The Assembler of Parts: A Novel (7 page)

“Ma, Ford and I have talked. We’ll take whatever it is we got with Jess. We hope you and Dad do, too.”

Nana looked at me again where I lay under a pink blanket. “I thanked God when every one of the four of you were born normal. Fingers, ears, toes, hearts, all normal. I thought I’d gotten free of the shame and the memory of Billy. But now . . . Now Kate, I know I didn’t. It’s in our genes like a spoiled spot on an apple. It’s in our genes, whatever condition this is, and it’s skipped a generation.”

Mother took hold of Nana’s arm. “Dr. Garraway, Jess’s geneticist, told us it’s a lot more complicated than that, Ma. And he told us that Jess isn’t the syndrome she has. She’s a baby girl. Jess is a baby girl, Ma, just like any other baby. What’s more, she’s my baby.”

Nana wouldn’t take her eyes from mine. “Yes, she is, Kate,” she finally said. “She’s yours.” They walked a silent route down Macomb, through the community gardens stitched straight with the bright spring green of new-sprouted onion, radish, and lettuce, and back home along Quince. Now* I listen and hear what they heard—the brittle traffic noises, the faint squeak of the carriage chassis, the birds’ daysong in the branches, footfall too heavy for the spring.

As we came through the gate, Mother said, “I’d like it if you’d come to the doctor’s with me for her checkup. It might help you see her differently.”

“I’ll go. But I don’t see what it could change.” Mother took me up out of the carriage and carried me up the stairs. “Ned should come, too,” Nana said to her back.

On the fifth day of strolling, Nana mentioned Joe Cassidy. She had been close friends with Carina, his mother, had watched her raise him alone after her husband had run off. Nana had attended Cassidy’s First Communion, his confirmation, his high school graduation, his leaving by train for a stint in the army, his marriage to Rose Mary, the baptism of their son Joey, and, sadly, the wakes and funerals of mother and baby. And in the years following that terrible event, she had gone with Ned and Carina to retrieve Cassidy from police stations, saloons, alleys, emergency departments, and, once at midnight, in the midst of a blizzard, the deserted St. Anthony Church where, drunk again, he had taken a baseball bat to the stands of votive candles flanking the sanctuary. The three of them, Nana, Ned, and Carina, had used all their connections with the county police to keep Joe Cassidy out of court so he could keep his job in the post office. Then, five years into it, Carina died of stroke, and he lost his taste for violent behavior but not for his drinks. To the world, he became a happy drunk, backslapping and singing and pawing his way through crowds at bars and parties and family gatherings. But to Nana, he was a heartbroken man who never missed a day of work, or a night of loss.

“How’s Joe Cassidy getting along?” she asked Mother as they strolled home along Macomb. None of the trees had leafed out yet, giving the streets a sun-washed look that she always associated with the light at the beach.

“If you mean is he still drinking, the answer would be yes. If you mean do we love him dearly, also yes. But he overdid it at Jess’s christening party. Ford had to drive him home. Joe had him pull over twice on the way.”

“Cassidy, alright,” Nana said with sad eyes. “All that drink in his system but he’ll not vomit in your car.” They walked in silence, regarding the tulips for a block.

“Would you like him over to supper, Ma?” Mother finally asked. She already knew the answer.

“I could make my beef stew,” Nana replied. “It’s not too hot for that quite yet. And a nice bread pudding for dessert.”

“I’ll call him, then, at the post office.” Her sides were beginning to itch from the rub of her plumpness—her nursing girdle, the OB called it—against her blouse. The last thing she needed was stew and bread pudding. But Cassidy was like an older brother to her, so often had he been at the house while she was growing up. Two drinks, she thought, I’ll limit him to just two drinks.

Two days later on Saturday night Cassidy arrived out of the rain, carrying flowers in one hand and his guitar, wrapped in a green plastic garbage bag, in the other. He didn’t bother to ring the bell. He just opened the front door and walked right to the kitchen, where Nana and Mother were trying to find five unchipped dessert plates from the stack on the counter and Ned was holding me.

Nana hugged and kissed him and held him by his wet shoulders for a few moments to study his face. “I see your mother in your eyes, Joseph,” she said. “You still carry her kind eye.”

He handed her the flowers and cleared his throat. “I know the one who’s kind, Mrs. O’B.” He faced Kate. “Kate, lovely as the sun on the cliffs, as usual.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Thanks for coming, with the rain and all,” Mother answered. She took the flowers from Nana and started searching for a vase.

“Joe,” said Ned, shaking Cassidy’s hand and nodding to the sink.

“Mr. Ned, a pleasure,” Cassidy replied, reaching to lay the dripping wrapped guitar on the white porcelain.

When Father entered, Cassidy added, “Ah, Kate, your grandfather with the leprosy. A pleasure ta see you again, sir.”

“I’ll mail you the part you’re missing if mine ever drops off out there on Molokai,” Father said in reply.

“Boys, we got ladies here present,” Ned said.

Cassidy and Father both laughed, but they bowed to Nana and nodded to Mother. “May I?” Cassidy asked, proffering his hand toward Ned and me. “May I take her?”

“If there is no more of that wild talk, you may,” Ned said with a smile. He passed me to Cassidy and began to untie the knot that sealed Cassidy’s guitar. Gone were the smells of licorice and wet wool and cigar from the crease of Cassidy’s arm. In their place, nothing but the sharp brace of Old Spice. My nose worked the fabric of his jacket for more of him, but there was nothing but his aftershave to catch. What he didn’t do for my baptism—shower and shave and freshen—he did for his visit with Nana.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed as he hefted me. “What a load you’re becoming, little miss. A regular double-stuffed, I’d say. Kate, what ya feedin’ this one with? Must be getting half her daddy’s lunch pail every morning before he goes. The
density
of her, Kate. Good job!”

Mother blushed the cutest pink and smiled. Ned led us all to the living room. Cassidy’s nose had lost its bloom.

“Beautiful flowers, Joe,” Mother said as she placed the vase on the cocktail table. “Can we get you a drink?” She sat on the couch next to Nana and Ned.

“Rye rocks would be nice,” he said, looking at the carpet. He sat with me in the pale green wing chair in the corner, careful to lean a little forward to prevent his head from resting on the ancient lace antimacassar that looked like an exploding star.

“Ford,” Mother said. Father rose from his chair and walked to the kitchen.

“Really, Kate,” Cassidy asked, “how’s it all goin’? Jess really does look the thriving lass, and you do, too. You getting enough help from Ford? I got a two-by-four at my station ta work him over with if he’s been slothful. Ford,” he called into the kitchen, “sloth ranks right below envy on the list of cardinal sins. Good Father Larrie was instructin’ me on them just yesterday. You hear me in there or are you asleep?” He winked at Nana. “Envy, Ford, like every time you see me wrap a package all tight and neat, neat and tight.”

“You did say club soda, Joey?” Father yelled from the kitchen. Even Ned laughed.

“Ford has been great these past weeks. He takes one, sometimes even both, of the nighttime feedings. When he gets home the first thing he does is to wash his hands and take her for a while. And Mom and Dad have been here for more than a week already, helping out. I’m up to my ears in help, really. I’m spoiled.”

“And you, Joe, how are you doing?” Ned asked as Father returned carrying a peacock tray with drinks.

“Meanin’?” Cassidy replied with his head atilt.

“Meaning, how are you doing?” Ned said without the slightest trace of impatience in his voice.

“Very well. Very well, indeed.” Ford handed him his drink. “Better and better all the time.” He sipped. Beads of sweat already glistened on the bottom of the tumbler. He swiped the glass on the coaster Father had set down on the table and held it just over my head. “May I, Kate?” he asked.

“Drink it?”

“No, cool her forehead a little. Like this.” He ran the cold glass over my brow and down my nose. I kicked and cooed and shrieked. The house was warm whenever Nana visited, and that night the oven had added hours of fragrant heat to the rooms. He moved it down my cheeks, to the side of my fat neck, up and over my chin. I lost myself in the sensation, and flapped my arms, moved my feet, roved my eyes to the cold. And began to pool saliva on the floor of my mouth in anticipation of another toast. Nana laughed like a child.

“Joseph Delaney Cassidy, you always did have a way with a baby!” she said from the seat of memory. “You made all mine laugh with your tricks.”

“To laughing babies, then,” he said, raising his glass, “and to the ladies that bore them!” He drank down half the brown liquid in two swallows and set the tumbler on the table. To the silence that followed—no, not silence, really, for now* I can hear the gentle feet of rain on the windows and Mother clearing her throat and Ned scraping the side of his shoe on the carpet under the coffee table and Nana breathing a single deep gulp of air and slowly exhaling— Cassidy added, “Those here and those departed.” I felt his arm around me tighten, make a smaller circle. He looked across the room to the legs of water walking the glass outside. He reached for his drink, hesitated a second, and took a tiny sip. “Kate,” he said, “hold this load for me while I go get my picks from the car. Something about this wet night calls for a song.”

His picks were in an envelope in the glove compartment of his Taurus. A pint of Seagram’s shared the space. He braced himself with two long belts. It would be the first of three trips to the vehicle that night—now for the picks, as the food was served for a new string, and when the plates were being cleared to check if he’d left the dome light on.

During the meal I was passed like a basket of rolls from person to person. Each cradled me in an arm or held me on a lap and jiggled me while eating bites of meat or potato or carrot with a free hand. When Cassidy’s turn came, he put down his fork, tines piercing his gravy, and watched my face until it was time to hand me off. His eyes had that easy look, like a pond without a ripple or wave, and his nose was in full bloom. He played with four fingers and smiled. I sucked the other four, ever hopeful. Before he passed me on, Nana said, “Joe, would you have the time to visit their graves with me while we’re in town? We could say a little prayer and leave a nice bouquet for spring.”

He handed me to Mother. “It’s a date,” he said in a low rumble. “Next Saturday, if it’s dry?”

“It’ll be dry,” Nana said with finality.

He passed on Nana’s hard sauce that went on the bread pudding. Mother limited him to two drinks. He sang for an hour before the meal and for two with the coffee. By the end, the rain had walked off the windows and the wind was blowing dry as chaff.

Three days before they were to return to Florida, Nana and Ned accompanied Mother and me to Dr. Burke’s office for my two-month checkup. Ned drove Father’s car with both big hands at the top of the steering wheel. When he turned a corner, both elbows shot up and out, the right invariably jostling Nana’s left shoulder. She looked back to Mother. “He still does that when he drives. All the time, no matter what it is, he drives like he’s struggling with a twenty-ton monster of a machine.” Her eyebrows arched. “Even a bike, Kate, he rides like that.” She laughed and so did Mother, and Nana patted Ned’s right elbow.

We checked in at the desk and sat in Waiting Room One. There were eight other mothers with their infants already there. Some of the babies slept, some squirmed, and some cried. They all looked overdressed. More than half had on floppy bonnets and all wore sweaters, even though the April weather was warm and sunny.

I was dressed in a diaper, tee shirt, and pull-on sack that Nana had bought especially for doctor’s visits. The sack was big enough to fit me until I would be two years old. “Why go to the bother of dressing them up at home when all they want to do at the doctor’s is to get them naked for the weighing and the shots?” she explained to Mother in the morning as they got me ready.

“I see your point, Ma,” Mother said with little conviction as she slipped the top back onto the gift box she had just opened, the one that contained the pretty green sweater, the matching tights, and a hat. Instead, she slid me into the sack and zipped me up. Only my face showed.

Ned took me to see the fish in the office’s little aquarium. Then his eye caught sight of the bench in Waiting Room Two, and he brought me there to study it with him. It was old and long and gleaming against the far wall. The few patients in that room sat with their mothers on regular chairs, leaving the bench unoccupied. His hand slid down three feet of its fifteen-foot length. He rapped his knuckles on it four times, cocking his head to read the sound’s report. He let the tip of his index finger cross the grain of the wood. He pressed it with his nail, and his breath caught in his throat. He looked down at me with a face full of wonder and said sacramentally, “Red pine.” He dropped to his knees and placed me gently on the floor under the bench, where a second later he joined me. We both looked up to the bench’s underside. “Not a screw, not a nail,” he said appreciatively. He looked my way and said, “Dovetail fit, from mortises and tenons.” His hand caressed a joint. “And here, dowels, perfectly shaved, perfectly spaced.” He unzipped my sack and extracted an arm. He held me up over his chest, supporting my head in his palm, took my hand and let me feel the handiwork. The wood was slick, even the joints cut so tight, if you closed your eyes to the design, it felt like a single block of wood. The board showed the same, tight, wavy grain as the top side of the seat. The ridges tickled my fingertips. “Not one single screw,” he said when we had finally stood.

The mothers in the room watched us as we walked out. “This is a real good place,” Ned said to their quizzical looks.