Leaving: A Novel (40 page)

“What’s that?”

Dr. Matthews walked to the door as if she wanted to bring Ruby as far away from Lida as possible.

“Well, the baby came out prematurely, which isn’t so unusual in itself, but your daughter was already sedated when she arrived. Is she on some sort of medication?”

“Medication? I don’t think so. She’s just been feelin real low-down the last few weeks.”

“But you don’t know if she’s been on any other drugs?”

“No. Lida’s been in my home now for the last month, and she hasn’t been taking anything. I’ve fed her practically every meal myself.”

“I see. Well, you may wish to ask her when she wakes up. The baby just has to stay here a few days so we can watch to make sure he’s strong enough to thrive on his own. But congratulations, Mrs. Washington.”

“It’s a boy? Can I see him?”

“The baby? Sure. You can’t hold him, but you can look through the glass, if you wish. Come on with me.”

Ruby followed the doctor down the hallway.

“This is your first grandchild?” she asked Ruby.

“Yes. Yes he is. The first.”

“Do you know who the father is?”

“Of course.”

“Are they married?”

Ruby turned on her angrily. “Sure they’re married. What kind of question is that? The father’s her husband. He’s a fine young man. He’s comin from work right now.”

“Well, if he gets here, he can fill out the name on the birth certificate.”

“Well, I can do that if it’s got to be done right now,” Ruby said. “I know what they been meaning to call him.”

“I’m sorry, it’s got to be a parent that names him, if they can.”

“All right then.”

The doctor led Ruby into the care unit and pointed at the fourth baby in the second row.

“There’s your grandson, Mrs. Washington.”

He was attached to a breathing tube and heart monitor. Ruby put her forehead against the glass. He was tiny and didn’t seem to be moving.

“Is he gonna be all right?”

“Well, there are no guarantees. But I think he’s got a good chance. We’re just keeping him for observation.”

Ruby took a deep breath and moved away from the glass.

“So what name are they going to give him?” the doctor asked. Ruby shook her head.

“I don’t want to say yet,” she said. “We oughta wait to see what happens. He look so small in there. Just like a tiny bird that fell out of a tree.”

“Yes. Well, if his father shows up, he can name him then.”

“Why do you keep on sayin that: ‘if he show up’?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Washington. Often when the baby is born early and the mother comes in on narcotics, there’s not a father in the picture.”

“What you sayin? I told you she been in my house all month. She been in bed.”

“I’m simply saying … I’m sorry, Mrs. Washington, I’m sure her husband will be here soon. Or you can wait for Lida to wake up, and she can name him.”

Ruby turned back around to look at the baby. She felt so helpless behind the glass wall. If she could just hold him, or if she knew more about medicine, then maybe she could do something. She imagined how he felt: he was so tiny and everything around him seemed so big. She closed her eyes and prayed. “Dear Lord, let this child live.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to face Marcus.

“Which one?” he asked.

“Right there, with the blue cover.”

He looked through the glass. He didn’t say anything as he stared at the steady, jagged heart rate on the monitor.

Ruby finally cleared her throat and said: “That’s your son.”

“He sure is small.”

“The doctor say she was on drugs.” She looked at Marcus’s eyes.

“No she wasn’t.” He patted down his hair.

“The doctor thought she was on some sort of drugs already when she came in, and that’s maybe why the baby’s so early.”

“You know she’s not doing any of that.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know these doctors,” he said. “Just see some Black girl and they think they’re on drugs.”

“This doctor was Black herself.”

“Well.” Marcus wiped his nose. “Then I don’t know.”

“Don’t give me none a that stupid look. You better not be keepin somethin from me, Marcus. I sure ain’t beyond kickin you out, even if you is that boy’s father.”

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ruby shook her head. “That’s my grandson in there. Just remember that.”

“I know. It’s my son.”

They stood in silence, looking at him through the glass. Ruby continued to shake her head and then spoke up again.

“She say you’ve got to go name him on the certificate.”

“Right now?”

“Go on over there to that woman.”

Marcus went to the counter and filled out the forms. He came back with a big smile on his face.

“You sure proud all of a sudden,” she said to him. “I never seen such a big grin on your face.”

“I named him Ronald Love LeRoy, after Love Easton too. How do you like that?”

“What are you doing?” Ruby yelled. “You can’t go an name him Love. What are you tryin to make up for? If I didn’t think she was on drugs before, I know she is now.”

“I swear, Mrs. Washington, if she’s on something, I don’t know about it. When I left her this morning, she was asleep upstairs in your house.”

“You better not put no ‘Love’ down on the certificate. Lida’ll chop off your testimonials.”

“Too late. Besides, she ain’t never gonna see the certificate anyway.”

“Now why not?”

“They gave the copy to me.”

“Well, I’m gonna know ’bout it, and she’s my daughter. How’m I suppose to trust you when you willin to lie to my daughter?”

“I was doin it for you.”

“You ain’t done one thing in your life for anyone but yourself.”

“Never mind. I don’t need this shit.”

“Where you goin?”

“I got to go.”

“What you mean you got to go? You just had a son. Your wife’s here waiting for you.”

“She’s sleeping, and there isn’t anything we can do right now. I’ve got rehearsal, which can’t wait. I’ll come on back in a few hours. We’re leaving to L.A. on Saturday.”

“Marcus, you are not going anywhere.”

“What can I do here right now? I’ve got to think of the future for that boy. I’ve got rehearsal.” He put his leather cap on his head and walked away. The doctor came back into the ward just as he was leaving.

“That’s the father,” Ruby said to her. “He’s got to get back to work.”

The doctor nodded, and Ruby turned back to looking at the baby.

*   *   *

LOVE SOON THRIVED,
overcompensating for his rough start. Rather than sucking his thumb, he put his whole fist in his mouth. When they brought him home, his cries from the bedroom could be heard in the kitchen downstairs. After Ruby taught Lida the proper way to breast-feed, Love insisted on staying attached all day long, as if he needed to make up for the time he’d lost while in the incubator.

To Ruby, having a new baby around filled the house with a sense of purpose. It was no longer a place to keep up, to clean and repair, to pay for with no reason in mind; instead, it was a place to prepare for the new life, for the hope of what it might become. Every pot washed and every carpet laid was done with the baby in mind. Germs had to be killed, the floor had to be soft, rats had to be chased out with a stray cat they found and fed and named Lion. The new life burst beyond the child and into both women. Ruby sewed ten children’s outfits a day, and Lida learned to embroider names while holding the baby in the crook of her arm. The children’s clothing line was now going to have personalized names on each pocket. They talked with energy about their new business together as Ruby had always imagined it, as she had once had with her own mother.

At night, the baby slept in Lida’s room, in a white crib that a neighbor gave to them. Lida no longer wished she didn’t have him. From the moment she saw him, she knew there was nothing else in her life; she existed only to love and care for this baby, named Ronald, Marcus told her, after her own father whom she had never met.

After three weeks and two days, Marcus held his son for the first time. Marcus had gone on his scheduled tour to L.A., missing his son’s homecoming. He walked in the door without his guitar, just as Ruby was clearing off plates from dinner. Lion ran past him into the house as Marcus stood with the door open.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Lida cooed to her sleeping baby. “Who’s that scary man just walked in the door?”

“It’s his famous daddy who’s gonna make him proud.” Marcus slipped off his shoes and put them next to the doormat.

“Who’s that lyin good-for-nothin man just walked through the door? Huh, little Ronny?”

“Now don’t be givin our boy a bad idea of his own father.”

“Oh, it’s your daddy, he say.” She looked up at Marcus. “What you come back for? You forget something?”

“I come home to see my wife and son. And my lovely mother-in-law, grandmother of my child.”

“You want some leftovers, Marcus? We got some artichokes in the pot,” Ruby offered.

“Uh. Yeah. I’d dig some artichokes.” He came around the back of Lida’s chair and looked at his son cradled in her arms, sleeping with his fist in his mouth.

“He got your big mouth,” she said to him.

“And your kinky hair.”

“You want to hold him, or you afraid he might wake up and not recognize you?”

“Sure I’ll hold him.” He came around to her side and started to scoop him up.

“Don’t try to swing him around. He ain’t no guitar.”

Marcus lifted Love into his hands, weighed him in the air. “He sure is a beautiful baby. You done a fine job. Amazing. He’s a whole person in there.”

“Hold him closer. Put your hand under his head.”

“I know. I got him.” He walked around the living room rocking his son.

“Don’t wake him up, now.”

“I know.” He walked to the front door and, cradling the baby with one arm, turned the handle. Lida stood up.

“What you doing?”

“I’ll be right back. I got to show the boys.”

“What are you talking about?” She looked out the door and saw a white Pontiac parked out front with the rest of the band in it. Marcus walked down the stairs in his sock feet. David waved to Lida from the passenger side, but she didn’t wave back. The sweet smell of marijuana seeped through the air.

“This is my son, Ronald LeRoy,” Marcus said to them, holding him up to the windows.

David got out and took the baby from Marcus’s arms.

“Hey, Lida, how you doin?” David said.

“Don’t wake him now,” Lida whispered loudly. She put on her shoes and walked down the steps. She couldn’t stand to see her child passed around like a trophy, especially to stoned folks. Love woke up and started to cry.

“Give him on back,” she said. She took Love from him and walked up to the top of the stairs.

“Come on, man,” David said to Marcus. “Let’s get set up.”

Marcus slowly walked up the steps and got his shoes from inside.

“Where you going?” Lida asked. Marcus looked at the baby’s face, squished like a dried-up apple.

“We got a gig tonight at Blake’s.” He tried to kiss her on the forehead, but she pulled back.

“I thought you was stayin. What about the artichokes?”

“I’m sorry, baby. Keep them warm for me. I ain’t got time right now. Save them up for when I get back.” He ran down the stairs and opened the driver’s-side door.

“When’s that gonna be?”

His bandmates shook their heads and started talking in low voices.

“Baby, don’t make me tell you when I’m comin home. I’m a grown man. I’m tryin to make somethin of myself. I’ll be home when I’m done.” He got in the car, then yelled out the window, “’Round three, probably.”

*   *   *

MARCUS WAS HOME
at three, and again at three every Friday and Saturday night for weeks. When he came upstairs, he woke Love, who started crying. Lida fed him; then she laid him in his crib, and Marcus played an arpeggio to lull him back to sleep. Lida lay against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“At first it doesn’t make sense,” Marcus said in a soft, deep voice, continuing an ongoing conversation he’d had with Lida during these late nights. “And then it doesn’t seem it could be any other way. It seems like it’s all just randomly put together, that they could have put the strings in any order.” He played as he spoke. “Jimmy James played his upside down, with all the strings reversed, ’cause he was a lefty. Lefty Diz from Chicago played it like that without changing the strings. But how come six, how come not five strings, like the number of fingers? Or how come it skips back a fret after the G?” He paused to finish the arpeggio and then began speaking again as he started a new progression. “But it’s all planned out; over all the years and centuries that it’s been passed down and changed, it kept getting better. It came over the ocean, and then this Spanish brother, Torres, he made it sound better. People just naturally used what worked until it was made right, so that I can just move down and play the next notes in the scale. Over time, things got better. They naturally have to get better, ’cause you try until you get it right. You don’t even have to think about it, really, because time takes care of that.”

Lida breathed deeply in her sleep. Marcus stopped playing and leaned the guitar against the bed. He slowly moved out from under her and put a pillow in his place. The floor was cold on his feet, but he got up and walked to the crib with his toes stretched up. He stood above his child. Ronald Love LeRoy was asleep, his face turned to the side and his small tongue just visible in his mouth. He panted quickly like he was having a bad dream, and his body shook in the kinte-cloth baby suit. Marcus reached down over the side of the crib and placed his open hand lightly on the baby’s warm body, covering the boy’s whole chest and stomach. He kept his hand there and his son’s breathing calmed.

After two minutes, Marcus’s feet were freezing. As he slowly pulled his hand away, the baby opened his tiny eyes and looked at him, not at everything in front of him like a big blur, but at Marcus, into his eyes, at the person standing over him. They simply looked at each other for a few seconds; then Love closed his eyes again and slept.