by Nancy Widrew
By the end of the hour, Karen had opened all the gifts amidst squeals of “Oohs” and “Aahs” and came away with a complete layette. Though a number of the items were new, thanks to a special trip above, some were secondhand, a contribution from Janet’s children. All, however, were clean and neatly folded.
“I hope you don’t mind using cloth diapers,” said Rachel. “I know it’s harder, but disposables would be impossible down here. But you don’t have to worry.” She focused her eyes in her peculiar fashion, resting them on Karen’s prize booty poking through the bottom half of her shirt. “I’ll be more than happy to help you take care of little Sheena.”
“Little what?” said Karen.
Janet jumped in. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Karen. She tried doing the same thing with Jon. You pick whatever name you like. After all, she’s your baby.”
“I’m well aware of that,” said Karen, noting Janet’s use of the word she. To rub in the possibility of a potential can of worms arriving in a few months, Karen added, “I’m all set with a boy’s name, but not a girl’s. Sheena, however, is out of the question. It’s too—”
“Strange?” said Lily.
“Exactly.”
Mary broke in. “I always liked Melissa. That is, if it’s a girl.”
“No, Lauren is nicer,” insisted Helene.
“No, Jennifer.”
“Pauline.”
Rachel clapped her hands to call for attention. When everyone settled down, she reached inside a brown paper bag and pulled out a stack of glasses, a towel, and a bottle of sparkling wine. “It’s Champagne,” she said, even though the label revealed a California vintage. Mary shook her head at the common mistake but decided to keep it to herself.
Rachel went on. “Rahm bought it for us. Wasn’t that nice?” Tentatively, she pointed the bottle away from the group, wrapped it in the towel, loosened the tab on the wire cage, and eased out the stopper. “Norman showed me how to do this,” she explained, “so the cork won’t go flying.”
Rachel poured the bubbly white liquid to the brim of every glass, except Karen’s. At Mary’s insistence, the star of the show only received a small amount.
“To the baby,” said Rachel, raising her drink in a toast.
“To Karen,” added Janet.
“To their health.”
“To little Sheena.”
“Oh, Rachel,” scolded Janet.
“They all laughed, touched glasses, and drank.
Karen yawned, tapping her mouth with her fingers.
“I think it’s time to call it a night,” said Mary.
“But it’s still early,” said Helene, adding, “ouyay areyay uchsay a illkay-oyjay.”
“What’s that?” said Mary.
“It’s Pig Latin.”
“I didn’t know you spoke a foreign language,” said Rachel.
Helene shook her head. “And they call me dumb!”
Mary sniggered. “I studied real Latin in school. Not the porky kind. Anyway, what does it mean?”
Helene giggled. “It means you’re a kill-joy.”
“I think you’re drunk,” said Mary.
“Well, maybe a little.”
Mary rose, pointed to Karen. “Our mother-to-be needs her rest, and we’ve all had enough fun for one night.”
“Party pooper,” said Helene, licking the last drop from her glass.
“No, Mary’s right,” seconded Rachel. “Karen does look tired, and now that I think of it, I am too.” Following Mary’s lead, Rachel got to her feet. As the others sauntered off, she made a show of gathering up the empty bottle, glasses, and discarded papers. Finally, she turned to leave but not before slipping something into Karen’s hand. “Sleep well,” she said.
Confused, Karen stared down at a plain white envelope, sealed shut. She ripped it open, pulling out two sheets of paper, one on top of the other, folded into thirds. The scrawl, large and clumsy, nearly illegible, took up all four sides requiring total concentration, but by placing the letter directly under a lantern and running her right index finger under each word, she read:
Dear Karen,
Excuse my poor handwriting, grammer, and misspellings. School was never a priority. I have been thinking long and hard what to say. I know these past few months have been difficult and you probably hate me, but I feel certain that in time you will understand I did what was necessary and you’ll accept your new life here and find happiness in it’s simple pleasures.
There is one thing in particular on my mind. Causing me worry. Soon you will be having a baby—my baby. Mary has assured me that your physical health is good, but I am concerned about your emotional well being. I don’t think it’s good for a pregnant woman to be living alone and feel it would be best if you moved in with me. You would be my wife and recieve all do respect.
You don’t have to be concerned with Rachels feelings. She agrees with me and wouldn’t mind living by herself. She’s thinking about moving into the fertility area anyway, to be it’s preistess. It may interest you to know that we are more like brother and sister lately. Please consider this matter carefully. Take your time as necessary but I hope you will see the wisdom in my words. Let me know your decision.
Rahm
Karen let out a shriek, followed by a “Fuck you.” The veins in her temples pulsed as she tore the pages and envelope into pieces and stubbed them into the dirt with her shoe. As a final measure, she reached down and lit a match to what now amounted to garbage lying in a small heap. She watched the tendrils of smoke rise, smelled the trace of ash as it entered her nostrils, and breathed deeply, taking comfort in the power of choice.
Her moment of satisfaction ended when she heard a sound, followed by the shuffle of feet. She placed her tongue to her palate and began to click. Rahm’s outline appeared in her mind, and she knew he was nearby, watching.
“It’s not your baby!” she screamed, shaking her fists in front of her head, daring him to object. “And you’re right. I do hate you. You and the rest. All monsters. Go! I’ll never accept you.”
Karen held her breath, waiting for a response. When none came, she snickered in victory. It felt good to refute him, and while this decision was minor compared to all she faced, on a symbolic level it spoke volumes.
No, she would not move in with Rahm. Why, even the idea carried a chill, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise in protest. To soothe the tension, she pictured a meadow abundant with shrubs, wild flowers, and slim stalks of grass. Interspersed among the lush growth were dandelions, some yellow, some white with fluffy heads ready to propagate. She picked one of the latter and whooshed out a wind-song, scattering the seeds for miles. Smiling at the image, she felt lighter on her feet but still recognized the need for something tangible, more solid than a pleasant thought to draw strength from. As her teeth raked her upper lip, she searched for an answer until the perfect one took shape. Pushing aside books and gifts, she found a small white box, peeking out from under her mattress.
Opening it slowly to make the moment last, she removed her wedding ring, her simple gold band because that had been all she and Jeremy could afford. But to her it’s smooth, unbroken surface meant forever, and she placed it back on her finger, sorry she had ever taken it off.
Even though Jeremy had left her helpless and alone in these harsh, underground wilds, she had to admit her less than stellar role in the matter. But more importantly, she had noticed him looking at her of late with a hint of remorse buried in two parallel lines, one on each side of his mouth, running down to where they merged with the subtle trembling of his jaw. Although the exchange lasted mere seconds, it planted a seed of hope that forgiveness was possible for them both.
As she twisted her ring around the forth finger on her left hand, she made a wish that Jeremy would someday wear his again too. “I love you,” she whispered to his memory. Then recalling the words she had spoken on their wedding day, she repeated them once again while praying for a second chance. “I give you my heart and my han
d, to love and to cherish, through good times and bad, from this day forward, for as long as we both shall live.” She wiped the mist from her eyes and blew out the flames from both lanterns, leaving Jeremy’s image to blaze like a sunspot against the dark, where it lingered like a kiss on her lips, warming her, protecting her, and sheltering her in the night.
Chapter 20
Rahm slammed the spade with his right heel and ran a rag across his brow. The work was hard, made harder by the fact that he could only use his one good foot. Deciding it was time for a break, he entered the house through the rear door. He splashed ice-cold beer on his neck, then drank the remainder in five gulps. After finishing, he drank another. He used the toilet, flushed it twice, amused by the gurgle of the water disappearing down the sewage pipe before returning to work.
Through his filmy eyes, protected by dark glasses, the sky looked hazy, but he knew it burned red and hot with the temperature soaring into the high eighties. Cursing the sun, which made his task more difficult, he removed his shirt, allowing sweat to run freely down his chest and back.
He spoke to Norman. “We have no choice. We’ll have to get Randy’s help if we want to finish turning the soil in time to plant the seeds on schedule. He already knows about this house as well as its location. I’ve sworn him to secrecy. I’ll tell him to keep mum about the garden too. He’ll listen to me. By the way, have you noticed how many inches he’s shot up this year?”
Norman nodded. “Yeah, he takes after Tom. That is, if Tom really was his father. That man was humungous, but I hope Randy will at least have more sense. Imagine … he’s almost twelve-years old! Where did the time go?” Norman adjusted the brim on his baseball cap.
“You know what?” he said. “Besides Randy getting his own room, this garden can be part of the whole birthday package: growing fresh vegetables jibes with our trusting him to go aboveground. He’ll love the challenge and responsibility. He’s so eager to be a man and all that shit, but I think he’ll also love those sports shoes you and Rachel splurged on. Great idea! For some reason he’s jealous … no, wait a minute … he’s obsessed with Jon’s climbing ability. Don’t know why since his skills are so good. They’re not like Jon’s, of course, but no one’s are. Still, those shoes may help with any lack of confidence. And speaking of Jon—now there’s something to worry about. And not just his looks. His freaky behavior.”
Rahm pursed his lips. “Yeah, I’m also concerned, but Karen’s been helping, teaching him vocabulary and how to count. He actually did four times four using his fingers. Showed me how he does it. The kids pretty smart, but you’re right. We’ve ignored his needs, and it’s messing him up in strange ways. Too much time by himself. I’ll ask Karen to work with him more, that is, if she’ll speak to me.”
“She’ll come around,” said Norman with a conspiratorial wink before dropping his shovel to enter the house for a third cup of coffee. Despite the heat, he needed his fix. While Norman took his break, Rahm questioned why no one had thought of this sooner: growing “real” vegetables, the kind that needed sun. He, Norman, and Rachel had picked up the necessary supplies months before on a trip above, but the idea came from Rachel and she deserved full credit.
Rahm continued the grueling work, making a mental note to speak to Randy later that day, to tell him about his new assignment and what was expected. His trust in the boy’s judgment grew daily, and just as Rahm had hoped, Randy informed him of Jeremy’s nosing around. Yes, Jeremy continued to be a dilemma, and he didn’t know how he’d deal with him in the long run, but for now he remained little more than a pain in the ass. As for Randy, the boy was not only strong in body but in mind. He cared for his fellow members because they’re family, unlike Jeremy who didn’t give a crap and ran for office for his own selfish reasons.
With that memory once again brought to the forefront, Rahm spit in disgust, droning on to an audience of one how five people voted against him. Of course, two were Karen and Jeremy, but even so. As his face clenched in anger, he reasoned that he shouldn’t let anything surprise him. There would always be ingrates, and perhaps it was just some half-cocked rebelliousness on the part of those with smaller minds. Well, maybe it’s partly my fault, he admitted, tugging on his lip with a finger. Maybe Jeremy does have a point and I’ve treated them like children. But then that’s how they behave. Weak and indecisive. But Randy’s different, he concluded, feeling certain the boy would be up to the task of handling the load, years from now, when the time came to transfer the reins. Rahm paused, blinked the sweat from his eyes, and took a swig from the water jug on the porch.
“Goldangit!” he swore, picturing his batty mother before him, paddle ready if he said anything stronger. “This has sure been some year.” Since he had first found out about Karen’s pregnancy, the distinction between being a mere father and a responsible, caring parent had grown with the expansion of her waist. He had considered, years ago, that he might be Jon’s birth father, but the matter had little value one way or the other. Perhaps it had to do with his feelings toward Janet—strictly platonic (an irony considering the circumstance) or perhaps it was because Tom was still alive and the paternal obligations were handed to him.
This time, however, the experience of reproduction, from conception to, hopefully, a pass-the-cigars Birth-Day, made his head spin with happiness, along with a pint of worry and questions regarding the meaning of life and—dare he think it?—God. Further shielding his eyes with his hand, he chanced a quick glance at the sun with its eternal flame, and shook his head with awe, praying for the first time in years for the strength to meet the new challenges.
Can it be true? he asked himself. Karen and Jeremy kaput, finished with each other? He snickered like a naughty boy, cognizant of his role in their breakup, particularly when Mary disclosed the smutty details, during that big scene where Karen confessed and Jeremy stalked off. But in the long run all would work out for the best. As for the baby, he felt sure it carried his genes just as he felt sure that its mother would someday share his bed.
Yet despite his positive outlook, Rahm felt unable to keep Jeremy from souring his spirits. He had not tried to stop him from pursuing his explorations, knowing that without hope we all die, and Jeremy might still play a useful part in their future. So for the present, he would settle on watching his antagonist more carefully. There was no way he’d risk teaching him echolocation as he did with Karen, suspecting the skill would help bond her to the group. No, Jeremy was different, and he’d just have to trust that eventually the man would accept the inevitable. If not, other options remained. But there was no reason to consider them now, not with the future so bright.
Rahm leaned his spade against the wall and ran his tongue across his dry mouth. “It’s too damn hot,” he said, brushing past Norman, now heading down the porch steps as he headed back up.
“I’ll stay overnight,” said Norman. “I don’t climb as fast as you, and this way I can start early before it heats up. It’s brutal.”
“Good idea,” said Rahm. “I’ll join you tomorrow, later in the afternoon, and I’ll bring Randy.” As the screen door slammed behind him, he heard another beer calling his name.
#
Mary’s prediction proved correct. While he had not spoken to Karen in months, had barely looked at her, he didn’t—couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Jeremy had been out on the boat alone for nearly two hours without paying one moment’s attention to catching fish. As a result, the basket remained empty. “Screw this, I’m done,” he howled. Reaching for the oars, he headed to shore, his mouth pinched tight like the pulled casing on a drawstring purse.
After tying up the boat, he retrieved his clothes from a nearby stalagmite. It had been months since he had worn anything while fishing since the coldness of the water no longer bothered him. No point in getting even his underwear soaked, he reasoned.
It was an uphill climb from the rowboat’s docking point to the mushroom garden. With his split-second reflexes and knee
s as springy as Spalding Hi-Bounce Balls, he avoided injuring his limbs while scaling over boulders, some higher than shoulder level. The realization that soon he would be able to compete with Rahm on a level neither had foreseen struck him as triumphant, but he would save the crowing for later. His sense of touch had sharpened too, so much that he could discriminate among minerals, from quartz to aragonite by a single grain of sand. He stood still, his eyes and ears on alert.
There was not even one candle lit in the garden, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Only the person in attendance wasn’t Karen but Rachel. He could tell by her fairy-light movements with her feet barely touching the ground, reminding him of astronauts bouncing on the moon. He realized she also sensed his presence; still, he didn’t bother to speak; instead he walked off, leaving her to wonder.
If Karen isn’t here, she must be there, “there” being her makeshift classroom closer to the guano pit. Far enough away to avoid the stench (he had heard her say in the common area) but close enough to get some benefit from natural lighting.
Jeremy squirmed at the thought of returning to that godforsaken place. He hadn’t been back since the day of their failed escape when Rahm caught him and pounded his stomach to ground beef; all the same he had to talk to her and now.
He remembered the way, the tunnel, the manmade hole, but then, how could he forget? Arriving at the hole, he found it further etched out, probably to accommodate Karen’s widening girth, and soon he heard Jon playing by himself among the rocks and formations. Jeremy wasn’t surprised since the boy often ran off alone, apparently too young to concentrate for long stretches of time but also because he was—well, weird. Jeremy berated himself for thinking of Jon as a freak, but seeing him as he was—a ghastly figure that faded in and out with his skeleton on display—how could he not? Still, it’s not Jon’s fault, he told himself. It’s theirs. Those assholes!
Jon smiled as Jeremy approached. “Want to play with me?” he asked, making rows of rocks and stacking them according to size as he counted.