Rebecca

by Adam J Nicolai

  "I don't know... maybe in a few years, or something..."

  He nodded. "A lot of people think like that. It makes it easier, at least in the short term. But that's not how it works. At least, that's not how it will work for you. What happens is, the kid gets older and you start to resent her."

  She remembered this, now, from when she used to talk to him before. He was always a step ahead of her, always knew her better than she knew herself.

  "You're doing it for the right reasons, or trying to, but then you'll see how she just wastes it. Not trying hard enough in school, or hanging out with the wrong kids. Turning gay." He smiled. "You give up everything for her, and not only does she not appreciate it, she doesn't even understand it. She's gonna think she's entitled to everything - all kids do - and you'll resent her for it. It'll be wrong, yeah, but you'll still do it. You'll hate each other." He leaned forward. "If you keep her, you won't just ruin your own life. You'll ruin hers."

  That made perfect sense. She could fight her feelings all she wanted, but she knew how hard it was. She was still attracted to other girls, for example, even though she'd fought that as hard as she possibly could. Maybe the feelings would never go away, and that was fine when it was just her, when she was the only one suffering. But Rebecca would pick up on her resentment. Just like Sarah had picked up on her own mother's.

  She'd have to start the adoption process over. She had no idea how long it would take, but even if it wasn't done by the end of the month... maybe she could start the school year late?

  Her heart quickened at the prospect of leaving this entire colossal screw-up behind her, of moving on as if it had never happened. It felt like being cleansed at the altar, like -

  "Being forgiven," the Messenger said, and smiled. "Exactly. The blood of Jesus. You can move past your sins, and He even wants you to. Isn't it glorious?"

  "Yes," she said. There were tears on her cheeks, just like there always were when Pastor Dennis prayed with her. A fresh start. Erasing the mistakes. Yes. "Thank you."

  He hugged her around the shoulders. "Hallelujah. You've done so much for Him, Sarah. Even with your problem, you've done so much. And now He's asking you to show Him again how much you love Him, by giving him your daughter."

  She sniffed, smiling through her tears. "Yes. Okay."

  "It's too late for adoption, though. He needs you to send her back." He pushed one of the throw pillows into her hands.

  She looked down at it, uncomprehending. "What? I don't..."

  "She's going to die of SIDS. You heard about that at the hospital, right?"

  "Well... yeah, but I don't... I don't understand."

  He drew back, looked at her levelly. "Yes, you do."

  "You want me to kill her?"

  "If you care about her, if you care about what He wants, then yes. You will send her back. He's waiting to receive her."

  "I can't... why can't I place her for adoption?"

  He spread his hands. "Sarah, you know it doesn't work that way. I only tell you what He's told me, and He's told me this is the only way." He stood and walked to the swing, turned the dial to OFF so the machine started winding to a stop.

  That wasn't good enough for her. "Why?"

  "How would I know why? Maybe because you've blown every other chance He gave you?" He held up a hand again, fingers ready to tick off her sins. "You fucked Cal Werther to start with, and He never told you to do that. You were dumb enough not to use birth control. That one really floored me. Then, when the kid was born, you kept her, even though you told Cal you probably wouldn't." He had three fingers up; he cocked one more. "Now He's giving you a fourth chance. Maybe He's tired of being jerked around? Maybe He's not convinced you're as good a kid as you always said you were?" He scoffed. "I mean, you jump into bed with Cal. And today you call Tiff? You have sexual problems, Sarah. Real sexual problems, and they're disgusting."

  He must've read the horror on her face; his sudden onslaught abruptly ended. "Listen. I know it's hard. I know you're a good person, and that you're trying. Honestly, I think part of the reason may be because He's thinking of you and Rebecca. To Him, there's no difference between getting her back tonight" - he snapped his fingers - "and waiting until she lives her whole life and dies. There's a difference for her, though: the pain of knowing you don't want her. And there's a difference for you, because you'll miss the start of school if you call that adoption lady back, and He wants your life to resume right away." He lowered his voice. "I mean really, that seems fair to me. You got pregnant because you were trying to do the right thing by Him. You just didn't expect it to go this far. So it's almost like He owes you. Right?

  "So." He nodded toward the pillow, still in Sarah's hands. "Use that." The swing had slowed significantly; each creak dragged out like a nail on a chalkboard. He set a hand on it, and it stopped. "It'll be fast. You won't have to see her face. When it's done, go to bed. In the morning, you'll find her and call 911. You won't go to jail, because - now, this is how much He loves you - you won't remember you did it."

  He snapped his fingers. Nodded. "It'll look like SIDS, and as far as you'll remember, that's exactly what it'll be. He just needs to know that you're willing to do this. For Him. He'll take care of the rest."

  Her heart was pounding; the pillow quivered in her hands. "Isn't it a sin?"

  The Messenger shook his head. "Of course not, Sarah. Not if God tells you to do it."

  I could get out of this hellish apartment, she realized. Never have to talk to Cal again. Get away from my mother. Go to Yale.

  "She won't know?" Sarah asked. "It won't hurt her?"

  He shook his head again. "Not at all. She'll wake up with her Heavenly Father. You'll be doing right by her."

  Blood rushed in her head; she wanted to vomit, or shriek.

  She stood up.

  The phone rang.

  28

  The noise tore her gaze toward the dining room table, where her cell phone lay.

  When she looked back, the Messenger was gone. The TV was making its final, desperate play for her to buy its exercise machine. Outside, traffic on Riverside rumbled by like normal.

  But the swing was still. The pillow was in her hands.

  She felt the memory of the dream slipping fast - but even that sensation, somehow, was familiar.

  The phone rang again. It vibrated as it did, dragging itself toward the edge of the table like a wounded worm.

  She glanced at the clock. 12:02.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey."

  She paused, dumbfounded. "Tiff?"

  "Why the fuck did you call me today? And don't give me some shit about Foucault."

  "I -" She looked around, at the stopped swing and the pillow she'd set on the table. Was I sleepwalking again? She hadn't done that since she was nine. Is this real? "It's after midnight," she said, mostly to ground herself.

  "Yeah. I thought about that. But you said you missed the late night calls, so... here you go."

  "I..." It was like waking up behind a steering wheel. "Wow, I didn't expect you to call me."

  "Answer my question," Tiff said. "Because it's been bugging me all day. You avoid me like the plague for months. You don't say goodbye at the end of the year, you don't sign my yearbook. And all of a sudden you call me in the middle of August? Acting like nothing happened? What do you think I am, stupid?"

  "No. No, I really don't think that."

  "Well, what then?"

  Listen to her, Pastor Dennis said. What a shrew. That's how they all are. It's what sin does to you. Hang up.

  But there was a lot of pain in her voice. Sarah knew how it had gotten there, and it wasn't from being gay.

  "I was just being stupid. I was hoping..." She drew a shaky breath, let it out. She was wide awake now, but still close enough to sleep to leak honesty. "I just miss you. And you really didn't deserve what I did to you."

  Tiff fell silent. Sarah wanted to say more, but she waited.

  "You started hanging out with
Cal Werther," Tiff finally said. "He's like... the biggest homophobic asshole in Eddington."

  "I know." She had hated that about him, but it was actually one of the things that had drawn her to him, too. Being near him was a kind of purifying self-immolation. A few times he had even made some grandstanding comments at the lunch table. Things like, "Now that's a dyke if I ever saw one," or, "She ain't bad looking, I bet I could fuck her straight." Sarah had left; she couldn't sit and listen to it. But she'd never said anything to stop him, either. "I'm sorry."

  "Why the hell would you do that, Sare? I mean, it's not like people haven't done that to me before." She gave a choked laugh; it shivered with old pain. "They have, tons of 'em have. I just never thought you would."

  Even hearing her voice now, angry and hurt, was making Sarah's pulse flutter. I'm not over her, she realized. Not by a long shot. "I don't know."

  "Yeah? Well, that answer doesn't work for me. In fact, that answer sounds like bullshit. Because you know what? I never would've done that to you. Never. If you didn't want to be friends anymore, or debate partners, or whatever - fine. It would've hurt, but fine. You didn't have to be such a bitch about it."

  Sarah didn't flinch. "No, I didn't."

  "So why, then?"

  It was Sarah's turn to fall silent. Tiff had the best bullshit detector Sarah had ever seen. Sarah had two choices: tell her the truth, or give up on her.

  "'Cause I was scared, Tiff. 'Cause I've known I was gay since I was a kid, and my mom doesn't know, and she was getting suspicious, and I'm terrified of her finding out."

  It wasn't the whole truth. But it was honest.

  Tiff blew out a long breath. The TV murmured; in her sleep, Rebecca gave a petite cough.

  "Fuck," Tiff finally said. "Can I come pick up that book on Monday?"

  29

  In the morning, Rebecca's cry woke her.

  She was lying on the couch; her shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to her skin and stinging her damaged breasts. Sunlight sizzled in the cracks between the window blinds.

  "Okay," she said to no one in particular. The baby kept crying. She sat up.

  She and Tiff had talked for another twenty minutes, until Rebecca had woken up for a feeding. The phone was on the floor, next to the couch. As she snatched it up, sweat dripped off her forehead. The heat in the room was suffocating.

  She held Rebecca to calm her down while she went around and opened the windows, admitting a grudging breeze. Eliza was on again, or some show like it, but she couldn't stomach it, so she turned it off. She didn't want to stare at the dead TV, so she fed Rebecca at the dining room table instead of in the rocking chair, even though it was less comfortable.

  There was a throw pillow on the table. She dimly remembered waking up with it in her hands, leaving it on the table when Tiff called. And the swing had been turned off. Before that, had she been dreaming? She couldn't remember.

  Her phone rang. The display said: Cal.

  30

  He's actually calling? Two weeks, and this was the first time he'd bothered. This had to be the break-up call she'd been half-expecting. The thought sent a little ripple of rage down her spine.

  She let it buzz one more time, taking a second to collect herself. Then she hit the button.

  "Look who it is."

  "Hey, chica."

  She hated that name. They'd taken a Spanish class together, just after they started dating, and he'd never let it go. "Hey. You back in town?"

  "Sure thing, gotta see that little girl, right?"

  Not a break-up call then. Was he actually man enough to do it in person? "I wasn't sure you'd want to."

  "Yeah, of course I do. You home now?"

  I'm always home. "Yeah. I tried to leave yesterday, and was punished for my sins."

  He laughed. "It's a little devil, huh?" It was a weird thing for him to say, forced, like he was trying to relate to his grandparents.

  "Something like that." It's your kid we're talking about. You should know this yourself, without me telling you.

  "Does it take naps?"

  That was a weird question. "Yeah, she naps all the time."

  "Cool, I'll come over during a nap so we can talk."

  "Talk?"

  "Yeah. You know. What time?"

  "What time? There is no time - she sleeps whenever she wants to."

  "Oh. I read you should try to get it on a schedule."

  "'It?'"

  "What?"

  "You're calling your daughter 'it?'"

  He scoffed. "C'mon, Sare, don't get weird on me. 'She,' okay? 'Her.' Whatever."

  "Yeah. Whatever." Rebecca was watching, riveted, as if she recognized that Sarah was talking about her.

  He gave a disbelieving laugh. "Oh man. I heard girls can get weird after they have kids, but I really thought you were better than that. Please tell me you're not gonna go all crazy on me."

  Her eye was twitching. What had she expected? Cal had never been the sensitive type; had she really thought he was going to start now?

  Screw you, she wanted to say. Stay home. But this was his kid in her lap, too. She shouldn't have to do all the work. She shouldn't have to be the only one to give up everything. "Whatever. No, she's not on a schedule. If I'm lucky, she'll be on a schedule by the end of this month." About the time I should've been leaving for school.

  "All right. Well, I'll just come over whenever then. If it's, ah - if she's awake, then I guess I'll get to meet her."

  "Yeah." Wonderful. She lifted Rebecca up, started burping her. "Guess so."

  31

  She hadn't showered in a week. No matter how disgusted she was with Cal, she didn't want him to see her like this. But Rebecca had slept for hours the night before; a nap was out of the question.

  She set Rebecca on her lap, braced the back of her neck to help her keep her balance. The girl's dark eyes trained on her.

  "She'll look at your face," the nurse had explained at the hospital. "That's one of the first things they learn about the world, is what their parent's face looks like. Spend a little time just looking at her. She'll like it."

  Sarah looked.

  "I need to take a shower now." The baby's lips were parted; a thin dribble of spit and breast milk trailed from one corner of her mouth. Sarah wiped it off. "You need to stay out here and just play with some toys, or something. Okay?"

  Rebecca stared at her, then burped. A pool of regurgitated milk suddenly appeared in her mouth, then welled over, spilling down her front.

  Sarah cleaned it up as fast as she could, then set her on her back in the little playpen Mom had bought. Rebecca held a hand toward her, flailing, but not crying yet.

  It felt like overkill to keep the kid in the playpen; she could probably leave the baby in the middle of the floor and she would never go anywhere. At the same time, leaving her alone at all terrified Sarah. What if she came back and the room was empty? What if Rebecca stopped breathing? The baby was her responsibility; the only one she still had. She couldn't just leave her there.

  She stared into the playpen, frozen. I have to take a shower.

  Rebecca taunted her with a one-sided grin. Sarah returned it before she remembered it was just gas. When the baby's grin abruptly collapsed, she felt like she'd had a rug pulled out from beneath her.

  "Yeah, all right. I have to do this, okay? Just..." She flailed with one hand, grasping for words, then waved the kid away. "Don't die."

  When she took off her clothes, the stink from between her legs made her recoil. Her underwear was stained a greenish-yellow. She balled it up and threw it in the corner, flipped on the fan, and retreated to the shower.

  She took too long. She wanted to scrub everywhere; she felt filthy. But there was too much water pressure, and her boobs felt like giant blood blisters; she had to angle and contort herself to get clean with as little agony as possible. When she got out, Rebecca was screaming bloody murder.

  "All right, all right, all right." She threw on a bathrobe and swept t
he kid up, praying she could finish getting dressed before Cal showed up. She shushed her as she padded back to the bedroom, the noise stuttering with her footsteps: "Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh."

  She dug through her closet, but it was nearly empty; she turned instead to the basket stuffed with clean clothes from her last trip to the complex's laundry room. She dug out a t-shirt and a pair of jeans with one hand, Rebecca's body braced with the other.

  From the living room, she heard the buzzer.

  "Crap." Cal hated waiting to be rung in. This thought and the reflexive kick of rage it triggered passed through her mind in near unison.

  "Hang on," she said, though whether she was talking to Cal or Rebecca she didn't know. She set the baby on the floor and tried to wiggle into her jeans. Her abdomen gave a low groan of pain.

  "Just a second!" she shouted out of habit - growing up in a house, she'd been able to do that. Here it was pointless. The buzzer came again: a long, bristling growl like the sound on a game show when somebody gets the answer wrong.

  She snatched at a bra, but it was one of those maternity ones with the flaps, and the thing wouldn't button right. A quick vision of meeting Cal with a weird bump under her shirt from a malformed bra flashed through her mind. Cursing under her breath, she dropped it on the floor and threw on the t-shirt. It scraped against her raw nipples and rustled like sandpaper when she stood.

  The buzzer again, this time in several sharp staccato bursts - less like a game show buzzer and more like an alarm clock. Rebecca hated the noise as much as Sarah did. The girl sucked in a huge breath, then hurled a wail that stabbed her mom through the temple like a railroad spike.

  "God, all right!" She grabbed the kid and bounded to the wall intercom, jammed the Talk button like she was squishing a bug. "Stop it! Stop. There's a baby in here, you idiot." She didn't hit Listen to hear his reply; she just laid into Open. Distantly, from beyond the wall, she heard the buzzing of the building's main door. She kept the button held until her own door rattled with a knock.