Barefoot: A Novel

Porter home for his afternoon nap. Vicki had made it sound al nice and neat, the perfect plan, but Brenda could tel that Vicki was nervous.

When other people got nervous, they tightened up, they became high-pitched and strained. Vicki was like this normal y. When she got addled, she became floppy and indecisive. She was al over the place.

Brenda pul ed into the hospital parking lot. As soon as she shut off the engine, Porter started to cry. Blaine said, “Actual y, I want to go home.”

“We’re dropping Mom off, then we’re going to the playground,” Brenda said. She got out of the car and unbuckled Porter, but he screamed and thrust himself at Vicki.

“Give him his pacifier,” Vicki said flatly. She was eyeing the gray-shingled hospital.

“Where is it?” Brenda said.

Vicki rummaged through her bag. “I can’t find it right this second, but I know it’s here,” she said. “I remember packing it. But . . . maybe we should run home and get another one.”

“Run home?” Brenda said. “Here, I’l just take him.” But Porter kicked and screamed some more. He nearly wriggled out of her arms. “Whoa!”

“Give him to me,” Vicki said. “I may be able to nurse him one last time before I go in.”

“But you did bring a bottle?” Brenda said.

“I did,” Vicki said. “This is going to be known as extreme weaning.”

Brenda moved to the other side of the car and set Blaine free from his five-point harness. A person had to have an advanced degree just to operate the car seats. “Come on, Champ.”

“Actual y, I want to go home. To my house. In Connecticut.”

“Actual y, you have no choice in the matter,” Vicki said in a stern voice. “Mommy has an appointment. Now hop out.”

“Here,” Brenda said. “I’l carry you.”

“He can walk,” Vicki said.

“No,” Blaine said, and he kicked the seat in front of him. “I’m not getting out.”

“After we drop Mom off, we’re going to the playground at Children’s Beach,” Brenda said.

“I don’t want to go to the beach! I want to go to my house in Connecticut. Where my dad lives.”

“We should have left him at the cottage,” Vicki said. “But I couldn’t do that to Melanie.”

Brenda kept quiet. She was not going to be predictable.

“I’m taking you to get ice cream for lunch,” Brenda told Blaine. “At the pharmacy.” This was the ace up her sleeve, and she was dismayed to have to throw it so early, but . . .

“I don’t want ice cream for lunch,” Blaine said. He started to cry. “I want to stay with Mommy.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Vicki said. “Can we just get inside, please? Blaine? Wil you help Mommy out here and come with me inside?”

Blaine shook his head. Strains of “Fur Elise” floated up from Brenda’s purse. Her cel phone.

“That’s probably Ted,” Vicki said.

Brenda checked the display, thinking, Yes, it’s probably Ted, but hoping it was Walsh. The display said, Delaney, Brian. Brenda groaned. “Shit,”

she said. “My lawyer.” She shoved the phone back into her purse and, fueled by her anger at the cal , barked at Blaine, “Let’s go. Right now.”

Reluctantly, Blaine climbed into Brenda’s arms. She gasped; he weighed a ton.

“I want to stay with Mommy,” he said.

If only the university officials could see me now, Brenda thought as they walked through the sliding doors into the bright chil of the hospital. They would have mercy on me. Anyone would.

They slogged toward the admitting desk, where a busty young woman waited for them. She had blond hair held in a very sloppy bun with what looked like crazy straws, streaky blusher on her cheekbones, and breasts that were shoved up and out so far it looked like she was offering them up on a platter. Didi, her name tag said.

“Victoria Stowe,” Vicki said. “I’m here for a port instal ation.”

“Righty-o,” Didi said. She had long painted fingernails with rhinestones embedded in them. Brenda wanted to whisk the girl home and give her a makeover. Pretty girl, bad decisions. Didi slid some forms across the desk to Vicki. “Fil these out, insurance information here, signature here, initials here and here. Sign this waiver, very important.” She smiled. She had a lovely smile. “It’s so you can’t sue us if you die.”

Brenda took a long, deep drink of the girl’s cleavage. Could she buy the girl some tact?

“I’m not going to die,” Vicki said.

“Oh, God, no,” Didi said. “I was only kidding.”

In the waiting area, they found a row of chairs in front of a TV. Sesame Street was on, and Porter became entranced.

“Go,” Brenda said. “Get it over with. Go now while we’re calm.” Blaine emptied a tub of Lincoln Logs onto the