by Deena Lipomi
I can’t blame Samara for anything that I can’t be blamed of myself. I place my hand on hers for a quick second. “Will you call Annie? Leave her a voicemail if she doesn’t answer and tell her we spoke.”
Samara nods again.
“I hope your sister gets better soon,” I say.
“Me, too.” Samara pulls away and calls to her sister, “Belle, we gotta get upstairs.”
Belle skips back to us. “OK. Bye, Melanie.”
“Bye, Belle. Bye, Samara,” I say. “It was nice to talk.”
“Yeah, it was,” Samara says. “Thank you.”
I offer the sisters a smile. “It’s the least I can do.”
***
I’m sipping my second caffeinated soda of the morning when Devon walks into the cafeteria. I want to run into his arms but manage to play it cool. He spots me against the wall and hurries over, sticking out both hands. In one is a plastic bag smelling of onions and mayo that clearly contains a large sub with the works. In the other is a brown paper bag.
“What is this?” I ask, taking the non-food bearing bag and giving it a shake. It makes a faint clicking sound.
“Technically, it’s for Annie. Or Annie’s baby,” he says, setting down our lunch and scratching his stubbly chin. “I thought you should give it to her.”
“You made something for Annie’s baby?” My heart flips and this time not out of fear. I reach inside and feel polished wood. It’s familiar to my fingers, like the beads on my bracelet, but larger. I pull out the gift and catch my breath.
In my hand is a baby rattle. The hollow end is filled with small beads that make a pleasant clinking sound when I shake it. Devon painted it to look like the earth, with muted shades of blues and greens, covered with a shiny, clear glaze. The handle is stained red near the earth, and then gradually fades into yellow, where the grip at the end is painted like a sun.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“The paint and glaze are all non-toxic…” he starts.
I wrap my arms around him and press my lips against his before he can finish. “I can’t believe you did this for my sister,” I say when we pull apart.
Devon tucks my bangs behind my ear. “I wanted to let you know that what’s going on with her is, well, none of my business, but I still care about both of you no matter what.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope with my name written across the front in pencil. It smells faintly of motor oil and a black-brown fingerprint is smeared along the side. I take it from him and slide out the Hallmark card. All that matters is what he’s written inside.
Melanie,
I will wait for you.
Love, Devon
Tears spring to my eyes and I hug him tighter, the meanings I take from his words – both about us sleeping together and moving away for college – hitting me hard.
“There’s still more I want to tell you,” I say. “Things I’ve been thinking about us and college.”
“Can we talk tonight? When we have more time?” he offers.
“Definitely.”
He picks up the subs. “But now I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
***
I’m still beaming from Devon’s visit while I stir a blend of herbs and spices into a pot of generic minestrone soup later that afternoon.
“You better not make that stuff too tasty,” Dexter says while he wipes his forehead with a paper towel, “or when you’re not here, I’ll have to listen to the regulars ask me why the soup usually tastes so bad when sometimes it tastes so good. Once a guy came through my line and threatened to punch me in the face if I didn’t make my meatloaf taste better. Hoooeee! He was lucky it tasted as good as it did with the ingredients they give me to work with.”
“Don’t worry.” I add a bit more dried basil. “I’ll make sure it keeps its underlying federally-funded flavor.”
This makes Dexter laugh so loud that we don’t hear the phone ringing in the back office.
“Melanie?” Dexter’s assistant manager yells from the office. “Telephone.”
My cell’s stashed in my purse in the locker area. I never get calls at work. Something’s wrong. I hurry to the office.
“Hello?”
“Melanie? It’s Mom. I’m here. At the hospital. Upstairs. Your sister’s having the baby!”
“What? Mom? Now? Where are you?” I grab a pencil and jot down the room number. “OK, I’ll be right up.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Mom says. “Annie wants you.”
“Mel?” Annie sounds out of breath.
“I’ll be right up, Annie.”
“Mel, it’s really happening. I’m having the baby. I need you.”
“I know, Annie. I’ll be right there.” I hang up for real this time and yell to Dexter, “Annie’s having the baby!”
Dexter’s face lights up. “Go, kid! Get outta here.”
I don’t waste another second.
Dad’s waiting for me at the entrance to the birthing ward. Two cameras hang around his neck and a third is gripped in his hand.
“Dad! How’s Annie?”
“Real good. She’s doing great.” He snaps my picture. “Do you want to come in? I think Annie would love to know you’re here.”
I nod and Dad leads the way into the room. Annie’s lying on her side with Mom gently rubbing her back.
“Melanie.” Annie raises her arms for a hug. I’m afraid to touch her, like I might mess something up with the delivery. I try to look brave and wrap an arm around her.
“She’s doing great,” Mom says.
“The last time I was in a delivery room was seventeen years ago,” Dad says, scratching his chin like he can’t believe it’s been that long.
There’s a knock on the door behind him. “Hello? Can I come in?”
“Kasey?” I call, heading for the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, guys,” Kasey sings, and then whispers, “I said I was your other sister.”
I wonder if the hospital staff dared to question the legitimacy of our family of black, Asian, and white sisters. I smile thinking about it.
Annie cringes as another contraction hits and Mom coaches Annie on her breathing.
“Um, we’ll be out in the hall for a sec,” I say, taking Kasey by the arm. “How did you know I was here?”
“Dude! It was the craziest thing. I was talking to Dawn and she’d heard from Devon’s friends at Marshall’s that he was working on some ‘special project for his girl’ so he couldn’t meet them out. But then he did come out just to pick up a sub to take to you so I knew you guys made up. I called your cell and you didn’t answer so I figured you were still at work. When I got to the cafeteria and asked for you, your boss said your sis was in labor and I was sent up here.”
I shake my head. “Weird is right.”
Then it gets weirder.
“Melanie?” Samara stands on the fringe of the waiting room. “Hey, Kasey.”
Kasey throws her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s all right,” I say, stepping between them.
“Is Annie OK?” Samara asks.
“She’s in labor,” Kasey answers. “How did you know we were all up here?”
“Kase.” I coax her into a stiff chair away from the others in the waiting room. “Samara’s sister’s in the hospital, too.”
Samara nods. “Belle saw Melanie running for the elevator and insisted I make sure you were all right.”
“And we must obey our sisters,” I say.
Samara laughs.
“So when you saw her heading for the birthing ward, you didn’t plan on gathering more dirt for Justine?” Kasey asks.
“No,” Samara says. “I came because I want to make things right.”
“Give her a chance,” I say to Kasey. “I think Annie will.”
“Whatever you say,” Kasey says.
I turn to Samara. “I’ll tell Annie you came by.”
“Here’s
my cell number, in case she needs it again,” Samara says, writing it on a scrap paper from her purse. “Tell Annie I’m sorry, and not to worry about Justine saying anything about…the guy. It’s my fault that she thinks she knows who he is but she isn’t sure. Of anything. Or herself. I think she’ll come around. But if she doesn’t, I won’t leave Annie alone.”
“Thanks, Samara,” I say, taking her number, a peace offering. “Tell Belle I said thanks for checking on me.”
Samara nods and turns to go.
“How bizarre,” Kasey says when Samara leaves. “In a good way, I think. So what happened with Devon?”
My face glows as I give her the summary. “Holy crap, I need to call him and tell him what’s going on.” I stand, wrestling my phone from my pocket.
“I wish I had a sister,” Kasey says, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets.
“Even after this year? With all the Annie drama?”
“Especially with the Annie drama. Come on, you girls are birthing babies. All I’ve got are puppies and kittens.”
“Kasey, this is why I love you.”
“Dude, I love you too.”
***
It’s 1:53 AM when Dad comes out of Annie’s room for the hundredth time. He announces with a gravelly voice, “She’s here.”
I jolt from mostly asleep to upright in half a second. My neck is stiff and my arm is sore, but I quickly forget the pain.
“Go on in,” Dad says.
I leave Kasey asleep on the chair beside me and slip down the busy hall.
“I'm so proud of her,” Mom says all choked up when I enter the room. She envelops me in a hug so tight I can’t turn my head. I know Mom thinks Annie is strong for doing the harder thing, the right thing, in giving up her baby for adoption.
“Look at her,” Annie coos.
I pull away from Mom and tiptoe to the bed. Annie, her eyes half-closed in exhaustion, holds her sleeping newborn daughter in her arms. I crouch beside Annie’s head and peer at the red face poking out from a cotton cap. Her body is covered up to her neck with a white blanket except for a few fingers that escaped the swaddling and poke out just below her chin. I reach out my pinky and touch one. It’s soft and smooth, not like a doll’s at all despite their delicacy and tininess.
“Isn’t she amazing?” Annie says.
“She’s beautiful,” I say. Even with her closed eyes and blotchy face, it is obvious she will be a gorgeous little girl. I bend down and give Annie’s baby a light brush with my lips, inhaling her sweet smell. Everything is possible for this baby. I reach for my jacket and take the paper bag from my pocket.
“I have something for you,” I say, pulling out the rattle. It’s so smooth against my fingers, like the baby’s cheek against my lips. “Devon made it.”
Annie frees one of her hands and I place the rattle in it. She shakes it gently and the baby stirs. “Mel, it’s perfect! My baby’s first gift.”
“That was really nice of him,” Mom says, trying not to hover but not succeeding.
I meet her eyes. “He’s a really great guy.”
Annie’s eyelids droop even lower.
“We should let her sleep,” Dad says to us as I hear a click. He’s been snapping pictures this whole time.
“I need to tell Mel something,” Annie says with sudden energy.
Mom and Dad get her meaning and back into the doorway, out of earshot.
Annie beckons me to closer to her whispery voice. “If something happened to her, to my daughter, I would want to know.”
Worry punctuates my breaths. “What do you mean?”
“If she made a mistake. If she got pregnant too young. I would want to know what happened,” she says, tracing the sleeping baby’s cheek. “I would want to help her make it better, and would love her no matter what.”
“I know you would,” I say.
She kisses the baby’s nose. “I’m going to tell Mom about Harris. I think I’ll need help once I’m home, getting over him and figuring out what to do.”
The weight of a thousand secrets rises from my chest like a puff of steam. “Good,” I say as her eyes start to close.
“Want to know her name?”
I lean in close to make sure I can hear her. “Of course,” I say.
“Angel. Angel Melanie Mainer. At least for the next day, that’s her name.” Annie’s eyes close, and her breathing becomes deep and regular.
“Melanie?” I say.
A nurse pops in and takes the baby from Annie’s arms. “I’m going to bring her to the nursery,” she says.
“Goodbye, Angel,” I say to my niece as the nurse disappears from the room.
“Are you OK, honey?” Mom asks me.
I’m too choked up to do anything but nod. I know Annie is doing the right thing by giving Angel to a stable family, one ready for a baby, but I miss her already.
“It’ll be all right. We’ve got each other,” Dad says, kissing the top of my head.
I give him a hug and return to the waiting room.
“Is she here?” Kasey asks, stirring awake. “Annie’s baby?”
“She’s here,” I say, regaining my voice and composure. “Angel.”
“Angel,” Kasey repeats.
“I can’t believe my sister made that tiny, perfect person.” My bracelet rolls down my wrist. “Or that she’ll be taken to another family.”
“But you’ll still have Annie,” Kasey says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Your sister comes home with you.”
I sniff and nod. Something clicks again. Dad hands me a Polaroid that is coming into focus, a bit of my white shirt and freckled nose, a touch of Kasey’s red sweater and dimpled chin.
“This one,” Dad says, taking another Polaroid out of his sports coat pocket, “this one is my favorite.” He hands me the photo. Even though I lived the moment only a few minutes ago, I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture.
Annie’s almond-shaped eyes sparkle and her cheeks are rosy. My waves of brown hair are profiled next to my sister’s face. Below us rests her Angel. My lips are pursed and brushing her tiny cheek.
I want to hold onto this picture forever. But I don’t. I know where it needs to be.
I hurry back into Annie’s room and share a smile with Mom. I lean the Polaroid against the baby rattle on the table next to Annie’s bed. Angel’s content face will be staring right back at her when she wakes up. She’ll see how happy she was and know, for sure, it will be a time she will never want to forget.
Neither will I.
MORE BOOKS BY DEENA LIPOMI
Blackout
Deserted
Available now at http://www.deenalipomi.com/books.html
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book has been years in the making and I must thank everyone who has positively influenced my writing life since its inception in 2004, including:
Writer friends Kelley Allen, Maureen Chu, Kate Fall, Megg Jensen, Emily Marshall, Vicki Schultz, Melissa Slocum, Kristina Springer, & Lisa Tiffin for feedback, patience, and support.
Family members Mom & Dad, siblings Andrea & Darren, and husband John for being awesome cheerleaders and subconscious influences.
YA authors Sarah Dessen, Nancy Werlin, & Ellen Wittlinger who taught me so much about writing a young adult novel by publishing their own stories when I was just starting out.
And of course thank you to every one of my readers. Thank you for choosing to read Mel and Annie’s story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deena Lipomi grew up in western New York with an older sister, younger brother, and parents who encouraged the creation of fictional worlds. She has a BS in Creative Writing and Communications from SUNY Brockport, and a Masters in Library Science from the University at Buffalo. By day she works as a Young Adult Services Librarian in a busy public library, and by night she dives into her novels. Besides reading and writing, Deena is also a fan of traveling, Muppets, Project Runway, and baking gluten free recipes. She lives near her hometown wi
th her musician husband and a large number of guitars, computers and, of course, books. SISTERS DON’T TELL is her third novel. Read more at www.deenalipomi.com.
