by Jim Nelson
“Where else would she get six hundred dollars?”
Her father continued to shift his weight as though testing the ground beneath him. “She almost got the Blanchard’s,” he said. “She was on the table. The doctor was ready to perform the procedure.”
“How do you know?”
“We never got the full story,” he said. “Hanna came back on her own. We didn’t catch her. She showed up at the Concord train station and phoned us to pick her up. She had the money and a backpack full of things. Your mother thinks she got scared and came home on her own. I’m not so sure.”
“I would think she was scared,” Hanna said. “It’s a big decision.”
Her father, head down, shifted his weight again. “She was different when she got back,” he said. “Cold. Far-away. Your mother didn’t care. She’d run on us twice, and at that point, your mother had had enough with her. All she cared about was keeping you safe until the finality. Hanna told us she’d come close to killing you.” He pinched the air. “She came that close, but she didn’t do it. She stepped to the brink and walked away.”
“She wouldn’t have really killed me,” Hanna said. “I would’ve been in a coma. I would have kept her alive.”
“If that happened to your children, would you see it that way?” he asked.
It gave Hanna pause. Devil’s advocate is a game of tricky rules and obscure moves.
“You’d be dead if Hanna had gone through with it,” her father said. “Trapped lifeless in her body until she died. She was buying a few years more of a sickly life in exchange for your full life.” He nodded toward the house. “And in exchange for the life of your children,” meaning the children Ruby and Cynthia bore inside their bodies, not Ruby and Cynthia themselves.
He chewed on a thought for a long moment. “Hanna was pure love,” he said. “She didn’t know how to put herself ahead of anyone else. It wasn’t in her. That’s why she came home. Generosity brought her home. A grudging generosity, I’d call it.”
He started walking again, slowly treading the rocky coarse ground about the house.
“You never hugged Hanna, did you?” Hanna asked. “No, wait,” she said when he began to protest. “You know what I mean. Most fathers don’t touch their bridge daughters.”
“There’s no law,” he murmured. “Your mother told me not to connect to her. I obeyed. I was being the good husband.”
“I don’t have a problem with it.” His demonstrations of affection toward the girls were his most human moments.
After walking a bit, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about Hanna’s bi-graft?”
“Because she didn’t have one,” he said. “Nothing to tell.”
“You could’ve told me when I was old enough.”
“It’s not done that way.” Her father’s Midwestern ways reared up.
“I’m asking now,” Hanna said.
He halted. “Hanna was here to bring you into this world.”
“I’m not questioning that,” she said quietly.
He reached out to Hanna’s cheek. “She looked so much like you.”
“Of course she did,” Hanna said. “We’re identical.”
“That’s what we tell ourselves,” he murmured.
His scaly hands, toughened by year-round home and yard maintenance, lightly stroked Hanna’s cheek. She placed her fingertips on her father’s hand.
“You’re so lucky to have twins,” he said.
“Dad,” she said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry.” He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and walked on, shoulders down. Several feet away, he stopped and swiveled.
“It’s growing dark,” he said. “You should get along if you’re going to make it to your mother’s.”
Ten
Hanna’s cell phone, nestled in the driver-side cup holder, lit up and vibrated. BLOCKED. The caller failed to leave voicemail.
A light ocean fog drifted across the valley. The beams of the Audi’s headlights dispersed into a featureless gray wash against the black night ahead. Hanna had overextended her stay at her father’s house. Now she worried her mother would be in bed by the time they arrived.
That was not the plan they’d agreed upon. When she’d discussed with her mother staying at the farmhouse for the week, she quietly neglected to reveal she would be stopping at her father’s place on the way. Her mother would deduce it anyway. She probably deduced it before the phone call ended. Arriving late would be one more damning clue for her mother’s keen eye.
Cynthia’s afternoon nap in the backseat meant she was wide awake now. Ruby, who’d hustled in the hot kitchen to get a late Italian lunch on the table, was conked out. Hanna did her best to maintain her attention on the snaking road, the turns sharper here and coming fast through the gray fog. It did not occur to her that the three glasses of wine she’d consumed at her father’s house had impaired her coordination. She alternated between speeding up to make it to the farm on time and laying off the accelerator, mindful she was carrying her future children in the backseat. One thing she and Vaughn had in common were lead right feet, both the type of people to press their luck on the road.
If Jackie had asked once more why Hanna remained single, she would’ve had no choice but to pour herself a fourth glass of wine. Hanna was grateful to be away from her father’s jejune wife, one of those women who thinks a life without a man is a life wasted.
Hanna wasn’t against men. She didn’t hate men. Would she would marry again if she found the right person? Hanna was fairly sure she would. When she realized she could manage raising the twins on her own, the pressure of the matter drained away. Jackie failed to see Hanna was not single. She had two others in her life and they were her sole priority, the boy and girl to be born in a few weeks.
Jackie’s needling questions cut into the conundrum Hanna found herself in. Most men did not want a relationship with a woman raising two bridge daughters, especially bridges approaching their finalities. She endured too many men who pressed hard to seal the deal, as men put it, only to vanish thereafter. At one point during a dry spell, she removed any mention of parenting on her dating profile. She rationalized it was better to slip it into conversation rather than advertise. After a few more failed connections and accusations of lying, Hanna reverted the changes.
That left the occasional, oh-so-rare man who was happy to meet a woman with two on the way. Those kinds of men wanted children of their own, and when Hanna explained two was her limit, they too exited from her life.
It led to a stark period where she found herself disliking men outright, in the abstract as well as in-person, although she never admitted to hating them. She was not a man-hater, she told herself, but dammit all, they certainly were a self-absorbed bunch.
After a long stretch away from online dating, she realized the obvious: She needed to meet a single, stable, responsible man with a steady job, good family values, and children of his own.
It did not take long to realize just how unattractive she would find such a man.
The Audi’s headlamps caught movement in the fog—a deer—a dog—no, a girl. Jolted into the present and driving ten miles per hour over the limit, Hanna twisted the wheel left and then right. The right rear tire jounced and the sound of gravel being crushed erupted from beneath the chassis. The car lost traction, slid onto the road’s shoulder, then lurched past the girl and into the gray fog.
The girl sat on the dirt shoulder with her back against the wood post of a banana-yellow deer-crossing sign. With her knees up under her chin, her hitchhiker’s thumb disappeared with the sudden roar of the engine downshifting and the tires sliding past her. Her wan skin was absolutely colorless in the Audi’s headlights, as white as votive wax. Although only a brief flash of color, Hanna recognized in a moment the mountaineering backpack as the one the girl carried in the fruit stand earlier that afternoon.
Speeding onward, Hanna calmed herself. It wasn’t even close to an accident. The girl wa
s never in any danger. The sight of the girl merely caused Hanna to fumble with the steering wheel, creating more commotion than anything else. She checked the rearview. Ruby remained out, stone cold through it all. Cynthia sat straight up, arms stiff at her sides.
“What happened?” she said with a deep voice.
Hanna peered deeper into the rearview. Without streetlamps, the county road was pitch dark at this time of night. She saw no evidence of the hitchhiker, not even the deer-crossing sign she sat against. Hanna inhaled and exhaled to calm herself. The astringent taste of her breath was Jackie’s wine. Three glasses of wine? Three goblets of wine.
It was cold out and would only get colder. The road was not well-traveled, even on a Friday night. No hotel or gas station for miles. At best, the county sheriff would find the girl hitchhiking and drive her to the county line. At best.
“What are you doing?” Cynthia asked.
Hanna slowed and performed a U-turn. She strained to twist the steering wheel, putting her shoulder into it to turn the car around.
“Giving that girl back there a ride,” Hanna said.
“I thought we don’t pick up hitchhikers,” Cynthia said. Hanna had said something off-the-cuff years ago, and as children are wont to do, Cynthia remembered the comment with keen precision.
“This is different,” Hanna said.
The girl remained seated against the post, thumb out. She scrambled to her feet when Hanna slowed the car and turned it around once more. Hanna rolled down the automatic window on the passenger’s side and leaned across the seats to talk.
“Where are you going?” she called out.
“San Francisco,” said the girl.
“I can take you as far as Marin City.”
The girl had the door open and was already climbing in beside Hanna. “That would be great.”
Her camouflage-colored mountaineer’s backpack didn’t fit in the front seat, so they pushed it into the backseat and stood it up between the two girls. Ruby shifted and mumbled complaints but remained asleep. Once the hitchhiker was in the front seat and buckled up, Hanna pulled back onto the county road and accelerated. No headlights behind them, no headlights approaching. The girl would’ve been out there for hours, Hanna thought, wearing only a Minnesota Twins pullover and a pair of cut-off shorts.
The blond girl aimed the dashboard air vents at her face and rubbed her hands together. Hanna turned up the heater.
“You’re a lifesaver,” the girl said.
—
Hanna didn’t want to make conversation. Her plan was to take the hitchhiker as far as the Greyhound station in Marin City and leave it at that, but Hanna had to pry a little.
“Please don’t tell me that man in the green truck dumped you off in the middle of nowhere,” she said to the girl beside her.
“I told him to let me out,” she said. “I asked for a ride. He thought it meant something else.”
“Are you okay?”
“It’s no problem,” the girl said. “Trust me, I’ve been through far worse.”
So small and frail, Hanna had a hard time swallowing her bravado. Still, she managed to deal with the man in the green truck, who was easily a foot taller than her and did not appear to be a pushover. In the blue glow of the dashboard instrumentation, Hanna could see no marks on the girl, no bruises or scratches, a good sign. Hanna asked herself if she could fend off a man that size. Imagine being trapped in a cramped truck cab traveling fifty miles per hour on the edge of nowhere with grabby-hands at the wheel.
Hanna peered in the rearview. Ruby remained asleep. Her thumb rested between her lips, not an unusual sight. Cynthia sat upright, ears cocked, listening to the conversation transpiring in the front seat.
The twisting county road concluded at an intersection with a state highway, one with proper streetlamps and signage. The ride smoothened and traffic returned. Hanna felt justified in giving the Audi a bit more gas to make up for lost time.
As they passed under a streetlight, Hanna noticed a tattoo on the side of the girl’s leg, just below her knee. Hanna knew it was prudish to question a tattoo, but the girl didn’t seem a day over sixteen, a bit young to be marking herself up permanently. Curious and already suspecting, she took her eyes off the road when they passed under the next streetlight to examine it again, and again an eighth of a mile later.
“What’s your name?” Hanna said.
“Piper,” she said.
“You have friends waiting for you in San Francisco?” Hanna said.
“I’ll make some,” Piper said.
“You don’t know anyone?”
“I know people all over,” Piper said.
Hanna peered back at Cynthia again, who was obviously listening closely. Adults can speak in coded language around children, but Piper wasn’t an adult. Maybe it was best to say nothing, just take Piper to Marin City and leave her there, never to speak of her again.
“Piper!” Ruby exclaimed from the backseat.
Piper twisted around and offered her hand to Ruby. They gripped fingers while Ruby asked questions: What happened to her, where did she go off to, why was she in the car, and so on. Hanna let Piper answer them, thankful she didn’t bring up the slimy man in the green truck making a move. Throughout the exchange Cynthia’s head swiveled between Ruby and Piper, realizing she’d missed something important.
When the conversation lulled, Piper settled into the seat beside Hanna. In the passing overhead lights, Hanna noticed a vague, smug smile across Piper’s face. Now she had an ally in the car, Hanna thought, one more reason to reach Marin City as soon as possible and get her out of their lives.
“Can Piper come and stay at the farm?” Ruby said.
“You live on a farm?” Piper asked Hanna.
“We have a lot of extra rooms,” Ruby said. “And chickens, and flowers, and the biggest trees in the world, and—”
“Ruby,” Hanna said. “Piper is going to San Francisco.”
“I don’t have to be there tonight,” Piper said. “I wouldn’t mind a place to sleep.”
“You can sleep in our room,” Ruby said. “With me and Cynthia and Ruby Jo.”
“Ruby Jo?” Piper said.
“Grandmother is there too,” Ruby said. “But she has her own room.”
“It’s my mother’s farm,” Hanna said evenly to Piper, unsure why she was explaining it to this girl.
“Your mother is a farmer?” Piper asked.
“Please!” Ruby called to Hanna.
“Piper has to go to San Francisco,” Hanna said again.
Cynthia, quiet through the exchange, spoke up. “She can sleep in my bed if she wants.”
“I wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bed,” Piper said. “My sleeping bag is warm, but it’s not the same.”
Hanna drove on, steaming, eyes on each road sign for an indication of a rest stop or a fill-up station. Six miles to Marin City, she steered the Audi off the highway and into the over-lit islands of an Amoco station.
She needed gasoline, so she started the pump. Vaughn had taught her how to set the switch to keep the pump running without overflowing the tank. Vaughn was also a stickler for clean windshields. Hanna dunked the complimentary windshield squeegee in its bath of gray water and unsnapped two paper towels from the dispenser. She pinned the car’s windshield wipers up, just as Vaughn had taught her, and swabbed the sponge side of the squeegee over the glass. With long straight swipes, she pulled the rubber blade across the glass, leaving only a couple of streaks.
All the while she watched Piper through the glass. She’d unbuckled and twisted around in the seat to talk to the girls behind her. Piper spoke animatedly to them with a bright smile and wide eyes. Hanna stewed, unsure what she should do. Finally, the switch on the gas pump clicked, indicating a full tank. She returned everything as she’d found it, tore the receipt from the pump printer, and stormed to the passenger side of the car.
Hanna opened the door and told Piper to get out. With a visible exaggerated sigh, s
ensing what had happened, Piper made a knowing smile for the girls. She took her time climbing from the car. Hanna closed the door so the girls would not hear.
“You are not staying the night with us,” Hanna said. Saying a hard no made her cross her arms out of nervous guilt.
“What’s this really about?” Piper said.
Hanna pointed to the Hagar’s urn tattooed on Piper’s leg. “I should call the police right this minute.”
Piper did not blanch. She looked away with some weariness, signaling she’d been through this discussion many times. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. I won’t hide it. I’ve been perfectly honest with you and your family.”
“You didn’t say anything to me,” Hanna said, knowing full well she’d told Ruby back at the fruit stand.
“If you were a lesbian, would you tell me?” Piper said.
Caught off-guard, Hanna verbally stumbled. “It’s not illegal to be a lesbian. That’s got nothing to do with it.”
“I survived,” Piper said. “I did what any bridge daughter would do, if given the choice.”
“Not every bridge daughter,” Hanna said, keeping her voice down, conscious the girls were watching the exchange through the thin car window glass. Their voices would only be partially muted.
“Your daughters would have a Blanchard’s done like that.” Piper snapped her fingers.
“No they would not. You don’t even know them.”
“Are you sure?”
Hanna took a moment to line up what she knew. Piper had no chance to speak to Cynthia in private. She only spoke to Ruby. “They would never,” Hanna said. “They’re good bridges.” She thought of the bridge game they used to play in the car, Ruby vibrantly calling out each stage of pons anno all the way to the finality. “Not all bridges think like you.”
“Of course you believe that,” Piper said. “I’ll leave now if you want.”
“I’ll take you to the Greyhound station,” Hanna said.
“You think I’m a witch,” Piper said. “A baby-killer.”
Quick, like a cutpurse, Piper gripped Hanna’s right wrist. She pressed Hanna’s hand against her midsection. Through the pullover and a thin layer of belly fat, Hanna felt the hard lump of a fetus. The bi-graft did not remove the fetus from Piper’s body, but rather stapled it to the inside of her womb, preventing it from leaving her body and breaking the symbiotic relationship.
