by Aria Johnson
I furrowed my brows. Ava’s pregnancy wasn’t unplanned. She’d pressured Brandon into impregnating her and brainwashed him into believing he was ready for fatherhood. But I couldn’t share that information with Veronica.
“Personally, I’m pro-choice,” she continued. “But Walter believes in the right to life. He’s pretty passionate about the topic and considers abortions as murder. He admires these girls for choosing adoption over abortion.”
Adoption! I gasped inside but outwardly maintained my composure.
“The way I see it, everyone’s entitled to their opinion. I steer clear of debates about politics, religion, and I don’t get into any discussions about abortions with Walter. When he talks about his work with young girls, I tell him I admire his conviction. He doesn’t make a dime nor does he get compensated for the gas he burns carting those girls to their doctors’ appointments and driving them around to run errands. He’s a good man, Claire. That’s why he’s in my life. Give me some credit for knowing how to pick ’em.” She laughed. “At my age, I think I know a scoundrel when I see one.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that he didn’t give you a heads-up about leaving our department? It’s so sudden.”
Veronica waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, Walter probably got himself a new case. Possibly a girl who’s on the fence about putting her child up for adoption. With situations like that, he’ll put in extra time, coddling the girl and pretty much holding her hands until the time she gives birth. Usually, the adoptive couple has already been selected and they’re devastated when a young woman changes her mind. The organization starts providing financial support for the young woman’s basic needs . . .like paying her rent, providing groceries, and paying for her prenatal care, pretty much at the very beginning of the pregnancy. That said, even though I’m pro-choice, I also have a lot of respect for the idea of valuing life and helping out couples who can’t have a child of their own.”
Veronica paused and my mind began racing. What the hell kind of a scam was Ava involved in? It figured that a con artist like her was trying to get money from every available source. It seemed criminal that she was deceiving that organization for her own personal gain. Ava was a menace to society and she needed to be locked up. What a poor excuse of a human being!
I’d misjudged Walter. He was actually being victimized and deceived by Ava—just like Brandon had been and probably the lesbian, Muffy as well. Good for Muffy, whoever she was, for having the sense to get away from Ava before she’d depleted her emotionally and financially.
Somehow I got through my first day back at work. I attended a management meeting and noticed that people seemed uncomfortable around me. They didn’t know what to say to me. I’d lost count of how many people had muttered, “Sorry for your loss,” and then scurried away as if I had a contagious disease.
Maybe if Brandon had been sick or died in a car accident, they’d have the perfect words prepared. “The Lord always takes the good ones home early.”
But a suicide was a different matter altogether. According to most people’s belief system, my son was burning in Hell.
It was fine with me that people were avoiding me. It gave me the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts as I tried to wrap my head around what Ava was up to.
Was she working both the adoption agency and me? It was entirely possible that she was pretending that she wanted me in my grandson’s life while knowing full well she intended to give him up for adoption.
If Ava was considering adoption, you could bet it wasn’t because she wanted what was best for the child. Most likely there was money involved. In these modern times, couples had to spend big bucks to adopt a child. A chill ran up my spine at the thought of arriving at the hospital only to discover that she’d signed the baby over to adoptive parents.
But didn’t I have any legal rights? Couldn’t I get an injunction of some type to stop any plans for adoption? If Brandon were alive, Ava certainly couldn’t give their child away on a whim. She’d need Brandon’s signature. As the baby’s paternal grandmother, couldn’t I stand in proxy for Brandon and halt what was essentially a criminal act?
Maybe I was letting my imagination run wild, but by the end of the day, there were a million terrifying thoughts running through my head. What would I do if Ava outwitted me and gave the baby away before I had a chance to flee to France with him? I was already attached to my grandson and loved him ferociously. It would kill me to lose him. I couldn’t survive the loss of another child.
• • •
After work, I swung by Ava’s apartment, bearing gifts: a steaming hot Chai Latte and the food items she liked from Starbucks. I’d never been inside her apartment. I’d only gotten as far as the dreary lobby, but needing to keep close tabs on her, I had high hopes that she’d buzz me up.
The buzzer was dirty and germ-ridden. With a gloved finger, I pressed it.
“Yeah?” Ava’s voice came over the intercom sounding gruff and pissed off, as usual. She had a bad attitude without having any idea of who was ringing her bell. How could someone who felt such hatred for the world in general find it in her heart to treat a helpless baby with kindness? Ava struck me as the type who’d smack an infant for crying.
“Hi, Ava. It’s Claire.” The forced perkiness in my tone was so fake, my pitch climbed several notches.
“What do you want?” she asked in a monotone.
“Oh, I just stopped by to drop off a little treat for you. You’re eating for two after all. I brought that sandwich you like from Starbucks . . .the Ancho Chipotle Chicken. And I got you a Chai Latte and some bakery goods.”
“Cool. I’ll be down in a minute.” There wasn’t a trace of surprise or joy in her tone, and I certainly didn’t detect even a hint of gratitude.
When she came down to the lobby, I noticed that her hair was no longer multicolored, but was now a single, hideous shade of mint green. She was wearing sweat pants and a top that was so snug around her belly, it revealed the imprint of her navel. She looked like she was ready to pop that baby at any moment. On her feet were UGG bedroom slippers that looked brand-new. A gift from Walter to keep her pacified? But why would a good Samaritan work so hard to keep a pregnant girl content? Something was fishy. There had to be more to the story than Walter had told Veronica.
Ava shuffled toward me, scowling. It was obvious she wasn’t thrilled to see me. Her sour expression remained in place, even as she removed the bags of goodies from my hands.
What had Brandon seen in her? I wondered for the hundredth time. Maybe there was a comforting sense of familiarity in being with someone with a disposition more miserable than his own.
“How was your consultation?” I asked, trying to elicit a smile from her. I hadn’t come over to piss her off. I needed to remain in her good graces until she gave birth.
“The consultation was okay, but I’m not using that doctor. I’m gonna keep looking until I find one that’ll fix me up right after I push this baby out.”
I sighed. “Ava, that’s how they do it in Hollywood. But no reputable doctor in the real world would agree to something so risky.”
“What do you care?” she barked, her face contorted in anger. “You’re only interested in the baby . . .not me. So let’s keep it real.” She jutted out her chin in a way that challenged me to deny her accusation.
My eyes darted downward. “That’s not true. I’m very fond of you, Ava.” I gave an uncomfortable chuckle that betrayed my sincerity, and so I pressed onward. “How could I not care about the mother of my grandchild. In fact, I’m deeply concerned about your well-being,” I added, laying it on thick as I lied through my teeth.
“Well, you should be careful not to get too attached,” she said cryptically.
My eyes shot upward in alarm. “What do you mean?”
She paused long enough to make me squirm and it was evident by the glint in her eyes that she enjoyed making me squirm.
“I have to relocate,” she blurted.
I swallowed hard. “Where and why are you relocating?” I asked anxiously.
“I’m not sure where I’m going, but I have someone helping me find a new place. Anyways . . .” Her voice trailed off as she took another bite out of the cookie.
I stood there, impatiently waiting for her to finish chewing the damn cookie, but she took yet another bite, informing me that she refused to say another word until she was done eating every damned cookie in the bag.
Livid, I wanted to slap the Starbucks bags out of her hand. God, how I despised Ava. It gave me immense pleasure to imagine grinding the heel of my boot into her face, and pulverizing her features into an unrecognizable bloody mass.
She finished the cookies and then licked crumbs from her finger. “Mmm. Butterfly Cookies are the bomb.”
I blinked rapidly as I tried to control my impulse to do her bodily harm. “Ava, it’s ludicrous for you to consider moving when you’re this late in your pregnancy.”
“I don’t have a choice. I can’t afford the rent anymore.”
I looked around at the bleak environment. The rent couldn’t have been very high. And according to Veronica, the charitable organization took care of the living expenses of the girls who didn’t have sufficient income.
“Why can’t you afford to pay the rent? This place seems . . .well, I’m not deliberately making a dig, but this building appears to be low-income housing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a few months behind.”
“What happened?”
“For starters, I used to have two roommates, but they both bailed on me.”
My mouth literally fell open. She was accusing Brandon of bailing on her? Unable to control my emotions any longer, my facial muscles began to spasm out of control. Anyone looking at me would have thought I was in the midst of a stroke the way one corner of my mouth twitched, an eyebrow shot upward and remained there, and my nostrils flared.
“You’re a truly callous and coldhearted girl. How could you say something so insensitive? Brandon took his life because nothing he did for you was good enough.”
She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “I knew you blamed me and were only sucking up to me so you could be close to the baby.”
“Well, who else would I blame? My son was going above and beyond for you. Putting up with your lesbian relationship and turning over his entire paycheck to you. But nothing satisfied you . . .and he was a fragile person. He couldn’t deal with your verbal abuse.”
“Is that what he told you—that I verbally abused him?” Her sneering tone along with the smirk on her face took me over the edge and stinging tears welled in my eyes. “What happened to you in life that made you so heartless? My son is dead because of you. Don’t you understand that?”
She scoffed. “If that’s what you need to believe to get to sleep at night, then go ahead and place all the blame on me. But in your heart, you know that your son was already fucked up when I met him.”
Her words cut so deeply, my hand went up to my heart as if to try and staunch the bleeding.
“I read the texts between you two,” I said, continuing to provide evidence that she had pushed Brandon beyond his limit. “He trusted you enough to bare his soul to you and you violated that trust by throwing everything he’d shared with you back in his face. You made him feel worse about himself than he did before he met you.”
“Oh, really? Did I make him feel worse than you and his dad made him feel?” she asked smugly.
“Me and his dad? I didn’t do anything to Brandon except love him.”
I was aware of the baseless accusations that Brandon threw in my face whenever he got upset with me, but I couldn’t begin to imagine what he really thought of me.
There was no way he remembered the weak person I was while married to his father. Brandon could barely talk back when I stood by helplessly while his father spoke of him harshly. Thoughts whirled in my head, and I briefly went back in time.
“Claire! Come get this kid,” Howard barked from his study. Brandon had learned how to open the door and would periodically toddle into his father’s private space.
I always rushed to get him as quickly as possible, but Howard would be livid. “Christ, can’t you control this idiot kid. I’m trying to get some work done in here!”
Apologetically, I’d scoop up our son. “You can’t bother Daddy when he’s working,” I’d say soothingly, kissing Brandon on the cheek as I closed the door to Howard’s study.
I should have kneed my ex in the balls for calling my baby an idiot. But I was so meek back then. Trying to keep the peace. Trying to keep us together as family. My priorities were out of line.
Returning to the present, I glanced at Ava and held her gaze. “What did Brandon say about me?” I asked, feeling so humiliated, my words came out in a trembling whisper.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ava taunted.
“What did he say?” I shouted, stepping forward, hands poised to grab her by the shoulders and shake the information out of her. Or maybe my hands were fixed in a position that would allow me to strangle the life out of her. The only thing I was certain of was the rage that consumed me.
I saw fear flash in her eyes, and like a predator, I advanced toward her menacingly. I had no idea what my intentions were, but I sensed weakness and moved swiftly in her direction—like an animal going after wounded prey.
“Don’t touch me!” Ava shouted. She whirled around and tried to race to the elevator, but pregnancy slowed her down. I hastily pursued her, having no idea what I was going to do when I caught up with her.
“Get away from me, you crazy bitch,” she shouted, looking over her shoulder as she jabbed the elevator button. The elevator doors opened slow and haltingly, giving me an opportunity to grab her by the back of the collar and yank her backward. But she jerked out of my grasp with such force she stumbled into the elevator and ran head-first into a wall.
She let out a yelp and her hands went up to her face. The bags from Starbucks crashed to the ground and the murky liquid of the Chai Latte spread across the elevator floor.
I ran in behind her and instantly turned up my nose. The rancid odor inside the elevator was overwhelming. It smelled like a public urinal. There was graffiti on the walls and cigarette butts littered the floor. My lips were scrunched together and my nose was turned up in disgust. As I tried to acclimate myself to the disgusting environment and foul odor, there was suddenly the sound of another enormous splash.
“Oh, shit! My water broke,” Ava cried out. Bent over, she winced in pain as she cradled her bulging stomach.
Chapter 19
I gawked at the wet circle that stained her crotch, and then my gaze traveled down to the splatter of fluid that had intermingled with the hot beverage.
“What are you staring at? Call an ambulance!” Ava said bitterly.
I snapped out of my trancelike state and instinctually went into action. I darted over to her and began rubbing her back. “Don’t worry; you’re going to be all right,” I said soothingly. “Listen, we shouldn’t wait for an ambulance. We can get to the hospital quicker if I drive you.”
“Okay,” she whimpered.
“But . . .we need to get your coat and your phone from your apartment before we leave.”
“That’s true, I need my phone,” she agreed, nodding briskly.
My mind was racing as I tried to come up with a plan. One thing I was certain of: I couldn’t let Ava’s phone get into the wrong hands. Not with multiple text messages connecting her to me.
“Your apartment is on the second floor, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Ava’s voice came out shaky and terrified.
Not wanting to touch the filthy elevator button with the pad of my finger, I poked it with my knuckle.
Ava flinched and cried out. “We need to hurry, Claire. This p
ain is starting to get to me.”
“It’s gonna be all right,” I crooned, giving her a hug and stroking her horrendous green hair.
She moaned louder as the worn-down elevator jerkily ascended.
“Shh. Shh. Try to stay calm and try not to worry.”
“Try not to worry? Oh really?” Her sarcasm was palpable.
“Stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” I said reasonably.
“My water broke and I’m holed up in the friggin’ elevator with your crazy ass,” she shouted in a high-pitched voice. She gasped suddenly, emitting a long croaking sound.
“Oh, God! It’s too early for labor pains. Damn, I need my phone,” she blurted angrily. “I have to call my friend, Walter and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”
“Is Walter the older gentleman you were telling me about?” I asked, pretending not to know who she was referring to.
“Yeah.”
“Why do you need him to meet you at the hospital?”
“That’s none of your business,” she said sharply as the elevator stopped on the second floor with a loud thud.
I linked my arm in hers and gently tried to guide her toward the door, but she backed into the corner of the elevator, refusing to budge.
“I can’t walk; my stomach’s cramping. Let me go,” she said with insistence. Grimacing, she unlinked her arm from mine. She hunched over, her face contorted as she stuck a hand inside the pocket of her soggy sweat pants and pulled out a keyring. She handed it to me.
“Apartment two-fifteen?”
She nodded. “My phone is on the coffee table, and my coat—the one you bought me with the fur hood—is on a hook in the hall closet.”
Before exiting the elevator, I hit the STOP button to prevent it from moving. I looked over my shoulder and saw Ava carefully lowering herself down to the squalid floor. Wincing and groaning, she took a seat amid the spilled food, murky water, and cigarette butts.
