Up Close And Gone

by Jennie Spallone

  Strangers

  Long coats

  Hats

  Eyes concealed

  Clutch babies

  Sink

  Into

  Sheol

  On her knees

  Breasts overflowing

  Freezing on

  Empty

  No

  Babies

  Suckle

  Agony

  He

  Chops.

  oN hER FEET

  SHRIEKING

  BEATING HIM

  JUMP

  “No! No!”

  Alan immediately awakened, clutched her to his chest.

  “You’re okay. It was only a bad dream.”

  Deborah sobbed into his neck. “It was so real. Scary.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You axed the babies.”

  “Fortunately for you, my mommy taught me to never play with axes.” he said, dark humor his forte. “What else?”

  Deborah shivered. “We jumped into the babies’ coffin—all the babies were buried in one vault—and the earth closed over us.”

  “Did we bring along a shovel?”

  She pulled away from him. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

  “A time like this is exactly when we need to laugh to keep from crying.”

  A ray of sunlight threatened to lighten Deborah’s grief, but she didn’t deserve quick relief. Instead, she imagined two of her babies coming through the birth canal, stillborn. Now she was in the appropriate state of mind.

  “We need time to mourn. Dr. Gardner said so.”

  “We’ve been doing that for the last five months. How much longer do we immerse ourselves in this pain before we crack?”

  Deborah’s breath was coming in short spurts. “Our mourning is going to last forever. It said so in my dream.”

  “That idea was nowhere in your dream.”

  “The part about you and I falling into the babies’ grave and the earth covering us up? It’s like when God ordered the earth to swallow Aaron’s sons for not trusting in the Lord. It means God is going to strike us dead for killing our children.”

  “God has already killed us, don’t you think?”

  “God will kill us for not trusting Him to bless us with a child of our own.”

  Alan looked at her, flummoxed. “Those three babies you delivered were our own.”

  “No, Alan. A sperm donor impregnated me. I committed adultery.”

  “For God’s sake, Deb.”

  She interrupted him. “Do not take God’s name in vain.”

  “His sperm and your eggs came together in a petri dish! I’m worried about you. You seemed better since you started going to Dr. Gardner, but now it’s like you’re regressing.”

  “Two steps forward. One step back. That’s what Dr. Gardner said. If you can’t handle that, you should leave.”

  Alan stared at her. “What?”

  “I’ll give you a quickie divorce. Whether or not it will be Kosher doesn’t matter. You don’t believe in God anymore, anyway.”

  “I never said that!”

  “Find a nice Jewish girl with no baggage; someone who doesn’t want children, because your plumbing is definitely out of order.”

  Alan winced. “That was so below the belt.”

  It felt like someone had snuck into her brain, confiscated her words, and twisted them into putty. Deborah was helpless to do anything but egg him on. “Maybe I’m no longer your Deb. Did you ever think of that?”

  Alan stood and backed away from the bed. “You’re overwrought. You need to rest.”

  She waved him away. “Get out and don’t come back!”

  Chapter 31

  Detective Hernandez

  Detective Hernandez placed the Shana Kahn file on her desk. Then she glanced at the husband and younger daughter sitting across from her. “We’ve come up with a solid lead.”

  David Kahn sat forward. “What did you find out?”

  “One of the park security cameras indicates a man began following your wife soon after she left the restaurant. We showed his picture to the vendors and got a hit; the frozen ice vendor served him just as the thunderstorm began. The man bid him salaam and fled the park.”

  “That means peace in Arabic,” said Becca Kahn, the younger daughter.

  Hernandez set the photo before them. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Kahn brought the picture to eye level. “He looks familiar.”

  “Can I see?”

  Kahn handed the picture to his daughter.

  She held it up close.

  Hernandez noted the widening of the girl’s pupils, quickly masked. “Not sure.”

  “Is it possible the camera videotaped a park visitor who merely happened to be walking behind my wife?” asked Kahn.

  “The suspect followed your wife into the woods, then back onto the paved path.”

  Hernandez noticed the father and daughter exchange a worried glance.

  “If you know this man’s identity, you need to tell me.”

  “So you think this man is a suspect because of his walking path and frozen ice purchase?” asked Kahn.

  “Did he even have a golf umbrella?” the younger daughter broke in.

  “The frozen ice vendor recalls he was wearing a black hat, but no umbrella.”

  “I’m thinking it’s unlikely this man kidnapped my wife.”

  Detective gave him a cynical look. “What I’m thinking, Mr. Kahn, is that you and your family staged this whole missing persons thing for publicity.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he sputtered. “We don’t even live in New York.”

  “Maybe you paid someone to get rid of your wife.”

  “This is ludicrous! I love my wife. I want you to find her.”

  “Really, because it looks like neither you nor your daughter care about getting her back.”

  The girl’s cheeks reddened. “Dad and I don’t want to accuse anybody of anything unless we’re sure.”

  Kahn gave his daughter a sharp look.

  “That’s for us to determine, not you,” Hernandez chastised her.

  The girl ignored her father’s warning. “We’ll let you know by tonight if the man in the picture is the person we think he is.”

  “Or I could hold you and your dad in jail until you come clean.”

  “Do I need to hire an attorney?” asked Kahn, his voice strong and steady.

  “Please,” the girl pleaded. “Just give us a few hours and we’ll give you an answer.”

  Detective Hernandez shrugged. “Every additional minute a person remains missing increases the odds of a negative outcome. But it’s your family member, not mine.” She checked the wall clock. “You’ve got until 7 p.m. to contact me. If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to arrest you for concealing evidence of a crime.”

  “Thank you, detective,” said Kahn, rising to his feet. “We just want to be sure.”

  Detective Hernandez shooed father and daughter out of her office. “Hange 7 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.”

  Chapter 32

  Alan

  June 1983

  The morning after their fight, Deborah had called him at the Holiday Inn to apologize. “I’m not taking back my feelings, only the nutso way I expressed them.”

  Alan almost told his wife he needed a couple more days to process what happened; instead, here he was, back at home, unpacking his toothbrush and pajamas.

  He still didn’t understand where he’d gone wrong. He’d followed the psychiatrist’s suggestions; been more solicitous of his wife’s feelings, looked her in the eye when she spoke to him, let her help decide what movie or television program to watch, cuddled without demanding sex, and even cooked
dinner a couple of times a week. Sure, he’d made a couple of mistakes along the way. He never said he was perfect.

  How could he tell her he strained at the leash to flee his pain while she insisted on working through hers by staying in the moment? His inability to “man up,” coupled with his inability to produce healthy offspring, confirmed he was a wuss.

  Maybe he should have taken the hint when Deb told him to get out. Maybe the kindest thing for him to do was leave permanently. Give her a divorce. Let her begin anew with a guy who had highly rated sperm. A guy who didn’t require her to undergo artificial insemination.

  “Alan? Your favorite movie is on T.V.!”

  His wife’s voice sounded happy, relaxed. Maybe she’d already cast aside her doubts about him. Maybe they could go on together.

  Until the next time.

  Chapter 33

  Becca

  Becca took her father’s arm and escorted him out the front door of the 51st Street NYPD station. Two officers stood guard at either end of the entrance, chatting away; their relaxed pose made her stomach queasy. The whole police force should be out there searching for Mom.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Her stomach was cramping again, and she’d failed to order an Uber. Her dad hailed a cab.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, honey, but you made matters worse with the detective.”

  “You and mom raised me and Rachel to tell the truth.”

  “Failing to give information is not a lie,” said her father.

  “Actually, it’s a lie by omission. That’s why I had to say something.”

  He shrugged. “We each gotta do what we gotta do to get by in this world.”

  “You get on mom’s case for telling little white lies, right?”

  “Her lies don’t influence a person’s ability to live or die.”

  They slipped into the back seat of a yellow cab. A turbaned driver asked their destination.

  “Roosevelt Hotel,” Daddy said.

  Becca cut in. “He means NY Presbyterian Hospital.”

  Her dad looked at her like she had tree branches growing from her head.

  “Rachel’s going to think something’s wrong if we show up twice in one day.”

  “There is something wrong!” Becca loved her dad, but confrontation was his Achilles heel.

  “You can’t talk to your sister about this.”

  “Would you rather I talk to Zan or his mom instead?”

  Dad’s face dropped.

  “Sorry, Daddy.” The girls usually saved their shouting for mom’s ears only.

  “This news could make her go into labor. Wait until after she has the baby.”

  Becca went silent. The last thing she wanted was for her words to force her sister into premature delivery. How many times in the past had they slammed their mother over using poor timing to deliver bad news?

  Becca considered what her mother would say if she was there, now.

  “At the end of the day, we each have to live with the decisions we make. Do what lightens your soul.”

  What would lighten her soul would be to tell Rachel the truth; her husband’s stepdad may have kidnapped their mom. Not that she believed that the guy who lifted her from the ground when she’d fallen could have done something that awful. But bad guys aren’t bad 24/7; they work, eat, pee, and watch TV just like the rest of us.

  In that same way, good people are not good, day in, day out. There’d been lots of times when she and Rachel had hurt mom’s feelings so badly, she cried. Other times, they were all lovey-dovey. They played games together, went on mini-vacations, made each other laugh, and listened to each other’s problems. Mom even told them her problems—sometimes TMI—because she didn’t want to worry their dad, and the only friends she had were from work.

  The cab driver stopped his meter.

  “Thirty dollars,” he said in a heavily accented voice.

  Becca and her dad both reached for their wallets, but she won. “Here you go.”

  When he saw her generous tip, the driver smiled through the rear view mirror. She gave him a thumbs up.

  She needed to give herself that same gesture for whatever would come next.

  Chapter 34

  Alan

  December 1983

  Alan and his wife sat side by side, holding hands. “It’s unreal this is our final therapy session with you.”

  Dr. Gardner leaned back in her swivel chair. “How does that make you feel?”

  “Like a ship that’s lost its anchor,” he said.

  Deborah gently removed her hand from his. “Like a rainbow that’s lost its colors.”

  “It’s like that old Neil Sedaka song,” said Alan. “Breaking Up is Hard To Do.”

  Deb stared at the psychiatrist. “What are we going to do without your guidance? My family still isn’t speaking to us, and Alan’s father’s got dementia.”

  “He’s been off his rocker for a long time, now,” said Alan.

  Deb glanced at him. “More so since the babies died.”

  “You mentioned in the past that your mother passed away a couple of years ago.”

  Alan nodded.

  “Both you and Deborah are survivors. You’ve weathered this storm all by yourselves, with no family support.”

  “My brother’s still talking to me. The temple members and the rabbi have been very supportive.”

  “The second support group you sent us to was really helpful, even though I had to drag this guy there, kicking and screaming,” teased Deborah.

  Alan smirked.

  “Now you just have to work on sharing your feelings with me,” she said.

  “Hey, I am getting better.”

  Deborah rolled her eyes. “Slowly. Very slowly.”

  Alan detected an edge to her words. “When we married, I never promised to be perfect.”

  His wife kissed him on the cheek. “I promised to take you for better or for worse.”

  “So I was ‘for worse’?”

  “For a few months, there, yeah.”

  Alan turned toward his wife. “Fully reentering life after the babies died has been damn hard for me, too.”

  “I know,” Deborah said, her voice soothing.

  “Know the feelings of loss and mourning you both experienced this year will probably come up during Chanukah services, when you watch little kids light their menorahs at temple. You’ll feel it again at Purim, when the kids dress in costumes. You’ll especially feel it at Passover, when you get to the section in the Haggadah that mentions the Four Sons.”

  They exchanged panicked expressions.

  “I bring this subject up, not to make you feel worse, but to encourage you to discuss whether or not to attend Chanukah and Purim services. Rabbi Shapiro would understand.”

  “You want us to discuss this now?” asked Alan.

  “She means we discuss it when we get home, honey.”

  “But tomorrow’s the first night of Chanukah.”

  “We’ll discuss it when we get home,” Deborah repeated.

  Alan shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Dr. Gardner glanced at her watch. “Before our session ends, I want to provide clarification. Although your feelings of loss will remain intense for a while, they will eventually dissipate. You will have flashbacks of the event and cry unexpectedly, you will still experience the occasional nightmare. But you will get through those feelings together. I am always here for you both. Don’t hesitate to phone and set up an appointment.”

  Deborah rose to give the psychiatrist a hug. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Alan followed suit. “Absolutely. Thank you for all your help.”

  “Keep communicating with each other. You both possess the tools now. God Bless.”

 
As Alan and his wife left the office, he muttered. “If life gets too tough, we can always commit Hari Kari.”

  Deborah pulled his face eye-level to hers. “No talk of suicide, understand? We need to stay alive to honor our children’s memory. Promise.”

  He would try. He would really try.

  Chapter 35

  Becca

  Becca and her dad whooshed into the hospital room—she was the only one to whoosh; dad navigated his cane across the threshold. A green curtain separated them from Rachel’s bed.

  “Hey,” Becca called.

  Zan stepped out from behind the curtain. “Hey Pa, Bec.”

  Becca’s heart quickened. “Is Rach okay?”

  “The doctor’s examining her,” he said.

  “Just get here?” asked dad.

  “Yeah, Rachel texted me, so I left work a few minutes early.”

  “She misses you,” joked daddy.

  Zan glanced back at the curtain before he responds. “Not so much.”

  The vibes in the room felt all wrong.

  “What’s going on?” Becca asked.

  “After they wheeled Rachel back from Ultrasound, she had a small amount of vaginal bleeding. The doctor’s checking to make sure the baby’s okay.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Daddy said in a reassuring voice.

  As if on cue, the green curtain opens a quarter-way and Doctor Nayman stepped toward them. She frowned.

  Becca’s body tensed. “How are my sister and the baby doing?”

  “Fortunately, we were able to stop Rachel’s bleeding; the minimal amount she lost doesn’t seem to have adversely impacted the baby. For now, we’ll be keeping a close watch on both of them.”

  “Thank God,” said Dad.

  Zan excused himself to go sit by Rachel.

  “I do need to caution you about concerning one issue,” said the doctor.

  Dad and Becca regard each other. They both know what that issue was.

  The doctor confirmed their prediction.

  “Rachel is quite agitated over your wife’s disappearance. Stress is dangerous for her and the baby. If your daughter goes into labor at this point in her pregnancy, chances are your grandchild could be born with underdeveloped brain, lungs, sight, and hearing. I’m sure this is not the outcome your family is hoping for.”