Intersections

by Megan Hart

  In the kitchen, Luka had finished cooking. "It's ready. You said you were hungry. There's toast. Coffee. Bacon. Eggs. I can make oatmeal if you want it."

  "Oh, wow. No, thank you, that should all be more than enough."

  An involuntary groan leaked out of her, followed by a rush of saliva that usually signaled the rapid expelling of her stomach's contents. Food and puke had been inextricably linked in Tori's mind since early adolescence. Right now, all she could think about was digging into a platter of steaming, fluffy eggs covered in cheese the way Luka was making them. Downing a mug of coffee. Toast. Bacon, oh, Jesus fuck, bacon. She hadn't eaten bacon in years.

  Luka had just handed her a mug of steaming black coffee when a form loomed in the doorway. Taller even than Luka. Shoulders broader. Same head of shaggy black hair falling to his upper back, same wild eyebrows and square jawline. This brother's eyes were the dark shade of brown she'd expected Luka's to be.

  "This is Micah," Luka said without looking at the other man, not even a glance.

  "I'm Tori. This is...my baby," she said with a second's hesitation. "She doesn't have a name yet."

  Micah wore a pair of faded jeans riding low on his hips and an open flannel shirt that exposed the thick thatch of black hair on his chest and belly. His muscles rippled beneath it. He swung his head around, and Tori swore his nostrils flared.

  "Why doesn't it have a name yet?"

  It wasn't the oddest question to ask. She might have led with "who are you and how did you get here?" but maybe they had dozens of strangers show up on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Who knew?

  "I haven't decided."

  The big man strode across the kitchen with two long steps, bending over her before Tori could do anything. He hunched low to look into the baby's face. Tori caught a whiff of him -- the scent of pine needles, undercut with something less fresh. It reminded her uncomfortably that she smelled gross and the kid probably even worse.

  "She looks like a Katherine."

  "I'm definitely not naming her Katherine. Kathy was my mother." Tori paused. "How did you know that?"

  Micah straightened to fix her with a steady stare from those solid dark eyes. "How does anyone know anything?"

  Before she could reply, not even sure what she might have said to that, he'd turned on his heel and stalked across the room to stare over his brother's shoulder. With both of them facing away from her, it would've been difficult to tell them apart if she hadn't already known which was which. As though on cue, another brother came into the kitchen, followed on the heels by the fourth.

  Jackson, Declan, Micah and Luka, last name yet unknown. Not quadruplets, because the age differences were apparent even if the resemblances between them were so close it was difficult to tell them apart. Dressed almost identically, it was almost like a parody. Four huge men with wild hair and muscles on top of their muscles, looking like something out of a gay porn movie about lumberjacks. They probably all had rippling abs and sculpted butt cheeks.

  Only Luka had bright green eyes. She saw that clearly enough as one by one the other brothers bent to study the baby in her arms. Only Micah had offered an opinion about the name. Declan had touched the baby's head briefly with his fingertips, so quickly Tori hadn't had time to protest or worry. Jackson, the oldest, had stared at her without so much as the hint of a smile and said nothing.

  "You go ahead into the dining room with Mother," Luka told her as he lifted a big tray laden with platters.

  "I can help --"

  "Go," Luka said.

  In the dining room, Tori found the old woman in the same place she'd been ever since Tori first got here, and in a moment she understood why. She hadn't noticed, before, that Mother was in a wheelchair. An antique by the look of it, with a high wicker back that had looked like one of the dining room chairs until she rolled back a foot or so from the table as the boys came in. She was moving the planchette again. Slow circles, around and around. Every so often it would pause, perhaps to showcase a letter or spell out a word, but since the old woman wasn't looking down, Tori had no idea how she could possibly be figuring out any kind of message.

  Tori took the chair at the foot of the table, not sure if she'd be putting someone out of their usual place. None of the men seemed to mind. The brothers filled in the spaces quickly and began serving themselves without fanfare. They piled their plates high with food and dug in, falling on the food with wolfish intensity.

  Luka placed a dish in front of his mother, who barely pushed aside the Ouija board to make room for it. She gave the plate a baleful glance without lifting her fingers from the planchette. Tori paused, watching, as the plastic piece moved slowly toward the right.

  NO

  Tori's own plate had a scant portion of eggs and a single slice of bacon. Before leaving the hospital with her baby, she hadn't put more than a few bites of food in her stomach in...well, years, she had to admit. It had been years. This ravenous appetite, unquenchable and undeniable, wasn’t going to be satisfied with a few bites of egg and bacon, but she'd have to start slow or else she’d just sick it all up.

  She had to maintain her strength for Little Bit. Make sure her milk would come in hard enough to feed the baby. She couldn't be feeling lightheaded or nauseated from hunger all the time, not with the infant to take care of. For the first time in as long as Tori could remember, the idea of consuming food was nothing to fear but something to accept, embrace. It was necessity.

  The sudden rap of a fork against one of the china plates rung out. Heads turned at once. All of the men put their forks down. Heads hung, too.

  "Manners!" cried the old lady from her end of the table. "You were not raised in a barn! And we have a guest. Comport yourselves like the men I raised you to be, not like beasts."

  "Sorry, Mother." One by one, her giant sons mumbled variations of that.

  Mother gave a flick of a glance at the fork in Tori's hand. "Children without manners are a wound in a mother's side. Yours must have been wounded more than once or twice."

  Tori deliberately put the bite of eggs in her mouth to chew. She couldn't wait any longer. Her stomach had become shriveled and vacant, her hands on the verge of shaking. She had to eat.

  "My mother," she said around a full mouth of eggs and bacon, "usually said I was an unruly heathen who was going straight to hell."

  She hadn't realized how much noise all those men were making even without saying a word, until the room fell so silent she heard her own stomach growling. She looked up to find them all staring at her. Declan, Micah, and Jackson with narrowed eyes. Luka pressed his lips together as though to hold back a smile.

  Mother herself let out a low, rasping cackle and clapped her hands. "My, my, a slap would do that smart mouth some good, but I'm too far away and too old to make the effort. How refreshing it is to have another female at this table, I must say. Another two, in fact."

  She waved a hand with a frown at her sons. "Eat."

  Again, they all fell on their plates, but the gobbling and snorting was held in check. Nobody ate with their pinkies up or anything weird like that, but the atmosphere around the table definitely had become more genteel. Luka stood to pour everyone fresh mugs of coffee from the pot he brought in from the kitchen while Declan passed the cream and sugar. Nobody said much, but with every mouth except Mother's almost consistently full, Tori supposed that was part of having good manners.

  Tori ate as much as she could without overstuffing herself, then sat back with her sleeping daughter against her shoulder. "That was delicious. Thank you so much."

  Mother had barely touched her food. "You have some color coming back into your cheeks, but you're still far too pale. Eat more."

  "There's not enough left for us both, and you've eaten nothing," Tori said and went quiet at Mother's imperious gesture.

  "I'm an old lady with a finicky appetite. You have a child, you've just given birth, you're still bleeding. I can smell it," Mother said. "You need nourishment, and as a gue
st in my house, I'll insist you get it."

  Hot shame sent an electric ripple all through Tori at Mother's words. "I'm sorry --"

  "After breakfast, you'll bathe yourself and the child. You still haven't named her?"

  "Not since the last time you asked me, no."

  "Bring her to me."

  At first, Tori didn't move. Everyone stared at her. With her hunger satisfied, at least for the moment, her head was a little more clear. Tori would've been the first to admit she had never been the brightest color in the crayon box, she didn't need to be a genius to feel as though something in this house was not...quite...right.

  She pushed back from the table, carefully cradling the sleeping child. In front of Mother, she tipped the bundle to allow the old woman to look at the baby's face. Mother leaned forward to stare at her the way her sons had, and although she didn't lift her hands from the planchette to touch the baby, she closed her eyes and drew in a long, long breath.

  "Babies always have a sweetness to them, not matter how dirty they are." Mother breathed in again, her mouth falling open to reveal a glimpse of her tongue which was not pink, but gray and oddly pointed. "You, however, are far from daisy fresh."

  "It's been a long few days," Tori said.

  Mother drew in another breath, her face so close to the baby's that the gust of her exhale stirred the few wisps of hair the child had been born with. A silver strand of saliva glinted at the corner of the old woman's lips and alarmed, Tori took a step back to keep her from drooling on the baby. Mother sat back to pat her lips with a cloth napkin. Her gaze had gone rheumy and distant. She lolled a bit in the chair, head drooping. Her hands at last fell away from the planchette.

  At once, the older sons were on their feet to gather around her. Solicitously, they dabbed away the drool and situated her more upright in her chair. One took away the untouched plate. Another lifted her hands to place her fingers on the planchette. This time, it didn't move.

  "Maybe she ought to be in bed," Tori said. "She doesn't look well."

  Luka had stood as well, so quietly she hadn't noticed him behind her until he spoke. "She'll be fine. Come on. I'll help you with the bath."

  Backing away from the scene in front of her, Tori followed. The baby squirmed in her arms. Luka took her to the bathroom she'd used this morning. He stepped aside so she could get past him.

  "I can handle it from here," Tori said when he made no move to close the door behind her.

  "You need me to take her?" He was already reaching.

  Tori shook her head, pulling the baby closer to her. "Uh, no. No, I couldn't ask you to do that."

  "I don't mind. I like babies." Luka's grin started small and got wider, showing white teeth.

  "She needs a bath, too. I'll take care of it. But I...we both need some fresh clothes. Could you grab my overnight bag for me from the bedroom?" There wasn't much in it, but at least the baby would have something clean to wear. Tori hesitated, then decided just to go for it. "And listen, do you think you could maybe run to a drugstore for me? I need some things, and I don't have much cash, but I'll be able to pay you back once I get to my dad's. I promise."

  "Can't go anywhere for awhile."

  Tori chewed the inside of her cheek for a second. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but look, I've just had a baby and there are things that happen after that. I need more diapers, wipes. Other things."

  He stared at her blankly.

  "I'm bleeding," Tori said bluntly. "I need some pads or something. It's embarrassing, but I can't help it."

  If her confession made him uncomfortable, Luka didn't show it. His nostrils flared a bit, and his grin became a thin line without so much as a tilt at the corners. His pale green eyes fixed on hers.

  "Snowed in," he said with a cut of his gaze toward the tiny window over the toilet. "You can look for yourself. But we can't get out until the plow comes through the main road and we clear our lane. Could be days. Could be weeks."

  Alarmed, Tori shook her head. "You have to be kidding."

  "No."

  "Can I use your phone, then? At least to call my dad? Tell him we're okay? He's expecting us," she lied.

  "Sure. After you're cleaned up. You'll feel better after that, anyway. You sure you don't want me to take her?" He reached again.

  Tori clutched her child. "No. Thank you. If you could just bring my bag, that would be great."

  "If you need help, let me know. There are towels in that cupboard." He pointed.

  "I should be okay. Thank you," she said stiffly, keeping her emotions in check. "You can just leave the bag outside the door for me. I'll get it when I'm done."

  He knocked in a minute or so, and she opened the door enough to take the bag from him. When he went out, she moved to lock the door, but the small button on the inside of the knob spun without catching. She shoved her bag against it instead, not that it would do much. She grabbed a towel from the cupboard. It was worn and covered in faded daisies but it smelled clean, and right now that was all she cared about. She put the baby on the floor on top of the folded towel, then started the water running in the tub.

  She stripped carefully out of her clothes and put them in a pile, leaving on her underpants and the borrowed pad. She tested the water temperature. She liked her showers almost scalding, but she hadn't taken an actual bath in a tub for years, and with an infant she had to be sure the water wasn't too hot.

  "Hey, Little Bit. Let's get you cleaned up, okay? Get out of this stinky diaper. Get some fresh PJs on. What do you say?"

  The baby said a lot, all of it in howls and outraged shrieks when Tori exposed her to the chilly air. Working as quickly as she could, considering how clumsy she felt, Tori dealt with the diaper. She'd used up all the wipes earlier and made do with a washcloth, wincing at the mess.

  Kneeling over the baby, her own skin humping into goosebumps, Tori eyed the side of the claw foot tub. The trick was going to be getting herself and the kid in there without slipping and falling and dropping the baby. Again, she wondered how on earth anyone was ever expected to manage having a kid on their own. She regretted not letting Luka help her for the split second it took her to remember that trusting men had never been good for her.

  She put the dirty diaper in the empty trashcan and scooped up the baby as she managed to get to her feet. She hadn't realized how much her neck, shoulders, and back ached and burned from constantly holding this squirming six pounds until now. Cringing, she forced herself to tuck the baby under one arm while she used the other hand to support herself on the edge of the tub.

  This wasn't going to work. She'd forgotten to take off her underpants. She couldn't lift her leg high enough to get into the tub, not without falling. Defeated, Tori hung her head. She wanted to weep, but the baby was screaming enough for both of them.

  You can figure this out, Little Bit. You've got it all under control. You can do this. I have faith in you.

  Again, it wasn't something her old man had ever actually said to her, but Tori liked to believe he would have, if he'd had the chance. At least hearing it in his voice stopped her from bursting into hysterics and throwing herself down on the bathroom floor.

  "Gonna do this," she said under her breath.

  She set the baby back on the towel. She shucked out of her enormous, saturated panties. Then she got into the tub, pausing to turn off the water since the level had reached the overflow drain. Leaning over the edge with a low groan, she fit her fingers under the baby and lifted. Tried to lift, anyway. The angle was wrong. Her back hurt too much. She tried again, taking a breath. Heat gushed out of her; she refused to look at the water. She grabbed the baby, pulling and lifting and slipping back into the water with the infant held up so she didn't go under. Water splashed. Tori slid down the smooth porcelain and for a moment she thought about what might happen if she simply went beneath the surface and didn't come back up.

  Then, slowly, it all became better. The water was warm enough to soothe her, and although dark swirl
s of blood moved through it every time she shifted, it wasn't as much as she'd thought it would be. The baby was slippery and hard to hold onto, but Tori got them both situated with her back against the tub's curved surface. She put the baby to her breast and let herself relax as much as she could.

  Long minutes passed. The baby quieted, nursing, then sleeping. Tori didn't dare let herself drift that far, but she did close her eyes. She heard her own heartbeat in her ears, and she found herself counting it along with her breaths.

  It was the most at ease she'd felt in...well, since before the first pains had started, doubling her over in the storage room. It was the calmest she'd felt in as long as she could remember. She looked at the baby sleeping on her chest.

  "Gonna do this, Little Bit," she promised. "We're gonna be okay."

  10

  With a lot of effort, Tori managed to wash the baby and return her to the nest on the floor, where the infant made another series of those discontented peeps but didn't wake once Tori wrapped her in a towel. Quickly, because the water had chilled, Tori cleaned herself as best she could without soap, in bloody water. She flashed to a memory of the laundry sink, and the breakfast she'd so willingly downed threatened to come back up.

  Something was very wrong in this house.

  Tori had never much liked horror movies. It wasn't that they scared her. It was more often that the characters running from the monsters just seemed so fucking stupid she was never upset when they died. Anyway, monsters were never as horrifying as real people.

  She pulled the drain but stayed in the tub while the water ran out, using fresh water from the faucet to scrub at herself until she felt clean enough to get out. Crouched on the floor, she held a hand between her legs to catch the blood. From under the sink, she took another rag, tucked it between her thighs and stood, fishing the one she'd borrowed this morning out of her panties. She rinsed it over and over again until the water ran clear and she could wring it dry. She draped it over the edge of the bucket in the cabinet.