I blinked. “There’s an office gym?”
“You know that. You’ve seen me bringing my gym bag to work. I wouldn’t have time otherwise. Of course, it sometimes also ends up being a working session depending on which executive is there.”
Though she didn’t mention a name, I had a sinking feeling that by executive, my wife actually meant Walter, which, if true, struck me as the cruelest Saturday Surprise of all.
By then, I was downright glum. Vivian and Marge continued their superficial conversation while I pretty much tuned out, my thoughts exploding like fireworks between my ears.
London and my mom emerged from the house, both of them wearing gardening gloves. London had clearly borrowed a pair from my mom, since they seemed about three sizes too large.
“Hey sweetie!” I called out. “Time to do some planting?”
“I have gloves, Daddy! And Nana and me are going to make the flower bed soooo pretty!”
“Good for you.”
I watched as my mom lifted a shallow plastic tub containing twelve smaller plastic pots, marigolds already in bloom. London grabbed two trowels, and my mom listened attentively while London chattered away nonstop on their way to the flower bed.
“Have you ever noticed how good Mom is with London?” Marge asked. “She’s patient, cheerful, and fun.”
“You sound a little bitter when you say that,” Liz observed.
“I am,” she said. “It’s not like Mom ever planted flowers with me. Or showed me how to make pudding-in-a-cloud. Nor was she patient, cheerful, or fun as a general rule. When she spoke to me, it was because she had some chores she wanted me to do.”
“Are you open to the idea that your memories may be selective?” Liz asked.
“No.”
Liz laughed. “Then maybe you should simply accept the notion that she likes London more than she ever liked you or Russ.”
“Ouch,” Marge said. “That’s not very therapeutic.”
“I wish London would get to see my parents more often than she does,” Vivian remarked. “It makes me sad that she doesn’t have the same kind of relationship with them. Like she’s missing out on getting to know my family.”
“When was the last time they were here?” Liz asked.
“Thanksgiving,” Vivian said.
“Why don’t they come and visit this summer?”
“My dad’s company has been involved in a huge merger and my mom doesn’t like to travel without him. I suppose I could bring London to them, but these days, when would I have the time?”
“Maybe that will change when things settle down,” Liz suggested.
“Maybe,” Vivian said, a frown suddenly appearing as she watched London digging while my mom put the flowers into the ground. “If I’d known London would be planting flowers, I would have brought a change of clothes. Her dress is practically new, and she’ll be upset if she can’t wear it again.”
I doubted that London cared as much as Vivian. London probably couldn’t remember half of the dresses she owned, but my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, piercing scream from London, the sound of pain and fear…
“OW, OW, OWWW!!! It HURTS! DADDY!!!!”
Instantly, the world splintered into disjointed images; I felt myself rising, the chair flung out behind me… Liz and Marge turning their heads, shock in their expressions… Vivian’s mouth in the shape of an O… My mom reaching for London… London beet red and crying, shaking her hand, her face contorted…
“IT HURTS, DADDY!!!”
I bolted off the porch toward her, adrenaline coursing through my system. As soon as I reached her, I scooped her into my arms.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
London was sobbing too hard to answer, her screams drowning out her ability to answer, her hand held away from her body.
“What’s wrong? Did you hurt your hand?”
Mom’s face was white. “She was stung by a bee!” she called out. “She was trying to swat it off her hand…” Vivian, Liz, and Marge were beside us as well. Even my dad had appeared in the doorway and was hustling toward us.
“Was it a bee?” I asked. “Did a bee sting you?” I tried to reach for London’s hand, but she was frantically waving it, convinced the bee was still attached.
Vivian quickly took hold of London’s arm, even as London continued to scream. She rotated it, finally focusing on the back of London’s hand.
“I see the stinger!” she shouted at London. London continued to flail, oblivious, as Vivian went on. “I have to get it out, okay?”
Vivian gripped London’s arm tighter. “Hold still!” she demanded. Using her fingernails, it took a couple of attempts to loosen the stinger, but then with a quick pull, the stinger was out. “It’s out, sweetheart,” she announced. “I know it hurts,” she soothed, “but it’ll be okay, now.”
No more than fifteen seconds had passed since I first heard London begin to scream but it seemed far longer. London was still crying, but she struggled less and her screams had begun to subside as I held her. Her tears dampened my cheek as everyone pressed in around her, trying to comfort.
“Shhh…” I whispered, “I’ve got you now…”
“Are you okay?” Marge asked, stroking London’s back.
“That must have hurt, you poor thing…,” Liz added.
“I’ll get the baking soda…,” my mom announced.