Chapter 46

Alma Gordon lay back on the sofa gasping for breath. Owen tugged her hand.

“Chase, chase,” he said.

They’d been “chase, chasing” for the entire morning. Mrs. Gordon looked at the old clock on her desk and saw she was mistaken. Less than ten minutes.

“Story,” she said between breaths. “Choose a book and I’ll read to you.”

“Chase, chase,” Owen persisted.

Much as I’d like to, I can’t, she thought. I’d like to explain it to you, little man, but I’m breathing too hard.

She lay there like a fish out of water, sucking in air and willing her heart to slow. Owen climbed on top of her and bounced on her belly.

“Horsey,” he said.

Harold had taught him this, bouncing Owen on his tummy as if the boy were a feather. Mrs. Gordon had never tried herself. She certainly couldn’t do it now. She could barely breathe under Owen’s sturdy weight.

This parenting thing might kill her yet.

Owen climbed off and wandered into the kitchen, jumping with his arms in the air.

“Water,” he said.

She tried to heave herself off the couch, which enveloped her like a soft pillow. She pushed and rolled and, in the end, vowed to never lie on the couch again. It was too hard to extricate herself. Her knee hurt and she limped toward Owen and his sippy cup.

She was seventy-five years old. Owen was no longer a baby. He was a true toddler. An active, exuberant toddler. What was she thinking?

Forget about ninety. Was she able to take care of a toddler now?

Her horoscope read, “Accept your limitations. Your limitations are limitless.” What a lame horoscope. How was that in any way helpful?

Chantrelle would be back soon. What should she tell her?

She went to see her doctor the very next day. Mr. Glenn, bless his heart, took Owen for the afternoon, telling her he had a recording of a doubleheader Owen should see and take her time coming home.

The doctor listened intently. She took Alma’s blood pressure and ran an EKG and did a chest x-ray. She recommended some blood tests and a heart stress test to make sure the chest squeezing and pounding heart were nothing worrisome.

What if she did have a heart condition? Giving up Baby Owen would be best for her heart. But her heart would break if she didn’t have Baby Owen.

“Assuming the tests are normal,” the doctor said, facing Alma and looking her right in the eyes, “there is absolutely no medical reason you cannot take care of this little boy. Even if the courts won’t believe it. I see grandparents in my practice all the time who take in grandchildren while the parents sort things out. Sometimes forever. Sometimes it’s better for the grandchildren. Experience, stability, unwavering love. There is no reason you cannot do the same.”

Mrs. Gordon knew it was true. For now, at least, Owen was better off with her than with Chantrelle and Big Owen or Zach or whomever the current man might be.

She didn’t think she could do it. Her heart squeezed again. Even if her heart was healthy, she was not. She loved Owen. But toddlers were exhausting.

She was gone less than two hours. Mr. Glenn handed Owen over immediately.

“He likes baseball all right,” Mr. Glenn said. “Only he didn’t want to watch. He wanted to play. Roll the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth forever. Don’t babies get bored?”

He handed her a baseball. “I found it. The one Lionel and I caught back at Candlestick Park. You play with him now.”