After the Thaw

by Therese Heckenkamp

  When Brook finally caught sight of her, she choppily explained that her contractions had come on sudden and strong at work, and a coworker had called an ambulance.

  “Aargh! The pain’s gonna kill me!” Her white-knuckled hands gripped the bed rail and her lavender fingernails looked as if they’d break from the pressure.

  Charlene glanced around the small, clinical room. Confined here with Brook in this frightening state, she felt a stomach-curdling anxiety. “Why don’t you get the epidural?”

  “Too late,” explained a sympathetic-faced young nurse in maroon scrubs. “This baby’s coming fast.”

  Charlene hurried to situate herself near Brook’s head and felt helpless. “What do I do?”

  “Just be here for her,” the nurse said. “Encourage her.”

  Charlene pulled a chair close. “You can do this, Brook,” she said, trying not to reveal her doubts and distress as Brook moaned like a tortured animal.

  Charlene’s eyes darted to the door with each in-and-out of the nurses. She wished someone could reassure her that she could do this—be a support person for a woman in labor without fainting. Pull yourself together, she reprimanded herself. I’ve got the easy job.

  Time slid into nonexistence, a stand-still, as the contractions reached an insane peak. In horror, she watched them rise to incredible heights on the graph paper sliding from a machine.

  Brook twisted, haggard and gasping, “I—can’t—do—this!”

  Charlene believed her. Why didn’t the nurses believe her? And hadn’t a nurse said hours ago that the baby was coming fast? This wasn’t fast, not at all.

  What was going to happen if Brook really couldn’t do this? Charlene glanced, worried, at a nurse, and was astounded at her smooth composure as she once again assured Brook that she could, indeed, do this.

  With her next breath, Brook cursed someone named Connor. She didn’t dare ask, but Charlene guessed he was probably the father. She wondered briefly what Brook’s plan was for supporting herself and the baby; but everything, even that, waited on the birth.

  The doctor arrived with a calm, businesslike air, and in a whirl of efficient synchronization, the nurses produced tools and even removed the end of the bed and raised it to the doctor’s lofty height.

  Suddenly Brook stopped wailing, flooring Charlene as her entire face mashed into pure determination. She pushed, her eyes bulging. Stringy strands of hair plastered her face.

  Charlene held a cool cloth to her head between pushes. This cycle seemed to go on forever, until Brook’s tense features finally wilted into relief and wonder. Charlene dared let out her breath and turned her gaze to see a tiny, damp baby in the doctor’s grasp.

  “It’s a girl,” he announced.

  In a matter of seconds, a nurse suctioned the baby’s airway clear, and the newborn let loose a robust cry. Then the baby was toweled and laid on Brook’s chest, where Brook encircled her gently within her arms. The baby quieted as Brook gazed in awe at the scrunchy little face, and the baby peered at Brook with curious squinty eyes.

  And Charlene knew, for the both of them, in that instant, it was as if no one else existed. Vanished was Brook’s wild, desperate, defeated insanity. Though worn ragged, she somehow appeared the picture of serenity.

  “Hello, little Gabriella,” Brook whispered. “I love you.”

  * * *

  Almost an hour later, Charlene held Gabriella for the first time, as Brook looked on with pride.

  “She’s perfect,” Charlene murmured, studying her closed, wrinkled eyelids. The baby fit light and snug in her arms, and she felt as though she could hold her and gaze at her forever.

  Brook’s tired face lit with an inner glow. While Charlene could tell it was a challenge for Brook to tear her eyes from her new daughter, Brook looked at her with an expression of admiration and gratitude.

  “Thank you so much for coming, Charlene. You didn’t have to do that, and I know it wasn’t fun for you, but it meant the world to me.”

  “I wish I could have done more, like give you an epidural. But I’m so glad it all turned out well.”

  “It did,” Brook said in amazement, eyes back on her baby. “And it was worth it.”

  Recognizing the yearning in Brook’s gaze, Charlene relinquished Gabriella back to her. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I head home?”

  Caressing her baby, Brook barely appeared to hear her, but she answered, “Thank you, no. You already did so much more than I can ever repay. The nurses will help, so we’ll be well taken care of.” She glanced at a text on her phone. “And Clay’s on his way.”

  Charlene nodded. Then it was time for her to leave her gift and say goodbye.

  Despite all her personal turmoil, after just witnessing the miracle of new life entering the world, Charlene found her thoughts sliding into perspective. Life wasn’t all about her. God blessed the world with miracles every day.

  She went home to bed feeling a sense of acceptance. God’s will, not mine, be done. And she slept peacefully.

  * * *

  My daughter . . .

  She gazed down at the tiny angelic face. So real. So perfect. How could a baby have such long, thick lashes? Such flawless skin? She stroked the fuzzy head, the plump hands, the curled fingers, the soft little dots of fingernails. Rolls of skin at every joint. Exquisite.

  But such beauty couldn’t last. Beauty never lasted. The thought pierced her, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  * * *

  When Charlene picked Brook up from the hospital and brought her and Gabriella home to the apartment two days later, Brook gave her a set of earplugs as she apologized in advance for any cries in the night she might happen to hear.

  Charlene assured her not to worry. “I used to live next to a train.”

  Two days later, Brook’s aunt surprised her with a visit. The tiny woman arrived with a huge casserole, then dedicated herself to caring for Brook while oohing and ahhing over the baby. Brook’s eyes glowed. Charlene was glad to see she had some family after all.

  “I called her after Gabriella was born,” Brook explained after her aunt left. “I was afraid to, but she didn’t judge me. Not like my parents. Still, I didn’t expect her to come all the way from Bloomington.” Brook smiled all the rest of that day.

  When Charlene wasn’t working at Fannie’s Fabrics or studying, she busied herself tending to Brook and making sure she had groceries, encouraging her to nap when Gabriella did, and keeping the apartment tidy. Holding beautiful, downy-headed Gabriella was more than enough compensation.

  Sundays, though, were still reserved for Ben. She rose early and made the drive to Woodfield to sit beside him in the back of Saint Paul’s Church during Mass. Numerous families with children filled the pews in front of them. Thinking of Gabriella, her eyes sought out the babies with new wonder,

  The toddlers, however, were impossible to ignore. One mother wrestled an energetic pigtailed girl onto her lap and tried to show her a picture book. When the girl shoved it away, her mom tried to interest her in a bag of Cheerios. The girl took the cereal eagerly, then tipped the bag with a loud, “Oops!” Cheerios rained down on the floor, bouncing and rolling, some landing at Ben’s feet.

  Despite herself, Charlene’s lips twitched with a smile and she glanced at Ben. He frowned.

  “Chee-os!” the little girl shrieked so loud that Charlene thought the stained glass windows just might shatter. The mom clapped a hand over the child’s mouth and whispered something in her ear as she shot a frantic glance at the dad, who sat with eyes closed. Either deep in prayer, dozing, or blissfully oblivious.

  “Want Chee-os!”

  The mom hustled the girl awkwardly out of the pew, crunching Cheerios to dust as she went.

  Bang!

  With a flinch, Charlene’s gaze turned to another child, a blond little boy slamming wooden puzzle pieces on the pew. He looked up with the cutest grin before hurling a piece. Right at Ben.

  Charlene picked up the
wooden car shape as Ben muttered, “Don’t give it back.”

  But she did.

  On the sidewalk after church, Ben made a disgusted noise. “What kind of dumb parent brings a puzzle to church?”

  “That’s not nice, Ben.”

  “Come on, Charlene. I wouldn’t do that. Would you?”

  “I—”

  “No. You’d have more sense.” His wheelchair crunched over rock salt on the sidewalk. “And those Cheerios. My gosh. You can’t tell me the kid’s gonna starve if she doesn’t eat for one hour.” He shook his head. “Some people need to learn to control their kids. Man, I sure wouldn’t stand for that.”

  She flicked him a glance. “So you expect perfect behavior? They’re kids, Ben. We don’t know what it’s like to be parents. It can’t be easy. I’m sure they’re all just trying to do the best they can. At least they’re taking their kids to church.”

  “And teaching them it’s nothing but playtime and snack time.”

  Compressing her lips, she let the subject drop.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  One afternoon when Gabriella was about three weeks old, Brook and Charlene lazed about in a patch of sun on the floor, admiring the baby as she lay like a cute bug on her back on the middle of a blanket, her plump arms and legs waving randomly. Brook danced a jingly monkey toy past her face.

  As Brook moved, a flash of silver nestled at her throat caught Charlene’s eye.

  “I like your necklace.” This was the first time Charlene had noticed her wearing it. Since this was actually the first time Brook had changed out of pajamas for the day, this was no great surprise.

  Brook fingered the silver baby footprint pendant with a wistful smile. “Thanks. Clay gave it to me.” Her smile lessened and her fingers slowly released the pendant. “Charlene, I think you know this by now anyway, but I have to apologize for leading you on and letting you think Gabriella was Clay’s baby. That was so wrong of me.” She reddened and lowered her head.

  “I wanted her to be, wanted us to be a real family so bad, but . . .” She shook her head. “Maybe you already know, but he and I are just friends now. That’s all we’ve been for a while.”

  The forbidden subject, now broached, was so touchy, Charlene wasn’t sure what to say. Brook went on, eliminating her need. “I wanted to be bitter and mad at him, but I just couldn’t.”

  She leaned down to caress Gabriella and give her a kiss. “If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have my little angel.”

  Charlene tilted her head as if she’d heard wrong.

  Keeping a loving hand near Gabriella’s body, Brook explained. “When I first met Clay, I was going through a real rough time. I’d left home to be with my boyfriend, but then he broke up with me. Everyone had warned me Connor was bad news—but after he left and I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t want to go crawling back home in defeat, proving everyone right, that Connor used me and left me.”

  Brook lowered her voice with a nervous glance at Gabriella, as if afraid she might understand her next words. “I wasn’t going to go through with the pregnancy. The night when Clay took me out after work, I spilled the truth to him. He was a good listener, but he told me not to do it. He gave me lots of reasons, but nothing convinced me. I told myself I’d be doing her a favor by not bringing her into this terrible world. And it was so early in the pregnancy, I thought it couldn’t matter.” Her eyes became glassy and distant.

  “Then the day I was about to go to the clinic, he gave me the angel carving. He said it wasn’t much, just a simple piece of wood that couldn’t compare to the reality.”

  Her eyes misted over and her voice trembled. “He said my baby already had a beating heart. He said God already loved her so much, that He’d given her a guardian angel of her very own, the very second He created her, to be with her and watch over her and guide her always, to protect her heart and soul—just as He’d given me one, too.”

  Charlene remembered the angel carving, with the heart in the palm of the angel’s hands, and it took on a new meaning.

  Brook sniffed. “That really hit me. I’d never thought about that before. If God gave us our very own angels to be with us and help us through life, He must love us so much. How could I walk in that place and . . . stop that little heart from beating?” She paused. “I couldn’t. I took that carved angel as a reminder of God’s love and care. And I didn’t feel alone anymore.”

  “Oh, Brook.” Charlene slid to her side and hugged her.

  Brook swiped a tear away. “So you see, I can’t be mad at Clay for not falling for me the way I did for him. After we stopped dating, he still came by to take me to some evening classes at church, to help me learn about the Catholic faith. I had so many questions.” She paused at Gabriella’s cute cooing noises and took a deep breath.

  “And while I’m bearing my soul, I might as well confess that when I first asked you to be my roommate, it was for selfish reasons. I was jealous of you from the start. You know the saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’ Well, I thought what better way to keep an eye on you than to live under the same roof?” She scuffed a toe. “I also thought maybe I could get some inside information on Clay from you, since he never likes to talk about himself.”

  “I understand, Brook, and I don’t blame you for any of it.”

  “You’re a really good friend.”

  Charlene traced her finger over a little lamb on the baby blanket. She wondered guiltily if Brook would feel that way if she knew she’d kissed Clay. She had to say something, but the words that came out were a stalling tactic. “How did you find me at the motel at just the right time? That wasn’t really coincidence, was it?”

  “No. Sam actually called and told me. He seemed to want to keep an eye on you too, for his own reasons. You know Sam, always more worried about Clay than he wants to admit.”

  “He knew I had the letter. He was afraid I’d break the news too soon.”

  “Like I did.” Brook dipped her head. “That was a low blow to you all.” She placed a finger in Gabriella’s hand and let her squeeze it in her chubby little fist. Brook glanced at Charlene, then down again at her daughter. “Obviously, I’m not good at keeping secrets, and maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but . . . the reason I went so wacko and did that, was because I was jealous. The evening before—”

  “Wait.” Charlene couldn’t listen to another word without revealing her own secret. It had been weighing on her for too long. “You were right to be jealous of me,” she admitted in a small voice. “Back in July, when I went to find Clay, I . . . I kissed him.”

  Silence stretched. Charlene looked up to see Brook’s averted gaze.

  “I can’t say that doesn’t hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Brook shook her head and turned to meet her eyes. “You were always the one he wanted.”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed him. It was wrong of me.”

  “So you’re not perfect.” The edge of her lip crooked. “If I were in your place, I wouldn’t have been able to resist, either.”

  “Still, I—”

  “It’s okay, Charlene. You’ll understand if you let me finish what I was trying to tell you. The night Clay and I were hanging out after the fireworks, Sam called him to the shop to help with something, and I came across some papers. I realized Clay had them because he cared . . . really cared, and that’s what hurt so bad.” She swallowed, then steadied her gaze.

  “They were letters, Charlene. Letters to you. He started so many, some very impersonal, others telling you he wanted to see you. Obviously, he never sent them, but he must have wanted to. They were dated, and they stopped when he started seeing me, but

  still . . . he still had them.

  “After that discovery, I was devastated. I knew he was going to break up with me, and it was only a matter of time. Maybe if he didn’t feel so sorry for me, he would have done it sooner.” Brook closed her eyes. “Without meaning it, that’s the cruelest thing of all. Reali
zing someone is with you only because they feel bad for you.” Her eyes opened.

  “As much as it hurts to know we won’t ever get married like I dreamed . . . I think if we did . . . and he didn’t really love me, I would know it. In time, I would come to resent him, and him me. We wouldn’t be happy.”

  Even as Brook’s words appeared to lighten and free her own conscience, they hung heavy as bricks on Charlene’s. Little did Brook know that she was describing her and her lingering attachment to Ben.

  Charlene saw herself in a new light, and it was ugly.

  “I’m free now,” Brook went on, “and I have my little angel girl. Clay’s faith gave me faith, and I know now I don’t need to hold onto him to have that faith. It’s bigger than him.”

  Brook swept up her baby, twirled, and hugged her. “I’m going to be baptized, and so is Gabriella. I want her to have the gift of faith. So she can know God . . . and her angel.”

  * * *

  “I thought there was something worthwhile in you. I was wrong.”

  Nails shoved his fists to his ears, but it didn’t silence the condemning voice from his past. He awoke alone in the trailer, on the cold, narrow, lumpy mattress. Alone. Always alone.

  He swore, because he remembered the night when he wasn’t alone . . .

  “Lance!” the voice hissed warm in his ear. Hands pushed and shoved. “Wake up!”

  He mumbled and turned over. So comfortable.

  “Lance, you have to wake up. Now!” Her voice rose, panicky. Fists battered at his back, so light it was laughable.

  “What were you thinking?” she demanded. “You can’t be in here! If my dad finds you—”

  “Huh?” He flipped over and cracked an eye. Brain foggy, he rubbed his head. Where was he? What was going on?

  A door slammed open.

  A squeal. “Daddy, no!”

  Heavy hands clamped his arms and tore him from the bed. Someone dragged him, disoriented and stumbling, into the hall. A brute force shoved him against the wall, jerking his head. He blinked and saw Mr. Callaghan’s face. Too close to his own. His gut clenched. There was something in the man’s eyes that he’d never seen before. Something dangerous.