She had painted a baseball game in full swing on one wall of Andy's room as his Christmas present the previous year, and he really loved it. For Allyson, she had done a Paris street scene the year she'd been in love with all things French, and later a string of ballerinas inspired by Degas, and more recently she had turned Allyson's room into a swimming pool with her magic touch. She had even painted the furniture in trompe l'oeil to match it. The reward was that Allyson and her friends thought the room was “really cool,” and Page was “wow …really rad …she's okay,” which were high marks from the fifteen-year-old set.
Allyson was a sophomore in high school. Looking at them, Page was always sorry she hadn't had more children. She had always wanted more, but Brad had been adamant about “one or two,” with the emphasis on one. He had been crazy about his little girl, and didn't see why they needed any more children. It had taken seven years to convince him to have another. That was when they moved out of the city, and into the house in Ross, when Andy was born, their little miracle baby, she called him. He was born two and a half months premature, after Page fell off a ladder doing a Winnie-the-Pooh mural in his bedroom. She had been rushed to the hospital with a broken leg, and she was already in labor. He had been in an incubator for two months, but in the end, he was absolutely perfect. She smiled, remembering it sometimes, how tiny he had been, how terrified they had been that they might lose him. She couldn't imagine surviving it, although she knew she would have … for Allyson, and Brad, but her life would never have been the same without him.
“Feel like an ice cream?” she asked as they took the Sir Francis Drake turn-off.
“Sure.” Andy grinned again, and then laughed as she looked at him. It was impossible not to laugh at that big gummy grin.
“When are you going to get some teeth, Andrew Clarke? Maybe we ought to buy you some false ones.”
“Naww …” He smiled, and then chuckled.
It was fun being alone with him, usually she had a earful of kids driving home from the game, but today one of the other mothers had done the honors, and she had gone to the game anyway, because she'd promised. Allyson was spending the afternoon with her friends, Brad was playing golf, and Page was caught up with all her projects. She was planning another mural for the school, and she had promised to take a look at a friend's living room and see what she'd recommend, but there had been nothing really pressing.
Andy had a double scoop of Rocky Road in a sugar cone, with chocolate jimmies, and she had a single scoop of coffee-flavored frozen yogurt, the nonfat kind that fooled you into thinking you were doing something really sinful. They sat outside together for a while, as Andy's ice cream got all over his face and dripped on his uniform, which Page said didn't matter. Everything had to be washed anyway, so what harm was there in a little ice cream. They watched people come and go, and enjoyed the warmth of the late afternoon sun. It was a gorgeous day, and Page talked about going on a picnic on Sunday.
“That would be neat.” Andy looked pleased as the Rocky Road finally engulfed the tip of his nose, extending all the way to his chin, as Page felt overwhelmed with love for him as she watched him.
“You're cute …you know that? I know I'm not supposed to say stuff like that, but I think you're terrific, Andrew Clarke …and a great baseball player to boot …how did I ever get so lucky?”
He grinned again, even more broadly, and the ice cream was absolutely everywhere, even on her nose, as she kissed him.
“You're a great guy.”
“You're okay, too …” He disappeared into his ice cream again, and then looked up at her with a question. “Mom …?”
“Yeah?” Her yogurt was almost gone, but his Rocky Road looked as though it was going to go on melting and dribbling and oozing forever. Ice cream had a way of growing in the hands of small children.
“Do you think we'll ever have another baby?”
Page looked surprised by the question. It wasn't the kind of thing boys usually asked. Allyson had asked her that several times. But now, at thirty-nine, she didn't think so. It wasn't that she felt too old, or was, given the ages people had babies these days, but she knew she'd never talk Brad into another child. He always insisted that all of that was behind him.
“I don't think so, sweetheart. Why?” Was he worried or just curious? She couldn't help but wonder.
“Tommy Silverberg's mom had twins last week. I saw them when I went to his house. They're pretty cute. They're identical,” he explained, looking impressed. “They weighed seven pounds each, that's more than I weighed.”
“It sure is.” He had weighed barely three, thanks to his early appearance. “I'll bet they are cute. But I don't think we'll be having twins …or even one …” Oddly enough, she felt sad as she said it. She had always agreed with Brad, out of loyalty to him, that two children was a perfect family for them, but there were still times when, out of the blue, she found herself longing for another baby. “Maybe you should talk to Dad about it.” She teased.
“About twins?” He looked intrigued.
“About another baby.”