Cracks in the Sidewalk(2)

Early in the morning, before we were fully awake, the telephone started ringing. It was usually Jeffrey calling to ask if he could walk her to school or take her to a movie. They’d spend an entire day together, then an hour after he brought her home the telephone would start ringing again. Some evenings we’d be fast asleep, and he’d wake us because he just had to say good night.

Jeffrey went way beyond being a pest, and it’s regrettable that we didn’t do anything to squelch it. But Elizabeth was barely sixteen at the time, so we figured he was little more than a passing fancy.

“Don’t worry,” I told Charlie. “The likelihood is she’ll have dozens of boyfriends before she’s ready to settle down.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

They continued dating all summer, throughout the fall, and right into winter—Elizabeth not the least bit interested in any other boy and Jeffrey attached to her like a Siamese twin. Four or five nights a week he’d have dinner at our house, and on the occasional night when he did stay home he’d telephone every few hours.

“Doesn’t your family object to your not coming home for dinner?” I finally asked.

“Not at all,” he answered. Then he and Elizabeth exchanged one of those lovesick puppy dog looks they’d begun to share. After a few years, Charlie and I realized that Jeffrey would probably become our son-in-law.

On Elizabeth’s twentieth birthday they went out to dinner. She came home wearing the happiest smile I’ve ever seen and a two-karat diamond ring. That was that. They were engaged, and there was no looking back. Every time Elizabeth glanced at the ring she’d start talking about what a wonderful husband Jeffrey would be.

“Not just a wonderful husband,” she’d sigh with happiness, “but, like Daddy, he’ll be a wonderful father.”

At the time I agreed, thinking only a man crazy in love would put such a sizeable diamond on his fiancée’s finger. I didn’t realize that’s simply the way Jeffrey is—he’s got an almost obsessive need to impress people with what he has or owns. Unfortunately, that ring earmarked our beautiful daughter as something belonging to him.

For someone with such an appetite for material possessions, it’s hard to believe he could squander money the way he did. That’s partly to blame for what happened. Money—or, I should say, his lack of it.

When Elizabeth married Jeffrey T. Caruthers, who by then answered only to JT, I trusted they’d live happily ever after. She was head-over-heels in love with him, and he seemed just as crazy about her. I’ve never seen anyone act more devoted than that boy. He was always wrapping his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder or twining his fingers through hers. And he’d tell anyone who’d listen how beautiful and smart she was. A man like that is simply not the sort you would have cause to doubt.

Charlie felt otherwise. He had misgivings about a lad who seldom looked a person square in the eye and labeled himself with initials.

“You can’t do a thing about it,” I told him. “Elizabeth loves that boy as much as he loves her.”

Of course he grumbled and groused a bit, but I figured it had to do with him losing a daughter rather than Jeffrey’s shortcomings. After Charlie learned to live with their relationship, he treated JT like a son.

Two nights before the wedding at their rehearsal dinner, Elizabeth beamed and announced, “JT and I are planning to have nine kids, right, JT?”

When he gave a nod of agreement, my heart almost exploded with happiness. Grandchildren!

“See, you were wrong about the boy,” I whispered to Charlie. Suddenly I was on the verge of having the big family I’d always wanted.

I assumed they would start right away, but week after week went by with no further mention of babies. Then eighteen months after the wedding, on an ordinary Tuesday evening when they’d come for a meatloaf dinner, I noticed something different about Liz. She bubbled like a glass of champagne. After dinner she gave us the news that they were expecting their first child.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Mom?” she said, rubbing little circles on her still-flat tummy.

I had dozens of questions. Was she feeling okay? Any morning sickness? When was the baby due? Were they hoping for a boy or girl?

“Boy or girl?” she said. “I’m hoping for twins!”

I expected a chuckle from Jeffrey, but he was busy watching an NBC newscaster tell about how some stock had gone up thirty-nine points in a single day.

“I knew I should have bought that,” he grumbled. “See, Liz, I told you we ought to be putting our money where there’s growth potential!”

“There’s plenty of growth potential right here,” she answered, still rubbing her tummy with those little circles.

After that Elizabeth and I went to the kitchen for some girl talk. “I’ve started knitting a sweater for the baby,” she confided. “It’s white with yellow edging. That way it’ll be okay for a boy or girl, although I’m certain this baby’s a boy.”

It’s been twenty-seven years, but I remember that evening as if it took place yesterday. We talked for hours about little things, such as how she’d decorate the nursery and what clothes a newborn baby might need. She was in the middle of writing a list when she stopped and looked up.

“You know, Mom,” she said. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this baby. I’ve got seven whole months to wait, but I’m already in love with him.” She gave a sheepish grin. “I know you’re going to think this is silly but I can even picture his face, along with the faces of all the brothers and sisters he’s going to have.”