Undo Part 44

"That ride I told you about, from LA back up here with the idea of somehow meeting you? I heard 'Teach the Children' on the radio on the way up. It hit me like a cyclone. I had to stop in Fresno to find the tape. I played it over and over. I thought, yeah, teach them well, and do it with computers. I mean, it's what I knew I had to do, with what I was thinking about language, the idea of it applied to Joeys and letting kids learn with them. And somehow my hormones and whatever else was in me when I met you thought, 'Do it with your own kid, like with him, you, make a baby out of it all and the program will write itself.' I waited until it was the right time of the month to make you that dinner I made, so we'd do it, and get it all going the way I saw it."

"You did this on purpose? This baby?"

"Yes. But stop it. I mean, we're talking about the other now.

We're on that, what's in your hands."

"What's it got to do with what you said?"

"It means Intelligent Speech and Language Environment. There's a little box in there too, synthesizer and recognizer all in one.

But it's not just for kids, or learning. It's whatever you want it to be. You'll see what I mean. Go ahead, take it, the notes and code lists and everything, it's all in there. See if it's worth anything to you. h.e.l.l knows, I'm gonna have a s.h.i.+t load of bills when I'm through with this rinse cycle."

"Okay."

"'Okay' is all you say. No thanks? Jesus. That's just like you."

"Thanks. I mean, we'll figure this all out. We will."

"Blah, blah, blah."

The door opened behind him. He turned. The nurse and a middle-aged couple entered the room. "Mr. Jones, Ivy's parents would like to be with her now."

He looked at Ivy. He could not see her face.

"Get better," he said to her and she responded with a huffing sound.

The man came before Peter. His face was tanned and pleasant, and the woman at his side was attractive. Her hair was bright, like Ivy's. She looked at Peter sadly, and pressed her husband forward an inch.

He spoke. "Mr. Jones, we'd like to know how you intend to take care of this."

"Dad," Ivy said to the window, "lay off. We're dealing with it."

"We had hoped you wouldn't come," Mrs. Green said. "We would be the child's guardians if you hadn't. We'll gladly take care of her."

"Get out," Ivy said, poking Peter in the ribs. "Just get out with it all."

"This child's an enormous responsibility," the father said.

"Please let us take her."

"Right, Dad. Like you know all about it. Got a joint on you?"

"I can take care of her," Peter said, clutching the knapsack with both hands. "And I will provide for Ivy."

"You sure will," Ivy piped in. "I'll send you the tab." She snorted and laughed, then she started crying. Her father glanced her way, then looked at Peter. He shook his head in disappointment and went to his daughter's side.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said to Mrs. Green.

"To say the least," she said, joining her husband and daughter.

Peter exited the room carrying the knapsack. From the hallway he took one last look at Ivy and her parents before the door closed, shutting out the image huddled behind it. He was dazed by the events of the last forty-eight hours. He slowly made his way down the corridor, turning once to look back at the closed door to her room. The first thought to surface through his haze of emotions was of the baby. He had promised these people that he would care for her.

He paused before the nurses' station and asked how to reach the neonatal care unit. He tramped down the corridor, rounded the corner, and pushed through a set of swinging double doors. To the nurse sitting at a small desk, he said, "Pardon me, which baby is the Jones-Green baby? I'm her father."

The nurse led him into a clean room and instructed him to put on a sterile gown and a face mask. He followed her orders in silence. Dressed in the sanitary outfit, he followed the nurse into a room containing a row of clear plastic bubble-like incubators, one of which held his baby's fragile baby. It was a strange setting, surreal, like something out of a science fiction film.

"Here she is," the nurse said.

Encased in the hygienic sh.e.l.l lay his baby girl. She was tiny, and he could see thin, pulsing veins through her skin and bruises all over her body. Her head! It looked so huge and unnatural, he thought with alarm. He leaned closer, panicked.

The nurse saw his aghast expression and touched a gloved hand to his arm. "Oh, don't worry. That's normal," she said. "All the rest of her will catch up in the next couple of weeks. The head develops a little faster at this stage. It's perfectly ordinary."

"What is all this?" he asked, studying the clear tubes entering her nostrils and poking into her arms and belly, the wires and probes taped to her impossible little body.

"Respiratory, protein, waste, heart," the nurse said, indicating the various points, all of which appeared crudely connected and held in place by swatches of white tape.

"How is she?"

"We're keeping a close eye on her. It was a difficult birth, but she seems like a fighter."

"Hang in there, little girl," Peter whispered.

"I'm afraid we have to leave now. We need to be extremely careful about exposure."

Peter and nodded, and through his paper face mask he kissed his gloved fingers and touched the plastic sh.e.l.l. He straightened and followed the nurse out of the room. Pulling himself free of the green scrub outfit, he glanced one last time back through the gla.s.s window into the neonatal room. He collected the knapsack and pushed through the doors.

Sitting outside the room in one of the hard plastic waiting chairs, was Kate.

Without a word she stood and caught him in her arms. She held him for a moment, stiffly, then guided him to the seat beside her.

"Jesus, Kate. How did you - ?"

"I called Peggy. She told me you were here."

Peter looked at the silver doors. "She's so tiny. "

"I heard," Kate said. She pressed her folded hands into her lap and cleared her throat. "Peter, why? Why didn't you tell me?"

He closed his eyes. He felt precariously close to throwing up, surrounded by riddles and agony. Ivy. The baby. Kate.

"Kate," he said, "I didn't think this would happen." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You have to believe me."

"How many does this make?" Kate said, bitterly. "We could have adopted."

He tried to put his arm around her, but she pulled away and stood, hugging her arms tightly around herself.

"Kate, none," he said, moving closer. "There have never been any others. I didn't plan this to happen."

"And she did?"

"No. Yes! I don't know," he said. "She was desperate. It just happened. I didn't want it to, but it just did. We'd had too much to drink. It was the wine - "