Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

Something made little Claude shudder, and then a moment later he waved his arms and small fists wildly, screaming. No one seemed to notice. I looked about frantically until finally I saw a nurse go to him. She held him for a moment. but that didn't stop his crying. His face looked even redder, and I thought. Do something before he chokes to death on his own tears.

I was about to pound on the glass and shout it, but the nurse smiled as if there was absolutely nothing wrong, then she said something to another nurse and took him out. I worried about where sh

e had taken him until I saw she was bringing him to Mommy's room.

'What's wrong with him?" I asked.

"Nothing. He's just hungry," the nurse replied and went in to wake Mommy so she could breast-feed him. She had decided she would do that.

Nothing brought home little Claude's favored place and status in our family more than watching him suckle at Mommy's breast and seeing the angelic joy in her face. Mommy never told me whether or not she had breast-fed me, and suddenly it became very important to know.

"He's so hungry," Mommy said. "That's good."

"Was I breast-fed. too?" I asked abruptly. Mommy looked up at me, holding her smile.

"No, actually, you weren't. I was so crazed back then. Your father and I had separated. I was feeling so abused. Despite what everyone was telling me. I couldn't help believing I had permitted him to ruin my life."

"Then you didn't want me to be born?"

"Yes, of course I did. I was just feeling terribly sorry for myself. My mother had died; Linden was not doing very well. as I explained to you. and here I was. pregnant with a husband who considered adultery less important than a parking ticket.

But the moment you appeared on the scene, it all changed. It was as if the sun had finally come out on a rainy day."

"Then why didn't you breast-feed me. too?"

She hesitated, glanced at Claude. and then looked at me and forced a smile. Mommy's forced smiles always looked like she could go either way: cry or laugh.

"I just told you. Hannah. I was in somewhat of a state of turmoil. I had no one but Miguel really. I needed to get back on my feet as quickly as I could. I tried to stay home with you as long as I could, but eventually. I had to get out in the world and occupy myself. You had a wonderful nanny in Donna Castilla, and Mrs. Davis, bless her soul, watched over you as though you were her very own grandchild. In the beginning I had my hands full arbitrating the arguments between the two of them concerning what was best for you and what was not. Do you remember any of that?"

"A little." I said.

"Yes, well. I'm glad I didn't keep a nanny as long as my stepmother did, even though Amou was more my mother. You, thank goodness, had me and had a stepfather who has always loved you like his own."

"Now he has two children to love," I said.

She gazed down at Claude. I wondered if she could hear my fears in my voice. I really meant he'll love him more. It's only natural. I thought. Claude is his real child and Claude is his son.

"Does that hurt?" I asked.

"Breast-feeding? Just the opposite. However. you won't find many Palm Beach mothers doing it. They're terrified of losing their figures."

"Aren't you?"

"No," she said firmly. "Besides, I want to do what's best for him." she added.

Then why didn't you do what was best for me? I wanted to ask. but I didn't. I watched for a while, and then, after the nurse returned and took Claude back to the nursery, I went to get Mommy some magazines at the hospital gift shop. When I returned to the room. Miguel was there. He was ranting on and on about his faculty meeting, and Mommy was lying back on the pillow, a smile of amusement painted across her face.

"I mean, they will, they won't. Talk, talk, talk, but no action!" he exclaimed,

"They're afraid. Miguel. They have to talk themselves into it first. It takes time."

"Time is not something they have in abundance here. Willow. Oh, what's the use!" he cried and collapsed in the chair, his arms dangling. The he looked up at me and shook his head.

"Don't marry a schoolteacher unless he's independently wealthy." he told me.

"I'm not getting married." I retorted.

"What? Why not?"