“I would never hate this baby!” she said angrily, although she was angrier with herself than him. With that one statement, he addressed the question that was tormenting her. What if that was how she felt? What if, no matter how much she relied on God, she did hate this baby?
She began to tremble, breaking under the emotion. She stood, and walked to the patio doors. “I would never hate this child,” she repeated in a whisper. Her eyes burned from tears that had not yet fallen.
She couldn't listen to his words anymore. “I think you should leave.” Her back was still turned to him.
He barely heard her, but knew what she said. With slumped shoulders, he nodded. He took a deep breath, stood, and started toward her, but then stopped. He turned to the front door but then went back to her and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Anya.” His tone begged for understanding. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.” He walked slowly out the door without looking back.
Anya waited a moment, then dragged herself to the couch and lay down. She had known the pregnancy was going to be hard to take, but never did she imagine this.
She closed her eyes. So much of what Braxton said made sense—the words he uttered were the same ones voicing themselves in her head. But they were not the ones in her heart. She couldn't kill this baby.
She believed, inside, Braxton felt the same way. She'd convince him, she had to.
With her eyes still closed, she rolled to the edge of the couch and dropped to her knees. She clasped her hands in front of her and said, “Lord, I have to turn this over to you. Please, Lord, open Braxton's heart and show him this is all you.”
She wasn't sure how long she prayed, but when Anya rose, the house screamed its silence. She had to get away. It took less than a minute for her to grab her purse and jacket and run to the garage.
In her car, she called her office.
“Dianna, I won't be in today.”
“Oh, but David needs to speak to you. Let me put you through to him.”
A few seconds skipped by, then she heard his voice. “Are you all right, Anya?”
“I'm fine.” She tried to put a smile into her voice. “I need to take care of some personal things; I'll be in tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he responded, unable to hide his doubt.
“Dianna said you needed me.”
“No, you take care of what you have to do and I'll see you tomorrow.” He paused. “Anya, you can count on me for anything. So if you need to talk…”
His voice was so soft, and filled with such care, that Anya wanted to spill everything that was inside of her. But instead she said, “You worry too much.” She clicked off her phone before he could ask anything or before she could tell him everything.
But once she hung up, loneliness engulfed her and she turned her car in the direction of the only place where she knew she could find solace right now.
It took her just fifteen minutes to get to Madear's house. Before she got out of her car, Sasha was opening the front door. “What are you doing here?” she asked as Anya walked up the porch steps.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Anya stepped inside.
“Madear had doctor's and cable appointments scheduled at the same time. So I did the house-sitting thing.”
Anya smiled for the first time in hours. “You're kidding. Madear's getting cable?”
Sasha laughed. “It's only basic and I had to talk her into that.”
Anya joined Sasha's laughter, glad to have something to take her away from the pain that pulled at her heart.
“Sounds like you and Madear are getting along.”
“Of course we are,” Madear said, as she entered the room. “And we'll keep getting along as soon as she takes off that short skirt.”
Anya's eyes moved to Sasha, standing posed against the door in a black St. John's skirt that was high up her thigh. When Anya returned to Madear, her eyes were narrowed.
“Don't look at me like that,” Madear said. “This has nothing to do with my baby's skin color. That skirt is just too darn short!”
Sasha rolled her eyes, and laughed with Madear. Anya only sighed with relief.
“Baby, I'm glad to see you,” Madear said to Anya. When Anya leaned over to kiss Madear, she held her grandmother for a long moment, just enough for Madear to draw back and frown. “What's wrong?” Madear searched Anya's face for an answer.
The tug Anya felt in her chest was getting stronger, and she didn't have the strength to utter words without tears. So she only nodded.
“I've got to go to work,” Sasha said, unaware of the exchange. “Anya, I might be a little late tonight. Joan, my manager, asked me out for drinks after we close. She wants to get to know me. You know the drill,” Sasha chatted brightly. “I'll see you guys later.”
“I have something to tell you.” Anya squeezed the words from her throat. She spoke directly to Madear, but she added, “Sasha, stay for a minute.”
Madear took Anya's hand, and led her to the couch. Her soft green eyes were squinted with concern and never left Anya's face.
“What's up?” Sasha asked, dropping her jacket and purse back in the chair.
Anya closed her eyes. “I'm pregnant.’’ The brief statement was barely a whisper.
The audible gasps revealed their shock. Finally Sasha spoke. “Well, that's a good thing, right?” Her eyes darted between her grandmother and cousin. “You and Braxton are getting married in a couple of months anyway, so …”
When Anya turned to Madear, her grandmother's eyes told her she knew the truth.
Madear's hand was still over her mouth. “Baby” was all she could murmur.
Anya whipped away from her grandmother, and stared at her ring. “This is not Braxton's baby.” Anya could see the confused thoughts turning over inside Sasha's head. “When I was raped—”
“Oh, my God!” Sasha jumped up and knelt next to Anya. She took her cousin's hand. “I'm so sorry,” she cried.
For the first time, in the midst of women who loved her, Anya released tears that had been battling to be released. Madear and Sasha held Anya in their arms. Minutes passed before they broke apart.
When Madear rose to get tissues, Anya said to Sasha, “I shouldn't have told you before you had to go to work”
“I should call in and tell them I have a family emergency.”
“Don't do that. This is your first week. I'll be fine with Madear.”
Sasha glanced at Madear as she held a tissue to her nose. “Go on, baby,” Madear said.
It took several more minutes before Sasha broke away, but when they were finally alone, Madear held Anya in her arms. “Does Braxton know?”
Anya nodded and pulled another tissue from the box. “But we have a big problem.” When Madear remained silent, Anya continued. “I can't kill this baby, Madear.”
“Sweetheart, you don't have to do that.”
“That's what Braxton wants.”
Madear faced Anya, holding her hands, but she didn't say anything.
“I don't know if I'm crying because I'm sad, or scared. I don't know if we should keep the baby or not, but I know that I can't abort it.”
Anya wrapped her hands around her waist and let her eyes wander. Family history filled this room through the pictures that were scattered about. Now, inside of her, was a part of the family's future. But was this baby family? She squeezed her arms tighter around her waist.
“Braxton is so angry.”
“But you know he loves you.”
“I can't do what he wants.”
“Come here, baby.” Madear leaned back and Anya stretched out on the couch, laying her head in Madear's lap. “You're doing what you know is right. Braxton will come around.”
“Braxton thinks that I've blocked out how…” Then she continued. “But I just can't block out the part of this baby that's me. Does that sound stupid?”
“Honey, you're doing what's in your blood. For generations, Black women have birthed, raised, and loved the ba
bies from their womb. It never mattered how the baby got there; we love our children. It's who we are.”
“Suppose I keep the baby and then I don't love it. That's what Braxton thinks will happen.” Her voice squeaked.
Madear tisked. “You don't have to worry about that. But, Anya, you have choices—there's adoption.”
Anya sat up and searched her grandmother's face. “Is that what you think I should do?”
“You should let the Lord lead you. Pray and He'll give you and Braxton the answers.”
Anya nodded. “I'm leaning on God so much right now.”
“That's how it's supposed to be. The Lord is your stronghold. He won't let you down. And neither will I.”
She rested her head back on Madear's lap and allowed the peace that she always felt in this house to engulf her.
As she lay, Anya tried to imagine the future—the baby, what it would look like, would they keep it? But all she could see was the coldness of a room in New York, where a part of her died, all those years before.
“The one thing I know, Madear, is that I'm going to give birth to this baby. I'm never going into an abortion clinic again.”
It wasn't until she heard her grandmother's low gasp that she realized what she'd said. Anya's eyes opened widely, she held her breath and waited for Madear to speak. But Madear remained silent and continued stroking Anya's head.
Anya knew her grandmother heard her words, but after a few minutes, she knew there would be no questions. Not now. The present was more important than the past.
In the silence, it was Madear's touch that let Anya close her eyes and sleep. When she awakened, the living room shadows were longer—morning had turned to late afternoon. But she was still in her grandmother's lap, and Madear was still stroking her, just as she'd been doing for hours.
Braxton clicked the mouse on the print icon and listened to the hum of the computer as it prepared to spew forth the four pages he'd written in the last three hours. He skimmed through a few lines on each page, sucked his teeth, then tossed them into the wire trashcan. He didn't know why he was sitting at his computer. It had been weeks since he'd written anything and just when he thought he'd regain his writing groove, he'd been hit with this—the sequel to the nightmare.
He highlighted the text he'd written, and hit the DELETE button. Instantly, the screen went blank. He shook his head at the simplicity. That's what he needed, a DELETE button in his life.
“I know how Anya is,” he said aloud. “I didn't approach her right.” He stood and went to the window. The sun was still hanging in the late afternoon, filling the room with its brightness. He closed the miniblinds, bringing darkness to his office. Then he returned to his desk.
He thought they'd endured it all. But how much more was God going to put on his shoulders? How much more could he take as a man?
There was no way he was going to allow Anya to have this baby—even if she said she'd give it up for adoption. He couldn't trust that. Knowing Anya, at the last moment, she'd choose to keep the baby and then where would they be? The baby couldn't be a consideration at all. He'd have to convince her of that.
He was angry with himself—not with her. She had an excuse; hormones were storming through her. He should have been the calm, reasonable one. Demanding that she give up the baby would never work, she'd keep it just because he said to get rid of it.
He needed to talk to someone who could help him convince Anya to do the right thing. He eyed the Bible on the bookcase. Pastor Ford? No, she'd definitely agree with Anya. Madear? No, Anya had probably run to her already.
He smacked his palm against his forehead. Braxton reached for the phone, then put it down. This was something he had to do in person. With one click of the mouse, he shut off the computer and headed out the door.
“My man!” Carlos smiled as he came into the reception area. “Como está? What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you, buddy.” Braxton kept his voice low as he glanced over at the receptionist. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Carlos glanced at his watch. “Sure, come on back.”
They moved silently, past Carlos's secretary, finally into his office.
“You sound serious, my man,” Carlos said, as he walked behind his desk.
Braxton sank into the chair opposite Carlos and shook his head slowly from side to side. “You're never going to believe this … this morning … we found out … from the doctor …” He paused as if he didn't want to say the final words. “Anya's pregnant…” He sat up straight and looked Carlos directly in the eye. “It's not mine—it's from the rape.”
It was a moment before Carlos released a long whistle. Without saying a word, he stood, and sat in the chair next to Braxton. “Oh, man! I can't believe this. So …” Carlos left his unasked question in the air.
“Anya wants to keep the baby,” Braxton answered him.
“You mean, have it and give it up for adoption?”
“I don't know what she's talking about, but it doesn't matter because she shouldn't have this baby at all. Even if she said she would give it up, I don't trust her—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Carlos held up his hands. “You're not saying you want her to have an abortion?”
Braxton looked at his friend incredulously. “Carlos, I came here for support. Please don't tell me you agree with her.”
“I'm not taking sides. I'm only saying that I'm not surprised at Anya. I'm surprised at you.”
Braxton slammed his hand on the edge of the chair. “What is with everybody? Abortion is legal, you know.”
“Man, you're asking Anya to go against everything she believes.”
“Look at this from my side. If this happened to Michele … tell me you'd want her to have the baby.”
“I wouldn't want her to have the baby, but if we were there—”
“Don't give me that crap!” Braxton said angrily. He stood and walked to the window, then turned back to face Carlos. “What am I supposed to do? Let her have this baby, then look at that monster every day!”
“Braxton, you have other options.”
Braxton slammed his fist into the palm of his hand, hearing Carlos utter the same words Anya had. “We don't have any options!” he yelled.
“Okay, calm down. Let's talk this out.”
“Talking won't do anything.”
“That's why you came here.”
“Well, I don't like what you're saying,” Braxton growled.
“Then you don't want to hear the truth.”
Braxton glared at Carlos for a few long moments, then slouched back down in the chair with a sigh.
“Man, I know this is tough.” Carlos scooted his chair so that he was in front of Braxton. “Have you talked to anyone else? Have you talked to Pastor?”
“No,” he replied quickly. “I know what she's going to say.”
“Why are you so against adoption?”
“Because once Anya sees this baby, she's going to keep it. She's already talking about it's half hers.”
“Try to see her side—”
“All I see is that man with his hands all over Anya, violating her in ways …”
Carlos put his hand on Braxton's shoulder. “Man …” Carlos took a deep breath. “Why don't you bring this up at Men's Prayer—”
“No!” Braxton jerked his head up before Carlos could finish. “I don't want anyone to know.”
“We can help you talk through this and—”
“I said, no!”
Carlos held up his hands. “All right. Well, you and I can do that together—talk and pray…”
Braxton nodded, but he had already dismissed Carlos from his mind. His best friend had let him down.
“There is one thing I recommend, man,” Carlos said. He paused, waiting for Braxton to look at him, but when he didn't, Carlos continued. “Don't push Anya. She needs your support right now.”
Braxton turned to face Carlos. “That's why she can't have this baby. If she thinks it's to
ugh now, how will it be later?” Braxton spoke as if he were presenting his argument in front of a jury.
“But back off, man,” Carlos said strongly. “No matter what you think she should do, you can't push her. Or else …”
Braxton slouched in the chair, his eyes drooping from emotional exhaustion. The intercom on the desk buzzed.
“That's my four-thirty, but I can have one of the other attorneys handle this. We can go somewhere, maybe have a glass of wine.”
Braxton shook his head and stood up quickly. “We can get together later.”
It took a few moments for Carlos to agree. “I'll call you tonight. Are you going to be home?”
“Yeah,” Braxton said, although he didn't know where he'd be.
They hugged in silence, and Carlos sighed deeply as he watched Braxton walk out the door.
Braxton moved quickly through the long dark hall, to the elevator bank. A man and a woman, holding matching briefcases and wearing navy pinstripe suits, chatted as they waited. Braxton looked toward the staircase and thought about walking down to the lobby. But the number 12 on the door reminded him how high up he was in the downtown building. He turned back toward the elevators.
As he waited, Carlos's words played in his head. Don't push Anya. Braxton shook his head. Carlos was wrong and Braxton was sorry he told him. He didn't believe for one moment that Carlos would live the words he spoke if this was happening to his wife. No man would keep this baby.
Braxton knew how to handle his woman; Anya had to be pushed to be convinced. But not in the way he'd done this morning.
The elevator pinged its arrival, and Braxton stepped inside with the two dark-suits who didn't seem to notice him. As they descended, a plan began to form. By the time Braxton stepped off the elevator, there was a new confidence in his step. He knew what he had to do.
Anya climbed the stairs, her legs weak from emotion. Without turning on the light, she sat on her bed and clicked the machine for her messages. “You have four messages,” the mechanical voice said. “Beep … Anya, this is Braxton—”
She fast-forwarded to the next one. She did it again, then a third time, until her machine was clear. Then she did what she hadn't done in weeks—she turned off the ringer.
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