John chewed on me to watch my mouth. It wasn't that he disagreed with me, just that I needed to be careful what I said. What I did could reflect on the company, and not all of our clients and investors would agree with me. Missy chewed on me since she was a good and loyal Democrat. I promised to behave myself in the future. That promise didn't last too long. Shortly before Christmas I was invited to speak at a meeting of the American Conservative Union in Washington, and that made some headlines, too, when I stood up at the podium and said that while I was fiscally conservative, I was not a social conservative, and if the Republican Party wanted to stay relevant in the future, they needed to keep their noses out of people's religion and bedrooms. That made both Time and National Review.
It wasn't all politics or business, though. Two weekends after Thanksgiving, Marilyn and I took a long weekend by ourselves down at Hougomont. Tusker and Tessa took care of the girls. Charlie and Dum-Dum stayed with the Parkers (yes, the same Parkers who he wanted me to punch in the nose or something. He and Johnny were now best friends.) We left Friday morning and flew home Monday afternoon, and packed very light. Pregnancy made Marilyn very horny, and she didn't spend much time wearing anything more than high heels and sunglasses.
Realistically, this would be our last child. We were now 33 years old, and we had spaced the kids out some. By the time Marilyn wanted another, it wouldn't be possible. After 35 a woman's fertility starts dropping drastically. By 40 her childbearing years are over. Forget about the tabloids and their reports of women in their fifties and sixties giving birth. Those types of events are one in a million, and require massive medical support to allow.
I teased my wife several times about what our son thought about all that athletic activity going on around him. She responded that I was getting old, and that the athletics were slowing down! Why, I was only able to make love twice in a row anymore, and that just had her getting warmed up! My response? Quality, not quantity! It made for a pleasant argument, and we tried to solve it many times that weekend.
Yes, we were having a boy. The ultrasound showed that the littlest Buckman was a male Buckman! That made us start picking names. I suggested Carling Parker III, as the start of a dynasty. Marilyn put the kibosh on that! Then, at Christmas in Utica, she found a book on the history of the saints from her mother, and suggested some saints' names, like with her brothers. I rolled my eyes and took the book from her hands. After I went through the index I came up with Nicholas Cayetano.
"Nicholas Cayetano!? Where did that come from?", she asked, taking back the book.
"The patron saints of prostitutes and gamblers.", I replied, keeping a straight face.
"Carl! That's not funny!", scolded Harriet.
"No, it's not!. Now, behave!", ordered Marilyn.
I shrugged and smiled. I turned to Mark, who was sitting on the couch next to me. He was grinning back at me. "So, who was the patron saint of trailer salesman?", I asked.
He laughed while Marilyn stewed. "That would be Saint Big Bob!"
I laughed, too. "Sorry, that name is already taken." Charlie's middle name was Robert.
Marilyn protested, and then looked up the patron saint of salesmen, who turned out to be Saint Lucy. Unless the youngest Buckman turned out to be a drag queen, Lucy wasn't going to cut it. We spent the next few minutes coming up with other strange patron saints (Saint Drogo, patron saint of ugly people, got a lot of commentary around the kitchen table, with everybody claiming that this brother or that brother qualified) but never came up with an answer. We tabled it for a bit longer.
We took the kids down to Hougomont again right after Christmas. That would probably be our last vacation until after the birth. In January we settled on James Ryan, though I was still making a strong push for Nicolas Cayetano.
In January we all went over to Fifth District for the winter concert, featuring Charlie in the chorus. He was as much of a soprano as any of the girls. I whispered that to my wife, earning a giggle and an elbow in the ribs. I was glad when we left, though, because the weather was closing in. It doesn't snow all that much in Maryland, but it does snow somewhat, and the locals simply can't handle it. They don't get enough snow to need the investment in plows and sanders like they do up north. When you get more than about half an inch, they start shutting down the state. We had almost an inch when we left the concert, and there was an announcement for everyone to drive carefully, because it was getting slick. Joy!
It was slick as snot out on Mount Carmel Road. It was about a five mile drive, and I was going very slow. We made sure the kids all were buckled in, and Marilyn grumbled about the seat belt across her expanding waistline, but she buckled up, too. We drove home slowly.
Then there was a light and the sound of crashing metal, and things got very dark.
I came to with that sickening feeling of a bright light, and a smell you don't get outside of a hospital. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening, and then I tried to sit up, but I was strapped down and could only thrash around. I settled down and tried to figure out what was happening, and somebody in white came around. "Mister Buckman! Calm down, please. Calm down!"
I lay back and nodded, and said, "Where am I? What happened? Where's Marilyn? Where's my children?" At least I could talk. When I woke up in Gitmo, I was so dehydrated I couldn't speak. Now I just had a blinding headache.
"Calm down, Mister Buckman. A doctor will be in shortly.", she answered.
"What happened? Was there a car wreck? WHERE'S MY FAMILY!?"
"Stay calm, Mister Buckman..."
"I need to know about my family!", I yelled.
The curtain opened up, and a doctor stepped in. He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed me back down. I didn't even realize I had levered myself up. "They're fine, Mister Buckman!", he told me.
That calmed me some. "Where are they? What happened?"
"You were in a car wreck in the storm. Your children are fine. They just got some bumps and bruises. You can see them later."
"Marilyn! WHAT HAPPENED TO MARILYN!?", I demanded.
"Calm down, Mister Buckman. Your wife is in surgery right now, but she's alive and should be okay. Now, you have to calm down! Your family is going to be all right!"
I sagged back into the bed and my heart stopped pounding. Then I started thinking. Surgery? What was wrong? "The baby?"
The doctor's voice caught at that, and I saw him glance at the nurse. I already knew the answer before he said anything. "I'm sorry, Mister Buckman, but there was nothing we could do."
Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! I started crying for little James Ryan, and for Marilyn. She would never forgive me for this! I was the one driving, I was the one responsible. It was all my fault.
I lay there in the hospital bed sobbing for a few minutes, until I remembered the doctor and nurse standing there. I opened my eyes and looked at them through blurry eyes. "Where are our children?", I asked with a raspy voice.
"They're here, in the hospital. We're keeping them overnight. We'll let you see them in a few minutes, if you wish."
I just nodded. They must be terrified. "What happened?"