Rebecca

by Adam J Nicolai

  Sarah remembered the round perfectly. She'd been furious with Tiff, but when she went to demand an explanation during prep time, the easy laughter in Tiff's eyes had struck her dumb. Her smile was gorgeous. It had been the moment Sarah realized she was getting too close.

  No. That wasn't right. That had come later, when she handed Tiff the laptop for her next speech, and their fingers had brushed. It had set Sarah's heart racing.

  That's when she'd known.

  Tiff had that same smile on her face now, broad and joyful, her eyes dancing. It made Sarah want to lean over and kiss her, just like it had then.

  A furious urge to backpedal, to get away from Tiff, screamed in her chest. But this time, she recognized it for what it was. No, she told it. No. I said I wouldn't do that again.

  Tiff's eyes came back to Sarah, and her grin slowly faded. "Sorry. I know we were talking about serious business." She pronounced it srs bznss, like the internet meme.

  Sarah's heart was pounding. She imagined slipping her hand behind Tiff's head, leaning into her.

  "Sare? You're freaking me out, here."

  "Sorry." She came back to herself, snapped her eyes down as if breaking a spell. "Sorry." She gave a little wave. "Just... a lot on my mind."

  The last of Tiff's smile dissolved. "Yeah. Can I say something about that?"

  Sarah shrugged.

  "You always underestimate yourself. You were by far the best 2A I ever saw, and you never believed it."

  Sarah rolled her eyes. "Giving a 2A speech and raising a baby are -"

  Tiff raised a placating hand. "I know. I know. Just... hear me out."

  Sarah let out a sigh and nodded.

  "People fear you, man. Like, I heard people whispering in the hallways about you. People would see they were hitting Eddington GC and freak the fuck out. And yeah, I know I was half of that team, but it wasn't my name they were scared of. Don't you ever wonder why that was?"

  Sarah shrugged, trying to ignore the blush creeping into her cheeks.

  "Because you're good. Not just at debate. You're good at all that shit: thinking on your feet, reacting to what they throw at you, breaking it all down. We didn't win rounds by accident, Sare. And I'm good, yeah, but you're the one who finished it off.

  "My point is, you're still you. You're still fucking brilliant. You can do this. If anyone can do this, you can do this."

  Sarah pinned her eyes to the wall, willing herself not to cry.

  "I mean, it's so obvious to me. And this is hard - I mean, shit, I've done it a grand total of two nights, and I know how hard it is - but I know you can pull it out." She pointed at the bedroom. "And that kid in the next room... just imagine the woman she's gonna grow up looking up to. She is so. Fucking. Lucky."

  "God damn it," Sarah said. She'd failed; she could feel the tears on her cheeks. Tiff scooted over and wiped them away on her knuckles. Sarah wanted to grab her hands, pull her down on top of her, drown in her hair.

  "Look." Tiff moved back. "What I said before... I do mean it. I can't move to Connecticut, you know, but I'll help however I can if you want me to. If you want to hack through this, we can do it just like prepping for a case. We'll tear it to pieces. We always do."

  Yes, Sarah wanted to say. Yes. But Pastor Dennis wouldn't let her.

  She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. "Thank you. That... sounds wonderful. Not tonight, though, okay? I think I need to just... wind down for awhile. We've got seven seasons of Buffy to get through."

  Tiff nodded. "Okay." Sarah searched her eyes - she didn't want to hurt her - but she couldn't read them. "I'll get it going."

  As the show started (Buffy was at the zoo), Sarah stretched out on the floor, her head on a throw pillow. "Don't worry," she said as Tiff settled into the couch behind her. "I won't fall asleep."

  "Look who's all peppy after one night of real sleep."

  "You know it," Sarah said.

  She was wrong.

  79

  She dreamt about coming out to her mom. Her mom said, "That's okay, Sarah. I still love you."

  She dreamt about a life with Tiff and Becca. Somehow, she was still going to school, pursuing a law degree. It was busy, frantic even, the candle burning at both ends; but it was glorious, too.

  She had just begun to dream about Cal, amicably agreeing to pay child support but keep his distance, when Becca gave a single, sharp squawk.

  Sarah's eyes opened to a dark living room, the lights from the traffic on Riverside sliding across the walls like lazy strobes. She was still on the floor. It was three in the morning.

  "Ah, Tiff," she breathed, annoyed and grateful at the same time. She'd let Sarah sleep again. She must've gotten up with the baby two or three times already. Now she was curled up on the couch, passed out.

  Becca gave another probing cry, and Sarah got up. She had to pee, but went to the bedroom first. "There a hungry baby in here?"

  "Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."

  Sarah shuddered. "Oh, kid. I wish you wouldn't make that noise. You sound like some kind of weird bug."

  "Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."

  She unbuckled her and took her along to the bathroom. Becca recoiled from the sudden light, whining, but Sarah covered her eyes and they got through it. They went to the kitchen to get the bottle ready, Sarah bouncing her daughter in her arms and shushing to keep her calm. As the bottle sat in a little bucket of hot water, warming, Sarah noticed her daughter staring up.

  "You hungry?" she whispered. The girl blinked, long and slow, her mouth rooting. "You gonna survive? I think you will. It's only a few minutes. You will survive.

  "Yeah, you," she sang softly, "you will survive. Yeah even though you're hungry now I know you'll stay alive. 'Cause the bottle's heating up, and you're something-something up, you will survive. You will survive. Hey, hey." She kissed her daughter, relishing the warmth of her skin, the feel of her fragile hairline. An old, dull ache started up at the base of her neck.

  "I never knew seven pounds could be so heavy. Did you know that? No, I never knew that. Not until you came along."

  Becca gave one of those weird half-smiles, and then a little fart. It made a sound like poot.

  "Even your farts are cute. I swear to god." She kissed her again on the temple, and then the bottle was ready.

  They settled into the rocking chair. The TV was off, so the only light was from the street outside. Periodically the headlights would wash over them, and Sarah would catch a glimpse of her daughter's face. With each pulse of light, the baby's eyes drooped a little further.

  Wasn't that exactly how it was supposed to happen? If she felt safe, and warm, and fed, she'd get sleepy. She wanted to sleep. She just didn't know how yet. Sarah was teaching her. Right here, at 3 AM, teaching her.

  In the next wash of headlights, Becca had let the bottle go. Her pudgy mouth lolled open, and her eyes were closed. Sarah had won state debate tournaments, gotten straight-As in school, and gotten accepted to Yale, but she had never felt so victorious.

  She brought Becca back to the swing, carefully buckled her in, and crept out. On the couch in the living room, Tiff had flopped over. Her mouth gaped open, mashed against a throw pillow, and one arm dangled toward the floor.

  We'll tear it to pieces, she'd said. We always do.

  Watching her sleep, Sarah wanted to cry or sing. She wanted to climb onto the couch with her, bury herself in her hair. She wanted her.

  She knelt next to the couch, her heart blazing, and kissed Tiff on the cheek.

  Tiff jerked away, slapping at her face, looking groggy and confused, until her eyes focused in the darkness. "Sarah...?" she managed.

  "I love you," Sarah said. "I wanted to tell you every night on the phone. I wanted to tell you in every round. I wanted to tell you on the bus. I love you." She kissed her on the cheek again. Tiff didn't pull away. Her eyes were glistening.

  "I love you." Sarah kissed her again. "I love you."

  Tiff's hand came up, slid behind Sarah's head. "I love you, too. Oh, go
d, Sarah."

  She lifted her head, kissed her on the lips, and Sarah sank into her.

  80

  "Wake up."

  Her eyes shot open. Tiff was asleep beneath her: warm, but still.

  Completely still.

  "Wake up." The Messenger's voice was brittle with disgust.

  She got to her feet. The light from the cars on Riverside was splashed across the living room, quivering at the edges like the image on a paused VHS tape. The Messenger stood just beyond the light, nearly invisible in the darkness.

  "How could you do this?"

  "We didn't do anything." Sarah was shaking. She wanted her anger, she wanted the light Tiff brought her, but all she had was her shame. She was a child caught masturbating, or a dog that had shit on the carpet. "I still hurt too much to -"

  "You must really think I'm stupid." The Messenger stepped toward her, into the still light. "You think I can't see what happened? You think He didn't watch it all?"

  "I... I didn't..."

  "You did!" he roared, his mouth pulsing with darkness. "You fucking did!"

  She fell silent, latched her eyes to the floor. It was like being little again, like watching her mother go for the Rod. The only thing to do was weather the punishment, wait for it to be over, swear to never sin again.

  "No," he whispered. He strode across the room, grabbed her forearm. "You can swear it all you want, but no one will believe you now. You fucking... dyke."

  She clenched her eyes closed, bit her lip until it bled.

  "You knew better!" His voice whined upwards, incredulous. "You had a direct line to God! I told you it was wrong!"

  She shuddered, each sentence like a lash.

  "Can't you see where this goes? Are you that fucking blind? There is more to life than your lust, Sarah! You insist on keeping the kid, so what happens next? She gets raised by a pair of dykes? And when she turns into one, you'll hate her like your mom hates you."

  "No," she whispered.

  He slapped her, so hard she felt her neck pop. "Shut up. You have no right to speak."

  "Why do you care?" she shrieked. "Write me off! Send me to hell, whatever, just fucking leave me alone!"

  He slapped her again. The splash from the headlights exploded with stars. She covered her head with her arms and recoiled, gasping.

  Sarah, Tiff said.

  "And let you think you got away with it?" he snarled. "No. You threw away His gift. You'll pay forever."

  "Why?"

  "And the child still dies."

  She dropped her arms and stared at him, aghast. His jaw quivered grimly; his eyes burned.

  "You thought you could defy Him? You thought you could make Him take you instead? You lose school, your future, everything - and the child still dies." His face twitched with rage. "Was it worth it? Whore?"

  81

  Sarah!

  The Messenger melted into the blackness as the slash of light burst into motion, careening over the floor and up the wall. Tiff had hold of her shoulders, was shaking her furiously.

  "Sarah! Wake up!"

  Sarah looked at her, stricken.

  "Sarah! God! Are you awake?"

  "I - I think so." Her voice was hoarse, echoing with sobs.

  "Were you having a dream?" Tiff sounded nearly frantic. "You kept hitting yourself." She grabbed Sarah's forearm, just like the Messenger had; Sarah jerked away, sucking for breath.

  "It's okay! It's okay, Sare, you're awake now. You're awake."

  Sarah stared at her arm; in the dim wash from the parking lot street lamps, she would swear she saw streaks of black tar fading.

  "He was here," she whimpered, trying to get ahold of herself, to explain. "He was here."

  "Who? Cal?" Tiff took a halting step toward her. From the bedroom, Rebecca squalled. "Sare, it was a dream. You were hitting yourself."

  No. He was here. "I..." She looked around. The traffic on Riverside was moving. Tiff was up, her hands poised like a woman trying to calm a bear. Nothing was frozen. "I don't - I don't know."

  Rebecca cried again, and Sarah looked toward the bedroom, triggering a flash of pain from the back of her neck.

  "I can get her." Tiff started toward the door.

  "No!" Sarah grabbed her arm, jerked her back. Tiff gaped at her, stunned. "I got it.

  "Just stay here, I got it."

  82

  "You scared the bejesus out of me."

  Sarah was sitting at the dining room table, feeding Rebecca while Tiff inspected her cheeks. Outside, dawn leaked slowly into the streets.

  "Christ. You did a number on your face here. Your whole face is red. I think it's actually getting redder."

  "I'm all right," Sarah murmured.

  "Did you do this when you sleepwalked as a kid, too? God, something like this would've scared my mom to death."

  "No, I never hit myself." Her worst sleepwalking episode was also the only one she actually remembered: the dream had taken her into the basement, hunting for the demon that made her attracted to other girls. She had found it crouched on the toilet, leering. She'd screamed until her mother found her and woke her up.

  "What was going on? Do you remember? Was it a dream?"

  "I don't know." The specifics were gone. The only thing left was the shame, drenching her. "I don't remember anything."

  "It's so weird." Tiff dabbed at her cheek with some kind of ointment she'd dug out of one of the baby first aid kits. "How can you slap your own face like that and not even wake up?"

  "I don't know, all right?"

  Tiff drew up short. "All right. I didn't mean... all right." Her eyes were heavy with concern. "Sorry."

  It was you, something inside her snarled at Tiff. It was because of you. Before you came back, everything was under control. But that was completely unfair. It appalled her. "It's okay," she managed. "I'm just... shaky."

  "Who wouldn't be? Christ." She finished her ministrations just as Becca drained the bottle. "Does it hurt?"

  Sarah started burping the baby. "Yeah. I think I actually put a kink in my neck."

  "Do you want to lay down for awhile, and I can watch her?"

  "No," Sarah answered, a little too fast. "No, I'm not... I don't think that'll help."

  "Okay," Tiff said, cautiously. "Are you sure? I don't mind -"

  "Look, I don't want to lie down." She hadn't meant to snap - she didn't want to hurt Tiff - but suddenly, her presence was smothering. She had to claw her way out from it just to breathe.

  "Okay."

  "Sorry. I'm sorry, I just..." I need to get away from you. She lifted a hand: a cop bringing traffic to a halt. "I need to think, for awhile. Just think."

  "Okay." Tiff searched her eyes. "It seems like you remember more from this dream than you're letting on."

  That rankled her - crawled right under her skin and set it quivering - but she forced her anger under control. "I don't want to talk about it."

  Tiff watched her, but said nothing.

  "I think... the Dedication is at eight tomorrow. You should go home and get changed." Tiff was wearing some of Sarah's old clothes (from before the pregnancy, of course); she'd borrowed them yesterday. She was taller than Sarah, so they didn't exactly fit right, but worse than that, Sarah's mom would recognize them immediately.

  Tiff glanced down at her shirt. "Oh! Sure. I'll bring 'em back."

  "Okay. I can get 'em from you tomorrow."

  Tiff drew up. "You don't want me here today."

  Sarah hesitated, her heart tearing. Tiff would take it wrong, she knew she would, but damn it, she couldn't think. She needed space. "I think that... yeah. Not tonight."

  Tiff covered her mouth and leaned into her elbow. Then she shook her head and said, "Sarah..."

  "I'm not freaking out on you again. I swear."

  "You better not. I can't -"

  "I know. I'm not. I promise." But she wasn't sure of that, not at all.

  "Fine." Tiff stood, grabbed her purse. "Just... last night. When you woke me u
p. Did you mean it?"

  Sarah remembered the blood blazing in her veins, the glorious sensation of surrendering to her, and wanted to cry. "Yes."

  Tiff's head bobbed several times, as if she was trying to convince herself to believe this. "Okay," she finally said. "All right.

  "Bye bye, Becca. Be good for your mom."

  83

  Becca missed her. She started crying about ten minutes after Tiff left. Sarah set her down on the living room floor, sat down on the couch, and stared. The cries echoed off the walls, meaningless, while Sarah fell still.

  She remembered making promises to her daughter, but they felt distant. Empty. It was like waking from a dream that she'd won the lottery, and finding herself in the same shithole she'd fallen asleep in. Those hopes had never been more than ash.

  Her thoughts returned again and again to leaning over Tiff, kissing her awake. It had been wonderful then, in the secret dark, when it was just the two of them. But now, by the light of day, it sickened her. What the hell was wrong with her? Why couldn't she be normal? Her mother would be appalled if she knew. Pastor Dennis would damn her.

  They would both be there tomorrow. How could she face them, especially now? Her mother would know at once what had happened. Sarah's guilt would be etched on her face like a scar.

  She stared at her daughter, at her kicking legs and slowly reddening face, and let the kid's cries crash over her like ocean waves against a cliff side. They were irrelevant.

  She was amazed at how fast hope slipped away.

  84

  At three in the morning, the Messenger said, "I'm sorry I hit you."

  Sarah was dozing in the rocking chair; his voice jerked her awake. She saw a dark TV, its screen trapped in the black space between two commercials.

  "I was upset and I lost control. I just didn't know how else to get through to you." He was behind her somewhere.

  Where is Rebecca? Sarah bolted upright, turned to face him.

  "Hey." He put a warm hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. She's in the swing, remember? Right where you left her."