"Fine, fine," Gene said, "we can't wait to see her."

"Come on up."

"Fine. Dolly will call, tomorrow or the next day."

Oliver's mother shrieked, sobbed, and made him promise to call the
moment that they were ready for a short visit. Oliver agreed and hung
up thinking that good news was easy to pass along. He had already
written his father and explained the situation, so he needed only to
send a birth announcement. "Emma Dior Prescott--April 26th, 1994--7 lbs
6 oz. Looks a little like us," he added beneath.

He walked to the corner and dropped the card in the mailbox. On his way
back, he met Arlen and told him the news. "A major event. I'm happy for
you," Arlen said. Oliver took a nap and walked down to Deweys for more
Guinness and congratulations. He went to bed feeling as though he had
made it through a one-way turnstile. Things were different on this
side; there was a lot to do.

The next day he brought Jennifer and Emma home from Mercy Hospital.
Verdi had gotten used to Jennifer. He sniffed Emma for a moment and
then jumped to his place on the living room windowsill, settling down
as if to say: one more--what's the difference?

Emma slept and fed. Jennifer spent happy weeks keeping her close and
occasionally preparing a meal or cleaning the apartment. Oliver enjoyed
holding Emma and being fatherly, although he sensed that his presence
was not entirely necessary.

Dior and Paul came for a one night visit. His mother liked Jennifer and
gushed endlessly over Emma. He and Paul had drinks in the background
and talked about work and the Red Sox. It had been how many years since
Carleton Fisk had gone to Chicago? One of the all-time great catchers,
a son of New Hampshire--the event still felt like the death of an era,
almost the death of New England.

Dolly and Gene were more formal. They were pleased and full of
instruction. Gene inquired after Oliver's life insurance.

"No?" He gave Oliver his most forgiving and father-in-law knows best
smile, stopping just short of issuing an order. It happens to all of
us; you might as well get with the program--that was the message.

Jennifer was satisfied with both visits. Nothing really mattered but
Emma, anyway. "Isn't she a doll baby? The most precious doll baby," she
would say, answering her own question and thrusting Emma into Oliver's
arms.

"Yes, she is. Yes, you are," he would say, holding Emma carefully. She
was a good-natured baby. Her hearing was sensitive;