Rachael's Return

by Janet Rebhan

  It was the second gunshot wound in as many days. Nancy walked away from the lifeless body covered with blood: another abused woman, only not a pregnant one. This one was dressed in army fatigues, wore her hair short, and tattoos covered her muscular arms. She never stood a chance; the bullet had come from close range and lodged in her heart. The woman’s lover, who had brought her to the emergency room, was in handcuffs now, standing with policemen in the hallway and crying hysterically. She hadn’t meant to do it, she told them. It was an accident. She had only meant to scare her. Her lover had been planning to leave her.

  Nancy looked down at her bloodied clothing and then at her watch. Two more hours and she could go home. She would take a break now and check in again on Mary Anne. Then perhaps she would visit the maternity ward to lift her spirits. The one sure antidote to the horror of death was the joy of birth. She took one last look at the dead woman’s body as they covered it with a sheet and began to wheel it out of the room. She said a silent prayer for the woman: that her soul would find peace, love, and light and that her anguish would not follow her into the next realm.

  She thought she saw a slight shift in his vibration. He didn’t seem as heavy as he had been before. Much to her surprise, he detached his aura from the pregnant woman and momentarily hovered, as if trying to sense where he should go next. Then she noticed a bright-blue light emanating from the upper corner of the room. He moved into the light and vanished.

  She moved in quickly and merged her aura with that of the pregnant woman. She sensed a tremendous urgency and immediately began the process of irreversibly joining her spirit to the fetus. Once she began the process, it would only be a matter of moments, and she would lose her current consciousness as she now knew it. Her soul with all its wisdom would remain as her higher self, but it would be somewhat limited, as it could only express itself through the baby’s human body once she had joined her spirit with the fetus. The pull became incredibly strong, and she knew what she had to do. She focused all her powers of concentration on the heartbeat of the fetus. As she listened intently to the steady beating rhythm, she methodically fused her chakras one by one to the spine of the fetus. When she reached the crown chakra, she imagined the brightest white light possible, dissipated the remaining vestiges of her spirit into the area of the head, and allowed herself to become one with the light.

  Mary Anne’s labor lasted twelve hours altogether. Her baby girl was born at eight o’clock Thursday morning.

  “Wednesday’s child is full of woe; Thursday’s child has far to go,” the doctor said right after delivery. “She held on a little longer because she didn’t want to be born on a Wednesday.”

  Since Mary Anne was not a superstitious person, this meant nothing to her. She did, however, ask the doctor to clarify far to go for her. “Does that meant she will go far in life, or that she has a long way to go before she gets where she’s going?”

  “I’m not sure, actually; I never really thought about it before. Perhaps both,” he answered.

  When the orderlies wheeled Mary Anne back into her room at nine thirty, Caroline was sitting on the edge of her bed, her packed overnighter beside her on the floor. Her doctor had already signed her out, and she waited for Jake to pick her up. She wanted to go home. Her body still felt tired, but her mind had cleared tremendously. Her spirits were more upbeat now, although the nagging feeling persisted. She turned and spoke to Mary Anne directly.

  “What will you name her?” Caroline had already heard the nurses talking about what a beautiful baby girl her roommate had delivered. “Your baby daughter.”

  Mary Anne sighed. “I don’t know yet,” she answered. “I want it to be something pretty though. I was thinking of Cali, short for California. Unlike me, she’ll be a true California girl.”

  “That’s nice,” Caroline said. “I’ve always liked the name Rachael. That’s what I would have named my daughter if I had ever had one. It’s feminine and strong at the same time.”

  “You’re right; it is,” she said, pausing thoughtfully. Mary Anne then turned on her side, and within seconds she was asleep.

  On her way out of the hospital, Caroline had the strongest urge to look at the baby girl her roommate had just delivered. She and Jake walked toward the nursery before leaving the building. She had to ask the nurse to point out the baby girl born to the woman in 3A. As she stood with Jake and peered through the plate glass window at the tiny little girl, her heart ached inside, and the feelings returned. She wondered silently how long it was going to take her to get over it.

  Nancy Kelley knew she had to do something for Mary Anne Maynard besides pray. She wanted to give her something tangible. Mary Anne was probably going to be released in a couple of days. The police had already visited her again, and a social worker had dropped by as well. Surely, she was not so naive as to go back to the apartment she had shared with her boyfriend. When Nancy inquired, she was informed by social services that Mary Anne had been given the name and address of a shelter for battered women and children. Good, Nancy thought. At least she knows she has other options.

  When the idea came to her, she went straight to the maternity ward and spoke to the nurses about it. They all agreed it was a good idea. Not one of them had escaped falling in love with Baby Girl Maynard. She rarely cried and had a naturally sweet disposition. She also loved being held. Her eyes were large brown saucers that took everything in with a genuine interest uncommon in most newborns.

  “She’s an old soul,” one of the nurses commented. “And what a beauty too.” She had smooth olive skin and full pink lips, the top one forming a perfect cupid’s bow.

  When Nancy found out Mary Anne was to be released on Sunday, she set the baby shower for Saturday afternoon. The nurses not on duty would stop by around three o’clock. There would be cake and lemonade and lots of gifts, and everyone would get to hold Baby Girl Maynard one last time.

  When the day arrived, Mary Anne was so stunned she cried.

  “I can’t believe you did this for me,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to buy all the things I needed.” She looked around her hospital room at all the gifts the nurses had brought: a large box of disposable diapers, a baby bathtub, T-shirts and bibs, booties and rattles. One of the nurses had splurged on a wooden crib, another on a highchair. Mary Anne was overwhelmed. “Thank you so much,” she said.

  She opened Nancy’s present last. As she tore the paper away from the large box, she glimpsed the picture on the side of the box and looked up at Nancy, smiling.

  “You’ll use this one tomorrow,” Nancy said, “when I drop you off at the shelter.”

  “I’m so glad you thought of this,” Mary Anne said. “I would have forgotten completely.”

  The car seat carrier was top-of-the-line, the safest kind for infants, and came with a latch base for easy snap-and-go loading and unloading. It could also be manually strapped into any car using only a seatbelt, no latch base or tethers required. The lightest weight model on the market, it would be the easiest for Mary Anne to carry in her weakened condition. Nancy had done her research. Had felt compelled, actually.

  “I know you’ll be tempted to hold her in your arms,” Nancy said. “But it’s the law, and I don’t mean to scare you, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to treat children in the emergency room who wouldn’t have been there at all if they’d been protected in one of these.”

  “I’ll make sure she’s in it every time,” Mary Anne said, smiling. “Thank you all so very much.”

  One of the nurses entered the room holding the baby and handed her to Mary Anne.

  “She came a little bit early, but she’s perfectly fine now,” the nurse commented.

  “There’s just one more thing,” Nancy said. “We’re not letting you out of here until you give that baby girl a name. In fact, you have to sign the birth certificate before you go.”

  “Oh.” Mary Anne looked down at the baby tenderly. “I’ve already got one,” she said. “I�
��m going to call her Rachael. It’s feminine and strong at the same time.” She looked around at the faces of the nurses, who all nodded their heads in agreement and smiled.

  CHAPTER 4

  Caroline perused her kitchen. Dishes were stacked high in the sink, and her potted miniature roses in the window box bowed their heads in thirst. She took a deep breath and pulled her apron over her head, tying it behind at the waist.

  “I was going to do those before you came downstairs,” Jake said, entering the room from his office on the first level. “Leave them. I’ll get them.”

  “No,” Caroline replied, “I need to do something. I can’t stay in bed a minute longer.” It had been one week since her return from the hospital. She had spent the majority of every day in bed, watching television and reading when she wasn’t sleeping. It was Saturday, tennis day, but she knew she wouldn’t be doing that for a while. She thought maybe she would work in her garden, provided she didn’t bend too much. She couldn’t wait to be fully recovered. She was running out of ways to occupy her mind while she waited on her body to recuperate. She had already watched every movie on cable television and had read two books. When she slept in between, she continued to dream of a baby, only not as vividly as before. They were more like regular dreams now and less like the explicit visions she’d experienced earlier, before her surgery. Still, they persisted, and she wondered now if she should seek some kind of help. “Maybe I need therapy,” she said.

  “What, hon?” Jake asked.

  “Nothing, I was just talking to myself.”

  “Did you say therapy?”

  Caroline remained silent. If I tell him, he will think I’m going nuts. “It’s probably just my hormones,” she said. “I know after a hysterectomy things get pretty weird until they regulate themselves.”

  “Are you still feeling sad?”

  “A little.” Caroline paused. “Jake, have you ever thought of adopting?” She wasn’t sure where this came from. It surprised her as much as it did her husband.

  “What?” Jake looked up, raising his eyebrows so high his forehead rippled in temporary wrinkles. “Oh, honey, you can’t be serious.” He walked up behind her and placed his arms around her waist, his mouth closer to her ear. “When you get a taste of your freedom, believe me, you will stop feeling this way. Just give it a little time. When Pauley gets back from his European trip and heads off to university, we are going to have total privacy for the first time in twenty-one years.”

  “You’re probably right,” Caroline said. “You’re usually right about everything. It’s just that . . .”

  “It’s just what?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know,” Caroline said. “I’m a born mother, and I’m still youthful. I feel like I have so much to offer. I don’t know if I want to take an early retirement.”

  Later that evening, Jake returned from the grocery store with a couple of fresh ahi tuna fillets and a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. Caroline had finished some light gardening and treated herself to a hot bath. She walked down the stairs in her nightgown and made herself comfortable on the end of the sofa. Jake tuned the stereo to the station that played soft jazz. He stood just outside on the patio, placing the fillets on the grill, a wineglass in his free hand. When he looked up and noticed Caroline, he entered the kitchen, reached for the other glass of wine he had poured moments earlier and left on the counter, and sat down next to his wife.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  “Lots,” she said and reached for her glass. They tapped the rims of their glasses lightly and sipped quietly for a moment before Jake spoke first. “I got you something when I was out,” he said. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Caroline heard the door to Jake’s office open and then close again. When Jake returned, he held something under his shirt, hiding it from Caroline’s view.

  “You want something to mother,” he said. “And this little baby girl needs a mommy.” He pulled his hand out from underneath his shirt, and there, curled in his palm, lay a tiny kitten. Her eyes were closed, and she mewed once quietly. Caroline’s face softened, and she reached for the kitten.

  “Where did you get her?”

  “Outside the grocery store. Two little girls were giving them away. They had five in a cardboard box. I’m guessing the mother may have abandoned them. I’m not even sure if she’s old enough to be weaned.”

  “I don’t think she is,” Caroline said. “We’ll need a little bottle to feed her with.” She looked at the kitten and stroked its head between the ears. “She’s so tiny.”

  The kitten was black and gray with white on three of its paws, a patch of orange on its forehead, and white on the tip of its tail.

  “I think she’s a calico, would you say?” Jake asked.

  “Looks like it,” Caroline said. She smiled up at her husband. “You are so funny,” she said and leaned forward to kiss him.

  “I just want you to be happy,” he said. “What will you name her?”

  Caroline looked down at the kitten in her lap. “Well, she’s a Calico cat, and she’s a California girl. How about we call her Cali?”

  “That’s clever. And Cali Cat rhymes with alley cat. I like it,” Jake said.

  Vito Gamboa had not returned to his apartment since the shooting. He knew the police were looking for him. He also knew his nosey next-door neighbor kept an eager eye out for him as well. He had sold his car to a junkyard with the understanding they would sell all its parts and then demolish it. He turned around and put his money down on a used motorcycle. There were advantages and disadvantages to this. While he could park almost anywhere and enter and exit quickly on a bike, he couldn’t hide himself as well as he could in a car. It’s why he kept his helmet on and his body fully covered in clothing so he couldn’t be identified when he parked outside his apartment building across the street. He knew Mary Anne would eventually return for her car and some of her other things, and when she did, he would be there waiting for her.

  As soon as he shot her, he had fled to a friend’s house and parked his car in the garage. He knew the ambulance had taken Mary Anne to one of two hospitals: Tarzana or Westerleigh. When his friend had confirmed the latter, he rode down on his bike a few days later. As soon as he had verified that there were no police around, he had walked inside and asked the woman at the information desk for the room number of Mary Anne Maynard. Immediately, the woman began asking questions. “What’s your name? Are you a family member?” When she told him to wait there while she picked up a phone and dialed a number, Vito ran out and did not return. Fifteen minutes later, he observed from a distance the police interviewing the woman behind the information desk. Obviously, the police had informed the hospital staff to keep an eye out for him.

  When Mary Anne checked out on Sunday afternoon, she was driven by a woman in a Jeep Cherokee loaded with baby things in the back. He noticed the woman placing an infant carrier with a baby into the back seat and deduced Mary Anne had delivered their baby early. The thought that he was now a father filled him with pomposity but also apprehension. The very idea that Mary Anne might try to keep him from his own flesh and blood caused the skin on the back of his neck to heat and the hair on his head to bristle. The need to take back control engulfed him.

  Vito followed them from a two-car distance until he lost them on Topanga Canyon when a car changed lanes in front of him, causing him to swerve and almost hit another vehicle.

  Now he waited outside the apartment building, certain Mary Anne or someone else would eventually return for her car, and when that happened, he was prepared to follow.

  The shelter was located in the hills behind Chatsworth Reservoir. An older home on what appeared to be at least a couple of acres, it was set back from the winding road they had traversed to get there and stood secluded behind groves of mature live oaks, along with a few sycamores, bay laurels, and walnut trees. Mary Anne had tried to memorize the way so later, when it was safe, she could find her way around in a car. From Topanga C
anyon Boulevard, Nancy headed west through Box Canyon. It was a snaky route that ended in a sharp ninety-degree turn to avoid a rock embankment just before the entry to the long driveway leading to the shelter. “Wow,” Nancy said. “I have a good sense of direction, but that was a challenge. This place is definitely off the beaten path.”

  “It’s a pretty twisty road too. I wouldn’t want to drive it at night,” Mary Anne said.

  An older woman with short graying hair and a long, flowing skirt approached the Jeep and introduced herself as the manager of the shelter. She was kind and poised, and Nancy felt good about leaving Mary Anne and the baby in her care.

  They proceeded to unload the back of the Jeep. Some of the other women came out of the house and helped carry Mary Anne’s things inside, leaving the sleeping baby in the car. As soon as Mary Anne removed the baby from the back seat, the midday sun shone on the baby’s face and illuminated her delicate features. She squinted her eyes and squirmed in the seat, but the light was so intense, she finally began to cry softly.