Vigil

by Robert Masello

  Carter broke free and staggered toward the corner of the loft, doubled over, gasping for air.

  Arius, his opened wings shaking, his head turned up, stood like a blinding column of light. He burned more brightly than ever before, but less like a beacon than a fire roaring out of control. Waves of heat, as if from a blast furnace, blew the old hay into a crackling maelstrom around his body. Stumbling toward the rear of the loft, he summoned a mighty effort and hurled himself, like a final curse, toward the night sky.

  On all fours, Carter scrambled toward the open doors and watched as the angel’s wings beat once, twice, three times. Each time they carried him higher and farther away. Like flaming sails, they bore him up over the barren fields, toward the moon and stars. The light he gave off grew smaller, dimmer, and more distant . . . before finally going out altogether, leaving nothing in the sky but a spot somehow darker and more empty than everything around it.

  And then, even that disappeared.

  Carter, perched in the open loft, could see only the night sky above his head now . . . and just below, stirring painfully atop a heap of rotting hay and dead leaves, Beth.

  FORTY-TWO

  Summer

  “There’s a cafeteria downstairs where you can get some coffee if you want.”

  Carter raised his eyes from the floor and nodded at the nurse hovering in the doorway. “Thanks. I’m okay.”

  She gave him a perfunctory smile, and left. In the corner, the TV was tuned, at low volume, to CNN; most of the country was suffering from a heat wave. He was the only one in the room. The only expectant dad strictly restricted to the St. Vincent’s maternity ward waiting area. And he knew why.

  For the past few months, he’d grown increasingly fearful and uncertain. Once they’d learned that Beth was indeed pregnant—“against all the odds,” as Dr. Weston had told them, several times—Carter had entertained increasingly dreadful scenarios. He could hardly keep his thoughts from turning that way. But every time he so much as suggested that something terrible might be going on, that he had reason to believe the baby might not be born normal or healthy, he was greeted with indulgent smiles, a pat on the back, some advice about first-time jitters and how to get over them.

  But as the weeks had worn on, his fears had only grown, and the chances of his being invited into the operating room for the actual delivery had pretty much vanished. First, Dr. Weston had suggested he might find the birth “too stressful,” and then even Beth had taken his hands in hers and told him she’d feel more comfortable with him “close by, but not in the actual room.” She’d pretended it had something to do with her own modesty—“I don’t want you to see me screaming, with my hair all plastered to my head and my legs up in the air”—but he knew what she was really getting at. He was freaking everyone out.

  “There you are,” he heard now, as Abbie bustled in. “I came as soon as I got the message.” She plopped down in the chair next to Carter’s and put a hand on his knee. “Any news?” With the other hand, she undid the top button on her blouse and loosened the collar. “Hot in here.”

  “It is,” he said.

  “Whew.” Her eyes roamed around the small, featureless room.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said, dutifully. He knew how hard this must be for her. The last time she’d been in a hospital, not so long ago, was when she’d miscarried.

  “I just wasn’t expecting this to happen so soon,” she said.

  “No one was.”

  “I thought we had another week or so. Ben would be here, too, but he’s in Boston all week.”

  “Business?”

  “No. He’s got a girlfriend up there.”

  When he didn’t laugh, or react in any way for that matter, she said, “It’s a joke, Carter. Not a good one, but a joke, all the same.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’m distracted.”

  “You’re entitled. How long have you been here?”

  Carter glanced at the clock above the TV. “About four hours.”

  Abbie nodded.

  Any time now. That’s what she’d be thinking. It was what he’d been thinking for four hours. Any time now he could have the answer. But did he want it?

  Abbie pretended to be watching the national weather report. Carter could hardly look at her now without recalling that terrible night in the country. But one thing had become increasingly clear to him—he was the only one who did recall it. Abbie herself, he’d discovered, remembered nothing of what had happened with Arius. The assault, if it ever so much as flickered up into her consciousness, was dismissed as no more than a nightmare she’d once had.

  It was the same with Beth.

  Yes, she remembered climbing out the bathroom window, running through the woods, falling from Arius’s grasp—but she recalled nothing at all of what had happened to her, on one critical night in New York, months before. And when Carter had gently tried to tell her, she’d reacted at first with surprise, and then with mounting horror. Finally, she’d put one hand over his mouth and said, “Stop it! I’m going to have a baby—our baby—and I’ve had enough trouble already. Don’t put anything else in my head that will only make it harder.”

  He’d taken his concerns, then, to Dr. Weston—who’d shown him lab results and sonograms and told him to relax. “But you’re the one who told me this pregnancy would be impossible,” Carter said.

  “So I’m not infallible,” Dr. Weston had said. “Stranger things than this have happened.”

  Have they? Carter wondered.

  “Mr. Cox?” the nurse said, poking her head in the doorway again. Carter didn’t say anything, and Abbie finally spoke for him, “Yes?”

  “The doctor will be out in a minute to talk to you.”

  And then, before he could ask her anything else, she’d retreated again. What did that mean, the doctor will be out to talk to you? He looked at Abbie, and even she looked a little concerned.

  “Do you think there’s something wrong?” Carter asked her.

  Abbie shook her head, unconvincingly. “No, why would you say that?”

  “Her tone of voice. Something’s wrong.”

  “I’m sure she’s just busy.”

  “No, there was something in her voice,” Carter said.

  Abbie pretended to be looking for something in the bottom of her purse, and Carter got up and walked to the window. They were on the tenth floor, and as he looked out at the lights of the city, he saw that the old sanatorium across the street was gone, and in its place had risen the towering steel frame of the Villager Co-ops. He wondered what Ezra, still “convalescing” in a private clinic upstate, would think. Or even if he’d care to know.

  He heard the door open again, and when he turned Dr. Weston, still in his scrubs, was walking in. There was perspiration on his forehead and he was wiping his hands on a paper towel.

  “What’s wrong?” Carter blurted out.

  The doctor held up a hand, and said, “Right now, not a thing.”

  “But there was?”

  Abbie stood up, open purse in hand. She knew Dr. Weston well—she was the one who’d referred Beth to him.

  “Yes,” Dr. Weston conceded, “but it’s all okay now. Why don’t we sit down?”

  Carter went numbly to the sofa and sat down beside Abbie. “I’m her best friend,” she said to the doctor, as he pulled his own chair closer. “You can talk in front of me.”

  “Yes, I know that.” Then, sitting down and looking at Carter, he said, “I won’t kid you, it was a difficult labor.”

  “I know it came early, but . . .”

  “Yes, there was that. But your wife also had some other complications. She spiked a sudden fever—”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Yes, especially one this high. We had to work quickly and do a C-section, so we could bring her body temperature down afterward. We gave her something to bring it down, and she’s been in an ice bath, briefly.”

  “And now?”

  “Her temperature’s under control a
gain. But she also lost a lot of blood.”

  “Do you need a donor?” Abbie said. “I could give you some right now.”

  “Thanks, but Beth’s is a very rare type, AB negative, and fortunately she had banked a couple of pints in advance. We used them both.”

  “But she’s okay now?” Carter said, hesitantly.

  “Yes, she’s fine now, and resting.”

  “And the baby?”

  Now Dr. Weston smiled. “The baby is also fine. He’s perfect, in fact.”

  “Can I go in and see them now?” Carter asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Dr. Weston said, rising. “But be forewarned—she’s still going to be feeling a little dopey.”

  Carter got up, but Abbie said, “You go on—I’ll see her tomorrow.” She fished around in her purse again until she came out with a cell phone. “I’m going to give Ben a call and give him the good news.”

  “Okay,” Carter said, touching her hand. When she glanced up at him, he could see in her eyes something sad and deep.

  “Give her all my love,” she said.

  “I will.”

  “First room on your left,” Dr. Weston said, “but try not to stay too long. She’s been through the mill.” He hit the release pad on the wall with his elbow, and the door to the ward swung open for Carter.

  “Oh,” Carter said, just before going in, “thanks. For everything.”

  “My pleasure,” Dr. Weston said. “I’ve never been so delighted to be dead wrong.”

  Carter was starting to feel pretty relieved himself. Secretly, he had dreaded this night for months, but now, now that it was here, and nearly over, his dire apprehensions finally began to recede. He had a son—a normal son, a perfect son—and Beth was going to be okay, too.

  He could hear Beth’s voice, slightly slurred, saying something about ice cream. When he stopped in the doorway of the room, a nurse was laughing.

  “You want some ice cream?” he said to Beth.

  “No,” the nurse replied, “she said she wants to take a bath in ice cream.”

  “That could be arranged,” he said, coming closer to the bed.

  As the nurse left, Beth held out one hand, the plastic hospital bracelet dangling from her wrist. In her other arm she held a little bundle in a blue blanket. She looked drained, but happy.

  “Want to meet Joseph Cox?” she said.

  Named after Russo, by unanimous decision.

  Carter came to the bedside, took her damp hand and looked down at his newborn son. There wasn’t much to see—just a tiny red face, eyes scrunched up, and a few wispy tendrils of blond hair on the crown. But it was still the most miraculous thing he’d ever seen.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  “Yes,” Carter said, “just like his mother.” What he couldn’t tell her was that he’d just been reminded of a triceratops egg he’d once unearthed, which was just about the same size as his baby’s skull. Some things, he knew already, were best kept to yourself.

  “Want to hold him?”

  “Sure,” he said, though he wasn’t really. She held up the pale blue blanket, and he nestled it, with the greatest caution he’d ever exercised in his life, in the crook of his arm.

  “Oh, I’m exhausted,” Beth said, with a loud sigh, as Carter cradled his son; the baby weighed even less than he’d thought it would. He weighed almost nothing.

  “What did he tip the scales at?” he asked.

  “They told me,” she said, her eyes half-lowered. “But I forget.”

  Carter walked slowly toward the window, holding the sleeping baby.

  “Could you do me a favor?” Beth asked, her eyes fully closed now. “Could you open the window? It’s so hot in here.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Carter said. “Maybe you should just go to sleep.”

  “Just a crack. I’m dying for some fresh air.”

  He glanced at the window and saw that it was the kind that opened with a crank. With his free hand, he took hold of the handle and opened the window just a few inches.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Beth said, pushing the sheet down from her shoulders. “I can breathe.”

  Carter gently rocked the baby, who stirred in his arms. Across the avenue, high on a steel beam of the Villager Co-ops, he thought he saw some movement.

  A construction worker, way up there, at this hour? In the dark?

  The baby cried, and Beth put out her arms. Carter gave him back, then bent down and planted a kiss on Beth’s forehead. Her skin was still warm. She purred softly, her eyes closed.

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Then, he turned to peer out the window one more time, his eyes lingering on the black steel skeleton of the building across the way.

  But now he saw no sign of anyone there. It must have been a trick of the moonlight before.

  Not wanting to leave a draft in the room, he started to close the window, but Beth murmured, “Oh, leave it open—the sound is so pretty.”

  What sound? Carter thought. And then he heard it, too.

  Bells. Church bells, ringing, off in the distance. He glanced at his watch; it was about a quarter past ten. Most of the city was dark.

  He lowered the blinds, and when he looked back at the bed, Beth and the baby were fast asleep.