Queen Esther & the Second Graders of Doom. Allie Pleiter

he added, kicking his chair with his foot over and over. “I don’t like her. And I don’t think she likes me very much.”

      What do you say to something like that?

      “It’s hard to be the new person,” Essie responded. “It’s hard to get used to new people. What makes you think your stepmom doesn’t like you?”

      “She said so.” Alex kept kicking the chair.

      Oh, my.

      “I wonder if that’s really true, Alex. Grown-ups have a funny way of saying things sometimes that little boys don’t always understand.” Essie squatted down beside him, warning her knees to cooperate in the name of human compassion. “Can you remember what she said?”

      “Well—” Alex took his crayon and began drawing swirly circles on his whale as he talked. “She was talking to Dad at night. I wasn’t s’posed to be up, but I was thirsty so I got a drink and I heard them talking down the hall. You know, in Dad’s room. Vicki—that’s her name, Vicki—didn’t have kids before she married Dad. She was telling him how she didn’t like being a mom so quick.” Alex looked at her with hard eyes. “But she’s not my mom. My mom’s in Minnosoda now.”

      “That’s hard.”

      “Vicki doesn’t now how to make peanut butter sandwiches or play Uno or do any mom stuff. My sister calls her Icky Vicki. That’s when Vicki gets all mad and locks herself in the bathroom and tells me to go play outside.”

      Essie didn’t think it would be wise to admit that she’d have liked to lock herself in the church ladies’ room a couple of times in the last few Sundays.

      She took Alex’s hand, stilling the flow of crayon swirls for a moment. “You’re right, Alex, that is a hard thing. And God would want you to learn to like Vicki. And I think He’ll help you if you ask Him.”

      Alex raised an eyebrow. “I dunno.”

      “I do. Every family’s got an Icky Vicki. Someone who’s hard to like. But sometimes, the Icky Vickies turn out to be the nicest people if you just give them a chance.”

      “Yeah,” offered Justin with sudden enthusiasm. “I thought my Uncle Arthur was really boring until he showed me how he can take his teeth out. All of ’em.”

      That brought a chorus of approving oohs and aahs—the gross-out factor of extractable teeth was a sure-fire hit with this crowd.

      “Justin’s right. People surprise you.” Essie pulled the Children’s Picture Bible off the shelf behind her where it lay open to the Jonah story. “Jonah thought the Ninevites were a whole city of Icky Vickies. He didn’t want to go teach them to act better. He didn’t want to care about them one bit. But God wanted him to care, and to go there. And so, when he did, the Ninevites changed their icky ways and Jonah learned it’s a good thing to be obedient to what God wants.”

      And what do you know, those tiny faces actually registered understanding! Little heads were actually nodding.

      If Jonah could work with the Ninevites, maybe there was a shred of hope for the Doom Room.

      Chapter 4

      How Many is the Norm?

      Josh wailed every single moment of his doctor visit. This morning’s fever had called a halt to any hope of Josh’s grumpiness being “just teething.” Essie was barely conscious. She couldn’t remember if she’d brushed her teeth yet this morning, so she tried to smile for the doctor without opening her mouth. She tried to look like an intelligent member of the human race, even though she was feeling pretty much like an amoeba.

      “Yes, there, Master Walker. That’s one whopping ear infection you’ve got. Both ears, too. Overachiever, I see.” Dr. Martin was trying to put a good spin on things. The man could even be called cheerful. But to Essie right now, twin ear infections sounded like the end of the world.

      It must have shown on her face. Dr. Martin walked over and returned screeching little Joshua to her arms with an understanding smile. His appearance and demeanor were so completely, perfectly “doctorish,” that the guy belonged on television. “You’ll be amazed,” he commiserated, “what a little pain medicine will do for the guy. Half an hour, a couple of squirts of pink stuff and he’ll be snoozing in no time.”

      “Could I have that in writing?” Essie whimpered.

      “Next best thing,” replied Dr. Martin, scribbling off a set of prescription notes. “May I introduce you to your new best friend, amoxicillin? You’ll be very well acquainted by the end of the year. There are two kinds of babies in this world. The kind who hardly ever get ear infections, and…the other kind.”

      “Josh is an ‘other,’ isn’t he?”

      “I could lie, but you look like the kind of person who prefers a straight story.”

      Essie juggled Josh onto her shoulder, which settled his wailing down into a low-grade, pitiful moan. “And the straight story is I’m going to see a lot of amoxi-whatever.”

      Dr. Martin touched her shoulder. “It does get easier. When he gets old enough to have good control of his hands—which should be soon—he’ll grab at his ears and you’ll catch on before it gets full-blown awful.”

      This was not comforting. Essie felt as if she might burst into tears. Some small part of her knew it was only the sleep deprivation, but right now Josh was looking disabled, scarred and victimized. “Okay,” was all she could sputter out.

      “Mrs. Walker, it’s going to be fine. The first one is always the hardest. There’s one thing you should know, though, if you don’t already.”

      Your child will never hear again. His brain will be permanently affected. He will…

      “This stuff stains.”

      “Huh?”

      “Amoxicillin. It stains. Keep Josh in old onesies or whatever for the first couple of days because it seems to get everywhere, and it stains. You, too.” He chuckled. “I’d lay off the evening gowns for the next few days so you don’t end up pink, too.”

      “Yes, of course,” Essie replied, but in her head she thought, You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew I’ve had this same shirt on for three straight days.

      “Mrs. Walker?”

      “Yes?”

      “That was a joke. A bad one, but still a joke. You’re going to be fine, both of you. Make a follow-up appointment for two weeks from now on your way out. And if you don’t have one of those tiny medicine things that looks like a miniature turkey baster, make sure you pick one up at the pharmacy—it might save you a lot of trouble and a lot of upholstery.”

      Josh had settled down to a grumbling whimper by the time Essie reached the pharmacy. “I need amixibillin and a turkey baster.”

      An older woman behind the counter blinked from behind her thick black glasses. “Pardon me?”

      Essie shifted the baby carrier to the other hand and fumbled in her purse until she found the square of blue paper. She pushed it across the counter to the pharmacist. “This. I need this prescription filled.” Essie’s keys tumbled out of her purse and fell on the floor. She noticed the candy bars beside the counter. How many would it take to be considered a glutton? Sixteen?

      “The amoxicillin I guessed. No problem, I have that. It’s the turkey baster that has me stumped.”

      Oh, my, had she really said that? Essie pulled in a focusing breath, just like she used to do before she competed. “My doctor,” she began, letting the breath out in a slow, deliberate exhale, “well, Josh’s doctor, recommended a medicine spoonish thing he said looked like a miniature turkey baster. For the amoxicillin. Do you know what he means?”

      The woman’s face spread into a smile. “Oh, of course. Look