Free In the Clear by Anne Carter Page B

enough? “You’re too old.”
    â€œI am not!” she cries, indignant.
    â€œWe don’t need a baby.”
    â€œWe’re having one.”
    â€œMaybe it will get polio.”
    I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Pauline … how can you say that? That’s so cruel.”
    I shove my toque down over my ears. It’s simple: I don’t want a sister or brother who can run or skate. Especially not now, not when things are starting to turn around for me.
    My father puts an arm around each of us, but I shrug him off and glare at the black-and-white linoleum floor.
    â€œThere’s the vaccine now,” he says. “Thank God, it won’t happen again. This baby will be a blessing for all of us.”
    â€œWhen’s the blessing coming?” I ask sarcastically.
    My mother is leaning against my father, his arms wrapped protectively around her. “If you mean the baby,” she says, “it’s due in March. Your father will be allowed in the hospital and will spend a lot of time there. But you won’t be allowed in. Someone will have to stay at home with you.” She hesitates. “I’ve asked my sisters.”
    My throat aches with hope. After being so mean, do I dare ask? “Tante Marie?”
    â€œYou’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Her hand skates uneasy circles around her belly.
    Why should I have to have a sibling? I can hear in my mother’s voice how much she hates her own sister. I feel like I’m about to explode. I have to get outside. I’m not going to beg anything from my mother, not even a visit from Tante Marie.
    I open the door and shuffle outside. Dad makes a move behind me, but I yell over my shoulder, “I can do this myself. I’ll play goal today. I don’t need you. Leave me alone.”
    I don’t bother to turn around to see their reaction. They have each other.
    I storm – carefully – out onto the street. Henry and Stuart and Billy have stopped in the middle of a play and are watching me approach. I get the uneasy feeling they heard me yelling.
    â€œWhere’s your dad?” Billy asks.
    I don’t trust myself to talk. I jerk my thumb back in the direction of my house.
    Henry looks like an owl, staring at me. “Get her chair, will ya, Stu? How about we put the nets at the curbs and play two on two? Pauline can play goal and she won’t have to worry about cars.”
    I glare at him. Overprotective Henry. Of all the nerve. If I didn’t have to hold onto my crutches, I’d jerk my thumb at him too.
    Henry’s wearing his Don Mills hockey jacket, blue with white piping around the shoulder seams. It’s cold and his breath shows — white piping against the sky. Billy shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and now Stu’s back, huffing and puffing with my chair.
    What am I so mad at? Out of nowhere the tears start dribbling down my cheeks and I wipe my face on my sleeve.
    The three boys move in a little closer and stand in a semi-circle around me.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Pauline?” asks Henry.
    â€œYou don’t have to play goal if you don’t want,” says Billy.
    â€œWe could go watch boxing on TV at my house,” says Stu.
    Henry hits Stu with his hat. “Idiot. She doesn’t want to watch fighting.”
    I half-laugh, half-cry. These guys are funny. Are these guys my friends?
    â€œMy parents are going to have a baby,” I confide.
    It sounds so silly when I say it, but they all make a big Ooohhh as if I’ve revealed something terrible. I remember that they each have younger kids in their families. Billy has two little brothers and a sister, and some Saturday mornings he can’t play because he has to babysit.
    â€œThat’s too bad,” Stu says. “My little brother’s a real nuisance. He’s always switching the channel or talking or …”
    Henry hits him again. “She doesn’t need to