November Blues Page 7

  “You’re scaring me, Mom,” November said, putting down her fork.

  “Good.”

  When November’s cell phone rang, she grabbed it thankfully.

  “Hey, Jericho,” she said when she checked the caller ID. “Nothing. Just finishing dinner. Hey, you want to take me to the store? It will save my mom a trip. Cool. See you in half an hour.” She snapped the phone shut, relieved to escape the lecturing. “That’s okay, isn’t it?” she asked her mother.

  “Sure, that’s fine. I have some papers to grade anyway.” Mrs. Nelson stood up and took her plate to the sink. “Uh, does Jericho know?”

  “Yeah, I told him.”

  “I figured you had. Well, I have a job for you while you’re at the store.”

  November sagged. “More health food?”

  “No. Take a notebook and pen with you, and I want you to write down the prices of all those things we talked about. Diapers. A baby gets changed at least six times in twenty-four hours—maybe more. Find out the cost of a week’s worth. Milk. How much is a can of baby formula? A baby probably drinks eight bottles a day—small ones at first. How much will you need to feed it for a week, and how much will that cost?”

  “It sounds like a lot,” November said slowly.

  “You’ll be surprised,” Mrs. Nelson told her. “While you’re there, get the cost of bottles to put the milk in, nipples for the bottles, bibs, wipes, pacifiers, and anything else you think a baby might need for a week.”

  “What if I breast-feed?” November asked hopefully. “Won’t that save money?”

  “You’re going to breast-feed a naked baby?” her mother asked with a smile. “The child will still need clothes and a crib and blankets and a car seat…. The list is endless.”

  November looked at her mother and blinked hard. “Oh, Mom. This is such a mess.”

  “Yes, it truly is.” In the awkward silence that followed, they cleared the dinner dishes.

  November’s cell phone rang again just as she closed the silverware drawer.

  “Hey there,” a voice said quietly.

  “Oh, hi, Olivia,” November said. “Are you okay?”

  “If you mean am I still covered in spaghetti, the answer is I took a shower. If you mean am I still upset and angry, the answer is yes, and yes, I do plan to kick her butt.”

  “I’m so sorry, Olivia.”

  “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

  “I mean, I’m just sorry that something so awful had to happen to a friend of mine.”

  “You sayin’ you consider me a friend?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “Cool.”

  “You know, I didn’t actually see it happen. How did Arielle manage to get one over on you like that?”

  “That skank. I was heading to my table, planning to eat by myself to work on SAT prep stuff.”

  “I got that SAT prep book too, but I think it’s in the bottom of my book bag,” November replied with a laugh.

  “You better get to it, girlfriend. That exam will kick your butt. Anyway, I was minding my own business, thinking about big fat vocabulary words, and before I even knew what had happened, they’d double-teamed me. Logan bumped me from behind, and as I fell forward, Arielle snatched my tray and dumped it on me.” November could hear Olivia breathing hard. “I should have taken a fingernail to her face.”

  “No, you did the right thing. She would have screamed like she was bleeding to death, pleaded innocent to ever touching you, and you would have gotten suspended. She’s not worth getting in trouble for.”

  “Maybe.” Olivia paused. “I really appreciate what you and Dana did, though. I know I didn’t thank you then—I was a little…preoccupied.” She laughed.

  “I’m glad we were there, but you didn’t really need us. Did you see the look in Arielle’s eyes?”

  Olivia hooted. “I think she wet her pants!”

  “I hope she did. Hey, I gotta go. Jericho’s at the door. He’s taking me to the store. I’m going to turn orange if I eat one more carrot stick, so I’m gonna stock up on chocolate and eat it when my mom’s not looking!”

  “Save some for me!”

  “Bet.”

  “And November?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was really cool what you did today.”

  “Forget about it. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 16

  MONDAY, MAY 10

  WHEN JERICHO RANG THE DOORBELL, November already had her jacket on and hurried out the door before he had the chance to say two words. “Bye, Mom!” she called. “I’ll be back in an hour or so!”

  “Get those prices!” her mother called out.

  “Yeah, okay. Whatever. I’m outta here.”

  Jericho looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Your mom sweatin’ you?”

  “Smothering me is more like it. She’s killing me—one vegetable at a time!”

  “I suppose there’re worse ways to go.”

  November climbed into Jericho’s ancient Grand Am, slammed the door, and fastened her seat belt. “I was so glad you called. I had to get out of that house. I think my mother is crazy!”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I catch her weeping and sniffling, or just blowing her nose after a crying spell, every single day. She doesn’t sleep. She spends hours on the computer looking up stuff about pregnancy. And now she’s making me figure out the cost of everything. She’s driving me nuts!”

  “I guess this must be hard on her,” Jericho reasoned.

  “She’s not the one who’s got a baby stuck in her gut! Why should it be hard on her?”

  “Have you ever noticed parents are not always as grownup as they’re supposed to be? And they hardly ever act like we think they ought to,” Jericho said as he drove them to the large supermarket near the mall. “Look at Eddie’s dad. He wanted to sue the school for sending his dirt-devil son to jail. And Madison’s dad, instead of punishing Madison for what he did with the Warriors, went to the principal’s house and punched him in the nose. What a wack job!”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. But this is me and my mom. I can’t make it another six months without her, and I don’t think I can survive the next six months with her!”

  “You always got me to depend on,” Jericho said quietly.

  “How many babies have you had?” she asked glumly. “You gonna hold my hand during contractions?”

  “All I know is what I’ve seen on TV. The girl is always sweaty and screaming and the man with her acts all stupid and then faints. Are you gonna scream?”

  “Yep—they’ll probably hear me in Jamaica! You gonna faint?”

  “Nah. I’m tough. But your mama’s gonna be there to hold your other hand, November. That’s her grandbaby we’re talkin’ about—she’ll be there for both of you!”

  “Getting in the way and getting on my nerves, probably,” said November.

  “Straight up!” he agreed, laughing.

  But November was quiet. “I don’t think she can forgive me, Jericho.”

  “Maybe it’s you who can’t forgive yourself, November. Ever thought about that?” He pulled into a parking space.

  “It’s just that…that…she used to be so proud of me,” November mumbled as they got out of the car. She twisted her nose, trying hard not to cry. “Look at me. I talk about my mother being all stupid and weepy, and I’m no better.”

  “I know how to cure that,” Jericho said as they entered the fluorescently bright Wal-Mart Supercenter. “Let’s go find where they keep the chocolate doughnuts!”

  November wiped her eyes and dashed after Jericho. They each grabbed a cart and began to race each other down the aisles of the store. He grabbed a package of brownies and tossed it into his cart. “Ooh, double chocolate!” he crooned.

  She then found a container of whipped cream and a can of presweetened strawberries, crying, “And yummy goodies to go on top!”

  He piled ice cream, cookies, and candy into his cart, while she gr
abbed potato chips, pretzels, and nachos. Laughing wildly, they pushed their carts full speed, gleefully piling in packages of forbidden foods.

  “Mom would have a heart attack if she saw all this!” November said as they turned a corner, almost knocking down a display of dish detergent.

  “If she ate all this high-calorie crap, she’d explode anyway!” Jericho said as they slowed down. “Are you really gonna buy all this stuff?”

  “I doubt it,” November admitted. “I think I’ll get some ice cream and maybe some of these bran muffins. This was fun, but I don’t want to do anything to hurt the baby.”

  Jericho looked at her for a moment. “You’ll be a good mother, November,” he said.

  “I don’t see how. I haven’t got the slightest idea what to do.” She took the chips out of the cart and placed them on a shelf.

  “I don’t guess anybody does at first—they just figure it out as they go along.” When November turned her head, Jericho slid the chips back into his cart. “But what do I know about pregnant girls? I’m clueless.”

  “Let’s go over to the baby aisle,” November suggested. “Mom insisted that I find out how much all this is gonna cost.”

  “Couldn’t be that much,” he said breezily as they steered their carts to aisle seven.

  November couldn’t believe the vast array of baby items that seemed to explode from the shelves. Baby bottles in curved shapes, with pastel and brightly colored nipple holders; five different brands of disposable diapers in sizes from newborn to toddler; rows and rows of baby fruits and vegetables; and even more shelves filled with formula. “Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “Look at all this stuff!”

  “How do you know which of these a baby needs?” Jericho asked. “You need a college degree just to figure it out.” He gingerly picked up a package of bright green baby bibs. “Package of six. Seven ninety-nine. For something a kid spits on? Gimme a break!” He put it back on the shelf.

  November took out a small notebook from her purse and started to jot down prices. “Looks like baby formula runs about eight ninety-nine for a quart of ready-to-serve milk, and a little less if you mix it yourself,” she said as she read the labels.

  Jericho looked at the vast array of items and shook his head. “Why do stores put ‘ninety-nine’ at the end of all the prices? Why don’t they just say it’s nine dollars?”

  “I think it’s so people think they’re getting something cheaper than they really are. It’s all one big mind game,” she said as she picked up jars of baby juice and packages of infant oatmeal. She frowned as she wrote down the cost of everything. “I hate it when Mama is right,” she told Jericho.

  “You need to win the lottery to buy all this stuff!” he said in amazement.

  She checked the packages of strained fruits and vegetables, which came in tiny little plastic tubs, as well as the bibs and gowns on display. “Most of these little baby clothes are, like, seven and ten dollars each!” she croaked as she read the tags.

  “Baby shoes?” Jericho asked. He held a pair of size zero infant shoes in his hand. The shoes looked lost in Jericho’s huge palm. “Can you imagine the size of the teeny little feet that go into these suckers? Why does a baby even need shoes?” he asked. “It’s not like it’s gonna run track or something.”

  November smiled and said, “To keep the kid’s feet warm, I guess. But it seems like socks make more sense when the baby is really young.”

  “See, you’re sounding like a mom already,” Jericho said encouragingly, but she just shook her head. “Look, November,” he said then. “They even have car seats here!” Jericho reached for the price tag. “The cheapest one they have is eighty dollars! And look at this one. It’s two hundred dollars! Babies can make you go broke quick!”

  November sighed deeply. “Yeah.” She took out her calculator and typed in the numbers. “The way I figure, it’s gonna cost about fifty or maybe even sixty dollars a month for diapers, almost eighty dollars for formula, and that’s not counting bottles and clothes and one of those Cadillac-priced car seats. I don’t have that kind of money, Jericho. What am I gonna do?”

  He took the chips out of the cart and placed them back on the shelf. “I got a little money saved, November. I’ll help you.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. Then she gently touched his broad shoulder. “Thanks, but I couldn’t let you do that, Jericho. I’ll figure this out. But I will let you buy the kid a pair of those little shoes one day, deal?”

  “You got it,” he said. They continued to push their carts, but slowly this time. They paused at the fruits and vegetables. Jericho looked directly at November and asked, “Would it have been easier for you if Josh was here with you instead of me?”

  “No, if Josh were here, he’d be riding in the cart instead of pushing it,” she replied with a small smile.

  “Sticking green beans up his nose and wearing lettuce leaves as a hat!” Jericho added. “I miss him so much, November. It has to be even harder for you.”

  “Yeah,” she said vaguely. “I guess.” She concentrated on the five different types of apples on display, wondering when a baby could eat something like an apple, when she bumped into another cart.

  “Oh, excuse me,” a middle-aged man in a crisp beige trench coat cried out. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Uncle Brock! Aunt Marlene! Great to see you,” Jericho cried out. “You remember November, right?”

  November’s stomach immediately clenched. She wasn’t ready to deal with Josh’s parents! She darted a glance at Josh’s mother. She seemed to look right through her. Her eyes were focused on a place that was clearly not in that store. Her hair, which November remembered as being reddish bronze and always freshly styled, was uncombed and almost completely gray. She had lost weight—her jacket looked as if it were hanging from a coat hanger. She wore bunny-rabbit house slippers on her feet. November didn’t know what to say.

  Josh’s dad, who used to carry an extra ten pounds around his waistline, looked lean and angular—like a pencil that had been sharpened too much. His face was chiseled with deep angles, and his body moved with nervous intensity. Even though their shopping cart had stopped, he continued to pace in small circles.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott,” November forced herself to say. “It’s, uh, good to see you again.” They looked so different from when she had seen them at the funeral that she was stunned. Had it really been just four months ago?

  “We miss seeing you, November, as well as those chocolate chip cookies you baked that Josh loved so much,” Mr. Prescott said. “Please stop by the house when you feel like it. We could use a nice smile like yours.” His mouth said the right words, but his voice was not inviting. It was as if he was reading from a script.

  “Yes, sir,” she mumbled.

  Josh’s mother, still not focusing very clearly on November or Jericho, said in an equally toneless voice, “Yes, cookies. That would be nice.” She leaned heavily on the shopping cart.

  Jericho frowned. “Aunt Marlene! It’s me, Jericho! You’re a great cook. Could you make some cookies for me?” he almost shouted at her.

  She blinked and looked at him. “I don’t have that much energy these days, Jericho.” She looked down at her house slippers.

  “Uncle Brock?” Jericho’s voice asked a thousand questions.

  Jericho’s uncle lowered his voice. “Deep depression, the doctors tell me. She needs to exercise, but she won’t go to the gym with me.” He lowered his voice still more. “She barely gets out of bed.” He was still pacing nervously.

  November looked more closely at Josh’s mother as Jericho nodded. “You look like you’ve been working out like a pro. Seems like you’re in great shape,” Jericho told his uncle.

  Brock’s eyes blinked rapidly. “I’m almost a black belt,” he said proudly. “The sweat, the activity—keeps my mind and body alert.”

  “And stops you from thinkin’ about Josh,” Jericho said quietly, a funny look on his face as if something we
re clicking.

  Brock raised his eyebrows, then quickly said, “We better go. I wanted Marlene to get some fresh air before I head to the gym. Stop by the house any time, Jericho. You too, November,” he added. He grabbed the front of the shopping cart and gave it a gentle tug. His wife pushed slowly on the other end. They disappeared behind a display of cashews and almonds.

  Jericho and November stared at each other. “Now that was a freaky, sad scene,” Jericho finally said.

  “For real now. I feel sorry for them—Josh’s mom is a mess.”

  “Yeah, she’s in a bad way. But I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

  “Except bring Josh back,” November said.

  “What if…what if they knew about Josh’s baby?” Jericho asked her carefully.

  A thousand thoughts immediately came to mind, and there was an uneasy silence as they paid for the groceries and headed back to November’s house.

  CHAPTER 17

  JERICHO

  TUESDAY, MAY 11

  JERICHO DIDN’T SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT. Dream images of a baby grinning at him with Josh’s face, of a baby with tiny wings on its tennis shoes, jumping from a second-story window, darted through his mind as he tossed uncomfortably, praying for morning. Finally, just before his alarm clock was set to chime at six a.m., he gave up and lay there, his head smashed against his pillow, hints of dawn peeking through the vertical blinds.

  His father tapped lightly on Jericho’s bedroom door. “You up, son?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I never really got to sleep.”

  “Still having bad dreams?”

  “Every night.”

  His father sat down on the side of the bed next to Jericho and put his hand on his shoulder. “I really do understand, son. I do. But maybe it’s time to start getting back to your regular routine. Hanging around the house moping isn’t going to help.”

  “My regular routine was hangin’ with Josh,” Jericho muttered.