Her hope curled up and died.
Faculty and staff. Of course, faculty and staff. Not students. The students don't come with kids of their own.
Her cheeks were burning. Stupid. She tossed her phone on the couch, feeling like an idiot. In the silence, Rebecca's swing creak-clicked.
Well, it had been a pipe dream anyway. Even if she were able to keep Becca at an on-site daycare, she was sure she wouldn't be allowed to keep a screaming baby in the dorms. The very notion was asinine. She'd have to live off campus, which meant Mom would have to pay for her rent, too, and that's where she'd probably draw the line.
I'm sorry, Sarah, she could hear her saying, I wish things were different, but you have to live with the consequences of your actions.
She waited for the reflexive burst of anger at Rebecca, but for once it didn't come. She was mad at Cal, she was mad at her mom, she was furious with herself. But she wasn't mad at Becca. Not today.
It wasn't her fault.
Sarah rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Dammit," she muttered.
There's still adoption. I can give her up.
But the adoption process probably took forever. If she'd wanted to do that, she should've started looking into it months ago. And...
Sarah stood and padded to the swing. Becca was swaddled inside, her head lolled comically to one side, her face pudgy and pristine. She had that same pursed-lips look she always seemed to have when she was sleeping, but something had changed about it. It didn't look judgmental. It looked cute.
"Dammit," she murmured again. She didn't want to give Becca up. She had told her, "No more."
"We'll figure something out," she promised the girl in the swing. It felt like an important thing to say, like maybe, if she assured her daughter that things would work out, they could find a way to make it happen.
It also felt like a lie.
64
"Hey," Tiff said.
"Hey." Sarah shifted the phone against the crook of her neck, trying to keep the bottle steady while Rebecca fed. She hated holding her cell phone against her shoulder. It always felt like it was going to slip.
Tiff didn't say anything else, so Sarah offered, "I finished the first disc of Buffy."
"Okay."
She didn't sound like herself, but Sarah plowed on. "You want to come over tonight and watch some more?"
A careful sigh. "I don't think that's a good idea, Sare."
She'd expected the refusal, but that didn't make it sting any less. "Aw, come on," she pressed. She was trying to sound like Tiff might in the same situation, but to her own ears she only sounded desperate. "Don't leave us here by ourselves."
Tiff breathed again, a steady sound like a woman trying to stay centered. "I just... can't. I can't do this again."
"Do what?"
"Oh, come on. You know what. I saw your face last night, Sare. God, you looked like I'd threatened to call your mom."
"You're going to bail on me because you didn't like the look on my face?"
"Oh, please. What was it really, Sare? You're scared to be seen with me? Has your mom been in your face again?"
"No," she snapped. "No, I'm not scared, in fact I've told her that we're talking again. And I don't really care what she thinks."
That tripped the bullshit detector; Sarah knew it would the second the words left her lips. "Then you should come out to her."
Sarah balked. "Tiff, come on. She's paying for this place. I'm completely dependent on her. I can't..." She hesitated, longing to hear her say, It's okay, or, I understand. "I'm just not as confident as you are," she finished lamely. "I can't be."
"Yeah," Tiff said, "you could. If you wanted to be, you could. You know, it's funny, because I'm sure if your mom found out she'd give you a lot of shit about making a choice. Right? 'How could you choose this, Sarah?' But the funny part is, she'd only be right if she said it now. You're making a choice right now. Because you're so chicken-shit, you're giving up any shot..." She didn't finish, but Sarah heard the words anyway. Any shot at us.
There was nothing to say. She was right.
"Look." Sarah fumbled after her. She had missed her too much to listen to her leave now. "I probably will tell her. I want to, one day. But you're seriously saying we can't even be friends? Just because I'm choosing not to tell her right now, we can't even see each other? That's not fair."
"'Friends.'" Tiff scoffed. "Maybe that doesn't work for me, Sarah. Maybe I want more than that."
The air fled the room; the apartment fell silent.
"Maybe I wanted more than that for years."
It was everything Sarah had yearned and dreaded to hear. She wanted to answer - I want it, too, Tiff, I swear, or, I'm so glad to hear you say that, or even, Okay. I'll tell her. - but Pastor Dennis wouldn't let her. He caught her desires and butchered them, long before they reached her tongue; left her paralyzed and helpless on the couch, watching as her dreams fell apart.
Tiff wheezed a pained laugh. "Nothing? I drop that, and nothing?"
Sarah fought past him, her heart raging. "No, I mean... I'm happy to hear that, I just..."
Happy to hear that? She listened to the words tumble past her lips with abject horror. "I just don't understand why I need to come out. If you really, you know..." If you really love me. "If you really are interested..."
"Because, Sarah, your mom already knows about me. Everyone does. I'm out. So when we're around her, I'm supposed to act like you don't drive me nuts? Like I haven't been crazy about you since tenth grade?" She clipped the words off, as if she'd said more than she meant to. Then she went on, tightly: "If you're not out, and I'm with you, I can't be out. And that's not me. I'm not ashamed of myself. Anyone who doesn't like it can fuck themselves."
"Well, that's great for you," Sarah snapped. You can't give me that and snatch it back in the same fucking breath. How dare you. "Your parents have always been cool with it. You've never had to listen to your mother give a speech at dinner about how all the gays are going to hell, and they're all right but she would never have anything to do with them. You've never had to listen to your pastor condemn you for looking at girls."
"Yeah, you're right. I never have. I wouldn't stand there long enough for him to finish. And I'd tell my mother to fuck off if she talked to me like that."
"That's easy for you to say. It's easy to say, from your comfy house in your comfy room, where everyone loves you all the time no matter what. I'm glad you've got it so great, Tiff, but I don't. I don't."
"'Loves me all the time'?" Tiff threw back. "Is that a fucking joke? You know goddamn well that isn't true. You dumped me in the trash like a used condom because I was gay, chica." She spat Cal's pet name for her like it was a mouthful of rotten milk. "That's the price I pay for not being ashamed of who I am, and you know why I didn't call you every night, begging you for an explanation? Why I never hunted you down in the hall and asked you what happened? Because I knew it from your face, Sarah, because I have seen it a million fucking times. And I swear to god, I saw it again last night."
"That's just how I grew up, Tiff. I can't help it. I can't help what my face does. But I am trying to figure out what this means, because according to my faith I'm going to hell for feeling this way about you, and I -"
"Then fuck your faith."
She might have punched her in the stomach. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Why are you still going to a church that hates dykes? Didn't you hear they make ones now that don't?"
"Don't," she warned her. "Don't drag my faith into this."
"Me? You brought it up."
"I won't turn my back on God, not for you, not for anyone." Some fervent, Sunday School crusader in her had been waiting for years for this moment. It burst to the forefront, Pastor Dennis egging it on. "I won't give up my faith."
Tiff scoffed. "Why the hell not? Your faith has already given up on you."
She wasn't ready for that. It stung like a slap.
"You're going to let a bunch of fou
r-thousand-year-old men tell you how to live your life? You're going to be miserable and repressed forever because of them? Sarah, what if they were wrong?"
"That's just what I believe." The words were automatic. Empty. Inside, she was reeling.
"Well, I don't," Tiff said. "Thanks for the book."
65
The day muddled past her, grey and lifeless, and she watched it go by: change a diaper, feed the baby, stare at the TV, eat a snack. She tried to sleep whenever Becca fell quiet. She always failed, despite being exhausted.
Around 11:30 that night she shuffled into the kitchen for some coffee. When she returned to the living room, the Messenger nodded to her from the couch. She sat down at the dining room table, but even from that distance, he radiated heat and smelled of her dad's cologne.
"It's for the best." His voice was bitter chocolate.
"What would you know about it?"
"Everything."
She stared at the floor, unblinking.
"You don't want that. You don't want a life of sin. He has better things for you."
I do want it, she realized. More than anything.
"You might think you do, but you're tired, Sarah. Wiped out. You aren't at your best. This is a hard time, like Job's. You have to keep your eyes on the goal. You can get through this."
"Job." The word tasted like rubber. "I never understood that story. Job had a good life. God gave it to him, right? But then God gets into a pissing match with Satan, and decides to ruin Job's life... why? Just to prove to Satan that he wouldn't lose faith? It's... petty."
The Messenger arched a brow. "Who said He wasn't petty?"
"He's supposed to be perfect. He's supposed to be compassionate."
The Messenger shook his head. "Have you read the Bible? I was there when Abraham had his son on the rock. Very similar situation to yours, actually. God loves telling parents to kill their babies. He's jealous. It said that in the Bible, too." He shrugged. "Maybe if you actually try to do it, He'll let you off the hook like He did with Abraham. But I doubt it. Your life can't be restored with her around.
"In your case, the child really needs to die."
She stared at him. His features were hard and angled, his eyes brilliant in the dim light from the kitchen. "That's not going to happen."
He shrugged again. "Then you lose everything. Yale, Cal, Tiff, yourself. Your youth, your beauty, your intelligence. Everything you prize." Everything He gave you.
"I don't believe you."
"You will, eventually. When it's too late."
"No. I don't even think you're real." The words just slipped out, but they ignited something in her - something defiant. "You're just a dream. That's all you've ever been."
He barked a laugh; it echoed with acid. "You think just because I'm a dream, I'm not real?" He crossed the room and grabbed her arm, squeezed it until she flinched and pulled away. "I'm as real as they come, chica."
His feet left lingering shadows behind him: pools that seeped into the carpet and disappeared like draining tar. They had always done this, Sarah realized. She had just never noticed before.
"You're a demon." This revelation came to her with all the certainty of a sunrise. "You're a demon." Finally, something she'd learned at church that could actually do some good. "In the name of Jesus, I cast you out."
"A demon! That's a new one. Most people aren't that stupid. What gave you that idea?" He gestured dramatically behind him. "Was it the spooky footprints?"
"It's your obsession with killing babies," she snarled.
The laughter in his eyes died. "That is not mine," he snapped. "That is His."
"God wouldn't -"
"Jesus Christ, have you been listening? Have you ever heard of Passover? He killed every baby He could find. They were innocent, if there is such a thing. And for what? Their parents didn't have the power to give Him what He wanted, let alone their kids. He did it for spite."
She imagined it. She'd heard the story a hundred times, but now she truly imagined it: a nation full of children, dying at God's casual command. She glanced at the swing, her heart ripe with horror.
"Yeah." The Messenger sat back down. "You're getting it."
"But Christ taught compassion, forgiveness -"
"Christ taught obedience to the Word of God. 'Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.' He had some other ideas, too, but he doesn't call the shots."
"No. Everything changed -"
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Unlimited forgiveness, right? So you can throw God's gifts back in His face and go jump into bed with your lesbian lover, and it's all fine? You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"It's not about sex with her," she snapped. "I don't want to jump into bed, not everything is about -"
He sneered. "Oh, don't give me that. You must think I was born yesterday. It's all about sex. You hate sex with Cal. You're special. You don't like boys. You want Tiff instead, want her to pull down your panties and shove her fingers -"
"God! What is wrong with you?"
"There's nothing wrong with me, Sarah. You want to see someone wrong in the head, look in the mirror."
"I prayed!" she screamed. "I prayed 'til I was blue in the face!"
To her shock, he fell silent. The malice in his eyes faded.
"And nothing changed, do you get that? I tried and tried and tried, and nothing changed."
"I know. That's because it can't."
"I - !" She blinked, stunned. "What?"
"It can't change. He made you this way."
Her mouth worked; her heart was galloping. "What?"
"It's not your fault, Sarah. Didn't I tell you He was petty? He cursed you." The Messenger shook his head. "But He'll still send you to hell for it."
She had stood up, at some point; now she sank back into the couch.
"It's bullshit," he went on. "I'll be the first to admit it. That's what I've been trying to tell you. But still - you're stronger than this."
"Why...?" she started, but the question was too huge; it wouldn't fit through her teeth.
In response he rubbed his temple, glanced at the wall. Muttered a curse. Finally, he turned back. "Maybe He thinks it's funny. I don't know. Why does He do anything? Why does He curse people with cerebral palsy? Why are there crack babies? Some people have it worse than you. Some women He actually gives the bodies of men, and the other way around. But He writes the rules, too. It's still a sin. Act on it, and you're still going to hell.
"Why? Maybe to build character? Maybe you should think of it as an opportunity; a chance to prove how holy you can be despite everything He's thrown at you. Like Job."
She didn't answer.
"Maybe that's why He's willing to give you this extra chance. The baby was kind of His fault, after all, wasn't it? You've always been a good Christian. You wouldn't have gotten knocked up like that unless you were trying to prove something. And that was His fault. He just pushed you a little too far. Let Him wipe the slate clean. Give Him your daugh -"
"I told you no," she hissed.
"Look, I know you're upset -"
"No," she snapped. If the name of Jesus wouldn't force him out, she'd do it herself. "I want you to leave."
His eyes twitched as if scanning her soul for sincerity. Then he went to the door, pools of darkness chasing behind him.
66
Rebecca started crying at four in the morning.
Sarah jerked awake, recoiling from the pool of stale spit on her pillow. Her good foot throbbed; it had jammed against the futon's splinters while she slept.
She stumbled to her feet, her head pulsing with cotton and her limbs like lead.
"Must be the formula you started her on," her mother observed when she called at nine.
"She just... she won't stop crying for anything."
"Let her talk to grandma. I was always able to calm you down."
"I..." She didn't feel like arguing. She was too tired. "
Fine." She switched the cell to speaker phone and held it awkwardly near Becca's ear as the girl wailed.
"Becky," the speaker crackled. "Becky, it's grand ma-ma."
Rebecca spat and thrashed.
Mom sang. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey -"
She had sung that song to Sarah when she was little. It still had the power to make her cry; it was too sweet, too delicate. She felt a ridiculous stab of jealousy. "That's not gonna work," she snapped, taking the phone off speaker.
"What?"
"That's not gonna work," Sarah repeated, annoyed. She insists on keeping me on the phone, but she can't hear me because of the baby, which I can't deal with because she has me on the phone.
"It might, if you give it a chance. You always loved that song."
"Well, she's obviously smarter than I was."
Mom sighed. "All right. Well, you're obviously busy. I just wanted to let you know I went ahead and set up the Dedication for you."
The words ricocheted off Rebecca's screams, careening into Sarah's brain like bullets.
"I should be back in town on Monday, and I really didn't want to miss it, so I set it up for Tuesday."
"You talked to Pastor Dennis already?"
"Yeah, I know you're so busy with the baby, honey, that I figured I'd just take care of it for you. My schedule's probably harder to coordinate than yours is right now, anyway."
I wasn't even sure I wanted to dedicate her. The words were at her tongue, ready to go; she snatched at them, strangled them, before they could. "All right," she managed, numbly.
"Oh, and Sarah?"
"Yeah."
"I really think you should get in touch with Cal again. I know you two don't get along the best, but it's not right, you know. A girl should have both her parents. If he won't do it, he won't do it. Lord knows you can't always control it. But I tried. You should, too."
"I don't think that's a good idea." Rebecca's crying was a billows, stoking Sarah's rage. What the hell do you know about it?
"Well, I know, honey, but I wish you would at least give it a try. There must have been something there, once. God brought you together for a reason."
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