Finding Purgatory

by Kristina M Sanchez

  They would want to talk. They’d want to remember.

  Her fingers twitched on the steering wheel. She almost put the car in reverse. The house in front of her, once a peaceful refuge, looked menacing.

  Finger by finger, she unwound her hands from around the steering wheel. After another second, she opened the car door.

  Ani touched the engagement ring Jett had given her on their first visit to his mother’s house through the fabric of her shirt where it hung on a chain. She breathed in through her nose and forced her feet to shuffle forward. Her eyes were stinging with tears when she finally got to the door.

  Before she could work up the will to knock, the door creaked open. Ani blinked, and her mother-in-law peered back, eyes shining. At first, they could only look at each other. Ani was caught by a flurry of memories, each of which stung like the bite of cold wind. The first time she saw Brenda, she’d squeezed Jett’s hand so hard he yelped. She’d just wanted to make a good impression on the woman. Now here they were, so many years later, and Ani felt shame heat her cheeks. She knew she’d hurt this woman who’d loved her so well.

  Brenda smiled. “Hi, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  Ani stepped forward into the other woman’s embrace, surprised to find she was still shaking. Her mother-in-law shook, too, and she clung just as tightly. “Brenda, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush. You’re here now.”

  Brenda stroked Ani’s hair with a mother’s touch. Ani was completely unaware of how much she missed it, needed it, until she had it back again.

  When they untangled themselves, Brenda kept her hand gripped around Ani’s like a parent ensuring a child couldn’t run off. Ani let herself be led, but it meant she couldn’t freeze when visions hit her.

  Family dinners, holidays. Ani winced when she heard Mara’s high-pitched giggle and Jett’s answering, lighthearted admonishment echo in her head. She slid her fingers along the wall, trying hard to keep herself in the present.

  Ani was glad Brenda didn’t try to speak. She wouldn’t have been able to answer. The hallway to the bedrooms was a gauntlet of family photos. It was just as well her eyes were watering. Each time she caught Jett’s smile out of the corner of her eye or saw her silly, pretty baby, Ani felt as though she’d shoved her heart into a drugstore blood pressure machine. With each step, it squeezed tighter and tighter, until she was sure she couldn’t take it.

  At the sight of the last picture at the end of the hallway, Ani stopped short, oblivious to Brenda’s guiding hand.

  The trio in the picture had no idea their happiness would soon be shattered. Ani sat next to Jett. Their faces were turned away from the camera, looking at each other as if there were no one else in the world. Held securely on Jett’s lap was their then eighteen-month-old daughter, her face scrunched up in the kind of joy only babies could perfect.

  Every person in that picture was gone. Her adoring husband, her happy daughter, and the woman Ani had been with them. All three of them were dead and buried. Erased in the split second it took to squeeze a trigger.

  “Sweetheart . . .” Brenda trailed off when the unmistakable noise of a baby’s fussing distracted her. Ani wondered if this was another phantom memory, but the sound was off somehow.

  Not her baby. Indigo’s baby. She shuffled forward one step, then another, then another, until she was standing at the door to Indigo’s room.

  Jett’s little sister had all the marks of a new mother. Her eyes were hooded with dark smudges beneath them. Her hair was a mess. Her shirt was stained. But even with all that, there was a glow about her. Indigo hummed as she picked up the infant from the carrier perched beside her on the bed. Content to be held, the baby quieted quickly.

  She looked like a mother.

  She looked like a little girl playing house.

  With the baby settled, Indigo looked at Ani with self-conscious uncertainty in her eyes. “Hi, Anti.”

  When she was six, not really understanding the difference between her aunts and Jett’s girlfriend, Indigo had taken to calling her Aunty. Even after she figured it all out, she’d kept it up, saying Anti was short for Antigone anyway.

  Ani squeezed Brenda’s hand before she walked into the room. “Hello, Indiana Jones.” It was Jett’s nickname for her, and Ani was used to using it.

  Indigo brightened. She lifted her free arm. Ani sat beside her on the bed, hugging her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell Tori who I was when I saw you,” Indigo said.

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  The baby fussed again, and Ani stiffened. It took her another few seconds to pull back so she could look at the boy. “Who is this handsome young man?”

  Indigo’s smile was shy but proud. “I named him after Jett.”

  “Jethro?” Ani’s eyebrows arched.

  “No. Just Jett. Jett Anthony Jones.”

  Ani ran the pads of her fingers over the baby’s soft cheek. “Named after a rocker woman like your mommy, huh, kid?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jett Jones? Joan Jett?” Ani shook her head. “Look her up. Believe me, he could do worse.”

  Indigo shrugged. “Do you want to hold him?”

  Ani’s first instinct was to say no. Grief was a hellish thing, and she didn’t want to think about holding newborn Mara in her arms. But instead of declining, she reached for the baby, if a little robotically.

  Looking down at baby Jett, Ani didn’t see her daughter. He looked nothing at all like Mara. This was not her baby, and while everything in her cried out with the strength of how much she wanted Mara back in her arms, the pain was enough to break the hold of her memories.

  No, this was not her baby, but he was her little sister’s son. Jett’s nephew. He was helpless and precious. He too was deserving of all the unconditional love and support Mara had.

  “He’s beautiful,” Ani said, and Indigo beamed.

  Ani rocked the boy, watching as he worked his lips and blinked his unfocused eyes. Baby Jett. Some people would say he was a blessing sent by his uncle, and while Ani in no way believed that, she understood why it was a comforting thought.

  She thought of Shane and West and their theory of reincarnation. That too was a comforting thought. Jett and Mara’s lives were over, but here, and with Tori’s baby, life was beginning anew. If she were to believe the McCarty brothers, there was some solace in the idea that the story of her and Jett might not be done. Maybe it was just paused, waiting to start up again in some other life, in some other body. Maybe her baby’s story wasn’t limited to two years, but it stretched behind her and in front of her on a timeline Ani couldn’t comprehend.

  It wouldn’t be so bad to let herself believe a beautiful idea to find some measure of peace in the injustice that had fallen on her husband and daughter.

  Ani rested her finger in baby Jett’s palm and smiled when he gripped on.

  Life did go on. Maybe she didn’t know what her life was supposed to look like, maybe she didn’t know what she was moving forward into, but it did go on.

  Chapter 23: Moving Day

  “Christ on crutches, Tor. Will you please sit down?”

  Tori scowled and crossed her arms as she flopped down on the couch. Every time she tried to help with the move, Raphe popped up out of nowhere to stop her. It was as though he had eyes in the back of his head.

  He would make a good dad one day.

  Tori squirmed as Raphe sat beside her. People kept telling her being emotional was part of the pregnancy package, but being around him made her skin crawl. Not in the creepy way. She just expected he would see the truth written on her face. Raphe could read her too well.

  “There’s got to be something I can do to help,” she said.

  “Isn’t this hard enough work?”

  He was the only one who dared touch her belly. Always a gentle touch, the same way he brushed her arm or pressed his hand to her back when she needed comfort. As usual
, the motion made Tori’s heart pick up in a pitter-patter beat that both annoyed and thrilled her. It annoyed her because it thrilled her.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed when he leaned in, and she shivered as he skimmed the tip of his nose across her cheek. He smelled like sweat; he’d been lifting boxes and furniture all day. Rather than repulse her, the scent aroused her. She wondered if she could blame that on the pregnancy, too.

  His kiss was a mere brush of his lips against the shell of her ear. “Just relax. We have this.”

  It was a dirty trick. Making her lightheaded and distracted was cheating. She should be really pissed off.

  She should, but he was kissing a trail from her hairline to her cheek.

  Tori turned her head and caught his lips mid-kiss. She slid her fingers along his neck up into his hair. Right then, there was nothing more important than wrapping herself in him.

  “Ahem.”

  Tori turned her head away from Raphe. He cleared his throat and put a smidge of distance between them. Shane was in the doorway. He crossed his arms and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I was trying to convince Tori she’s more than pulling her weight if she just sits here and gestates,” Raphe said.

  Shane snorted. “That’s an interesting debate tactic.”

  “I’m not trying to lift anything huge,” she said.

  “Ani didn’t feel guilty leaving us on moving day to get a little overtime in, and she doesn’t have a built-in doctor’s note,” Shane said.

  “She’s not here because Ian’s here.” And Tori had caught her staring at Mara’s room the night before, but she wasn’t going to mention that. “You can all back up off me if you’re so concerned.” She hunkered down on the couch. “I’ll behave.”

  Raphe kissed her temple. “We’re such bullies, aren’t we? Forcing you not to help us move. You know, a normal person would do everything they could to get out of this.”

  Tori made a face at him. Raphe laughed and followed Shane upstairs.

  She wasn’t left stewing for long. Emily arrived with lunch and baby Jett. The rallying call of food brought everyone running. Emily didn’t try to talk to Tori, but she caught her eye. Her smile was tentative, and when Tori smiled back, she looked relieved.

  After lunch, the boys went back to work, and Tori cursed them for not letting her help. Instead of doing something useful, she was left with Emily and a whole lot of awkward silence.

  Great.

  “Do I still call you Emily or what?” she asked, unable to take the quiet anymore.

  Emily shifted in her chair. “I like Indy better.” She squirmed again, looking up at Tori with a whipped-puppy-dog expression. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I get it. If Ani had bothered to tell me about you, Indigo isn’t exactly a common name. You wanted to figure out why she ditched you.”

  “Seems stupid now. But I liked being your friend. That wasn’t a lie.”

  Indy reminded Tori of Brook. There was a naivety about both of them that could be endearing. “I know.”

  Indy stretched and stood. “Hold this for me, will ya? I have to pee.”

  Before Tori could protest, Indy put baby Jett in her arms and made a beeline for the bathroom.

  Tori stiffened, waiting for the inevitable. She’d always thought kids, babies in particular, were like dogs in that they were good judges of character. Whenever she encountered a baby, she declined any offers to hold it because she was sure it would start bawling its head off like it was in the arms of the devil.

  This one opened his eyes lazily as he was jostled. Tori held her breath. Baby Jett curled toward her warmth and went right back to sleep.

  When she was sure he wasn’t going to change his mind and start crying, Tori cupped the baby’s bottom, tilting her head so she could get a better look at him. Why people insisted babies were adorable, she would never understand. At least when they were newborn, they resembled pit bulls. This one was no different. He was far enough from birth that he was beginning to smooth out, but he was still scrunchy.

  They were fascinating, though. Tori watched him purse his lips as though he were nursing in his dreams. His fingers flexed occasionally, curling around the finger she rested in his soft palm. His features were so miniature.

  Her baby was even smaller.

  Baby Jett slept as if he hadn’t quite gotten used to being out of his cramped little womb-space yet. Raphe had showed her pictures of babies at thirty-two weeks, which was how far along she was. Poor things were contortionists.

  “How was he?”

  Tori jumped when Indy reappeared. The baby in her arms squawked, but he hushed when his mother took him back. “You missed it. He got up and started dancing Gangnam style,” Tori said.

  She felt an ache she recognized as disappointment. She wouldn’t have minded holding the little boy a while longer.

  Stupid hormones.

  Luckily, before her spiraling emotions could have her crying over dumb things like how small baby fingers were, West came into the room. “You girls want to see something cute and more than a little hilarious?” His eyes were dancing. He beckoned them over to the window and gestured for them to duck.

  “What are we doing?” Tori asked.

  “Just wait.”

  Outside, Shane and Ian were transferring boxes from the driveway to the truck. Tori’s former social worker was broad across the shoulders. Anyone could tell he was strong, but she’d never seen him like this, stripped down to an undershirt that didn’t hide his physique at all.

  Hello muscles. The guy must have been spending every single minute he wasn’t wrangling wayward kids lifting entire vans.

  West snickered, and Tori realized she wasn’t the only one ogling Shane.

  “Oh. My. Gosh.” Indy grabbed Tori by the arm. She turned to West. “My brother is totally eye-banging your brother.”

  Ian was trying to play it off as stretching, his fists dug into his back as he arched, but his gaze traveled the lines of Shane’s body.

  If there were any doubts Shane knew he had an audience, it was gone a minute later when he took his shirt off. Ian’s mouth dropped open. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, even at a distance.

  “Shane, you dirty dog.” Tori bent at the waist, as much as she could these days, and chortled.

  “In his defense, it is really hot outside,” West said, but he was laughing, too.

  Shane turned toward the truck, and Ian was so busted. He rubbed the back of his neck, and then both men grinned at each other.

  “It’s sweet,” Tori murmured after a minute. It was nice to see good things happen to people who deserved it.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Ani slammed the album she’d been looking at shut and put the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying both to stop her hands from shaking and tears from falling. “This box is not supposed to be here.”

  She took a deep breath in through her nose and back out again before she raised her head to look at Shane where he was leaning in the doorway. “I thought you left.”

  “Without saying goodbye?”

  “Did I thank you for your help today?”

  “You did. But you’re also deflecting.” He slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Are you okay?”

  Ani had a flash of insight. “Did you put this box in here?”

  “I might have.”

  “It says attic.”

  “So it does.”

  She shot him a dirty look.

  The box had been open when she came into the spare bedroom—the room that was to be the baby’s nursery. Though it had been over a decade since she’d last seen it, Ani knew the album that rested on top well. Her mother had given it to her shortly before she died. It was filled with pictures of her and Tori together.

  Sniffling, Ani opened the album again, facing it toward Shane. “This is our first picture together—Tori and me.”

  In the picture, Ani look
ed the epitome of a sullen teenager as she glared down at the hours-old child.

  “Looks like you came around,” Shane said, pointing to the next picture. She held her baby sister in her cupped hands, looking down on her as though she were precious. Sure, the photographer had instructed her to pose like that, but even eighteen years later she remembered it was the way Tori fit in her hands that had charmed her.

  Ani smiled again, running her finger around the edge of the old photo. “Tori was bossy for such a tiny thing. She was always squalling. And that’s what it was. Squalling—not really crying so much as telling everyone off.” She laughed. “We were probably holding her wrong, or maybe she was pissed about being taken from her hidey-hole in the first place.”

  “That does sound familiar.”

  Ani flipped through the album, watching Tori grow from a soft, squishy baby to a hardy toddler. She ran her fingers over a picture of the two of them—Tori perched on her back, her skinny arms thrown around Ani’s neck, her green eyes lit with delight. Ani’s expression was one of waning patience.

  “I was her favorite person,” Ani said, waver in her voice. “If I sat down for even a minute, she was climbing up on my lap. She always wanted to be involved in whatever I was doing. Sometimes, when she cried, she didn’t want Mommy or Daddy, she wanted her ‘Nee.’ ”

  She pressed a fist to her lips, rocking a bit on the floor. She shook her heard. “Back then, I would have died before I admitted it, but I adored her. She was sticky and bratty and precocious, but she loved me so much, how could I help it?”

  One of the last pictures was of both of them, sound asleep. If Ani recalled, it was winter break after her first semester of college, and Tori had come into Ani’s room weeping and frightened from a nightmare. Ani remembered being annoyed at how clingy the girl was, but she had shushed her and sang to her until she calmed down again.

  That was how their mother found them—Tori still clinging but peaceful, trusting in her sleep that her big sister would slay all the monsters.

  The last few pages of the album were filled with crafts—clumsy drawings and haphazardly glued-together bits of construction paper. Ani didn’t remember all of them, but she understood the theme. These were all projects made by Tori for Ani.