Free Dying Wishes by Judith K Ivie Page A

desperately, “so you can have a child on your own these days.
That doesn’t mean you must. Opportunity doesn’t equal obligation.” I heard
myself beginning to lecture and stopped. Listen, Kate, you’re here to listen. I
sipped my cooling coffee.
    “You
know you can count on Armando and me no matter what you decide to do. But oh, Em , what if the child isn’t born one hundred percent
perfect and healthy? What if he or she requires full-time supervision or
special programs or expensive medical care? Where will the time and money come
from?” I blurted.
    A
glint came into my daughter’s eyes, and I realized that I had gone too far.
Emma was intelligent enough to have considered all the possibilities. She also
knew perfectly well that if it came right down to it, Armando and I and Michael
and Sheila would open our days, nights and bank accounts to care for a child of
hers. She adroitly turned the conversational tables.
    “Gosh,
you’re right, Momma. I hadn’t given that a moment’s thought. Thank goodness I
have my mother here to guide me.” She pretended to think for a few seconds.
“Guess I’ll have to take fertility drugs and produce a whole bunch of babies
like Kate Gosselin or Octomom , get myself a TV
show to support us. Then I’ll find myself a plastic surgeon and a personal
trainer and pose for Playboy .” Her
face was expressionless, but the corners of her mouth twitched.
    I
matched her deadpan for deadpan. “All right, now you’re thinking. The same
people who are horrified by pet overpopulation seem to be fascinated when a
human being drops a litter, so the more, the merrier. Becoming a public
spectacle absolutely sounds like a plan.”
    Emma’s
face softened, and I breathed more easily. “Like I said, it’s good to know
you’re in my corner.”
    I
picked up my mug and got to my feet. It was time to retreat and hope for the
best, yet another parenting skill I was learning to exercise more frequently.
“At least I know what to get you for Christmas,” I said, heading for the
stairs.
    “Oh,
and what’s that?”
    “A
turkey baster ,” I fired over my shoulder. Not a bad
parting shot, all things considered.

 
 
 
 
    Seven

 
    Since
I’d talked with Strutter on Sunday, she had been on
tenterhooks, awaiting the results of Lavinia Henstock’s neurological evaluation. I finally took pity on
her and invited her to tag along on my visit late Thursday afternoon. I knew
both ladies would be happy to see her.
    Even
though I was expected, I tapped on the front door tentatively, not wanting to
end Ada’s one break of the day if Lavinia were still napping.
    “ Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf !” yapped Henry, the Henstocks ’
dog, effectively shattering whatever peace might have reigned inside the house.
    To
our surprise it was Lavinia , not Ada ,
who opened the door. “Henry, do be quiet for once in your life,” she admonished
the stocky, terrier-sized mongrel before focusing on Strutter and me on the porch. I had momentary misgivings, wondering if she would
remember who we were, but I needn’t have worried. “Kate, Charlene, how lovely
to see you both. Do come in.” Her face wreathed in smiles, she stood back to
let us enter. One hand firmly gripped Henry’s collar. “Let me look at you.
Well, you just look wonderful,” she beamed, releasing Henry to give each of us
a brief hug.
    “ Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf !” Henry concurred, dancing dangerously around Lavinia’s legs.
    Strutter frowned at him. “Better tell Margo to get John and Rhett over here for a few
more lessons,” she muttered, but she smiled at Lavinia gamely. “You’re looking lovely yourself, Lavinia .”
    I
agreed. The old lady had obviously taken pains with her appearance. Her classic
shirtdress, dotted with plum-colored flowers, was freshly ironed, and her wispy
gray hair had been successfully corralled into a neat bun. I don’t know what I
had expected, but this Lavinia , though aged, was
every inch the pulled-together