Tears in a Bottle

by Sylvia Bambola

  “You know…you know what.”

  “Say it. You must say it.”

  “I can’t say it! I don’t want to say it.”

  “please, Becky. You must.”

  Becky jerked her head from side to side, making her hair slap against her face. “No, it hurts too much. Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

  Maggie squeezed the teen’s hand. “I won’t make you do anything, Becky. You have to want to take it out of the drawer and look at it. Do you want to?”

  Becky’s hand pulled from Maggie’s, and she rested her forehead on the table, then covered her head with her arms. “No…yes…I don’t know. I don’t think I can. You say it for me.”

  Maggie rose, walked around the table, and sat in the seat Jim originally occupied. She pulled it very close to Becky’s. “Four little words, Becky, four little words. You have to open that drawer sometime. Try…to do it now.”

  “I had an abortion,” Becky whispered.

  “Yes, you had an abortion. And what did that abortion do, Becky? By having the abortion, what did you do to your baby?”

  “I killed it! I killed my baby!” Becky screamed. “I killed my baby!”

  Maggie leaned over and hugged the weeping girl, then began weeping herself. “Yes, you killed your baby.”

  Jim slammed his large fist on the table, making it jump. “This is going too far. You’re making my daughter crazy with your talk. Stop it, just stop it right now!”

  Maggie held the young girl tightly, stroking her hair, brokenhearted from being with the brokenhearted. “Mr. Taylor, Becky killed her baby and she knows it, has known it all along. And she’s willing to face it, come to grips with it. Are you?”

  Jim looked at his wife and sighed. “I only wanted what was best for Becky. I did it for her…for her future. I love her. I wouldn’t hurt her for the world. I only did what I thought was…best.”

  “Where do we go from here?” Nancy Taylor asked.

  Maggie released Becky and smiled. “If Becky wants, she’s welcome to join Project Rachael, the support group I told your husband about. It meets once a week for twelve weeks. The new group is meeting Sunday afternoons and has already started, but Becky can still join. For part of the session, she’ll get a chance to listen and share with other women who’ve had abortions, and the rest of the time will be spent in Bible study.”

  “Bible study?” both husband and wife said at the same time.

  Maggie nodded.

  “We’re not church people,” Jim said.

  “Becky, do you have a problem with that? With joining Project Rachael? Knowing there’s going to be prayer and Bible study?” Maggie asked.

  The teen looked at her parents. “No. I think I’m willing to do just about anything to get through this.”

  Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What kind of things are you going to be filling her head with?”

  “The mercy and grace of God.”

  “Did you know that assemblymen in New Hampshire only make two hundred dollars a year and no per diem?”

  Maggie hugged the phone to her ear, savoring the sound of Kirt’s voice that was beginning to soothe away the hurts of the day. “And you thought you were working for nothing.”

  “Of course,” Kirt continued, “if I were in California, I’d be making about $72,000, plus per diem, and maybe a nice piece of change from some creative-accounting expenses, if I were so inclined.”

  Maggie pictured Kirt’s paneled office: his gray, overflowing file cabinets; his piano-finish mahogany desk set that his father and brother had given him as a gift when he won his assembly seat; the polished gray marble paperweight she had given him, engraved with the Scripture “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”; and next to that, her picture. She had not realized until the day of her visit that he kept her picture on his desk, a five-by-seven in a plain mahogany frame. She wished she were there now in his warm, friendly office, so different from her office, an office too often filled with heartache.

  “And what, pray tell, got you started thinking about salaries?” Maggie asked. “I never realized the subject interested you so much.”

  “I was reading an old issue of Governing and I came upon the article “Legislatures and the Salary: Mismatch Syndrome” by Alan Ehrenhalt. It started me thinking.”

  “Is this an example of my hard-earned tax dollars at work?”

  “Right now, I’m probably the only one who is working. The capital’s a ghost town. It seems everyone has gone home for the weekend.”

  “Well, obviously not quite everyone.”

  “Know what I’m thinking right now? I’m thinking, why am I sitting here reading an old article when I can be with you? If I leave now, I can get to Brockston in time to take you to dinner. And then we’ll have the whole weekend to discuss salaries and how two can live as cheaply as one. What do you say?”

  “I like the dinner idea.”

  “And the other part?”

  “It’s going to be a long weekend. Let’s just take one thing at a time.”

  As Thor Emerson raced by Clara’s office, he caught a glimpse of Adam Bender and stopped short. He backed up to the doorway just in time to see Adam rifling through the file cabinet.

  “What are you doing?”

  Adam’s mop of blond hair covered a good portion of his face, but even so Thor could see deep red streaks, like fingers, begin to creep over the young man’s cheeks.

  “I…I wanted to recheck an order…from last week. I think I messed up on my report for Second Chance.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask Clara?” Thor moved closer. “She won’t appreciate you going through these files. And quite honestly, neither do I. These files are personal.”

  Adam barely missed slamming the metal drawer on his finger. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t think it mattered. I just wanted to verify…sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Adam picked up the black briefcase at his feet, backed out of the office, and disappeared. Thor reopened the drawer that had occupied Adam’s attention. It was the client files, with Second Chance typed on one of the folders. Maybe he was telling the truth. Thor was about to close the drawer when he noticed another folder cocked and out of alphabetical sequence. The label read Galaxy Cosmetics. And then, maybe he was lying. But why would he check out the Galaxy file? Unless…unless Second Chance was ticked that he hadn’t met his quota this month and wanted to know if Thor was satisfying his other clients before satisfying them—which he was.

  “Why aren’t you in room two? Your patient is waiting.”

  Thor spun around to see Clara Jackson. “And why weren’t you here in your office where you belong!”

  “I’m entitled to a ten-minute break every four hours. If you have a problem with that, contact the Labor Board.”

  “Well, next time you take a break, lock your office.”

  Clara swaggered up to the file cabinet. “What’s the problem?”

  “Adam Bender. You keep him out of this office, understand?”

  “What was he looking at?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe this.” Thor flicked the Galaxy tab with his finger. “Or maybe you misfiled it.”

  Clara laughed. “Hardly.”

  “What? You never misfile?”

  “That wasn’t misfiled, that was shoved in the drawer by someone in a hurry.” Clara snickered. “He couldn’t have liked what he saw.”

  “Put a cork in it,” Thor said and walked out.

  Two hours later, Thor ushered Clara from her office and ordered Adam in. He noticed Adam fidgeting, his finger picking at his front belt loop. He watched as Adam brought one hand to his mouth and made artificial coughing sounds. Then he watched Adam wipe his palms on his pant legs.

  “I notice you aren’t carrying your briefcase,” Thor said.

  “It’s in my car.”

  “Is that where you keep the copies?”

  “What?”

  “The copies of the Galaxy file.”

>   Adam’s hand trembled as he brought it up to his forehead.

  “It doesn’t belong to you. I could call the police and have you searched, maybe even arrested.”

  For the first time Adam smiled. “If you think I’ve done something wrong, go ahead. Of course if they find anything, they’d have to confiscate it as evidence.”

  Thor pushed himself away from the desk and began rocking back and forth in his leather executive chair. The chair creaked as he rocked. He found it pleasant, almost soothing. “You have a lot of responsibility—getting fresh, uncontaminated specimens, packing them properly for shipment. Yes, a lot of responsibility.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I’ve always thought you were overworked and underpaid. I could make it worth your while if you forget what you saw in that file today. There’s no need for Carl Langley to see those copies.”

  “Carl?”

  “You have no idea what I’m up against. There just aren’t enough specimens to go around. Everyone wants a piece of the action—no pun intended. And the Galaxy account is…well, it’s got to come first. There’s a lot of pressure to meet their quota, and I’m talking pounds here. They buy it by the pound. They’re not people you want to fool with or say you can’t deliver. You understand?”

  Adams face looked like chalk.

  “I’m a businessman, and I have to think like a businessman. It’s a matter of putting things into priority. Who can hurt you the most if you don’t deliver? Carl can pull his account, but Galaxy…it’s different with Galaxy. It’s more serious. See what I mean?”

  Adam wiped his forehead but said nothing.

  “Why get Carl upset? The clinic closing put us a little behind, but soon enough we’ll be back on track. And everyone will get what he wants. Everyone will be happy. And you most of all, with your nice big bonus of 50K.”

  Adam’s fingers got caught in the belt loop. “I don’t take bribes. I never have. And there were many occasions when I…I don’t take bribes.”

  Thor continued rocking, back and forth, back and forth. “Who said anything about a bribe? I’m talking bonus, for working overtime and getting the job done—filling those backorders. The only catch is that Carl wouldn’t know. It serves no purpose, don’t you agree?”

  “I need time to think about it. I’ll let you know.”

  Maggie loved Sundays in the park, especially Sundays in the park with Kirt. Today the sun was out, an added bonus. It was the first day in weeks that it had actually blazed, bright and bold like a golden shield, instead of ducking timidly back and forth behind the clouds.

  Maggie felt Kirt’s hand brush against hers as they walked side by side, then their fingers intertwined. It felt natural for her hand to be in his, for his shoulder to gently, playfully nudge her. When had they moved to this new level of intimacy? Of hand-holding and good-night kisses? It seemed like ages, but Maggie knew it hadn’t been that long at all. Maybe that’s why it still made her nervous. Why it still violated her better judgment. She loved the feel of his hands, so warm and strong. He made her feel safe, loved. But this couldn’t last. Already she had allowed it to go too far. They were way past the friendship stage. Her heart was as entangled as their fingers. Still…how could it work between them? She was like one of those empty rubber dolls. She felt the familiar anger bubble up inside her. Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me. How many times had she said that? How many times had she asked the Lord to forgive her? But the anger kept coming back. Why did it keep coming back?

  Kirt glanced sideways. His boyish smile made Maggie melt, and she soon forgot her anger. Kirt guided them to a park bench where they sat down. Maggie laughed when he pulled out a crumpled paper bag from his pocket. She watched with eyes full of delight as he opened it and scooped out a handful of breadcrumbs for the birds.

  “I thought you forgot.”

  “Now how could I forget our little feathered friends?”

  Maggie watched two peach-and-gray doves waddle up to the crumbs around Kirt’s feet. The smaller one had an injured wing and it hung, partially open and useless, on one side. The other dove hovered nearby like a shield.

  “Rosie looks a little better today,” Maggie said.

  “Yup. It’ll take time, but she’ll be fine. And Dan will be right there waiting until she is.” He gave Maggie a curious look.

  “Why do I sense there’s a cryptic message in this?”

  “Not cryptic, Maggie, blatant. An object lesson. If God can put such devotion and faithfulness into a pair of doves, couldn’t He put the same thing into two people who love each other?”

  Maggie watched Rosie maneuver awkwardly with the hanging wing and hoped it would heal quickly. But it would heal. Eventually, Rosie would fly again. Kirt had missed that point. You couldn’t heal something that wasn’t there, that would never be there.

  “You do love me, don’t you, Maggie?”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the doves.

  “And you know I love you.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “It’s not that simple!”

  “It’s simple if you want it to be, Maggie, but you don’t want it to be.”

  Maggie turned toward Kirt. “What do you mean?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  Kirt studied his companion for some time. “I don’t think so. You say you do, you pride yourself in honesty, but in this thing, Maggie, you’re not honest at all.”

  “Your remark seems rather unfair, especially since you haven’t told me what it is I’m being dishonest about.”

  Kirt sighed. “Okay, I guess it needed to be said sooner or later. Years ago, when you had that abortion, it did something to you. I understand that. But you asked God for forgiveness and He gave it, and then finally you were able to forgive yourself. That’s why so much of you has healed. But…”

  “But?”

  “But you’ve never come to grips with the fact that you’ll never again be able to have a baby.”

  “Yes I have! Why do you think I can’t make a commitment to marriage? Because I’m a realist. I understand full well what it means to be unable to give a man children. I’ve resigned myself…I know marriage is out of—”

  “That’s not coming to grips, that’s feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Maggie watched Kirt scatter more crumbs on the ground, then watched as the large dove continued to stand guard while his mate pecked at the meal. Then she watched Kirt’s hand cover hers.

  “You’ll never be free, Maggie, until you’ve forgiven that abortionist who butchered you. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Maggie couldn’t speak. She just tightened her grip on Kirt’s hand.

  “Satan has stolen so much from you. Don’t let him rob you of a future with me. Don’t let him do that.”

  “It’s such a part of me now—the anger, the outrage.”

  “I know.”

  “Sometimes I feel so empty as a woman. There’s a big part of life that I’ll never experience again. Sometimes when I think about it, when I realize the loss, the terrible, terrible loss, I’m filled with a hatred I can hardly believe possible. Then I’m down on my knees asking for forgiveness, but it comes back. It always comes back.”

  “This time, instead of asking forgiveness, you must extend it.”

  “He took so much, Kirt. He made me…he left me half a woman. How could any man love me now?”

  “I can…and do.”

  Maggie turned toward Kirt, her eyes pleading. “Doesn’t it bother you, knowing that I could never give you a son…a daughter?”

  “By God’s grace, no.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I want to break free, I really do…”

  “If that’s true, then you know what you have to do.”

  “I can’t!” Maggie said like a sob. “I just can’t.”

  Maggie couldn’t stop muttering to herself. She felt like the weather, grumpy and ready to erupt. Sinc
e that episode in the park with Kirt, she had felt an agitation that seemed to rise to her lips like acid reflux and produce a constant grumbling. All Sunday she had snapped at Kirt. By late Sunday afternoon she had insisted he take her home, where she brooded for the rest of the day and night. When the alarm went off this morning, Maggie could barely rouse herself out of bed. And by the time she got herself to the Center, she was almost an hour late. Through it all, she had felt God’s displeasure.

  Listlessly she dug through the mound of papers on her desk, taking pains to avoid looking at the little picture of two swans swimming in a blue-green lake and the caption beneath it: “Peace on the outside comes from knowing God within.” Today, peace was a stranger she could not coax to her door.

  Lord, how many times have we gone through this? She flipped on her computer and the soft beeps and buzzing broke the uneasy silence. A few minutes later, the colorful screen saver flashed on, along with a scripture: The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: Who can know it? She turned off her monitor.

  “Adam Bender’s in the waiting room, chewing his fingers. Can you see him?” Agnes said, poking her head in the doorway.

  “Can’t I have five minutes to get some work done around here without an interruption?”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  Maggie looked down when she saw the hurt on Agnes’s face. “I’m out of sorts today. Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  Agnes pointed to the wall calendar with a picture of an indigo lagoon on some tropical island. “You need a vacation. I’ve seen those signs before. You’re the first here in the morning—except for this morning—and the last out. Too much work, Maggie Singer, and not enough R&R. When was the last time you sailed off into the sunset?”

  Maggie gathered up some papers on her desk and began reshuffling them. “Please, Agnes, no lectures, not today. I’m not in the mood. Just show Adam in.”

  Agnes muttered something about a cruise, then left the room. Moments later Adam Bender stood in front of Maggie’s desk. He placed a briefcase on the floor, then paced around her office, nervously fingering objects on the shelf or on her desk. Finally, she got him to sit down in the armchair across from her. For a moment, he just sat there, immobile, like a wind-up toy that had run its course. Then suddenly he pulled his black leather briefcase onto his lap and took out a handful of papers.