by the Night Writer
Sunday was a beautiful spring day and the Reverend Mother and I walked a few blocks to visit Open Houses for a couple of places we’re considering as investment properties. The six-months pregnant Mall Diva joined us, bubbling along in her jeans, belly-band and flip-flops. After the tour at one of the houses MD had chatted a bit with the realtor about her pregnancy and then she and I sat down on comfy furniture in the living room while RM went over some details with the realtor in the kitchen, just out of our sight. When it was time to leave I stood up, but MD was finding it hard to find her center of gravity on the spongy ottoman where she was ensconced.
“Dad, I need help,” she said, putting her hands out in front of her so I could pull her up.
“Wha….” said the realtor from the kitchen, no doubt picturing a maternity issue in the middle of her open house. No worries, though, and we started to head for home. Going back involved walking up a pretty good hill and MD soon found herself several strides behind. “Hey, guys…” she said, and her mother and I paused and reached back, each taking one of her hands and walking up the hill with her between us, much as we once did at the State Fair, or walking along the sidewalk beside the canal in Duluth, though we weren’t able to swing her between us like we used to.
I laughed a little and said, “Well, I guess we know who the bears are going to get when they come.”
“Yeah,” said the RM.
“That’s okay,” said the Diva, brightly. “I’d just make friends with them!”
And she would, too.