by Paloma Meir
“Yes… thank you.” She plastered a smile on her beatific face, always following the rules of this strange, strange land, “I’ve found… We need to go to my sister. Please pull the car around.”
“Of course Venetia.” The Graces said in unison with a curtsy. The curtsy would normally have amused Venetia, but the baby in her arms had enraptured her, stealing away her full attention.
As the girls scampered away, the bells on their ankle bracelets made by her husband, ringed out a sweet melody, rousing the calm baby.
The baby opened its eyes, and Venetia saw that they were the color of hers, a greenish blue, bright and clear, unusual. She had never seen the same shade before on the island filled with so many people.
She felt a stirring in her breast, a tingle, a fullness. She lowered the strap of her silken dress and placed the baby against her. It’s mouth latched on, gently pulling her nipple, and Venetia felt her milk draining from her into it’s hungry mouth. The peaceful feeling roused into a numbing blissfulness and all the worries and questions about her life and the origins of the baby left her mind.
The car pulled up to dirt road not far behind her and woke her out of her dream-like state with a honk of the horn.
The baby had fallen asleep on her breast, no longer suckling. She lifted the cherub away and adjusted her strap. A regret passed through her mind at the thought of giving the sleeping child to her sister. She cast the thought aside, knowing she could never be a mother. It was not her way.