by Aria Johnson
“That’s partly true, but if I had it to do over again—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Cutting me off, Ava stood up, causing the plastic-covered placenta to drag a little. She looked down at it sneeringly. “Is it okay if I, like, go to the bathroom?”
“Sure, it’s at the end of the hall.” I took the baby from her arms. Free of the baby and the placenta, visible relief washed over Ava.
Bare-legged and clutching her coat around her, Ava walked stiffly in the direction of the hallway. I noticed her footsteps falter when she eyed a landline phone on an end table near the hallway.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned. “Anyway, it’s disconnected.”
“How long are you gonna keep me here?” she asked, sounding forlorn.
“As long as necessary.”
“What does that mean? I don’t understand why you’re still holding me hostage. I said you could have the baby; what more do you want?” Her voice cracked and her bottom lip quivered, and she looked on the verge of begging me for her freedom.
But I needed her here . . .for the baby. And since I didn’t owe her an explanation, I simply pointed to the hallway.
Ava stood there for another second, looking at me with pleading eyes.
I could barely look at her, she looked so terrible. Her face was streaked with dried tears, and her awful green hair had become a medusa-like mass of tangles.
When she finally gave up on begging me with her eyes, she turned and shuffled out of the living room, and that’s when I noticed that blood and other gook had dried on the insides of her legs.
“There’re washcloths and towels in the bathroom cabinet,” I called after her.
She turned around. “What about sanitary napkins; do you have any?”
I shook my head. “But there’s plenty of toilet tissue.”
She sighed. “What about a pair of sweats or jeans. Can I at least cover up? Can I have some dignity?”
“I’ll look around and see what’s here when you finish in the bathroom. Oh, the water’s probably still cold. It’ll be a while before it heats up.”
Ava muttered something under her breath and ambled away.
Carrying the baby, I went to the laundry room and took a warm blanket out and held it up to my face, making sure it wasn’t too warm. I wrapped it around the blanket the baby was already enfolded inside and then sat on the couch.
He wriggled inside the snug blanket as I rocked my little bundle of joy, calming him. “Are you warm, sweetie? I bet my little man is nice and toasty, now,” I cooed.
Alone with the baby, I pulled back the cover and took another look at his face. I marveled at how much he looked like Brandon did as a newborn. Even with his little face encrusted with remnants of afterbirth, and with his eyes closed, the resemblance to Brandon was startling.
I was awestruck by the immense love that I felt for the child. Though not a religious person, I couldn’t help from perceiving him as a blessing and a gift from God.
“Hello, Brandon,” I whispered and held him close to my heart. “Oh, I can’t wait to get you cleaned up and dressed in a cute outfit and on a plane out of here.” I rocked him lovingly. “Can you open those pretty eyes for me, Bran?” I cooed.
He responded by squirming in my arms and squeezing his eyes closed even tighter.
I laughed but inwardly hoped he didn’t turn out as temperamental as his father. And God forbid if he took after his mean-spirited mother.
Chapter 22
When Ava returned to the main room, I handed her the baby. “Feed him while I look for something for you to put on.”
“What am I supposed to feed him? Do you have formula or bottles around here?”
“Are you deliberately being an idiot, Ava?” I asked impatiently. “Pull up your top and try to get him to latch onto your nipple. It’s not rocket science.”
“I’m not breastfeeding this baby. I didn’t sign up for that.”
“Shut up and sit down.”
She flopped down on the couch.
“Be careful with him,” I said sharply.
“I’m not breastfeeding the kid. I don’t want my boobs to hang down to my tummy.”
“Surgery will fix you up. You’re looking forward to going under the knife, aren’t you?”
Ava laughed mirthlessly. “I can’t believe I went through all of this for nothing. And all I have to show for it is a messed-up body. It’s not fair.”
“I’d love to be entertained by your little pity party, but the baby needs colostrum.”
“He needs what?”
“Your milk hasn’t come in yet. That’ll take a few days, but in the meantime, there’s a small amount of a sticky yellow fluid building in your breasts.”
A look of distaste crossed Ava’s face. “Ew,” she uttered, frowning down at her chest.
“That fluid is filled with important antibodies, and the baby needs the extra protection from those antibodies.”
She stood up, like she’d heard enough and intended to leave. “Sorry, I didn’t sign up for all this. I’m not comfortable with the idea of being sucked on like a cow. All the kid needs is some formula. That’s what normal babies drink.”
The kid. It was the second time she’d used that impersonal expression, reminding me of the insulting way Howard had referred to Brandon his entire life. Suddenly filled with a fiery rage, I stepped toward Ava with my palm raised. “If you ever call this baby, ‘the kid,’ again, I’ll slap the hell out of you and then shoot you in the leg and the ankle.”
Ava looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Jesus, you’re bugging out over nothing. It’s not that serious.”
“It’s serious to me. His name is Brandon. Bran for short. Do not refer to him as the kid!”
“Okay, whatever.” Ava shrugged a shoulder.
Frankly, Ava baffled me. One moment she acted frightened and shaky, and the next, she was smug and arrogant. I was getting fed up with her attitude, and wished I really did have a real gun with bullets.
“I’m not going to ask you twice.” I patted my handbag, reminding her of the alleged gun I was carrying. “You have two choices: feel the discomfort of feeding Bran or the agony of having a bullet cut out of your leg. As far as your ankle . . .” I let my words trail off ominously. “The bullet would probably shatter the bone and cause you to walk with a limp.” Mimicking her, I gave a nonchalant shrug.
Looking pissed off, she sat back down. I sat next to her, reached over and tugged at her top.
“I don’t need any help. I got it,” she said agitatedly, pushing my hand away. She held Bran in the crook of her left arm and awkwardly tried to pull up the stretchy fabric with her free hand.
“Let me help,” I spoke more gently.
“I said, I got it,” she insisted.
Babies picked up on negativity, and I didn’t want there to be any unnecessary tension between Ava and me. For the sake of Bran’s emotional well-being, I backed off.
She yanked her bra up. “Right or left boob?”
“It doesn’t matter. Start with either one, and then switch him to the other.”
She positioned the baby’s mouth near her nipple and winced when he latched on and began suckling.
“Ugh! This is so disgusting. How long is he going to need this colostomy stuff?”
“Colostrum,” I corrected. “He’ll need to be fed by you for about four or five days.”
“You can’t expect me to stick around here—in the middle of nowhere—for that long.”
“Your wants don’t concern me, Ava,” I said coldly.
“I can’t believe you’re making me feed him some yellow mess I never heard of, and you’re saving that nasty-looking placenta like it’s something sacred. This sucks . . .it’s so, so, so fucked up.”
“No, you’re fucked up!” I didn’t want to argue with her in front of Bran, but I couldn’t hold back my feelings. I glared at her. “Do you have any idea what happens to babies that are sold on the black ma
rket?”
“They go to good homes with decent parents?”
“Sometimes . . .if they’re lucky. But in many instances, the commissioning couple has a change of heart and doesn’t show up when the baby’s born. In such cases, the orphaned infant is available to be purchased by anyone who can afford the new, discounted price. Sickos, pornographers, and child molesters can get their hands on an innocent child and do whatever they want with it because of greedy, selfish people like you.”
If I thought my spiel would strike a chord within Ava and appeal to her sense of human decency, I was wrong.
She stared at me blankly. “Are you gonna get me something to wear or what?”
“Switch him to the other breast,” I said in exasperation.
She wasn’t putting forth much effort in trying to get the baby to suck and I didn’t care if she felt offended or not, I took it upon myself to assist in getting her other nipple into Bran’s mouth.
I watched like a hawk and didn’t leave the room in search of clothing for her until after Bran had stopped suckling and had fallen asleep.
As I passed Brandon’s room, I averted my gaze. I didn’t have the heart to look inside and see the things he’d left behind the last time he was here—which would have been when he was around fifteen or sixteen. I couldn’t bear to see signs of Brandon back when he was a teenager and not quite as cynical and unhappy with life.
Back when I might have been able to help him if I hadn’t listened to the so-called experts.
Hanging in my bedroom closet was a pair of powder-blue jeans with an elastic waist. The jeans weren’t my style and I couldn’t recall buying them, but there they were, nevertheless.
When I handed them to Ava, along with a pair of socks, and a loose-fitting white top, she turned up her nose.
“Mom jeans,” she said disgustedly. “I guess I’m really an adult now.”
I ignored the sarcasm. “Are you hungry, Ava?”
“Starving.”
“There’s nothing in the fridge, but I’ll see what’s in the cabinets.”
“I was thinking more like, Chick-fil-A or maybe getting a fat, juicy Whopper and some fries from the drive-thru at Burger King.”
“That’s not happening,” I said and strode to the kitchen.
In one of the cabinets, I found an unopened box of pancake mix that only required water. There was also a bag of rice, a container of vegetable oil, a bottle of syrup, random canned goods and other miscellaneous items that I could use to whip together a few meals.
Ava made a face when I presented her with a plate of pancakes and syrup with spinach and green beans on the side.
“Make sure you eat the veggies. For the baby,” I added.
If I had my way, I would have put Ava on an organic diet, ensuring that Bran was nourished properly. Unfortunately, processed food with all kinds of nasty preservatives was all that was available for the time being.
• • •
The cabin was finally warm and cozy. Ava turned the TV on and was not pleased to discover the cable wasn’t connected.
I offered her a stack of DVDs. Most of them had belonged to Brandon.
“Look at this shit. There’s nothing worth watching,” she complained as she shuffled through the selection, which consisted mostly of Japanese anime and sci-fi movies. She grudgingly settled on Avatar.
Although I was looking at the TV screen, I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on. My mind raced in different directions, trying to decide if I should fly to Mexico before going to France. In Mexico I could get Bran a medical examination without having to answer a million questions. And for the right price, I could probably purchase a new identity.
As my mind wandered, I thought about my employer. What would they think when I didn’t show up for work in the morning? Would it be presumed that I’d experienced another mental collapse? Maybe I should call and pretend I’d come down with a bad case of the flu. Better to give a flimsy explanation than allow my colleagues to draw their own salacious conclusions.
I glanced over at Bran and smiled. He was sleeping in a bureau drawer that I’d padded with a blanket. The plastic-wrapped placenta rested at the foot of the homemade crib.
He wore a diaper that I had fashioned from a T-shirt that boasted, Always Better In the Poconos. Although the sides were enclosed with safety pins, the diaper still fit so loosely, it threatened to slide right off of him.
With the huge amount of brand-new baby clothes that I’d purchased for Bran, it was ironic that he was dressed like a ragamuffin. Unfortunately, I couldn’t risk going back to my house, and those adorable items, so carefully selected, would never be worn. But as soon as we were safely out of the area, I planned to buy him piles and piles of new clothing, and everything his heart could desire.
When Bran cried, Ava didn’t budge or bat an eye. She sulked and cast a glance of resentment at him whenever I put him in her arms to be fed.
“Are you gonna drive me back to civilization when you’re finished milking me like a cow?” she asked sullenly.
“I can’t. I’m not headed that way.”
“Well, how am I supposed to get back home?”
“You can take a bus. I’ll drive you to the station.”
“And when is that gonna be?”
“Like I said, four or five days. No more than a week.”
“Walter’s gonna start wondering where I am if he doesn’t hear from me soon. Man, he’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out I don’t have the baby.”
“Am I supposed to care about that child peddler’s feelings? That man’s a criminal and he belongs in jail.”
“As far as the law goes, he didn’t commit a crime, but you did,” Ava shot back. “A double kidnapping could get you a lot of time in the clink.” She shook her head gloomily. “Frankly, you should be more worried about Walter than the cops. He might resort to violence when he finds out that the baby’s gone.”
“He’ll have to find me first . . .and that won’t be easy.”
“In that case, he might take it out on me,” she said solemnly.
“That’s not my problem. But if you’re worried about him, then don’t go back to your apartment.”
“Where else am I going to go? I don’t have any family to turn to. And I don’t have any money to skip town. You said you were gonna pay me.” She gnawed on her bottom lip, waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t open my mouth. “Listen, Claire,” she continued. “I don’t expect the full thirty that you promised, but can’t you let me have, like, ten thousand?”
“I could, but if I paid you, I wouldn’t be any better than the other lawless people who perpetuate child trafficking.”
“The people who’re waiting to get the baby aren’t criminals. They’re a really nice couple. College educated. With good jobs.”
“Nice people wouldn’t purchase a baby; they’d go through the proper channels. This child is my flesh and blood and I’ll do everything in my power to protect him from scum like Walter . . .and you!”
Ava rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the movie.
By midnight my eyes were getting heavy, but I fought sleep, waiting for Ava to doze off. Locking her in the bathroom was no longer an option. For one thing, I couldn’t rely on the flimsy lock to keep her barricaded while I slept. Secondly, merely thinking about confining her inside the bathroom was totally different from actually doing it. Bringing her meals and handing over the baby to be breastfed inside the bathroom seemed utterly ridiculous in reality.
She wasn’t getting out the front door without the key and the windows were all sealed shut, so I didn’t have to worry about her crawling out of one of them. I could have offered her Brandon’s room to rest in, but the very idea of her of all people luxuriating in my son’s bed didn’t sit well with me.
It served her right to have to try to get comfortable on the couch.
Chapter 23
Snoring loudly, Ava finally fell into a deep sleep. I crept out of
the main room, carrying Bran inside the bureau drawer. I took him into my room and placed the makeshift crib on one side of my bed. I pulled back the covers on the other side and crawled in with my clothes on and my arms wrapped securely around my handbag.
I told myself I would only rest for a half-hour or so, and then I’d call my job and leave a voicemail. I was much more comfortable reciting a fabricated story of dire illness to a machine than speaking with an actual person in the Human Resources department.
I closed my eyes briefly and then for no apparent reason, I sprang upright in alarm. My head swiveled from side to side checking to see if someone had entered the room. I crept to the living room and was satisfied that Ava was still curled on the couch, sound asleep.
Back in my room, I checked the baby, making sure he was dry, and most importantly, making sure he was still breathing. Seeing his little chest rise and fall filled me with relief and I got back in bed and turned on my side with a sense of peace.
But in the next instant, my peace was shattered. The bedroom door burst open, banging loudly into the wall. Instinctually, I jumped to my feet, but couldn’t get my bearing. I saw a flash of blue and white hurtling toward me and my arm went up defensively, but I was unable to protect myself from the tremendous blow that landed on the side of my head.
Bran! I thought as my world turned completely black.
I went to a timeless, shadowy place where someone was moaning, scratching, and clawing to get out. That tortured soul kept whimpering and crying and repeating the same indistinct syllable over and over again. In the background, a siren sounded.
“Braa, Braa, Braa,” I muttered as I returned to consciousness and realized the tortured soul from the dark place had been me.
On the floor beside me was the brass fireplace shovel. The blare of the security alarm was deafening, undeniable proof that Ava had escaped.
What about the baby?
Oh, God, please . . .no . . .no . . .no!
I picked myself up and nearly fainted at the sight of the empty bureau drawer. In a state of confusion and disbelief, I inched my way over to the empty drawer, blinking rapidly as if trying to will the reappearance of my grandchild. But he was gone. Standing on wobbly legs, I cried out as I ran my hand over the woolen blanket that Bran had lain upon.
