Edward's Eyes (3 page)

It happened on the Fourth of July.
How was it we didn't notice? All the signs were there. At least Sola said so later, and she had been through this many times. But we were surprised. Even Sola.

It was cool for July. As the sun went down we all sat out on the front lawn, our bellies full of hamburgers, hot dogs and cake. Albert Groom and Trick, Maeve and Jack sat in chairs; the rest of us wrapped in blankets. Above, the fireworks bloomed over the water; sparkling dandelions in the sky and in the water below.

“I wish we could have fireworks every day,” said Edward, curled up between Sola and me.

“That would be superfluous,” said Sola. She turned to Edward. “One of the few vocabulary words I remember.”

Edward smiled. I could see his white teeth in the dark.

“Fireworks are never superfluous,” he said. “We should have them at every event.”

He began to list firework events.

“Deaths, birthdays, end of school, beginning of school, first case of poison ivy, first knuckleball thrown…”

“Beginning a book,” continued Will.

“Finishing a book,” said Jack, laughing.

“Reading a book again,” I said.

“New boyfriend,” said Sola, making us laugh.

“A perfect baseball game,” said Trick.

“
Any
baseball game,” said Albert.

There was a sudden silence between fireworks.

“Birth, you forgot,” said Maeve, her voice suddenly strange and soft in the silence, a faraway sound to it.

We turned our heads to look at her. Even Albert stared. Then, he reached out and took Maeve's hand. He smiled at her.

“What?” said Will.

“Isn't that nice,” said Albert.

“What? What is nice?” demanded Wren.

Sola sighed. She pulled the blanket over her head.

“A new baby,” she said under the blanket. “Yet…Another…Baby.” She spaced out the words as if she were making a pronouncement.

“No,” I said. “No.”

“It's true,” said Maeve. “Remember how you loved Edward the moment he came home, Jake?”

“That's different,” I said loudly. “That was Edward!”

“Wait!” said Edward, sitting up. “Can we have fireworks when she is born?”

“She?” said Sola.

“Yes,” said Edward with a great smile. “It will be a girl. Can we name her Sabine?”

“French,” said Trick.

“She'll be Sabine. And we'll have fireworks!” said Edward.

Now it was everyone's turn to stare at Edward. There was, in his voice, the feel of sunlight, even though it was dark.

And then, a great shooting fireworks went up and filled the sky, sparks falling down to the water like bright rain.

“Fireworks, remember,” Edward said to Maeve.

“What is Trick doing?” asked Edward.

Edward, Albert and I were in the rowboat, handheld fishing lines dropped over the sides. The water was still. The sky was summer blue, with two high white clouds. Edward pointed to the shore with his chin. Trick sat on a rock, staring out over the water.

“Looking for signs,” said Albert. “Trick looks for signs all the time. Most times he finds them.”

“What do you mean, signs?” I asked.

“Things happen to point you in one direction or another,” said Albert. “You just have to look for them.”

“Signs,” said Edward, thoughtfully.

“Well, there were no signs Maeve was going to have a baby,” I said.

“Sabine,” corrected Edward.

Albert smiled.

“Whatever,” I said. “At least we weren't paying attention to signs.”

“Well, Trick does,” said Albert.

Edward bobbed his fishing line up and down. He looked at Trick.

Suddenly, Edward handed me his fishing line and stood up, rocking the rowboat a little.

“Edward!” I said, holding on to the gunwales of the boat.

Edward stripped off his shirt and pants until he stood in his shorts. His eyes were the color of the sky.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm giving Trick a sign!”

And Edward dove a perfect dive, slipping quietly into the water, rocking the boat a little
as he went. Trick watched as Edward swam across the inlet. His strokes were smooth and steady, and Trick watched him as he came to the shore.

“He can do anything, Edward,” I said softly.

Beside me Albert bobbed his fishing line up and down.

“Seems so,” he said. “That's because Edward tries to do everything. He doesn't care if it doesn't work.”

“You mean fail?” I asked.

Albert smiled.

“I don't think Edward thinks of it as failure. He thinks of it as not working when it doesn't. What he does doesn't define him.”

“Well, what does?” I asked.

“The trying of it,” said Albert.

“Who is he?” I said very softly.

It wasn't a question, and Albert didn't take it as one. He kept bobbing his fishing line up and down. A small cloud tried to cover the sun,
and there was a moment of quiet coolness. A sign?

“He's going somewhere,” said Albert. “Somewhere he knows, or maybe doesn't. But he's going somewhere.”

The cloud passed. The sun came out. And Edward sat down on a rock next to Trick.

 

It is like watching slow motion; like looking at one of Edward's knuckleballs coming to the plate. Edward leans over and says something, the sun making his hair as light as water. Trick, listening, suddenly throws back his head and laughs. Albert and I can hear his laughter come across the water, as clear as if he were next to us.

Signs?

Clouds over the sun?

Birds flying in the outfield?

Trick's signs.

Edward's signs.

Where is my sign?

 

We rode our bikes to town, Edward riding circles around me as he always did, speeding ahead, then falling back. He waved at neighbors.

“Watch where you're going, Edward,” I said.

“I know where I'm going,” he said with a smile.

“You have the list?”

Edward reached in his pocket and held the list up in his hand. It fell from his hand and the wind whipped it past me.

“Edward!”

“I'll get it,” he said, and fell back again, riding back to where the list lay in the road.

“Look! I'm a circus rider!” he called, leaning down to pick it up as he rode.

“You belong in a circus all right,” I told him.

When Edward put his brakes on, coming into town, they made a sudden grinding sound. I reached out and grabbed his belt to slow him down.

“I've got you,” I said. “You'd better fix those brakes.”

When we had bought the things on the list we rode home side by side. At the hill leading down to our house, I reached out and held his belt again.

“I'll save you,” I said.

“Merci,” said Edward.

Game time.

Jack was grilling chicken to celebrate fall. The smell of it drifted across the yard along with Maeve's music.

“I hear Emmylou Harris in the kitchen,” said Albert.

“Yes,” said Jack at the grill. “She's been there all morning with Maeve.”

“On the wings of a snow-white dove,” sang Albert very softly.

It was the sixth inning of the front yard game. It would go seven innings unless the chicken was done first.

“Is this game tied or what?” I asked.

“Hard to know,” said Albert. “There's a bit of creative scoring going on here.”

“Maybe that's because no one really cares who wins,” I said. “Edward doesn't care, anyway.”

“True,” said Albert. “For Edward it's the game that counts. Not the score.”

“It's six to six,” said Trick. “I've got it written down.”

He held up his notebook.

Edward came up to bat.

Mary Brigid was pitching. She wound up and threw one past Edward.

Edward grinned.

“Nice pitch!” called Albert, surprised.

“Edward taught me,” Mary Brigid called back.

Albert smiled.

“I'll say he did,” he said.

“Here comes strike three,” yelled Mary Brigid.

“I don't think so,” said Edward.

A gull flew low over the outfield.

“See that gull?” called Edward. “That's a sign.”

Mary Brigid threw. Edward hit a line drive past Mary Brigid, past Caitlin at second base, and between Wayne and a surprised Weezer in the outfield. Just where the gull had been.

“Some sign,” said Trick.

“He placed that one,” said Albert. “Those wonderful eyes.”

Edward stood on second base and waved at us on the porch.

Maeve came out on the porch and waved back.

“Nice hit,” she called to Edward.

“Chicken's ready,” called Jack.

“Wait!” shouted Edward. “Hit me home, Mavis!”

Mavis stepped up to the plate. She wagged the bat at Mary Brigid. “C'mon, pitcher girl!”

Mary Brigid pitched, and Mavis hit a hard drive past Billy Bob and the shortstop and out into the grass. Edward ran to third, looked back once, and rounded third and slid home, feet first, on the grass.

He stood up, grass stains on his pants, grass and dirt in his hair.

“Did you see that, Trick? That sign?” called Edward.

“Give me five,” said Trick.

Edward came over, sweat glistening on his face, and slapped hands with Trick.

“You won the game,” said Trick.

“Oh?” said Edward. “Well, that's all right…but,” and he looked up at us, his blue eyes bright in the sunlight, “it was a great game!”

Albert didn't turn to look at me, but I heard his whisper.

“See? It's always the game.”

 

Chicken, roasted corn, salad, and chocolate cake. It was dusk and Maeve and Jack picked up plates, Sola, Wren and Will helping. Maeve seemed big to me all of a sudden.

“I hardly noticed before that she was going to have a baby,” I said.

Albert looked at Maeve.

“It's like old age. You don't see it coming. Then one day you look in the mirror and see your father.”

“No you don't,” said Trick. “I do.”

We laughed.

“She'll have Sabine soon,” said Edward.

“You are so sure? That it's Sabine?” I asked.

Edward nodded, a small smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “I've seen signs.”

“What signs?” I asked.

“You'll know them when you see them, Jake,” said Edward.

“What signs?” I asked Trick.

“It's like Edward says. You see them. You know them,” said Trick.

He leaned back against the porch railing. The moon was big and orange over the water behind him.

Signs.

Pooh.

It was night, no moon
that I could see. The four of us were in Sola's room taking bets on when Maeve would have the baby.

“I pick the last week of November,” said Wren. “She'll have it early, right in the middle of Thanksgiving.”

“Cynic,” said Sola, smiling.

“December 5,” said Will. “She'll be late and cranky.”

“But she'll still sing,” said Edward, cheerfully.

“Have you noticed,” I said, “that she brings our babies home and lets us raise them? That's what she did with you,” I said to Edward. “She popped you onto my lap.”

“You said ‘our' babies,” said Edward. “Sabine will be mine. I'll get to read the rules of baseball to her. Like you did. And read her
Goodnight Moon
in French. She'll already know French, of course,” he said quickly.

Wren burst out laughing.

“Born knowing French? That's ridiculous,” she said.

“Mais non,” said Edward.

He grinned.

“And I will teach her how to ride a bike,” he said.

“And read a book,” said Will.

“And go to the bathroom,” I said.

“And.”
Edward stood up. “And to throw a knuckleball!”

I tackled Edward, and we rolled around on the bed, Edward laughing.

“So, when do
you
think the baby will be born?” I asked Edward.

Edward sat up.

“Sooner than you think,” he said.

“What do you mean, sooner?” I asked.

“Soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“Signs,” we all said together.

 

“Jake.”

A hand touched my shoulder. I turned over, confused.

There was a piece of moon over the water.

“What? What's wrong?”

“Sabine's coming,” Edward whispered.

“What!” I sat up. “How do you know?”

“Mother's packing her suitcase,” he whispered.

“It's still November. Isn't it early?” I asked. “What does Sola say?”

“Sola told me to go back to bed,” said Edward.

I couldn't help smiling. That sounded like Sola. Outside, Jack's car started up. Edward and I scrambled over the bed to the window and watched it slowly move away.

“I'm going,” said Edward.

“You can't do that! You can't ride your bike in the middle of the night.”

“I'll walk,” said Edward. “I have to be there. For Sabine.”

“It's three miles,” I said. “And it's cold.”

“I'm going,” said Edward.

He ran out of the room. I stood up and pushed back the covers.

“Edward,” I called softly. “Wait for me.”

You annoying kid,
I whispered to myself.

 

We walk through the town, past Potter's Jewels, Moxie's Market. We walk under a streetlight, and I look sideways at Edward. His mouth is set, like he's on a mission.

“Edward?”

“What?”

“It will be all right. Don't worry.”

He looks quickly at me. Then he slows down.

“Okay,” he says.

I can see his breath when he talks.

But after a moment, as if he can't help it, he is hurrying again.

We walk past The Cinema and Jack's bookstore with the dark windows. There are no cars. There are no people. It is the quietest place I have ever been. It is so quiet I can hear Edward breathing. He begins to hum a song.

“What are you humming?”

“‘O Canada,'” he says. “I'm going to sing it first thing to Sabine when she's born. And then maybe the French national anthem.”

We pass the last town streetlight, and then it is dark. Too dark to see Edward. But somehow I know he is smiling.

 

“Edward, Jake?”

The police car drove up beside us. Neither one of us had even noticed the lights of the car.

“What are you boys doing out here?” asked Tom. “It's two o'clock. And freezing.”

Edward kept walking, so Tom cruised along beside us.

“We're going to the hospital. Maeve's having the baby,” I said.

“Sabine,” said Edward patiently.

“Ah, so it's a girl!” said Tom.

“It will be,” said Edward.

“Get in, both of you. Get in!”

Edward hesitated.

Tom got out of the police car and opened the back door.

“You'll see her sooner, believe me.”

Edward and I climbed into the backseat and we sped off. It was warm in the car.

“Can you sound the siren?” asked Edward.

Tom shook his head. “Don't think so.”

He looked at Edward in his rearview mirror.

“But I can use the lights!” he said.

And then, as if it were a grand sign, we went to the hospital surrounded by light.