Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas by James Patterson Page B

graceful, and athletic, beautiful to watch.
    So there you are, just back to our blanket from fighting sand monsters and friendly sea urchins, when Matt reaches into his
     pocket and pulls out a letter. He hands it to me.
    “The publisher in New York didn’t want my collection—
yet
—but here’s a consolation prize.”
    He had sent a poem off to a magazine called the
Atlantic Monthly.
They accepted it. He didn’t even tell me he was doing it. Said he didn’t want it to be out there just in case it didn’t happen.
     But it did, Nicky, and he got the letter on his birthday.
    I asked if I could read it, and Matt unfolded a separate sheet of paper. It was the poem, and he had it with him all this
     time.
    My eyes teared up when I saw the title, “Nicholas and Suzanne.”
    Matt told me that he had been writing down all the things I say and sing to you, that he’d strain to overhear my little poems
     and rock-a-bye rhymes.
    He said that this wasn’t just his poem but mine, too. He told me that it was
my voice
he heard in these lines; so we had created it together.
    Daddy read part of it out loud, above the crashing surf and screeching gulls.
    Nicholas and Suzanne
    Who makes the treetops wave their hands?
    And draws home ships from foreign lands,
    And spins plain straw back into gold
    And has a love too large to hold . . .
    Who chases the rain from the sky?
         And sings the moon a lullaby,
    And grants the wishes from a well
    And hears whole songs sung from a shell . . .
    Who has the gift of making much?
    From everything they hold or touch,
    Who turns pure joy back into life?
    For this I thank my son, my wife.
    What could be better than this?
    Absolutely nothing.
    Daddy said this was his best birthday ever.
     
    Nicholas,
    Something unexpected has happened, and I’m afraid it’s not so good.
    It was time again for your dreaded baby shots. I hated to have to put you through it. Your pediatrician on the Vineyard was
     on vacation, so I decided to call a doctor friend in Boston. It was time for a visit to Beantown, anyway.
    While I was in Boston, I would get my own physical. It was also a chance to catch up with friends, maybe do a little window
     shopping on Newbury Street, eat at Harvard Gardens, and, best of all, show you off, Nicky Mouse.
    We took the ferry over to Woods Hole and hit Route 6 by nine in the morning. This was our first adventure off the island.
Nicholas’s Trip to the Big City!
    Your appointment was first. The children’s office looked exactly as it always had.
Highlights,
crayons, and blocks lay everywhere. A black clock cat moved its tail and eyes back and forth to the time. You were fixated
     on it.
    Other babies were crying and fidgety, but you sat there as quiet as a little mouse, checking out these new surroundings.
    “Nicholas Harrison,” the receptionist finally called.
    It was funny to hear your name announced so officially by a complete stranger. I almost expected you to answer, “Present.”
    It was good to see my old buddy Dan Anderson, and he couldn’t believe how big you were already. He said he saw a lot of me
     in you, and of course that thrilled me. But in fairness I had to show him pictures of Daddy, too.
    “You seem so happy, Suzanne,” Dan said as he measured, tapped, and tuned you up, Nicky.
    “I am, Dan. Never been happier. It’s great.”
    “Leaving the big city did you a world of good. And just look at this future quarterback you’ve got here.”
    I beamed. “He is the best little boy on this earth. Like you’ve never heard that before. Right?”
    “Not from you, Suzanne.” He handed you back over to me. “It’s wonderful seeing you again, Mother Bedford. And as far as this
     one goes, he’s the poster child for good health.”
    Of course, I already knew that.
     
    Now it was my turn.
    I sat at the edge of the examining-room table, already dressed, waiting for my doctor, Dr. “Philadelphia” Phil Berman, to
     come back in. Phil had been my doctor in