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by Tamar Ossowski


  “My father is back in town. This time Daryl isn’t going to ruin it.”

  She stood up and walked toward the window. She turned her head so that she was looking straight into the sun. She didn’t shift. She didn’t squint. Just stared straight ahead as though it did not affect her.

  As though she was blind.

  Therese

  Therese knew she was carrying a girl.

  She sensed it weeks before Leah ever mentioned it. But why was Leah so frightened to tell her? Why hadn’t the news brought her joy?

  She shook off her concern and returned to her task. Tim was working late doing inventory and it was her responsibility to heat Barbara’s dinner. She scooped out a helping of spaghetti and sauce and tossed it into a pot. Tim was adamant that it not burn, and he taught her to first fill a lid with water and add it into the pot before covering. He insisted that she stir every three minutes so that it didn’t stick to the bottom. When she laughed, he brought out the kitchen timer and made sure she knew how to set it properly. Sitting obediently at the table, she reset it four times as he instructed. When it was heated, she slid the food into a large bowl and then balanced the basket of rolls he had prepared in her other hand. She brought it all to Barbara and placed it on the TV tray, but not before removing a half-eaten slice of chocolate cake that was still there from lunch.

  Surprisingly, the television was turned off so that Barbara could devote full attention to consuming her meal. She twirled long strands of pasta into bundles, stuffed them into her mouth, and then used the roll to wipe the excess sauce from around her mouth.

  “What do you think we should name the baby?” Therese asked, hoping to take her mind off thoughts of Leah.

  “Huh?” Barbara swiped at her chin with a roll.

  “The baby. What do you think we should name it?”

  “Don’t really care. Name it whatever you want.”

  “I was just wondering if you had any thoughts. How did you choose Tim’s name?”

  Barbara glared at her. “What do you mean?” She hissed. “Why would you ask me that?”

  The fork dropped and landed onto a bed of spaghetti.

  “Just making conversation, Barbara.”

  “I never had the luxury of sitting around thinking about names when I was pregnant with Timmy. Why don’t you go ask your own Mama about picking names?”

  She retrieved her fork and went back to bundling strands.

  “My mother isn’t really a help when it comes to this kind of stuff. She didn’t even realize she was pregnant with me until the day I was born.”

  “What kind of idiot doesn’t know she’s pregnant?” she snickered.

  “I suppose you knew the second it happened.”

  Barbara’s face turned gray and, for a moment, Therese thought she might be choking. The color soon returned to her cheeks. “What are you trying to get at?” Barbara whispered.

  “Nothing, Barbara. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “Timmy never told you.”

  A secret.

  Immediately Therese’s face shifted and she smiled. A look she had practiced for so long that it had finally became natural. “What, Barbara? Tell me what?”

  Barbara lowered her head so that she was staring directly into her bowl of spaghetti. “About his father.”

  Therese took a deep breath. “No, Barbara. He never told me.”

  “That’s because I told him never to tell. He is a good boy.” She picked at the rolls, pulling out pieces of the white bread with her fingers and rolling them into little balls.

  Getting people to divulge their secrets was an art form, a dance. Therese knew exactly what to do next. She nodded her head, folded her hands into her lap, and waited.

  “And he also probably didn’t want people to know,” Barbara said.

  Therese held her position, counting the seconds to victory.

  “That his father raped me.”

  Barbara was now pinching the balls, flattening them into circles and tossing them into the bowl of cold spaghetti. Therese’s mind was spinning. She felt cold and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she wondered if Barbara could hear. Probably not, since she was in the same position, her face staring down into the bowl. What was it about Tim that she had missed? What was there, running through his blood? Was it something he spent his life trying to hide? Why had she not been able to spark him? She felt the baby kick her.

  Hard.

  She reached across and touched the top of Barbara’s hand. “I am so sorry that happened to you.”

  Barbara pulled away. She lifted the remote from the TV tray and flicked the television on, but before the volume was at full blast, she said, “So now you understand.”

  Therese nodded. Yes, she thought. Now I understand.

  The next day at work, it was all she could think about. She sat at her desk listening to the gardeners outside. Their leaf blowers were aimed low to the ground like rifles, blasting away the dried remains of winter. She covered her ears, trying to muffle the highpitched hum that caused her pain between her eyebrows.

  It was almost time to meet Leah.

  She got a book out of her desk drawer, slipped it into her bag, and walked down the hallway. Leah was waiting for her in the foyer. The dark paneled ceiling was so high, even a whisper magnified into a roar. Leah’s hands were tucked into the pockets of her jacket, and she smiled when she saw Therese approaching.

  “I need to breathe some fresh air.”

  Therese nodded and they left the building to walk along the grounds. Little green tips sprouted through the mulch, still so tightly wound that it looked like they might change their minds and go back underground.

  Leah squeezed her arm. “Over there.” She pointed to a bench beneath a tree off the path. Once they sat, her attention was drawn to the groups of students rushing past.

  “How are you?” Leah asked.

  “Tired.”

  Just then, a young woman dropped her bag to the ground. She fell frantically to her knees to try to gather her belongings.

  “Barbara told me. Everything.”

  The young woman located the last of her books, stuffed them into her bag, and ran off to catch up with her friends.

  “Tim’s father raped her.”

  The sun moved behind a cloud and what had been bright was now dark, as though someone had twisted the contrast button on a television screen.

  “Leah?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think about that?”

  Leah shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was staring down at the ground where the books had fallen. Now there was nothing but dirt and brown grass that had shriveled over the winter. She stared at it intently, like she was searching for something. “Have you thought of a name? For the baby?”

  Therese removed the book she had slipped into her bag earlier, a book of baby names. “We should pick something meaningful.”

  Leah nodded.

  “Do you like Dorothy? It’s kind of old-fashioned,” Therese said.

  Leah dug into her bag and pulled out a yellow highlighter. She took the book and began flipping through it so fast, the pages sounded like they were ripping. She placed her finger at the top of each and then ran it down quickly.

  “This one.” She handed Therese the book, still pointing to the name she had found.

  “Mathilda,” Therese said the name aloud, eager to see how it felt on her lips.

  Leah was quiet.

  Therese folded down the corner of the page. “I would spell it differently though. No need for that extra H. It’s silent anyway and will just confuse people.”

  “Whatever you think,” Leah said.

  They sat quietly together until it was time to go back to work. When she got home, Therese took the book out of her bag. The page was dogeared and she found the name easily. Glaring at her, blinking in neon yellow highlighter, were the words that Leah had underlined.

  MATHILDA

 
STRENGTH IN BATTLE

  That night, Therese woke with the baby name book wedged under her chin. Saliva pooled under her cheek and left a wet stain on the pillow. Using her arms to support her weight, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and waited for the dizziness to end. She looked over at Tim’s side and saw he wasn’t there, but tonight there was only one thing on her mind.

  Tuna fish.

  She tried to limit herself to twice a day, but right now the only thing she could think about was a sandwich. She stood up, rubbed the slope at the base of her back, and made her way downstairs. She walked straight to the refrigerator where Tim left a fresh batch of tuna every day. He knew exactly how much mayonnaise and lemon juice to put in to make it creamy and tangy at the same time. She ate it open-faced on slices of untoasted English muffins. She had already tied the twisty around the end of the plastic bag when she changed her mind and pulled out a second. Scraping the remaining bits of tuna out, she spread it onto the bread and finished the sandwich before the dirty bowl made it to the sink.

  Her belly felt taut, hard, as though it was encased in metal, and she rubbed it through her nightgown. A spray of acid grazed the round of her throat and then the baby shifted. She suddenly felt like she was suffocating. Sitting made breathing even more difficult, so she walked to the back door, hoping the night air might help. It was dark and cool and the feeling of being trapped disappeared for just a second. She walked outside and lifted her arms up toward the moon, enjoying the cold that wrapped itself around her spine, up through her neck, and into her scalp. She took in a long slow breath and thrust her belly out into the night, making it disappear into the blackness. She thought she heard something, but the sound was too muffled and incomplete to make it distinguishable. She walked closer to the shed and could barely make out a shadow.

  Tim.

  She crouched down low so that she was out of his sight. He had hung an enormous burlap bag of rice on two large meat hooks that were suspended from the ceiling. The bag drooped down looking misshapen, crippled. She watched as he hammered his fists into its middle. Again and again, fist over fist, his bare shoulders cupped with sweat. He reminded her of a boxer, hopping back and forth on two feet with his hands drawn in closely. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she felt even more lightheaded.

  Then, suddenly, he stopped. He threw his arms around the bag and buried his face into it. She watched as his back heaved like an enormous balloon, pulling the air in and out so sharply that she thought he might explode.

  And then she heard his sobs.

  She wondered what it would sound like if he chose to unleash it into the world. If instead of being absorbed by the bag, he had howled it into the black air. She crouched down lower so that he could not see her. When he turned back around, she caught a glimpse of the anger and despair in his eyes, so deep it almost made them appear hollow. The air got heavier to breathe and she felt clumsy and thick, but it was only a few steps back to the house and she knew she could make it without him spotting her. She turned and began to walk, but something made her freeze in place. Her breathing came more sharply now and each breath stung her lungs. She closed her eyes and willed what was about to happen to stop. No, she thought, please, not now. She clenched her fists and ground her teeth, but there was no ­preventing it. It started as a dribble, built into a stream, and gushed down her thighs. Within seconds she realized . . .

  There was no going back.

  “Push!” the nurse hissed, squeezing so hard her long red fingernails dug into Therese’s palm. Her legs were in stirrups and her head was propped up. Every few minutes Nurse Red Nails shouted at her to push. With every contraction, her insides would crush, and she wondered if soon they would just come spewing out of her. Someone in the room told her to breathe. Instead, she screamed a sharp and angry wail that filled her mind with sound and made the hurt finally stop.

  Then there was calm. She clung to the seconds of relief and convinced herself it would be over soon. A few more pain-free minutes passed, and her mind wandered to thoughts of Tim. After her water broke, she had fallen to the ground with the first contraction. He heard her and came running out of the shed. She could tell by the way he touched her that he was frightened. “Is it time?” he asked. She nodded. He lifted her from the ground and carried her to the car. She had felt his heart beating in his chest and had tasted his sweat on her lips. Salty. Like the ocean.

  “I want a drink,” she whispered. Her throat was sore and her voice was hoarse.

  “Sorry, dear. Best I can do is some chipped ice.” The red nails came close to her lips and slipped the ice into her mouth. They felt like cold pebbles. She kept them on the tip of her tongue, willing them not to melt too fast. She closed her eyes and was back in the car with Tim.

  He made sure she was comfortable then raced back into the house to get the bag she had packed and left in the hallway closet. He didn’t put on a shirt; he just slipped on the denim jacket that hung on the hook. As they sped through the black night, she watched him. His jacket was unbuttoned, exposing a strip of skin from his neck to his belt buckle. His hands were gripped to the wheel so tightly, she could see the bone through his skin. She thought about the night he proposed, thrusting a box with a small diamond ring toward her. He had taken her for a walk and surprised her with it. She surprised him by saying no. She knew how much it must have cost him. She had seen the folded up culinary school application in his sock drawer. But that wasn’t why she said no. It was the wrong time, and she didn’t know how to explain how she knew, so she just shook her head and pushed his hand away. He had seemed almost relieved. Now, here they were on their way to the hospital. He turned to her every few minutes, and she nodded to confirm she was okay. She closed her eyes and tried to force what she’d witnessed in the shed from her mind.

  “Look at me and when I say push, you have to push!” shouted the doctor, who now had a plastic visor over his face. She wondered if he was scared her insides would come spewing out, too. She bore down as the next wave of pain hit. It crashed over her with such intensity that she was breathless with no voice left to wail. Then, it was quiet. Another big squeeze. Everything turned gray, and she heard a scream. It took several minutes before she realized that it was coming from her.

  “It’s hard work, honey,” Red Nails said, her voice shooting like a dart inside Therese’s ear. She shook her head hard, thinking that if it fell off her neck then the pain would stop. She imagined it rolling off the bed onto the floor, landing at the nurse’s feet with a soft watery thud. She was in the middle of envisioning the look of horror on the nurse’s face when another one hit. She pushed down with all her might and gasped as though she was choking.

  “You’re doing great, Therese. We’re almost there,” the doctor said.

  “We’re here,” Tim had mumbled when he swerved into the emergency room entrance. He had pulled up close to the curb, jumped out of the car, and returned seconds later with a wheelchair. As they rushed away from the car, she looked back over her shoulder and noticed that he hadn’t closed the car door. But before she could speak, he was wheeling her down the ramp. She held on tightly to the armrests as the glass partitions flew open.

  The emergency room had been crowded, and people turned to stare. She quickly lost interest in her audience when a contraction started at the top of her belly, shot straight through her knees, and landed in the curve of her ankles. She wrapped her arms around herself and clenched. She leaned over, staring at the white and pink tiles on the floor. It was too painful to pick up her head. He pushed her toward the nurse’s station, and she stared at the shoes they passed. The couches in the waiting area were vinyl, and the plastic smell had sickened her. She brought the collar of her nightgown close to her mouth and breathed in the smells of home, soil, and tuna fish. She rubbed her nose into her collar once again. Tim stopped in front of the nurse’s station. “We’re having a baby,” he’d announced.

  Now, the doctor was yelling at her. “You’re having a bab
y, Therese!” As though it was a surprise. As though he wanted to make sure she understood the magnitude of what she was undertaking. She stared at him through the V of her legs and decided she wanted to slap him. She lifted her arm up to try, but stopped when the pain gripped her again. This time her mind swirled around in her skull, trying to find comfort in a voice, a touch, a face. She thought about Tim now in the waiting room, probably pacing and regretting the fact that he had no shirt underneath his jacket. Then she pictured him sitting on the green vinyl couch sipping lukewarm coffee. Which would he be doing? Then she thought about Leah. She wanted Leah.

  “The head is out!” the doctor shouted. He held his hands down low and moved them around, but she could not see what he was doing. She felt ripped open. Exposed. She wondered if she would ever feel whole again. Half the baby was inside of her, and the other half was out. She was ready to give up, but her baby deserved better than to be stuck between two worlds, so she clenched her jaw shut and squeezed as hard as she could. Suddenly, she felt a release, as if a cork had popped and everything inside gushed out, like an exploding bottle of champagne. Her hips sunk into the mattress and she cried as each muscle in her body collapsed from exhaustion. The doctor lifted the baby into the air. “Here she is!”

  The baby let out one long scream. It took several big breaths to create and it sounded like the noise a car engine makes in the winter when it refuses to turn over. The nurse swaddled her in a blanket so that all that was exposed was her face. Then, the nurse laid her onto Therese’s belly and she quieted immediately. Therese brought her close. A spark ran through her as her daughter turned her head. They locked eyes and Therese sighed and wondered why everything in her life could not be this simple.

  That night she dreamt of feathers, and when she woke Leah was sitting beside her. Therese stretched out her arms and pulled herself out of her dream. Tim. The pain. The baby. Her johnny was twisted, leaving her entire backside exposed. She tried to adjust it, gave up, and then turned to look into the bassinette. Matilda was wrapped in a pink blanket and looked like a cone of delicately spun cotton candy.

 

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