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Show Motherlunge a novel 81 "Baby. Baby's moving! Here." She walked her fingertips back and forth, tracking it from above. "Come feel it, Thea, Mom." Maybe Dorothy hadn't heard. She pushed herself to her feet and looked at us blankly. "I think I'll lie down for a while. Can you wake me when it's time to open presents?" And she moved past us out of the kitchen. I stood up and put out my hands to Pavia. I pressed them to her hardening stomach and waited. Then I felt it: a small, rolling thump. No, I didn't feel it; I heard it, with my hands-a sound still lost inside the dram. It was impossible to believe that it would ever find its way out. "Did you see about the TV?" Pavia asked softly by my ear, scooping her thumb inside her bare navel to wipe out the lint, "Joseph took our TV, too." Later on Christmas day, because Dorothy stayed in the foldout couch next to the tree, Pavia and I opened our presents at the kitchen table. I received a sweater and a set of expensive skincare products from Pavia. I got a bookstore gift certificate from Walter. Eli gave me a framed photograph of a child's elephant-shaped watering can lying at the bottom of a window well. From Joseph, Pavia and I were surprised to find a note, written on the white side of some Santa Claus wrapping paper, folded up and tucked in the spout of the milk carton inside the refrigerator. Ladies, it began. |