66 Laps by Leslie Lehr Spirson

Author:Leslie Lehr Spirson [Spirson, Leslie Lehr]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-55408-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

32.

Jim lit that fire and opened the wine he had mentioned, but romance didn’t fill the air the way I’d hoped. My mom was always good for some laughs until I got sick of her, and this time I wanted her out of the house in short order. She and Jim talked endlessly about obscure books while I poked at the smoking fire. The logs were still damp from the rain that had seeped into the woodshed. I jammed a marshmallow on the barbecue tongs and roasted it until it crumbled in a heap of ash. I love toasted marshmallows—dark and crispy to the touch, white and gooey to the tongue—I lacked the patience for mere browning. Each time the confection caught fire, I was too dazzled with the swift consumption of flame to blow it out in time. The hard black sides slid off into the fire, where they quickly turned to ash.

Melodious babble wafted in from the nursery and we all smiled at each other, pride bursting from our breasts. Then we raced to Gina’s side, fighting over who would pick her up, who would change her diaper, who would give her juice. Gina was a little afraid of Grandma at first, a living legend from the photos. When your age is still counted in months, two of them is a long time between visits. After a few minutes, she reached out to Daddy, still staring at Grandma. Once I gave Mom the juice bottle, Gina had warmed up and was eager to go to her.

Mom offered to baby-sit while Jim and I went out to dinner, but Jim was looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Which, of course, meant that I had to cook. Jim cooked for company, with a cotton diaper over his arm, and he was a good cook, but it was all for show and dinner was never ready until after ten. I give him credit for doing all the barbecuing, but he burned everything by not waiting for the fire to die down. We learned to love it that way. Mostly, he was just too pooped to cook when he got home late, and when he wasn’t working he didn’t feel like cooking either. He was a modern kind of man in theory, not in reality.

Mom raved over every bite of pasta, as if that would make it more fun, but really she was just tired of Caesar salads on the road. After coffee, she put Gina to bed. Jim cleared, which was nice even though he feigned ignorance regarding the location of the dishwasher. He would lay the plates on top of each other, with the silverware in the water-filled bowls. I had to reach in the grimy soup later on to retrieve it all and put it in the dishwasher. Thank God we had one.

Hondo was playing in 3-D on Channel 5, a special event, so Jim’s evening was well in hand.

“I have to go to the post office.”

“Now?”

“I forgot to send Stacy her Elvis T-shirt.

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