Expectations

Chapter 6

"Here's one that meets weekly," Christie said, reading over Jim's shoulder. "It's not too far from here."

Jim pulled the earpiece from his ear and sighed. He was getting used to the cumbersome task of having everything on his computer screen read to him by a synthesized voice, but when Christie could simply glance at the screen and spot the information for which he had been searching for the last fifteen minutes, it emphasized just how inconvenient his life often was now.

"What time?" he asked, and then remembered to add, "If you don't mind checking."

"I don't mind," she said, draping her arms around Jim's shoulders from behind as she continued to look at his computer screen. "Oh, this one is during the day too."

"Doesn't it occur to anyone that blind people might actually have jobs?" Jim asked, dropping his hands to his lap. "Do you really think I need to do this?"

He felt the motion of her shrugging, and then her hands moved into position to massage his shoulders. "It was your idea to look for a blind parenting class. I know they have them for sighted expectant parents. Maybe I can just call around to those classes, explain the situation, and see if they have any suggestions."

"Can't you teach me how to change diapers?"

"I could," she said. "But you may want to go to boot camp before you're thrown into battle, soldier."

He raised his shoulders until he could feel the relief of something cracking in his neck and then Christie's hands were there to soothe away the rest of the tension with her massage.

"You're right," he said. "Yeah, we can go ahead and call around. I'm sure there will be someone out there who can at least give us some pointers. It won't hurt you, either."

"That's true. Hey, it's getting late. Your parents are due any minute."

"Is everything under control in the kitchen?" Jim asked anxiously. "I told you I would make the pasta, but you said—"

"I told you I had it. Relax, Jimmy. It's just a casual evening."

He nodded. "You're right. I don't know why them coming over's making me so tense."

But he did know why and so, he suspected, did Christie. His parents had come by fairly often to check on him and to bring meals when Jim had first been released from the hospital, but as Jim had recovered, the visits had changed; they were no longer visits to a patient recuperating from a terrible injury. Once Jim was up and around and attempting to resume his normal routine, the visits were to a blind guy who was never going to be getting any better. Some family dynamic had altered. He could sense everyone's discomfort, including his own, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow brought disgrace upon the family by no longer being perfect.

"It'll be fun," Christie said, her fingers moving up to Jim's hair so she could fuss over it, trying to perfect the slightly disheveled look Jim was always going for. "And it's the perfect time to tell them our news."

"My dad is going to be disappointed," Jim predicted.

"Of course he isn't. This is good news."

"Trust me. Shannon has her boy, but he's only a Dunbar by name because the father isn't in the picture. Dad doesn't think that counts. I know how the man thinks. He will think we somehow failed him."

"Well, if he thinks that—" Christie was interrupted by a knock at the door.

A moment later, she was ushering Jim's parents inside. "The place looks really good," Jim's mother said, as she always did. "But all those candles. Aren't you afraid Jimmy will knock them over and burn the place down?"

That was a new one. Jim smiled, almost against his will. "Hasn't happened yet," he assured her, walking toward the sound of her voice. "Hey, Mom."

He felt her usual embrace—an awkward grasping around his shoulders, pulling him in, and then releasing him quickly—and then she kissed him on the cheek. "You look good," she said in that same overly-bright tone Shannon often used with him now.

"Thanks. Dad's with you, right?"

"Right here," a voice said gruffly, and Jim suddenly felt he had made a mistake by asking and thus drawing attention to the fact that he hadn't instinctively known where his father was.

"You sure are showing now," his mother told Christie. "But you do have two Dunbars in you. Bradley weighed over nine pounds, you know. And Jim weighed more than ten, so don't say I didn't warn you."

"How much longer you got?" Jim's dad asked Christie.

"I'm exactly halfway there," she said, and Jim sensed that they were all about to head into the living room because Christie seemed to be on the move.

Jim waited beside the bar, staying out of everyone's way as they went past him. When he was sure they were situated, he started for the couch, but then stopped. Something had just occurred to him.

"Shit," he said under his breath. He didn't know where anyone was sitting.

"Your chair is empty," Christie said, rescuing him from any awkward fumbling or questions. Jim knew which chair Christie meant and he headed for it.

"You need help?" his mother asked.

"Ma," Jim said, some of his exasperation escaping through his voice. "I live here."

"Just making sure," she said meekly. "I'm sorry to offend you, Jimmy."

Jim sat in his chair and faced where he now knew his mom was sitting. "You didn't offend me. So, how have you guys been?"

They fell into fairly comfortable small talk for a while until Christie excused herself to get dinner on the table.

"Let me help with that," Jim offered.

"I'll help," his mother said. "You just keep your father company."

And they were gone before he could protest. Keeping his father company was something

Jim had never been good at, even under the best of circumstances. He sighed.

"How's work treating you?" his dad asked.

Jim shrugged. "You know. It has its ups and downs, but it's mostly good these days."

He heard his dad grunt something, but it didn't sound like a word. Howard Dunbar was a retired cop himself and he knew better than most people did the nature of the opposition Jim had faced during his fight for reinstatement. A blind cop? Jim felt sure his dad would have laughed at such a thought, had the blind cop not been his son.

"You have something to say, Dad?" Jim asked.

"I heard you stopped carrying your weapon."

Jim nodded. "Over five months ago."

"How's that working?"

"I'm doing the same job now as I was before. The gun wasn't clearing all those cases. I was."

"You're still partnered up?"

"Yeah. Karen's been supportive."

"I'm surprised they allow it, sending a female detective out there with an unarmed partner."

With a blind partner. Jim knew his dad would never say those words, but he heard them just the same.

"Karen can take care of herself."

"Can she take care of the both of you?"

"Nobody's asking her to—but yeah. She could."

"I still say it's dangerous."

Jim sighed, feeling his cheeks puff out a little. "It seems some people thought I was more dangerous with the gun than without it," he said, deciding the best approach was to bring it up himself so he could have more control over the topic. "They all got behind me and said they wanted me to stay on even without it."

"They were all on board? The whole squad?"

Jim nodded. "All of them. See, Dad, I'm good at what I do because I'm smart."

"I never said you—"

"I know, but I'm just telling you why they value me as much as they do."

"Well, I think it's really nice of them to—"

Jim could feel himself going into the head-shaking mode of disbelief that was always a prelude to frustration. "Nobody's being nice to me. I earned it."

"Dinner's ready," Christie called.

Taking a deep breath, Jim stood and started walking, forgetting to first orient himself as he usually did. He misjudged, bashing his shin into the coffee table.

"You okay?" his dad asked, taking Jim's arm to steady him.

Jim straightened and shook his arm free. "I'm fine."

He felt himself slowly relaxing over dinner, thanks to the light conversation kept going by his mom and Christie.

"So, we found out the sex of our babies," Christie said as the meal was winding down.

Jim's parents put down their utensils and everyone was silent. The energy in the room completely changed; the type of thing Jim had never noticed as a sighted person but that stood out to him vividly now that he was blind.

"Do you want to tell them, Jimmy?" Christie said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"You go ahead," Jim offered, getting the vibe Christie was secretly dying to be the one to tell the news.

"We are having girls. Identical girls."

"That's wonderful," Jim's mom said, reaching over to squeeze Jim's hand. "And you won't have to go chasing them around as much as if they were boys. Shannon was much easier to manage than you were, Jimmy."

"Yeah," Jim's dad agreed. "It's just as well. You won't have to worry about not being able to play sports with them."

Christie's hand on Jim's arm told him not to say anything. "Well, that's not entirely true," she said, managing to keep her tone light even though Jim could feel a strain coming from her. "Girls are more involved in sports now than ever and there are plenty of activities Jimmy and I will be able to do with them."

Jim sat quietly, his head slightly bowed, thankful that Christie was so good at this kind of thing. He knew he couldn't be trusted to speak until the wordless frustration welling within him dissipated.

"Are they really gone?" he asked two hours later as he turned the deadbolt on the front door. "I know they walked out the door, but I can still feel them here."

"I think it takes a while to get your dad's vibe out of a place," Christie said, taking Jim by the hand and pulling him over to the couch. "You okay?"

He nodded, turning Christie toward him. "You?" he asked.

She laughed. "Oh, I think I fared better than you did."

His hands trailed up her until one was on either side of her face. Gently, he kissed her and then wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

"What was that for?" she asked, hugging back.

Jim could feel the difference in her body as it pressed up against him. "I—I just needed that."

"You're not disappointed we're having girls, are you?" Christie asked, sounding anxious.

Jim placed his hand on the roundness of her belly and smiled. "You're not serious," he said. "I'm not likely to think like my dad, am I?"

They sank down onto the couch together, Jim heaving a sigh of relief.

"They mean well," Christie said, anticipating Jim's next topic. "They just underestimate you."

"Dad thinks I'm a charity case at work," Jim said bitterly, shaking his head as he thought about it," and Mom thinks I'm going to burn the place down. Neither of them thinks I'll pull my weight as a parent."

Christie sighed. "Well, what do you do when people are stupid enough to underestimate you?" she asked.

He didn't respond.

"Come on, Jimmy. This is your philosophy here, not mine, and it's been working really well for you. What do you do?"

"I prove them wrong."