The Visit - continued, page 2

      This is the first time Peggy and I have seen each other since my youngest,  Sandy, was born. Right after her birth Peggy and I had a big fight.  Neither of us can remember exactly what it was about.  Truly. Three years is a long time in the life of a mother: while the children may surprise you with their growth, it takes place only after months of hard work, and my mental energy, once the initial fury at Peggy was spent,  had had to go toward the children.    Now that I was past the hardest part, so I thought, of raising babies, I had had time to do some thinking, and I missed Peggy.  I thought about our argument and remembered it had something to do with my being married and having my second kid and her still looking. But it was both more and less than that.  We have known each other for thirty years and maybe we just got tired.

      Anyway we had fought fierce at first, with letters back and forth and a couple of ugly phone calls, then all was silence. For about two and a half years.  Until I got a note from her saying she had married and was to have a baby soon. When I got another note about Clara being born I was suddenly filled with love and forgiveness.  I called and said, "What the hell did we fight about anyway?"  And she said, sleepily, "I dunno. Nothing, probably."  And then I asked her all about Clara and we exchanged stories and I gave her a bit of advice, as much as I could without her asking for it, and since that time we have talked on the phone about once a week.  She calls sometimes with specific questions I'm glad to answer and other times just to shoot the breeze or complain about how Brian doesn't help enough around the house.  I knew that tune.  A couple of weeks ago she had said she wanted to drive up and see her parents and as we were on the way could they stop?  I was delighted, although my husband Tim, Sr., was a little leery; he seemed to remember the details of the fight better than I.  But he said: 'What the hell, it's only for two days.'  So here they are, eating spaghetti in my kitchen, looking normal and happy and fine.  I pass the baby back to Peggy and eat my supper, a little too cool for taste, but then I've had a lot of suppers just this temperature.  That's what happens when you have kids.

      We get up and move to the living room for a little while and then I wash the dishes while Tim, Sr., gets the kids ready for bed. Peggy and Brian are sitting on the sofa with Clara between them; she is sucking juice from a bottle.  They look cute and almost natural, if you don't notice Peggy's hands shake every time she reaches for the baby or the way Brian is afraid even to hold her.  They are the most nervous parents I have seen and I have seen a lot.  When the kitchen is clean I come out and say, "You can set the stuff up for the baby's bath now.  I'm going upstairs to say good night to the kids, I'll be right back down if you need anything."  When I come down, Peggy is trying to balance Clara and the bathtub and the washcloth and towel and soap all by herself.  I look around for Brian and see him out on the deck smoking a cigarette.

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