Rebecca

by Adam J Nicolai

  "Shh," she said to Rebecca. The girl was on the floor, struggling to raise her head. She ejected one of those unearthly shrieks, the kind that Sarah heard every night when she closed her eyes, and Sarah scooped her up. She didn't want to deal with the tummy time screams right now.

  Rebecca immediately started rooting toward Sarah's chest. Her sore breasts recoiled. She had just fed her. "No," she whispered. "Can't you wait?"

  The beeping started again on the TV - still no formal warning, they were just on watch - and she crossed to the patio window to look outside. The Minneapolis bustle was undeterred by the storm: traffic on Riverside was stop-and-go, the traffic lights blurry in the rain, pedestrians churning over the crosswalks. She took a strange, shallow kind of comfort from the sight.

  Not everyone was panicking; only her.

  37

  Creak, click. Creak, click.

  She woke in the rocking chair, in the dark. She didn't remember falling asleep. The TV was on, as always; the swing was whispering its threats.

  She was exhausted, but the crick in her neck and the familiar pain in her abdomen forced her to her feet. She shuffled into the kitchen, looking for coffee. She rooted around on the counter, in the cabinets, knowing full well she was out but searching anyway. It reminded her of the baby, rooting blindly around on Cal's bicep for something that didn't exist. She forced herself to stop and found that she was staring at the clock.

  2:47 AM.

  There was no coffee. This shouldn't be the thing to break her - not after the fight with Cal, and hanging up on her mom; not after surrendering her dreams of attending Yale - but she felt a sensation in her chest like the teetering edge of an avalanche. Her breath came shallow. She leaned against the counter, sucking at air, a wild scream burbling in the depths of her throat and clawing its way upwards.

  "Sarah?" the Messenger said as he came around the corner. "Sarah, hey." She remembered dimly that he had hurt her last time they talked, but she didn't care. He was her oldest friend.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she sank into him, sobbing.

  38

  "I want to love her," Sarah said on the couch, later. "I don't want to resent her."

  He smoothed her hair, gently kissed her forehead. His touch triggered old memories of her dad. "I know."

  "Why don't I love her?"

  He pulled back. "Sarah..." His eyes were clouded with reluctance. "Don't make me answer that."

  "It's something wrong with me," she realized. "Isn't it?"

  He took her hands. "You have a lot of things you're trying to deal with. And you're doing a good job."

  "I don't love my own daughter. What kind of woman doesn't love her own child?"

  He didn't answer. On the TV, a brunette was caught in the ecstasies of her shampoo. She grinned toward the heavens, naked and perfect and unmoving.

  "I just... I'm trying to understand everything. I kept her, and I'm trying to understand why. It seems like all I do is screw everything up."

  "You're damaged. Your baby hasn't done anything wrong." He sighed. "I wasn't going to tell you this, but you're right. It is you. You're broken." His mouth worked as it wrestled with hard truths. "You can't love her. You can't take care of her. You can never give her the life she deserves." He squeezed her shoulder. "And I know it's hard to hear, and what you have to do is even harder. But you're brave for facing it head on."

  "I don't want to hurt her."

  "You already hurt her, Sarah. Every day."

  Her face pinched; the tears welled up. He was right. He was always right.

  Rebecca would bear the final brunt of all of Sarah's failures. Because of her mom, Rebecca would never have a decent place to live. She would never know what it was to be loved. She would never know what it was to be normal.

  "Just by being gay, just by keeping her, you hurt her."

  "But why do I have to kill her?"

  "Sarah, we talked about that. Remember, you asked Him to show you a way back." Her voice issued from his mouth, an echo of her desperate prayer last weekend. "I surrender it to you."

  Her stomach roiled. "I didn't... I didn't mean..."

  "You asked Him, and He sent me. Now, this happens a lot. People ask God for help, but they don't like what He has to say. They don't like what He asks them to do. But He knows best. He has a plan for you, Sarah. He's proud of what you did, to try to deal with your sins. This part was an accident, that's all, and He is looking forward to welcoming little Rebecca back home." A broad grin. "We all are. She will love it there."

  "I just... wish there was another way." She thought of Tiff; thought of her sly smile and sharp eyes. Imagined, for a bare instant, raising Rebecca with her.

  The Messenger's eyes darkened. "You would do that?" he whispered. "You would do that to your own daughter?" He huffed, wounded. "I mean, setting aside that the entire idea is preposterous. That dyke cares for you about as much as your dad does. I know you talked on the phone a few times, won a few debate tournaments. You probably think you work well together. But that is not the same as raising a child, Sarah. You ask her - I dare you. When she's here tomorrow, you ask her to help you with Rebecca. You just see how she reacts.

  "Listen to you. You were so proud of who you were. You felt invincible before. Remember that? Now just listen to you." He crouched forward, a lion leaning in toward prey. "You are losing yourself, Sarah. You were given these fantastic gifts and you are throwing them away."

  "I'm just tired, I don't -"

  "I will let you in on a little secret. Parenting is a sacrifice. A deep one. You're so tired because this kid doesn't let you sleep. You don't rest, because it never leaves your mind. Did you know it was devouring you?"

  She couldn't suppress a spasm of recognition; he nodded. "You may not have been able to put words to it, but you knew. Not just your milk, but your mind, Sarah. Your youth. When it's done with you, you'll be a ruin."

  Devouring. Hadn't she known, every time it attached itself to her? Every time it rooted in the darkness, its red mouth gnawing?

  The throw pillow was right next to her.

  "I'm trying," she finally managed, staring at it. "I'm smiling at her every day, even if I don't feel like it. I try really hard not to let her know how I feel inside. Maybe it will change. The book says it's normal, that it goes away."

  "For most people it does," he said. "Not for you. Why do you think your dad left? Why do you think your mom kicked you out? Why do you think you're still struggling with this sexual deviance, after years of fighting it? You're not like everyone else, Sarah. You won't be happy until you come to God. He's the only one who can take care of you. In fact..."

  He drew a long breath, glanced up at the ceiling as if seeking guidance. "I talked to Him, after our last visit. I got the rules changed. You don't have to do it yourself." He squeezed her hands. "Okay? Do you hear me?"

  She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

  "You only need to give permission, and He'll take her back Himself." His eyes were dark and serious. "You said you were putting it in His hands. All you need to do is let go of this selfish idea that you can do it, that you know better than God, and He'll spare you. When she's back with Him, all of this" - he waved a hand to encompass the consequences of her sin - "goes away.

  "Sarah," he whispered. "It was a mistake. Let your Father fix it."

  Humidity and failure pressed against her chest. Her lungs fought them for breath. The swing's batteries had run out; it had fallen still.

  "Okay," she said, and he smiled.

  39

  A car horn screamed in the parking lot, jolting her awake. The brutal sun streamed through a gap in the curtains, dust dancing in its gaze.

  She sat up on the couch, her heart hammering, knowing something was wrong but unable to place it. Then she realized.

  Rebecca was quiet.

  There was no way she had slept all night. She never slept the night through.

  Sarah stole a glance at the clock. It was 9:21 in
the morning, and Rebecca had yet to make a sound.

  She's dead. Sarah remembered the barest wisps of a vague dream, that an angel had come to take her baby, and that she had let him. Her stomach flipped lazily. He killed her. I told him he could, and he killed her.

  Her gorge rose, threatening the back of her throat; she forced it back, made herself look at the swing. It had stopped moving. From her place on the couch, she couldn't see inside.

  She started to stand, but her legs had turned to water. Her vision was swimming. She sank to the floor on her knees, instead.

  Her mom demanded, Sarah, what did you do?

  I don't know. Nothing. I was sleeping.

  Don't lie to me. What did you -

  I don't know!

  She crawled across the floor, her stomach heaving, her brain throbbing in her skull. She braced herself to find Rebecca, her lips blue and her cold eyes locked on the little mobile of rainbows hanging overhead, her blanket wrapping her in a shroud. The image struck like a boulder to the gut.

  What did I do?

  She reached the swing and stopped, paralyzed with dread. She saw a tear drip off her nose and plummet to the floor.

  She forced herself to her knees and looked inside the swing.

  Rebecca was rooting. When she saw her, she stopped and stared, her black eyes gleaming.

  40

  The feeding was the worst one yet. Rebecca punished her for sleeping so late, working over her ruined nipples like she was trying to grind hamburger, and when she finished, she screamed. Sarah set her down to get her exercise, then used the last of the toothpaste while Rebecca shrieked hate at her from the living room floor.

  The dream had burned up in the morning sun, but it had left a festering horror in her stomach that stained everything she did. "Hi baby, baby," she told Rebecca as she was drained that afternoon. The baby glanced up as she fed, her eyes dull. The windows were open again, but the storm had done nothing to break the punishing humidity, and there was no breeze. "Mommy loves you," Sarah lied, and smiled.

  Rebecca's eyes dropped; compared to her milk, Sarah's words held no interest. They rang hollow in Sarah's own ears. She shut up.

  She still needed coffee and toothpaste, and the toilet paper dispenser was on its last roll, but she couldn't muster the strength to leave. The front door could have been a block of stone, the road to Target paved with caltrops. She slouched through the day, ashamed of herself for accomplishing nothing.

  When the buzzer grated around 6, she started like a hunted deer. For some reason, she immediately glanced to the TV, to see if the image was moving. Eliza was there, still taunting her newest guests.

  She shifted Rebecca, dozing, to her other arm and crossed to the intercom. "Hello?"

  "Hey. I got a bunch of shit here, let me in."

  Tiff. She'd asked if she could come over tonight. Sarah had completely forgotten. "Crap," she hissed. She hadn't even brushed her hair since she woke up, let alone taken a shower; there were four dirty diapers and an explosion of baby supplies littering the living room floor.

  "I forgot you were coming," she answered. "The place is a mess. Can we do tomorrow?"

  "Big deal. You should see my room. Come on, let me in."

  Sarah buzzed her in, set the baby in the swing, and flitted around the room trying to make it presentable. She caught a whiff of her own armpit; it sent her flying into her bedroom to change.

  "Help," Tiff called through the door. "I can't knock."

  "Just a second!" Sarah dug through a drawer full of hair sprays and body washes, found her deodorant, and slapped some on. Her hair still looked like crap. She grabbed a brush.

  "Sare, seriously!"

  "Yeah, yeah." Rebecca's eyes were bright and attentive, following her to the front door.

  "You could've called -" she started, but the sight of Tiff clutching two bulging grocery bags struck her silent.

  "Grab this." Tiff shoved one of the bags toward her. Sarah grabbed. "Cantaloupe is fuckin' heavy."

  "What is this? You didn't have to do this." The bags were brimming with bananas and ice cream, diapers and coffee.

  Oh, god. Coffee.

  "You're welcome." Tiff grunted as she heaved her bag on to the dining room table. "There's more in the car."

  "Tiff, seriously..."

  Tiff turned back, already on her way to the door. A taunt flickered in her eyes. "You and I both know I'm not taking that coffee back. Just say thank you and let's get on with it."

  "Thank you." She grabbed the coffee. "I gotta stay here with the baby, do you mind if I - ?"

  "I want a cup when I get back."

  Sarah broke for the kitchen.

  41

  "Sorry it's so nasty in here. I forgot you were coming over."

  "That's all right. I could've texted you first." Tiff stretched, arching her back; it was casual and languid and sexy as hell. "Seriously, it's nicer than my room. And it's your place, you can do whatever the hell you want."

  "Well... kind of. My mom's paying for it."

  Tiff arched a brow, a skill Sarah had always envied. "Really? Why?"

  "You know. It was the quickest way to get me out of the house."

  Tiff shook her head. "Sarah's mom: still a bitch."

  Sarah breathed a laugh. "I mean, I guess at least she's paying for it."

  "Seriously. You could've ended up living in Cal's basement."

  Sarah gave a wry chuckle. The silence afterward echoed with Cal's name. "What do I owe you for the groceries?"

  Tiff waved her off. "My mom did it. She said when I was born, my aunt used to bring groceries, and it was really nice, blah, blah, blah. She actually did most of this shopping." She quirked a smile, and admitted, "I picked up the coffee."

  You know exactly what I like, Sarah nearly said, but it had an undertone - too close to their old phone conversations - that scared her. "Thank you," she said instead. "Your mom was right; this is really great. I can't... I can't even express to you how great this is."

  "Well, I'll tell her. She was really excited. I practically had to beat her with a stick to get her to stay home. She wants to see Rebecca. I never really..." Tiff glanced away, toward the patio window. "I never told her, you know..." It was rare, seeing Tiff at a loss for words. "How much you fucked me over." She shrugged. "I didn't want her freaking out, thinking I was going to kill myself or something, you know, with all that shit going on in Anoka. She asked a couple times why you never came over any more and I just told her you were busy with stuff. And then, of course, when you got pregnant she figured that explained everything."

  Sarah had avoided Tiff so thoroughly, so carefully, that she'd never really seen how much she'd hurt her. Looking at her face now, she realized it.

  "Tiff, I'm so sorry. I was an absolute bitch. God, that whole crowd is just a bunch of jackasses. You must have thought I was completely insane."

  Tiff looked her in the eye. She wasn't smiling. "The thought crossed my mind."

  "I wish I could make it up to you. I... you know, I always thought you were a good friend but I never really, you know - I didn't really realize how awesome you were until I did this." She wanted to wince. Clumsy. You sound like an idiot. "I just... I'm really, really sorry."

  Tiff was looking at her, weighing her words. "Look. I missed you too, you know, that's a big part of why it hurt so much. I figured your mom had something to do with it. And... put it this way, I wasn't exactly surprised when you told me you were gay the other night."

  Sarah felt herself flushing. Of course Tiff wasn't surprised. How could she be after the calls they'd had, the talks about the future, the joy of entwining their voices in the dark.

  Sarah, Pastor Dennis said, what are you doing?

  Tiff sighed. "I don't... You know, I've told you this. You know this. I don't normally give second chances. You're not the first person who's suddenly decided they need to get away from the dyke. And I'm here now, breaking my own rule, and..." She was shaking her head. "Just... don't do it
again, Sarah. Don't fucking do that to me again."

  "I won't," Sarah promised.

  Pastor Dennis said, Yes, you will.

  42

  "So where is she?" Tiff asked. "Mom'll kill me if I come home without any pictures."

  "Oh." Sarah started. "Wow, she must be asleep. I can't believe she hasn't made any noise this whole time. Here." She led Tiff to the swing. Rebecca was rooting in her sleep.

  "She's hungry," Sarah said. "She'll be waking up any second."

  "Oh my god, she is incredible," Tiff breathed. "Look at that!"

  A flush of pride washed through Sarah's chest: a feeling so foreign, she almost didn't recognize it. "Yeah," she managed.

  "God, Sarah!" Tiff crouched over the swing, keeping a respectful distance. "They let you bring a baby home!"

  Sarah laughed. "I know. What the hell, right?"

  With a startled squawk, Rebecca flicked her eyes open.

  "Well, hello!" Tiff cooed. "Good morning! Well, it's actually almost seven, but that doesn't matter to you, because you're a baby!"

  Rebecca gave three hitching sobs and burst into tears. Tiff laughed. "Oh, not havin' it. She's like, 'Who is this bitch? I want my mom.'"

  Sarah swooped in and picked her up. "Hey, it's all right. This is Tiff, remember I told you about Tiff?"

  "You told her about me, huh?"

  "Yeah," Sarah went on, still talking to Rebecca, bouncing her gently in her arms. "Remember, I said, she's my best friend and the coolest person I know and I owe her a book. You remember?" Sarah spread out a blanket with one hand, started undoing the bottom of her daughter's one-piece. "And what did you do? You vomited on me, didn't you?"

  Tiff barked a laugh. "I have that effect on people." She sat down, grinning at Rebecca, who answered with a gap-mouthed stare. "She's got your eyes," Tiff said, and glanced at Sarah. "I mean, I know people always say that and stuff, but really, those are your eyes."