Chapter Sixteen
You can learn a little from
victory. You can learn
everything from defeat.
— Christy Mathewson, pitcher
Keely knew she and Jack resembled nothing more than a slapstick scene from an old Keystone Kops routine as they battled each other to get to the stairs, be first up the stairs.
By the time they made it down the hallway to Candy’s bedroom, they were in a dead heat, and both slid to a stop, Keely having to grab onto the doorjamb because she was sliding on the polished hardwood in her bare feet.
Keely looked at Jack.
He looked at her.
“You go first,” they said in unison.
Aunt Sadie made their decision for them, sticking her head out of the room, looking flustered. “I don’t know why she got so upset. It’s only temporary.”
“What’s only temporary?” Jack asked as Keely brushed past the older woman and entered the room.
The first thing she saw was the rocking chair and Edith Peters sitting sort of slumped in that rocking chair, her support-hose–stockinged legs spread rather inelegantly, her eyes closed, and her mouth open.
The second thing she saw was Candy.
And she nearly joined Edith Peters in a swoon. Except she was too angry to faint.
“I know what that is,” she said, advancing toward Petra and Sweetness, who were sitting with Candy, all of them on a bed sheet—hopefully one from the hamper—spread on the floor. “You found the box, didn’t you?”
“This box?” Petra asked brightly, lifting the Baby Memories box Keely had bought just to tick off Jack, then stuffed into the closet, forgotten.
“Yes, that box,” Keely said as Jack joined her.
“What the—?”
“They’re taking impressions of Candy’s feet,” Keely told him as Candy, seemingly no worse for her experience, giggled and gurgled and held up her arms to Jack.
“That’s why they’re that sort of pea green?” Jack asked. “Does that come off?”
“If it doesn’t, I know two pea-brained people who are going to have pea-green heads,” Keely informed him through gritted teeth as she looked at Candy. The baby’s little feet and ankles were covered in ugly green goo that appeared to be hardening quite quickly.
“Oh, would you two just relax?” Petra said, rolling her eyes. “This stuff sets into a sort of soft rubber in just a couple of minutes. Then we peel it off, pour some plaster of Paris stuff in the molds, and bingo—Candy’s little tootsies, preserved for posterity. Sweetness, show them your hands.”
The big guy ducked his head. “Nah, that’s okay.”
“Oh, go on,” Petra persisted. “He’s a little worried because we did it sort of wrong when we tested this stuff on him. Didn’t put it on thick enough, I guess, and then tried to take it off too soon. But he’ll get it all peeled off, right, Sweetness? Go on, show them.”
Sweetness sighed, then reluctantly pulled his hands from behind his back, holding them up, fingers spread, to show Keely and Jack.
His huge hands looked like they were molting. At least a few of his fingers were; some of them were still solidly encased in rather lumpy pea-green rubber. The rest of the coating, the molting part, hung from his hands in strips. There were even, Keely belatedly noticed, some pea-green strips stuck to his face. All in all, he wasn’t a pretty sight.
“That’s what Ms. Peters saw when she came in here,” Petra informed them. “Sweetness was kind of walking around, muttering and moaning as he and Aunt Sadie tried to rip off the rest of that gunk sticking to him. Sweetness was getting a little upset, and Aunt Sadie was yelling at him to stop—stop ripping at his hands, that is, although Ms. Peters probably thought he was attacking her or something. I think she’s maybe seen Young Frankenstein too many times, you know? She took one look at Aunt Sadie, yelled out ‘Run for your life!’ and then passed out. Sweetness caught her and put her in the rocker. She’ll be fine.”
Keely looked at Ms. Peters, who was showing some signs of returning consciousness now that Aunt Sadie had reappeared to press a cold wet rag against the woman’s brow. Then, hearing a muffled sort of snort behind her, she whirled to face Jack. “This is funny? You think this is funny?”
“No,” Jack said, obviously doing his best to be sober. “No, of course I don’t think this is funny.” Then he grinned. “Okay, so yes, I do. Cripes, Keely, look at him. Big, bald, green? Growling, shaking his hands? All he needs is a couple of bolts in his neck and he’d be perfect.”
Keely blinked furiously, close to tears. She turned back to Petra and glowered at her—which made Candy pout, then begin to cry. “Give me that poor child,” she declared coldly, grabbing up the baby and stomping out of the room, Petra close on her heels.
“Hey, wait! It’s time to take the rubber stuff off her,” Petra said as Keely held Candy tightly, carrying her into her own bedroom and sitting her down on the bed. “Look, I’ll do it. Just stop crying.”
“She isn’t crying,” Keely told her.
“No, but you are,” Petra said, shaking her head. “Go get dressed or something. I’ll take the molds off. Besides, you’re scaring the bejesus out of the kid.”
Keely stood very still, watching as Petra sat on the bed with Candy, talking to her, teasing her, and at the same time peeling off the pea-green rubber. Petra could handle Candy, could handle a crisis.
Why couldn’t she?
Why was she crying—and she was crying. Why had she seen only the disaster facing them instead of the humor that Jack saw, that everyone else—except Ms. Peters, probably—saw in what had just happened. She really had to get hold of herself, get a grip, stop panicking as if she’d built a house of cards that kept tumbling down on her.
“I... I’m going to go get dressed,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, do that,” Petra said, then grinned as she held up the two molds, which looked like a pair of pea-green snow boots—with toes molded into them. “Aren’t they adorable?”
“Oh, God,” Keely said, taking the molds. “They are, aren’t they?” And then she ran into the bathroom, where she’d left her clothing, turned on the shower so Petra couldn’t hear her, and burst into tears again.