by Roy, Deanna
“I do,” Gavin said, his voice even.
“Escort him out!” Dad said to the guard.
“Why don’t we just take a little walk?” the guard said. “Let Dad here cool down.”
“Can’t Dad be the one to take the walk?” Gavin crossed his arms across his chest, staring down both the men.
“Gavin, please,” I said. “This is too much.”
Mom dropped her arms. “You know, maybe everybody should leave. Corabelle needs her rest.” She picked up her knitting bag. “Arthur, let’s go. Gavin, come down too. This is not good for her recovery.”
“Text me,” I told Gavin. “I have a new phone, same number.”
He turned around, his eyes searching mine.
I nodded encouragingly. “Text me.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” the guard said. “Let’s all head out.”
Mom took Dad’s arm and pulled him to the door. He walked stiffly, still angry. Gavin let the guard follow behind them, then pulled his phone out and held it in his fist. “Five minutes?” he asked.
“Sounds good,” I said.
When they were all out of the room, I felt the energy drain out of me. It had been such a good day, full of progress. I got to eat normal things, walk around, get the tubes out. Now if only I could get all the people I loved to get along. We’d once had such a happy harmony, when Finn was on the way. Nothing had been right since he died. Maybe I was just fooling myself that life could ever be as it once was.
7: Gavin
I had been expecting that scene with Corabelle’s parents since I was fifteen years old.
The world silenced as I cut the motor to my Harley a few blocks down from the hospital. The guard had watched me drive off, so I knew I had to get a little bit away. I’d just park it here at a convenience store and walk back.
When they figured out Corabelle and I were having sex, they didn’t flip. They had already gotten Corabelle on the shot anyway. They seemed to know what was about to happen. They were always involved and watchful, but not overly smothering.
When she got pregnant, I expected an explosion, maybe even a punch to the jaw, the sort of thing my own old man would have done, if I’d been around him at all anymore. But no, they maintained the same stalwart calm, just talking out the practicalities of living arrangements and college and supporting ourselves.
After that, I had no idea what they thought of me, since I was long gone. I could see why he’d hate me, but hell, if Corabelle was willing to move past it all, why wasn’t he?
I jerked my phone from my back pocket and typed out a message.
Ready for me?
A reply came instantly.
Born ready.
I smiled as I tucked away the phone. This was working. We were going to see this through. Already I could see the future laid out. Her, me, some little place while we finished school. Then I’d get some random job — hell, what WAS I going to do with a degree in geology? She’d go to grad school. Some time, way down the line, I’d see the docs and figure out how to undo this stupid mistake of getting snipped.
Instead of going in the main entrance, where I might run into the same security schmuck, I circled around to the back side where the ambulances unloaded for the ER. The doors slid open as I approached, and only a woman at admissions even noticed my arrival, returning to her paperwork when she saw I wasn’t bleeding or about to collapse.
A hall to the right promised a way to the elevators, so I rat-mazed through corridors until I found a set. I had to zigzag through a new addition to get to the main tower, but stopped dead when I came face to face with a broad expanse of glass and a row of baby beds lined up like a store candy display.
Some new dad in blue scrubs held up a little bundle in a striped blanket so a gray-haired couple could snap photos, their flashes bouncing off the windows.
Finn had never been in a room like this, whisked away from the labor suite into the NICU and covered in discs and tubes. This dad got to unwrap the baby as a nurse started the process of cleaning him off, the white stuff — vernix, Corabelle had called it — still on his neck and in the creases of his arms and legs.
My boots were rooted to the floor, and no matter how hard I wanted to turn away from the scene, I couldn’t move. The dad laughed behind his mask, and rage started to build in my chest, so hot and sudden that it shocked me. This guy deserved his moment. He was probably raised in some white-bread suburb with a super-dad who’d coached Little League and took him for pizza after, not flinging wrenches if his ten-year-old son’s fingers were too fumbling to get a corroded clamp off a battery.
Maybe the universe knew what it was doing, giving healthy kids to some people and sorrow to others.
Hell, now I was in no shape to see Corabelle, to soothe her. I had to bring it down. I managed to make my legs move and I circled back, heading to the elevator bank so I could cross over to her wing via some other floor, any other ward but this one.
I forced myself to forget what I’d seen as I approached her hallway. Straighten up. Be there for her. But I still felt sharp-edged as I entered the room. She sat on the bed, her knees balancing a notebook as she tried to type my scribblings from astronomy into her iPad.
“Your handwriting sucks, my dear,” she said.
“My fingers have better uses,” I said, pulling a stool up next to her bed.
“Is that as close as you’re getting?” She flattened her knees and set the iPad and notebook on the side table.
“Well, scoot over then, you bed hog.”
She shifted over and I crawled in next to her. “Did you time the nurses?” I asked.
“I asked them if it would be safe to study uninterrupted for a while.”
“And?”
“They promised to let me be until nighttime meds.”
I snaked my hand beneath the covers so I could run my hand along her belly. “Still have that sexy tube going into your parts?”
She cocked her head at me. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
“You feeling okay?”
“I’m all right. Pain meds. Food. Lazing around. Isn’t exercise good for speeding up recovery?”
I slid my fingers along the rough fabric of the hospital gown. “Does this thing ever come to an end?”
She watched my face as I moved my hand lower, almost to her knees, before finding the hem. I squeezed her leg, then slowly made my way up her skin, pausing when I hit a rough patch, slightly sticky. “Adhesive?”
“Used to be.” Her breathing had sped up, still rattling a little, and that got me worried. I didn’t want to hurt her.
“You sure you are all right?”
She reached for my hand through the sheets and abruptly moved it up until I cupped her between the legs, hot and moist. “I will be.”
Her boldness brought everything to life, and I wasted no time pressing her down into the bed, slipping two fingers inside her, reveling in the sudden arch of her back.
Her arms came around me to hang on. I watched her face as I thumbed the little bud, not sure if I should take it slow and easy or move her along so she didn’t tire out.
But she made her own decision, grinding against my hand. I worked her quickly, hard and tight, feeling her thighs quiver around my hand.
“God, Gavin,” she said, squeezing me against her, her breath hot against my neck. “Oh my God.”
She gripped me impossibly tight. I kept the pressure even and steady, paying attention to her responses. When her eyes squeezed shut, I moved faster, increasing the pressure, and I could feel her start to spasm against my hand. She kept it quiet, her cries silent. I brought her down carefully, in degrees, until she settled back against the bed.
Her face had bloomed pink, but now as she relaxed and I just held my palm against her overworked flesh, the color began to drain.
“That took a lot out of you, didn’t it?” I asked softly.
She didn’t want to admit it, just kept a steady pressure of her hand on my fore
arm.
I leaned in and kissed her hair, withdrawing gently and tugging the gown back over her legs. “We can do more later.” I shifted and the bed complained with a squeaky groan. “When I don’t have to worry about breaking something expensive.”
She smiled a little, her eyes fluttering closed. I tucked her head into my neck, that spot she always loved to nestle into, and waited for her breathing to settle. I tried not to picture the glassed room, the proud father, and the woman who was waiting for him somewhere in these same walls. He would close in next to her like this, and lay the baby on her chest. And their moment would be different from any I had ever known.
I reined in the emotion and shoved it down. No use thinking on things I couldn’t change. Corabelle had fallen asleep, and I edged away from her. The notebook sat open on the side table, so I took a pen and scrawled a quick note — I love you. See you tomorrow.
Then I slipped from her room, down the quieting halls, and back to my motorcycle and my own empty apartment.
8: Corabelle
My father sat on the sofa by the window, sullen as Mom planned their day. I had convinced her to visit the museums in Balboa Park, insisting she bring me a set of note cards from the gift store in the Museum of Art, one you couldn’t get anywhere else. I told her I had thank-you notes to send and only those cards would do.
A gift basket had arrived from Cool Beans, a bunch of coffees and chocolates and a couple magazines. Jason, who often worked with me at the coffee shop, was undoubtedly the one who inserted a packet of Hot Pumpkin Spice tea, his new nickname for me ever since I’d started dating again. Better that than the old one, Frozen Latte.
I was anxious for them to leave, as I knew the social worker was bound to return. I did not want them there — I didn’t even want them to know she had been coming by.
“Are you going to take a taxi?” I asked, hoping to hurry them along.
“I think that will be easier than the bus,” Mom said. “Arthur, are you ready?”
“I still think you’re just clearing me out,” he said.
“I am indeed,” I said. “I can’t study with you hovering.”
“I was hoping to catch the doctor, see if you would get discharged today,” Mom said.
I tried not to scream with frustration. “I can handle it. I am the patient, after all.”
They stood up finally and came over to hug me. “Should we go by your place for some real clothes, just in case?” Mom asked.
I almost said, “I can ask Gavin to do it,” but I just shook my head. “We’ll arrange it when they tell me it’s time to go.”
Dad still frowned as Mom led him out the door. When the room was clear, I settled back in relief. I was weaker than I was letting on, and sometimes, if I got tense, a panic came over me like I wouldn’t be able to breathe in at all. But that morning when I blew into the stupid ball and tube contraption, I kept all the balls up for several seconds. The nurse seemed pleased.
Now if only I could get this interview over with. I had a niggling feeling that the social worker was a problem, that she might hold me back.
I read one of my lit assignments for a while until someone knocked at the door.
I summoned my cheery voice and called out, “Come in!”
Sure enough, Sabrina came in looking frazzled, her dress splattered with paint on the shoulders and sleeves.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“Art therapy.” She smoothed the front of her blouse, grimacing at the blotches of color. “An apron wasn’t enough protection.”
“Little kids?”
She settled on a stool. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it? No, a few patients who were frustrated with my incompetence at the paint spinner.”
I choked back a laugh. “Are you an artist too?”
“No, I am not. Stick figures are a stretch. But one of our major donors bequeathed a large sum for an art therapy program, and I got stuck trying to implement it. We’re trying to hire someone with an art background, but the therapy component means we need someone who is also well schooled in helping patients work through grief issues.”
I immediately thought of Tina, who traveled to various colleges to speak about loss, and who had also just finished her degree in art and hadn’t found a job. “Does the person have to be a licensed therapist?”
“Oh, I doubt we could attract one of those with this job and pay scale. I’ve been searching for someone for a couple weeks.”
I reached for my backpack. I was pretty sure I had stuck Tina’s card in there after I drove her to the airport last week. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago now. But she had helped me. Maybe I could do something for her. “I know a girl who might be perfect. She does speaking tours and just got her art degree.” I dug around and found the pale pink card.
Sabrina took it from me. “Interesting. I’ll give her a call.”
“She does suicide prevention.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it.
“So you went to a suicide talk?” Sabrina asked.
Damn. “Actually, no. I was asked to drive her to the airport after one. She was nice, and had some helpful things to say. She also lost a baby as a teenager.”
Sabrina nodded, her thick bangs falling onto the rims of her dramatic glasses. “What did she say that was so helpful?”
God, what to mention that wasn’t incriminating? “That I should give Gavin another chance. He was the father of the baby. He left me after the baby died and just recently came back into my life.”
“Has it worked out? Giving Gavin another chance?”
“Oh, definitely. We have a ways to go. I have to trust he won’t leave again. But we’re working through it.”
Sabrina smiled and stood up. “That all sounds very promising.” She fingered the card. “Do you think you’ll be ready to go when they discharge you?”
I flooded with relief. I had passed. “Definitely. I just need to catch up on school.”
“I’m sure you’ll do well. Good luck, Corabelle.” She shook my hand again, then left the room.
I flung back the covers, too antsy to stay in bed. I had done it. I would be free soon. I frowned at the strange heavy feeling in my chest when I stood up, but it didn’t matter. I could tell I was better. This was just some lingering issue. Soon I would be home.
Sunlight poured through the windows as I lifted the blinds and looked out over the city. I could text Gavin to come over and bring me some clothes. By Monday I’d be back at school like none of this ever happened.
I pressed my head against the glass, reveling in the coolness on my face. Everything was going to be perfect from now on.
9: Gavin
My phone buzzed for the third time in a half hour as I dropped the hood of a Tahoe into place and wiped my hands on a shop towel. I glanced at the screen to make sure it wasn’t Corabelle. She had written earlier asking me to bring her some clothes.
Nope, still Rosa, a prostitute I used to visit in Mexico.
I didn’t know what she wanted, but I quit seeing her completely once Corabelle came back. My little vice of only sleeping with paid women was over and done.
But three calls in a short period made me wonder what might be going on with her. The last time I left her apartment in Tijuana, I’d gotten into a fight with a man outside her building and taken his gun. She lived in a tough neighborhood, and “Sideburns” might be hanging around looking for me. I hoped that this hadn’t somehow come back to involve her.
I tossed the keys to Mario and said, “I think I need to answer this,” and headed out the back door. I punched the call button and braced myself for something tough.
“Hey, Rosa.”
I got silence at first, then finally she said, “Gavinito.”
“I’m not used to you calling me.”
“I — I must speak with you now.” Her voice was shaky, and I pictured that asshole from her street standing behind her with a knife at her throat.
“Are you okay? Is someone trying
to hurt you?”
“No. No hurt. I have problem. Big problem. I must see you.”
I leaned against the bricks of the back wall of the garage. “Rosa, I can’t come anymore. I have a girlfriend now. She wouldn’t like it.”
The line went silent again.
“I’m sorry, Rosa. Are you all right? Do you need money?” I didn’t have much of anything to give her, but I guess I could try. She’d been there for me on the worst night of my life, right after my illegal vasectomy, lost and in pain.
“That is not it. I — I don’t know what to say. How to say it.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“I have a little boy. He is three.”
That was a surprise. “Okay…I guess you keep him hidden. I never saw him.”
Her voice wavered. “He lives with my cousin Letty.”
Why was she telling me this? “What did you need me to do, Rosa?”
“They have trouble. My cousin’s husband leave her.”
I waited her out, still not sure how this involved me.
“I need to get my boy.”
“Did you want me to take you there?”
I heard her intake a breath, as if she had not thought of it. “Yes, yes! That is good idea.”
“I don’t have a car, but I could borrow one.”
“My brother has a car.”
Why wasn’t her brother taking her then? “Rosa, what’s going on? Why are you asking me all this? Don’t you have family? Some friends there?”
The line went silent for a moment. I looked out over the street, tapping my boot. I should try to listen to her, to understand, but she was part of my past. I wanted to leave her behind.
“Gavin, the little boy is yours.”
The world went gray, and I couldn’t respond. This was impossible. I was snipped. She was confused. I squeezed the back of my neck in irritation as I realized something was really off.
“Rosa, I can’t have babies anymore. I got—” I wasn’t sure if she would know the word. “I got a vasectomy. Do you know what that means?”
