Beth smiled, covered up the mouthpiece, and whispered the word Saturday to Zander and Kipenzi.
“Tell Dylan to pick me up. I don’t want to fly back by myself. I hate flying.”
“That’s not a problem.” Beth said. “You are going to be fine. I’ll make sure Dylan’s there on Saturday.”
“Who’s with you now?”
“Kipenzi. And Zander too.”
“Put Zander on the phone.”
Beth leaned over and Zander jumped up to grab the receiver. He nodded and said “Yes sir” and “No sir” a few times. And finally Beth and Kipenzi heard him say, “Love you too.” They all avoided eye contact with each other as Zander cleared his throat and replaced the handset on the receiver.
“You two get ready to get out of here and go back home,” Kipenzi said. “I’m leaving.” She shrugged into her coat and then typed a message into her phone. “Wish I could escape through this window.”
“You can,” Beth said. “We’re on the first floor.”
“No shit,” Kipenzi said, crossing the room to peek out the window.
“Parking lot’s right there.”
“And not a single photographer,” Kipenzi said with a smile. She typed for another second and then her bodyguard knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Beth and Kipenzi said in unison.
“You want me to do what?” the guard asked when Kipenzi told him.
“I’m going out the window. Make sure I don’t kill myself.”
“I can’t let you—”
“You first. Get out that window. I’m jumping in two minutes. And I want that car right there, engine running, door open.”
The guard shook his head and climbed onto the ledge. The ex–football player and former police officer was strong enough to knock an overeager fan to the ground with one hand, but he wasn’t agile enough to jump out of a window with ease.
Beth rolled her eyes. “Kipenzi, you’re really going out of the window?”
“Do you hear that noise outside your door?”
“Why, Kipenzi? Why do they need to know every detail of your personal life? They want to feel close to you?”
Kipenzi kept her eyes on the parking lot. “I stopped trying to figure it out a long time ago,” she said.
“Would you trade it?”
“Would you?”
“I’m not famous.”
“What about Z? Would you like him to go back to living with his grandmother? No money. No sold-out shows. None of that.”
“Sometimes, yeah.” Beth looked up at the ceiling. “Sometimes I wonder if—”
“Love you, girl!” Kipenzi shouted, one leg hanging over the sill. “Call me when you’re really having this baby.” She swung the other leg over the sill, looked back at Beth one more time, and winked at her. And then jumped.
Beth angled herself out of bed and got over to the window just in time to see Kipenzi’s bodyguard reaching out to grab Kipenzi by the waist, although he didn’t need to, since her feet were just a half foot off the ground. Kipenzi and her bodyguard looked around quickly as they took two brief steps toward the car. As the car pulled out, Beth could see Kipenzi and the guard in the car. Kipenzi had her head thrown back and her mouth wide. Although Beth couldn’t hear a sound, she could tell Kipenzi was laughing.
“Mrs. Saddlebrook, do you need anything?” said a nurse, pushing into the room without knocking. Beth noticed instantly that she had a cell phone in her hand—the kind with a camera attached.
“You’re not making any extra money off me today,” Beth said. “Kipenzi Hill has left the building.”
“I’M JUST NOT UP FOR A FAMILY GATHERING,” JOSEPHINE WHINED. For the twentieth consecutive day, she’d been wearing an old gym T-shirt from high school that had become a security blanket over the years.
“You don’t have a choice,” Ras said. “We have to get you out of this. Come. We have people waiting downstairs. They want to see you.”
Josephine shrugged. “Nothing to celebrate, if you ask me.”
“Can we celebrate a beautiful spring day? Can we celebrate that we’re in good health and have each other?”
Ras went to a corner of the room and pulled out a copy of Billboard and flipped to the charts section. “Can we celebrate your husband’s twenty-fifth number one record?”
Josephine smiled. “The song with Kipenzi and Z?”
Ras shrugged. “I’m a miracle worker, plain and simple. If I can bring Z back from the dead, I can do anything.”
“I think Z did that for himself.”
“I helped. Gave him a hot record. Now, you. Five minutes,” Ras said, holding a pointer finger in her direction. “Not a minute more.”
In the weeks since the young lady had left the hospital with the baby, Josephine seemed to have shrunk three inches. For days, she shuffled around her palatial estate, firing and rehiring the help, walking to the gas station in her robe and slippers for chewing gum and diet sodas. Ras sent her to Kingston for two weeks to stay with his great-grandmother, who fed her ackee and saltfish until she began humming to herself as she walked the grounds of the property, stopping to smell the sandalwood bramble that lined her walkway.
Ras came to pick her up and they cried together in his great-grandmother’s front yard. And then Ras straightened his back, wiped his face and then his wife’s.
“You will be a mother,” Ras said. “I stake my life on that.”
And with that, she’d returned home. But she was far from normal. She was twitchy and nervous, jumping out of her skin anytime the phone or the doorbell rang.
Memorial weekend arrived on a Saturday, three weeks after her return from Denham. Josephine begged Ras to postpone the event, or at least have it somewhere else. Ras was gentle but resolute and firm. For twelve years he’d hosted the celebration at his home, even after his mother’s death and during his father-in-law’s treatment for prostate cancer. No matter what, on Memorial weekend they celebrated the motto emblazoned on the flag: Out of many, one people.
Josephine stood at the full-length mirror in her bedroom and tried to steel herself for the questioning looks, the phony smiles, and the clucking noises she was sure to get from everyone. Not only had she lost her baby, but her husband would very likely be prominently displayed in Cleo’s book. Josephine placed a hand over her heart and spoke to her reflection.
“We’re heartbroken, of course. But the mother always had the right to change her mind. It’s a risk we understood.”
She tried on a wan smile, the kind where the eyebrows are raised, and then shrugged her shoulders to make herself look more vulnerable. Josephine tried to soften the edges of her face, unclench her teeth, straighten her eyebrows. She took her hands and physically tried to turn her lips into a pseudo-smile, the way an undertaker does on a corpse.
At the top of the steps, she peered down into the living room and saw all the usual faces: Ras’s parent and siblings, a few friends and other family members. Swirls of reggae music and the smells of plantains and pumpkin soup nearly overwhelmed her, but she held it together long enough to slip into the crowd with no fanfare.
She lightly placed her hand on someone’s back. Turning, the person jumped a bit and then grabbed her in for a tight hug. The warmth of the bodies of her sisters, nieces, and brothers-in-law made her feel calm and centered. It had only been a few months since she’d seen most of her family, but she was shocked at how different everyone looked. One nephew was now married; a niece was now expecting her second child.
Alex was there. And although she wasn’t family, Josephine was happy to see her and grateful that Ras had obviously invited her.
“You look beautiful,” Alex said, kissing Josephine on the cheek.
“I feel like shit,” Josephine said. “But thank you.”
Balancing a plate weighed down with food, Alex gave Josephine a sheepish grin. “Thought I should try everything.”
“You’re lucky, we’re having the best of both worlds. My family sent rabo
encendido and sancocho. The best. And from Ras’s side, we have callalloo, loulla and sorrell and navarin. And you have to try some coconut toto.”
Alex stuffed a forkful of food in her mouth and smiled.
Josephine patted Alex on the back and continued making the rounds. She spotted Ras’s great-grandmother, two heavy snow-white braids crisscrossing her head, sitting on the patio beyond the sliding glass doors off the great room. She was holding an infant on her lap, tipping the baby over slightly and patting the back to get a burp out. From the baby’s almond-shaped eyes and the lemon drop head, Josephine knew it had to be one of Ras’s brothers’ new grandchildren.
“Gran’ Modda,” Josephine said, closing the doors behind her. “How are you?”
“I’m ninety-eight.”
“No, I said how are you?”
“I heard you,” she said, turning the baby to rest on her chest and continuing to pat the baby’s back. “I said I’m ninety-eight. How do you think I am?”
Josephine smiled and sat next to Ras’s great-grandmother, marveling at how at ease she was with such a tiny newborn. The baby couldn’t have been more than two weeks old.
“How many babies have you raised, Gran’ Modda?”
“Babies from my body—eleven. Your husband’s grandfather, my last child, was the worst. Biggest head. Six days of labor. Thirteen pounds.”
“I’m not over it,” Josephine said. “It’s not getting any easier. You said it would.”
“We’ve been through this,” said Ras’s great-grandmother. “That girl took her own baby. That one wasn’t yours. They got married yesterday. Little ceremony up in Boston.”
“That’s nice.”
“You don’t meant it. You want to cause some bodily harm to that girl. Ain’t right.”
Josephine set her eyes on the water falling through the carefully sculpted rocks that led to a koi pond.
“I’m getting better,” she said, believing it for the very first time.
“Here,” the woman said, turning the tiny baby into Josephine’s arms. Josephine started to get up, trying to give the baby back.
“No, no, no, no,” she said, “not yet. I can’t hold someone else’s—”
“Look, now. I’m ninety-eight years old. And I gotta pee. You gon’ hold this baby till I come back,” the old woman said, struggling to get out of her chair.
The baby immediately began to screech at the unfamiliarity of the new arms.
“Whose baby is this? Is this Saul’s new grandbaby?” Josephine asked over the baby’s cries. She looked back toward the house for an answer, but Ras’s great-grandmother was gone.
She juggled the crying baby for a bit. And as soon as she turned and began to walk down the path leading toward the pool, the child began to quiet.
“Hey, pumpkin,” she whispered. The baby’s eyes widened and took Josephine in. “Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?”
The baby burped and a bit of milk came out of the tiny pursed mouth. Josephine quickly brought the hem of her shirt up and dabbed at the baby’s mouth. She winced, thinking of the many days she’d spent pumping her breasts, preparing to nurse. She’d taken a class with a midwife who specialized in helping adoptive parents. She’d pumped her breasts three times a day and taken twenty milligrams of domperidone before each pumping session to help build up a milk supply. Even now, weeks later, she was still pumping and taking the hormones, though she knew full well there was no need. She pumped her few ounces of milk and bagged them in the neat plastic bags that piled up in the freezer. Ras pretended he didn’t notice, but Josephine knew he was concerned.
Josephine felt transported to the moment in the hospital when Ras told her that the young woman had left town with the baby. Again the rage started in her belly and came up, spreading warmth through her body. She got the feeling now that if it came up to her throat, she wouldn’t be able to breathe and she would pass out with the baby in her arms.
“Do you want to go away with me?” she said to the caramel brown baby, who yawned. “I would make a very good mother for you. We might not live in a fancy place like this. But I could take care of you.”
The baby stretched out and then settled back against Josephine’s chest.
I could leave right now, Josephine thought to herself. I could walk down to the gas station and get a taxi. She shifted the baby in order to pat her pockets. She felt a few bills there and pulled them out. She had three hundred-dollar bills and couldn’t remember where they came from. She walked down to the edge of the walkway and then farther away from the property.
“Do you mind if I just pretend I’m your mom for a few minutes?” Josephine asked the baby, who gurgled.
Josephine took in a sharp, deep breath and exhaled slowly. She closed her eyes and stood in the driveway, matching her breaths to the baby’s. Eventually she couldn’t hear herself breathe. For the first time, all the tension and anger she’d carried for weeks disappeared. She felt as if she and the baby needed each other to take a breath. She stood under the Hispaniola pine trees, holding the child tight, her hair blowing slightly in the breeze. As she stood in that driveway, she went back in time, saw her husband, a pimply adolescent, holding out his hand to guide her down her parents’ front steps. She was a mother. The mother of the child she held in her arms, whose breathing mirrored hers. She felt her belly swell, contract, and release. She understood, as she stood there, how that young girl could run away with the little girl she’d promised to Josephine. She understood. She must have felt like this, Josephine thought. It was an undeniable force connecting her with another being. It was what she felt with Ras. It was what Ras felt with her—and probably with Cleo. It was what Josephine felt with the child in her arms. Josephine lived lifetimes, died, returned.
She felt a stinging pain under her arms that ran through her breasts and straight through to her wrists. And then moisture began to drip into her brassiere. The baby stirred and began rooting toward her chest. Without a second thought, Josephine opened her blouse and put the child to her breast. With eyes wide open, the baby nursed, one chubby brown hand resting comfortably on the top of her breast as if it had always been just this way.
When the baby was done and slipped off with a look of self-satisfied drunkenness, Josephine snapped out of her trance, feeling intense shame and fear. She’d just nursed this child as if it were her own. A child whose parents were surely relatives, distant or close, who had to be looking for—
“Josephine?”
It was Alex, standing next to Josephine, her brow furrowed, as if she’d been calling her for some time. “Josephine, are you okay?”
Josephine opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Alex turned back toward the house and gestured wildly with one hand, holding on to Josephine’s shoulder with the other hand. Ras saw her hand and bolted out the back door and hurried across the cement patio.
“Ma chérie,” Ras said.
Josephine did not turn to face her husband. “This baby … something just happened.”
Ras motioned for Alex to leave and she did, moving back toward the house, her eyes on the couple.
“Josephine, I need to tell you something …”
“No. Ras, listen to me. Grand-mère asked me to hold the baby while she—”
“I know. Because—”
“And then I suddenly started thinking about taking this baby, leaving you and everyone else behind.”
“Josephine, I know.”
“What do you know?”
Ras turned to stand at Josephine’s side and peered over at the baby. “This is Reina. Reina Josephine Bennett.”
“What are you saying?”
“She came here this morning from Denham. Gran’ Modda brought her here.”
“But we didn’t … How do you know …”
“Her mother couldn’t take care of her. She knew Gran’ Modda would bring her to us and that we would give her a good life.”
Josephine shook her head back and forth. “No. It can
’t be that easy. Something will go wrong. Some random relative will come and take her.”
“Gran’ Modda adopted her. She has all the paperwork. She wanted to make sure there was a connection before she told you. Do you feel a connection to this little girl?”
Josephine ran a hand over the little girl’s cheek; the child eyed her peacefully. Tears streamed down Josephine’s face and she simply nodded her head.
“Josephine, I will say this as many times as you need to hear it. This is Reina Josephine Bennett. This is your daughter.”
Ras led Josephine and Reina back to the house, one arm around his wife’s waist to keep her legs from buckling.
“Family,” Ras said as he brought Josephine inside. “This is my wife, Josephine. And my daughter, Reina Josephine Bennett.”
Josephine was swarmed by her aunts, nieces, and female cousins. Her cheeks were kissed, her arms were rubbed. Someone recited a chant over her and the baby while someone else fastened a gold anklet around baby Reina’s ankle and then kneeled down to place an identical chain around Josephine’s ankle.
Josephine Bennett stood still, drinking in the smell of her daughter’s neck as the world bustled around her.
Reina Josephine Bennett slept through it all, her hand clasping her mother’s pinky finger, squeezing occasionally as if to let her know, I’m still here.
KIPENZI HILL SAT IN A 1997 HYUNDAI EXCEL AND WATCHED THE front window of Mike’s coffee shop. It was the same diner Jake had taken her to the night they met. She’d told the owner to call her the next time Cleo came in. At six a.m. that morning, her cell phone buzzed with a text message. Cleo was there. Alone.
Kipenzi watched Cleo. She was flipping through stacks of paper, making notes. Her mouth was moving as she read. Occasionally she winced, crossed things out, and then began reading again. After a few minutes she began stacking her papers and putting them away.
Kipenzi, dressed in a white tank top, skinny jeans, and high-top pink Converses, got out of the car. She pulled her baseball cap low on her head and went into the diner. She nodded at the owner, who was standing at the register. She approached the booth.
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