Edward's Eyes, Page 3

  It is like watching slow motion; like looking at one of Edward’s knuckleballs coming to the plate. Edward leans over and says something, the sun making his hair as light as water. Trick, listening, suddenly throws back his head and laughs. Albert and I can hear his laughter come across the water, as clear as if he were next to us.

  Signs?

  Clouds over the sun?

  Birds flying in the outfield?

  Trick’s signs.

  Edward’s signs.

  Where is my sign?

  We rode our bikes to town, Edward riding circles around me as he always did, speeding ahead, then falling back. He waved at neighbors.

  “Watch where you’re going, Edward,” I said.

  “I know where I’m going,” he said with a smile.

  “You have the list?”

  Edward reached in his pocket and held the list up in his hand. It fell from his hand and the wind whipped it past me.

  “Edward!”

  “I’ll get it,” he said, and fell back again, riding back to where the list lay in the road.

  “Look! I’m a circus rider!” he called, leaning down to pick it up as he rode.

  “You belong in a circus all right,” I told him.

  When Edward put his brakes on, coming into town, they made a sudden grinding sound. I reached out and grabbed his belt to slow him down.

  “I’ve got you,” I said. “You’d better fix those brakes.”

  When we had bought the things on the list we rode home side by side. At the hill leading down to our house, I reached out and held his belt again.

  “I’ll save you,” I said.

  “Merci,” said Edward.

  Chapter 8

  Game time.

  Jack was grilling chicken to celebrate fall. The smell of it drifted across the yard along with Maeve’s music.

  “I hear Emmylou Harris in the kitchen,” said Albert.

  “Yes,” said Jack at the grill. “She’s been there all morning with Maeve.”

  “On the wings of a snow-white dove,” sang Albert very softly.

  It was the sixth inning of the front yard game. It would go seven innings unless the chicken was done first.

  “Is this game tied or what?” I asked.

  “Hard to know,” said Albert. “There’s a bit of creative scoring going on here.”

  “Maybe that’s because no one really cares who wins,” I said. “Edward doesn’t care, anyway.”

  “True,” said Albert. “For Edward it’s the game that counts. Not the score.”

  “It’s six to six,” said Trick. “I’ve got it written down.”

  He held up his notebook.

  Edward came up to bat.

  Mary Brigid was pitching. She wound up and threw one past Edward.

  Edward grinned.

  “Nice pitch!” called Albert, surprised.

  “Edward taught me,” Mary Brigid called back.

  Albert smiled.

  “I’ll say he did,” he said.

  “Here comes strike three,” yelled Mary Brigid.

  “I don’t think so,” said Edward.

  A gull flew low over the outfield.

  “See that gull?” called Edward. “That’s a sign.”

  Mary Brigid threw. Edward hit a line drive past Mary Brigid, past Caitlin at second base, and between Wayne and a surprised Weezer in the outfield. Just where the gull had been.

  “Some sign,” said Trick.

  “He placed that one,” said Albert. “Those wonderful eyes.”

  Edward stood on second base and waved at us on the porch.

  Maeve came out on the porch and waved back.

  “Nice hit,” she called to Edward.

  “Chicken’s ready,” called Jack.

  “Wait!” shouted Edward. “Hit me home, Mavis!”

  Mavis stepped up to the plate. She wagged the bat at Mary Brigid. “C’mon, pitcher girl!”

  Mary Brigid pitched, and Mavis hit a hard drive past Billy Bob and the shortstop and out into the grass. Edward ran to third, looked back once, and rounded third and slid home, feet first, on the grass.

  He stood up, grass stains on his pants, grass and dirt in his hair.

  “Did you see that, Trick? That sign?” called Edward.

  “Give me five,” said Trick.

  Edward came over, sweat glistening on his face, and slapped hands with Trick.

  “You won the game,” said Trick.

  “Oh?” said Edward. “Well, that’s all right…but,” and he looked up at us, his blue eyes bright in the sunlight, “it was a great game!”

  Albert didn’t turn to look at me, but I heard his whisper.

  “See? It’s always the game.”

  Chicken, roasted corn, salad, and chocolate cake. It was dusk and Maeve and Jack picked up plates, Sola, Wren and Will helping. Maeve seemed big to me all of a sudden.

  “I hardly noticed before that she was going to have a baby,” I said.

  Albert looked at Maeve.

  “It’s like old age. You don’t see it coming. Then one day you look in the mirror and see your father.”

  “No you don’t,” said Trick. “I do.”

  We laughed.

  “She’ll have Sabine soon,” said Edward.

  “You are so sure? That it’s Sabine?” I asked.

  Edward nodded, a small smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve seen signs.”

  “What signs?” I asked.

  “You’ll know them when you see them, Jake,” said Edward.

  “What signs?” I asked Trick.

  “It’s like Edward says. You see them. You know them,” said Trick.

  He leaned back against the porch railing. The moon was big and orange over the water behind him.

  Signs.

  Pooh.

  Chapter 9

  It was night, no moon that I could see. The four of us were in Sola’s room taking bets on when Maeve would have the baby.

  “I pick the last week of November,” said Wren. “She’ll have it early, right in the middle of Thanksgiving.”

  “Cynic,” said Sola, smiling.

  “December 5,” said Will. “She’ll be late and cranky.”

  “But she’ll still sing,” said Edward, cheerfully.

  “Have you noticed,” I said, “that she brings our babies home and lets us raise them? That’s what she did with you,” I said to Edward. “She popped you onto my lap.”

  “You said ‘our’ babies,” said Edward. “Sabine will be mine. I’ll get to read the rules of baseball to her. Like you did. And read her Goodnight Moon in French. She’ll already know French, of course,” he said quickly.

  Wren burst out laughing.

  “Born knowing French? That’s ridiculous,” she said.

  “Mais non,” said Edward.

  He grinned.

  “And I will teach her how to ride a bike,” he said.

  “And read a book,” said Will.

  “And go to the bathroom,” I said.

  “And.” Edward stood up. “And to throw a knuckleball!”

  I tackled Edward, and we rolled around on the bed, Edward laughing.

  “So, when do you think the baby will be born?” I asked Edward.

  Edward sat up.

  “Sooner than you think,” he said.

  “What do you mean, sooner?” I asked.

  “Soon.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Signs,” we all said together.

  “Jake.”

  A hand touched my shoulder. I turned over, confused.

  There was a piece of moon over the water.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Sabine’s coming,” Edward whispered.

  “What!” I sat up. “How do you know?”

  “Mother’s packing her suitcase,” he whispered.

  “It’s still November. Isn’t it early?” I asked. “What does Sola say?”

  “Sola told me to go back to bed,” sai
d Edward.

  I couldn’t help smiling. That sounded like Sola. Outside, Jack’s car started up. Edward and I scrambled over the bed to the window and watched it slowly move away.

  “I’m going,” said Edward.

  “You can’t do that! You can’t ride your bike in the middle of the night.”

  “I’ll walk,” said Edward. “I have to be there. For Sabine.”

  “It’s three miles,” I said. “And it’s cold.”

  “I’m going,” said Edward.

  He ran out of the room. I stood up and pushed back the covers.

  “Edward,” I called softly. “Wait for me.”

  You annoying kid, I whispered to myself.

  We walk through the town, past Potter’s Jewels, Moxie’s Market. We walk under a streetlight, and I look sideways at Edward. His mouth is set, like he’s on a mission.

  “Edward?”

  “What?”

  “It will be all right. Don’t worry.”

  He looks quickly at me. Then he slows down.

  “Okay,” he says.

  I can see his breath when he talks.

  But after a moment, as if he can’t help it, he is hurrying again.

  We walk past The Cinema and Jack’s bookstore with the dark windows. There are no cars. There are no people. It is the quietest place I have ever been. It is so quiet I can hear Edward breathing. He begins to hum a song.

  “What are you humming?”

  “‘O Canada,’” he says. “I’m going to sing it first thing to Sabine when she’s born. And then maybe the French national anthem.”

  We pass the last town streetlight, and then it is dark. Too dark to see Edward. But somehow I know he is smiling.

  “Edward, Jake?”

  The police car drove up beside us. Neither one of us had even noticed the lights of the car.

  “What are you boys doing out here?” asked Tom. “It’s two o’clock. And freezing.”

  Edward kept walking, so Tom cruised along beside us.

  “We’re going to the hospital. Maeve’s having the baby,” I said.

  “Sabine,” said Edward patiently.

  “Ah, so it’s a girl!” said Tom.

  “It will be,” said Edward.

  “Get in, both of you. Get in!”

  Edward hesitated.

  Tom got out of the police car and opened the back door.

  “You’ll see her sooner, believe me.”

  Edward and I climbed into the backseat and we sped off. It was warm in the car.

  “Can you sound the siren?” asked Edward.

  Tom shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

  He looked at Edward in his rearview mirror.

  “But I can use the lights!” he said.

  And then, as if it were a grand sign, we went to the hospital surrounded by light.

  Chapter 10

  The hospital lights were dimmed, and patients were asleep. Nurses moved down the hallways on rubber-soled shoes. No one cared that we were there in the middle of the night. The nurses acted as if children arrived every night, very late, to eat chips and drink cold soda out of machines and nap on tan couches.

  No one said:

  “You’re too young to be here.”

  “Visiting hours are over.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Go away.”

  “That is not allowed.”

  The nurse on duty told us that Maeve was in the delivery room. The nurse’s name tag said Angela Garden. She had long red curly hair, caught back in a barrette. Wisps of her hair fell down, touching her neck and her cheek.

  “Does your father know you’re here?” Angela asked with a smile. “And that you arrived very dramatically in a police car? I saw out the window.”

  We grinned at her, and she found us blankets and made us lie down.

  “It could be hours,” she said.

  “It won’t,” said Edward. “It will be soon.”

  “Oh?”

  Angela looked at me.

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t ask me how he knows. He just knows,” I said.

  Angela looked at Edward.

  “Some people just know things,” she said thoughtfully.

  Suddenly, she leaned over and kissed Edward, then me.

  Edward smiled. I smiled, too.

  Then Jack plunged out through the swinging doors and hugged us both.

  “It’s the middle of the night. How did you get here?” he asked.

  “In a pumpkin coach,” said Angela, “drawn by six white horses.”

  “I believe it,” said Jack.

  “We were walking. Tom picked us up,” I said.

  “Siren?” asked Jack.

  “Lights!” said Edward happily.

  “You know, I’m glad you’re here,” said Jack. “I usually don’t have much company when a baby is born.”

  “There’s always me,” said Angela.

  “Oh yes, there’s always Angela,” said Jack with a smile.

  A nurse opened the door.

  “Jack?”

  “Oops, have to go. Later!” said Jack.

  “Soon,” said Edward. “You’ll see us soon.”

  And as it turned out he was, Edward was, right again.

  Edward was sleeping. I must have been sleeping, too, because all of a sudden there was a shadow over me. I opened my eyes. Angela. Jack stood beside her, the smallest thing in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

  “Edward.”

  I whispered his name. But Edward sat up as if I had yelled to him.

  Jack sat down on the couch.

  “I think you know already who this is,” he said.

  The baby was dressed in white, a small white knitted hat on her head. Her?

  “Sabine,” said Edward.

  “Sabine,” said Jack.

  Edward smiled.

  “We’ll buy her red poppies,” he said. “Sabine will love red poppies.”

  “I think it’s Edward who loves red poppies,” said Angela Garden.

  And when Jack handed Sabine to Edward my throat felt tight. I remembered that day when I was three years old and Maeve had put Edward into my arms. Edward touched Sabine’s face. And I didn’t realize until Angela Garden put her arms around me that I was crying.

  Night is almost over when Jack drives us home from the hospital. After we have said good-bye to Maeve and Angela Garden. After Edward has hummed “O Canada” to Sabine many times. Once, during that time, she opens her eyes and looks at Edward. Her eyes remind me of Edward’s, not so blue as his, but as sharp and steady.

  Jack turns into our driveway and parks the car. Early light touches the water.

  And because Edward has asked for it, Jack walks down to the water. There is a whoosh of noise and a rocket shoots up above us all. A shower of sparks fills the sky. Fireworks. Sola, Wren and Will come running out of the house.

  “Sabine is here!” calls Edward. “And she is more beautiful than any of us!”

  Chapter 11

  Sabine was noisy and funny. She liked music. Emmylou Harris excited her, and James Taylor. She waved her arms in a wild way when Carly Simon sang. She calmed, though, when Edward hummed “O Canada” to her. He hummed it softly and slowly, like a hymn. Sabine’s eyes widened when she saw Edward.

  “When will she smile?” asked Edward.

  “She’s too young,” said Maeve. “But she’ll do it one day. Don’t worry.”

  “Do you think I could take a year off from school?” asked Edward very seriously. “So I could spend more time with her?”

  Maeve was just as serious.

  “No, Edward. That’s not your job. Your job is to get educated. My job is to take care of Sabine.”

  “I like your job better,” said Edward.

  But it turned out that we all got more time with Sabine.

  There was a huge water leak at our school. It would take a month or more to repair the fallen ceilings, the walls, the buckled floors. And to repair the pipes.
<
br />   “A month more with Sabine,” said Edward happily. “We will have baseball games when we can,” he told her. “It’s warm enough during the day. Baseball,” he intoned loudly.

  “She may be a baby, Edward. But she can hear you,” said Sola grumpily.

  “At least you can go to school,” Maeve said to Sola.

  Sola shrugged her shoulders.

  “We’ll do something fun every single day,” said Jack. “I promise.”

  “Jack, Sabine needs a diaper change, I think,” said Maeve. “Would you?”

  “I’ll do it!” cried Edward. “She likes it when I change her. We count her toes in French. Un, deux, trois…”

  Wren rolled her eyes and Will counted with Edward.

  “…quatre, cinq, six, sept.”

  Edward grinned and plucked a diaper from a pile on the counter.

  As he left, we all called after him:

  “Huit, neuf, dix, onze…!”

  We had baseball games because it was very warm for the fall. Sabine would sit on Albert Groom’s lap as Edward called out his pitches to her from the pitcher’s mound.

  “Knuckleball!”

  “Slider.”

  “Change up.”

  “That’s a very bad habit, Edward,” said Albert, Sabine on his lap, looking at all that was in front of her: baseball, seawater, Weezer, and her favorite Edward.

  “I won’t do that when I pitch in the big leagues,” called Edward, making Albert and Trick laugh.

  “No, you won’t,” said Trick, making Albert laugh more.

  For a while we could still have picnics and cookouts on the front lawn after baseball games, Sabine in her baby seat, waving her arms at us.

  Edward sang a French song to her when he tired of “O Canada.”

  Sur le pont d’Avignon

  L’on y danse, l’on y danse…

  But Sabine was never tired of “O Canada.” Finally Jack taught us the words and Edward made us all sing it before every baseball game.

  And then it got too cold for baseball, though Edward would have played through northeasters and snow.

  Edward and I took Sabine for walks in her stroller, with her snowsuit and knitted hat, down the sidewalks of the town, stopping every so often as people called “Sabine! Sabine!” from doorways and from across the street, running over to see her.