the girls had been excused and the plates cleared did she try to speak.
“Patrick, I…Love, you know that… It’s just…” The reasons, never presenting themselves as a swirling mass in her head but instead a carefully regimented logic evaporated when she tried to explain to Patrick. I’m too old. We can’t afford another baby. Paula’s already twelve. She’ll be out of the house before this one’s off to school. Her reasons sounded shoddy and flimsy when forced into words.
“I suppose you’ll want to go across,” Patrick said finally.
“Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead,” Rose agreed.
“So you’ve decided? You only just saw Doctor Halleran this afternoon, but you’ve already decided.” Yes, Rose had decided. Weeks ago, when she’d first felt the familiar symptoms. We can’t have another baby, she’d told herself, long before shocking Patrick with her decision.

In the morning, Rose walked to the corner to telephone the ferryport, reserving her passage for the following week. She’d take the 212 bus to Dublin and get to Dublin Swift early enough for her 9:05 departure. Then she’d somehow find the Holyhead station—it shouldn’t be difficult—and board the earliest train into London. Her medical examination wasn’t until the following morning. Tracy could mind the girls and put on dinner for a day or two. “I’m off to Wales” would be all Rose would need to tell Tracy. Her oldest would know, and know enough to keep quiet about it. It’s all planned, Rose thought with a wave of apprehension she called morning sick.
But like her unexpected pregnancy, life couldn’t always be planned. On Thursday, Paula complained of a sore throat and had to be kept in bed for nearly a week. Rose once again telephoned the ferryport, this time rescheduling her passage for Monday. But the clinic hadn’t room for her on Tuesday, she’d need to arrive on the following Thursday, one week later. Once home, Rose checked her diary and saw that Thursday next was the weekend of her Women’s Institute Lusk Community Arts Fête—impossible to turn up missing. She’d need to call ferryport again and rebook. Now, though, Patrick would be home soon and she’d not started dinner. Tomorrow would be soon enough, she decided wearily.

For Rose, tomorrow never quite came. The days turned to night, darkness fell but each time dawn lit the morning sky, a new crisis came with it. Sharon returned home from school with a mongrel and insisted she be allowed to keep it, which started an argument with Tracy, who hated dogs. Patrick sided with Tracy (“He’ll be another mouth to feed, isn’t that so Rose?”), but then little Paula became so upset, the entire family searched for two days until the mutt was found and brought home again. And then Patrick’s back went out, not like the last time, but Rose needed to tend to him. When she did manage to get out to use the telephone, Siobhan from the Women’s Institute hovered near enough to listen, so Rose pretended to be phoning her sister.
It’s always something, Rose thought as each meal set on the dinner table for her waiting family signaled the end of another plan-free day.
Eventually, it was too late to go via Dublin Swift to Holyhead and take the train into London, and in the end, baby Caleb was born.

Boy Genius –

Jan. 15, 4:56 p.m. — A man on the 23600 block of Marble Road said someone kicked in his front door and threw a can of Dr. Pepper into the house.

He’s very high-spirited, Randy’s mother liked to say. Hank’s mouth would faithfully twist into what he used to hope was agreement, but long ago, his expression reflected his true feelings: loathing.

“He’s a spoiled rotten brat, Rina, ” he’d long ago stopped telling his wife. “He’s too old for this.” She was still convinced that her 17-year old son was simply very imaginative and exuberant. When he was nine, she once even toyed with the word “genius.” She had permanently refused to acknowledge, much less control his out-of-control behavior. “I won’t be blamed for dampening his creativity,” she’d say. It was no secret that Rina considered her only child to be “gifted.” She would have been thrilled to call him a wunderkind if she’d known what it meant.

But now, Hank ignored Rina’s familiar monolog, a long-running list of Randy’s better, albeit imagined, qualities. She used to pause only for breath, but after so much practice, she could finish without a break.

“Since the day he was born, I have always said that he needs to be encouraged, not held up to society’s so-called double standards! God forbid he turn out like his father, a lump with no imagination or ambition. No offense, dear.”

Hank would shrug. He ain’t my kid, he’d tell only himself, having learned that Rina’s failed first marriage was something she hated to be reminded of.

Rina’s unshakable, though completely unfounded belief in her son’s undiscovered potential could be admired. Some might call her steadfast and unwavering, and loyal to a fault. However, Hank thought she was blind and stupid. The boy was a constant, consistent headache. He was trouble, all right. Nothing but trouble. But Hank smiled, this time with real pleasure. He knew that soon Rina’s miserable little boy genius would finally get what he deserved.

Jan 28, 1:10 p.m. — A man on the 23600 block of Marble Road reported that his stepson stole $40 from his wallet.

Feb 10, 2:15 p.m. — A man on the 23600 block of Marble Road said his stepson punched a hole in his wall and stole a Nintendo game from his home.

April 6, 8:19 a.m. — A woman on the 23600 block of Marble Road said she needed advice about having her adult son evicted.