Lies

by Aleatha Romig

  “Skimming? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No. That’s what friends do. They call you out when you suddenly move away and start wearing clothes that cost a month’s salary. Real friends ask questions.”

  “Real friends would know that you wouldn’t do that.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “That’s why they’re concerned.” Araneae sighed. “I’m not sure how much to tell them now. The entire story is confusing and I’m in the damn middle of it. I think, just that I met you and we hit it off—you swept me off my feet.”

  A smile curled on my lips. “Is that what we did—hit it off?”

  Her slender shoulder shrugged, causing the spaghetti strap to slide down. “I could tell them that you blackmailed me into moving to Chicago, kidnapped me over the border, and have kept me locked away in your glass tower when I’m not at work under the constant supervision of your henchman.”

  A small laugh resonated from my throat. “I think hit it off is currently the best option.”

  “So you approve?”

  “Well, sunshine, since I’ll be with my henchman tomorrow at your office, we need to say something.”

  She leaned in and kissed my lips. “Good night, Sterling.”

  I doubted I’d get much sleep.

  Annabelle

  Twenty-six years ago

  Bowing our heads against the wind and swirling snow, Daniel and I stepped from the warmth of the diner. The icy accumulation continued to fall around us as we trudged through the parking lot, our boots sliding, unstable within the frozen precipitation as we made our way to the rental car. Peering beyond the blowing and drifting snow, many more inches had accumulated since we entered the diner. Its heavy weight bowed the pine branches—a rather beautiful sight if I weren’t so worried about getting back to Chicago.

  The exit to the parking area was hidden, buried beneath the blanket of white. The only indication that the road back to the motel still existed were the quickly filling grooves of tire tracks.

  As the car warmed, I fastened my seat belt around our baby. “I need to get to Chicago, to Dr. Jacobs,” I said as calmly as I could muster.

  “What did she say when you called her from the diner’s pay phone?”

  “She said to try to relax. Officially, I’m not due for two and a half weeks, and the Braxton-Hicks contractions have been going on for a few weeks. They may be nothing to worry about. She said to try to walk through them. Braxton-Hicks fade where real ones grow stronger.”

  Daniel forced a smile my direction as he shifted the car into reverse. “Then that’s what we’ll do, Annie. We’ll walk.”

  The tires spun, not finding traction.

  “Around that tiny motel room?”

  “Yes, if that’s what we need to do.”

  “Maybe there’s a doctor who can come to the hotel, or better yet, a hospital nearby?”

  “When we get back to the motel…” The car was finally moving, albeit slowly and unsteadily. “…I’ll ask in the office.”

  As my midsection contracted, I closed my eyes and counted. This one lasted longer than others, forcing me to tighten my muscles and exhale as I’d been taught in the classes at the hospital.

  Relax.

  That’s what Dr. Jacobs said.

  When my eyes opened, Daniel was staring out to the whiteness. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I’d take you home, but damn, I can’t even see the road.”

  The trees lining the sides were a help. However, when we’d arrived, I recalled seeing ravines on either side of some of the roads. Covered now in snow, they were small valleys waiting to lure us into their depths. “Please stay on the road.”

  My labor began around two in the morning. Not that I’d been sleeping well, but the pain woke me. Crying out, I reached for Daniel.

  He’d spent the better part of the evening and into the morning walking laps with me. Each time we did, the contraction lightened, just as Dr. Jacobs had promised.

  “This one is different,” I said with tears in my eyes. The pain wasn’t concentrated to my midsection, but around my body to my lower back.

  Daniel reached for the telephone on the bedside stand.

  “It doesn’t work,” I reminded him as panic bubbled within me.

  “I’m going back to the office,” he replied. “That girl said there was a small hospital less than twenty miles away.”

  Tears bubbled in my throat and nose. “I don’t want a small hospital. I want University Hospital. I want Dr. Jacobs. I want a NICU unit if we need one. Daniel, we have to get back to Chicago.”

  I threw back the cover. I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t realized what had happened. Perhaps my mind was too full to process. Nevertheless, the sight before me stilled my rapid heartbeat. The sheet and my nightgown were saturated. “Oh God. My water broke.” A moment later I was doubled over, crying out as the biggest contraction yet pulled at my body, squeezing me and our daughter. “Go!” I screamed. “Get help.”

  Hurriedly pulling up his trousers while simultaneously pushing his feet in boots and wrapping a coat around his shoulders, Daniel nodded.

  From my position, as he opened the door, the night sky was black beyond the lights of the parking area.

  Thank God. The snow had stopped. “Daniel,” I called before the door shut. He stopped and looked back. “Call Rubio, he could send a helicopter or something.”

  Daniel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded again.

  “Araneae,” I said, after the door closed, leaving us alone. “Baby...” Tears covered my cheeks. “Mommy’s here. You’re coming to see us soon. We love you.”

  My feet went to the dirty carpet as I tried to stand, but before I could, the next contraction dropped me to a squatting position. I tightly gripped the wet bedsheets. My fingers fisted as I suppressed a scream, instead groaning with the pain.

  Perspiration coated my skin like an adhesive, gluing my nightgown against me as I exhaled and exhaled again. Panting, I tried to find the thoughts to help me through this, to transport me from a dirty motel room to a better place.

  What came to mind weren’t memories but visions of what was to come: a beautiful, healthy baby girl, wrapped in a pink blanket, lying in my arms. I envisioned a faint soft yellow crown of hair, taking after me, and while I loved Daniel’s blue eyes, in my mind’s eye, our daughter also had my eyes, soft brown like cream swirled into a cup of coffee. In my mind, I unwrapped the blanket as Araneae’s gaze stayed fixed to my voice—the one she’d heard while inside me—and I counted her wiggling fingers and toes. Her fingers were tiny, yet long and slender with perfect little fingernails. True to her name, her grip was as strong as an infant vise.

  When the pain subsided, I fell to the floor and cradled my hardened midsection. “We’re going to be okay,” I said aloud, “because you are strong. You are resilient. You are a fighter. Did you know,” I asked my soon-to-be-born daughter, “that based on density, a spider’s web is five times stronger than steel?” I rubbed my ballooning midsection. “That’s right, Araneae, stronger than any man-made substance. That’s what you can do, what you’re capable of doing, baby girl. Whatever you create will be stronger than anyone else’s creation.”

  The door behind me opened as Daniel and cool air rushed in. I peered over the bed.

  “Annie, the local volunteer fire department is coming. They said they can get you to St. Michael’s hospital. It’s not too far.”

  “Dr. Jacobs?” I asked as my eyes overflowed with tears.

  “I called her. She said she’ll get there as soon as she can.”

  I screamed out again as the pain returned, scrambling to my feet, my knees bent, bearing down. “Oh please, she’s coming.”

  They said that different people’s bodies responded differently to pain. The agony of childbirth was a natural process, one that women have endured for ages. It wasn’t that I couldn’t or wouldn’t. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for our daughter. It was that as urgent and imminent as Araneae’s birth ha
d been at the motel, once we made it to the rural hospital, the labor continued and continued.

  Daniel fed me ice chips between contractions and placed cold compresses on my forehead. A few minutes of sleep would provide the strength to endure the next intense contraction. Yet through it all, the dilation stalled. Even without pain medication, I wasn’t progressing. I’d seen the concern in the nurse’s eyes.

  It was afternoon the next day, in a small hospital room when Dr. Millstone, an older gentleman, came to my bedside.

  “Mrs. McCrie, it’s time. We need to make some decisions.”

  “What kind of decisions?”

  “I’ve spoken to Dr. Jacobs. She told me that she mentioned that based on the baby’s weight and your pelvis, a cesarean section may be necessary.”

  Though Dr. Millstone’s face blurred with my tears, none fell. I had none left. “I want to do this. Please, I can keep going.”

  “You can,” he said, his hand covering mine. “However, over the last hour, your daughter’s vitals have declined.”

  “Declined?”

  “She’s not at a state of critical stress yet, but I feel that with your history, the baby’s size, and what I’ve witnessed, she could be very soon. This is for her.”

  I turned toward Daniel with a mixture of emotions in my eyes. I wanted and needed his support. I wanted to be confident that whatever decision we made could be lived with by both of us. Within my gaze was also pain, not physical but emotional. I didn’t want to blame him for this situation, but I did. He was the one that put greed before his family, ushering a dangerous chain reaction into our lives. He was the one who brought me to nowhere, to a hospital without a neonatal intensive care unit and thus had me away from Dr. Jacobs.

  “May I speak to Dr. Jacobs?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Dr. Millstone said. “We’ll get the call connected.”

  A few minutes later I heard her voice through the telephone receiver.

  “Annabelle, tell me how you’re feeling.”

  “Scared,” I answered honestly. “I’m afraid for Araneae and…” I didn’t want to sound selfish, but it was the truth. “…for me, too.”

  “Your blood pressure is high. It’s much higher than what we want. The concern is that your water broke over twelve hours ago. Though we don’t usually worry about sepsis until twenty-four hours, I’m not confident of the conditions you’ve been in since it broke. And more importantly, Araneae’s heart rate has slowed significantly.”

  “I’m nervous. If this had to happen, I wish that you were here to do it.” My tears were again flowing.

  “Me too. The state of emergency is still in effect. The roads north of the state line remain closed until they can remove more snow. The temperature is rising, so it shouldn’t be more than a day. Once I can get to both of you, you know I will.”

  I nodded, swallowing more tears. “Our daughter can’t wait for that, can she?”

  “No, Annabelle, I don’t believe she can.”

  My sad eyes went to my husband as I nodded.

  I’d heard stories about women being awake and alert during their C-section. That wasn’t what happened. They explained that it was because of my blood pressure. Witnessing the procedure could cause it to spike. That would be bad for both Araneae and for me. The last thing I recalled after the medication going into my arm was changed was Daniel’s voice as his hand squeezed mine.

  “I’m going to be here, Annie. You’re going to wake up to our daughter.”

  There were no preparations that could have been made for what greeted me as my eyes finally opened. As if waking from a bad nightmare, I had recollections: voices, a baby’s cry, commotion, and beeps. They all blended together—a kaleidoscope of sounds and images, unable to find its true pattern.

  My hands flew to my midsection, no longer enlarged, my flesh was tender.

  I tried to sit upward to see the room and find the small bassinet containing our daughter. Yet nothing was different than when I’d been in labor other than that the trays of equipment were gone and I was now alone.

  Other than the beeps from the machines behind me, the room was silent.

  “Daniel?” I called out, repeating his name over and over, each time louder and more frantic than the last.

  Finally, the door opened inward.

  The world as I wanted it disappeared in a new shower of tears.

  My husband didn’t need to tell me what had happened. The grief was written on his face—a neon sign blinking with intensity. Not only was it written on his face, but telegraphed through his body language. My husband’s usually broad, proud shoulders were bowed forward in defeat.

  “No…no…” The word echoed through the room as he came to me, wrapping his arms around me.

  “Annie, I’m so sorry. They tried everything—”

  I fought back, slapping at his chest, his face, anywhere I could connect. “This is your fault. I hate you… I hate you…this is all your fault…”

  He didn’t stop me, taking all I gave him.

  His decisions had led us here.

  The here—life without our daughter—was not a place I was confident we could ever return from, not as a couple. Our dreams of a family were gone.

  “I hate you...” My words and phrases lost steam as my entire body, wracked with sobs, collapsed against his chest. Daniel held me as I cried for the loss of our daughter, our marriage, and our life’s dream. Wiping my tears and nose, I sat straighter. “I need to see her.”

  “Ann-ie…” He elongated my name.

  “I have to say goodbye.” I looked up to his eyes. “Did you hold her?”

  Daniel nodded.

  “Was she…” I had trouble forming the words. “…alive?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “She was gone so fast. We all wanted her to stay, but…” He shook his head. “…it wasn’t meant to be.”

  My chest ached, physically ached. I fought the urge to look down, to see if there was bodily evidence of my broken heart because the way it felt, the once-beating organ had been ripped from my chest.

  “How can you say that?” I asked. “Of course, she was meant to be. She was conceived in love. She was who we wanted.” My sobs returned. “Oh God...she was meant to be.”

  Daniel’s head shook. “The things I’ve done. Maybe God knew she wouldn’t be safe.”

  “She would have been!” My voice grew louder, a madwoman on the brink of a breakdown. “I would have done anything to keep her safe.”

  “So would I. I’m sorry.”

  “I want to see her,” I repeated.

  “I think it’s better if you don’t.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you think.” My body shook as the door opened inward.

  “Ms. McCrie, you need to settle down.” It was a nurse I didn’t recognize, yet she was dressed in scrubs.

  I reached out to her. “Please, let me see my daughter, my Araneae. I need to hold her. Let me hold her.”

  Daniel shook his head as he stood from the edge of the bed where he’d been seated. “I can’t do this again.”

  Ignoring him, I kept my eyes on the woman beside the bed. “Please.” Swallowing my tears, I forced a smile. “I named her after a spider. I-it...” I hiccupped my words. “...was to make her strong and resilient. Please...”

  She squeezed my hand. “Let me see if we can.”

  I nodded.

  Once I was alone in the room, Araneae was brought to me and placed in my arms.

  I unwrapped the blanket as I’d imagined doing. However, instead of counting wiggling fingers and toes, I gazed down at the perfection of her. Proportionate and even plump, the only thing missing from her was life. I stroked her hair, darker than what I’d imagined. Though I couldn’t see her eyes, I envisioned light brown. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stroked her cold skin. “Baby, I’m sorry. You will always be my angel.”

  When the nurse returned I asked, “What will happen to her?”

  “That’s up to you. Th
e county examiner will retrieve her, and then she can be taken by a funeral home to Chicago for a service.

  I shook my head.

  “Ma’am, your husband...”

  My neck straightened. “This is my decision. There won’t be a service in Chicago. I’d like to call Minister Watkins at the Methodist Church in Cambridge. They have a small graveyard there.” One I remembered from our wedding. I didn’t say that part.

  The nurse nodded and smiled a sad smile as she took Araneae away.

  When my phone rang, I answered, speaking with the minister. I wanted a small service, whatever provisions were best for Araneae’s soul and nothing for show. I wasn’t up to accepting the false condolences of others. There was no one—unless they’d experienced this devastation—who could understand.

  As I hung up the phone, the nurse returned. Looking her in the eye, I asked, “May I ask you one favor? Please, this is special.”

  “Anything, Mrs. McCrie.”

  I’d never taken Daniel’s name, yet at the moment, it wasn’t a concern.

  I reached for my wrist, the one still wearing the bracelet Minister Wilkens had given to Daniel for Araneae. Unclasping the latch, I let it fall into the palm of my hand. The small locket now held the place her earthly body would remain, and the key represented what the minister had said: Araneae McCrie would forever hold the key to my heart.

  I handed the bracelet to the nurse. “If it’s not too late, will you be sure this stays with Araneae?”

  She looked down at the gold charm bracelet I’d placed in her hand. “Is it special?”

  I looked for a name tag, but there was none. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?”

  “Josey.”

  “Yes, Josey, the bracelet is special. I would like it buried…” The word brought more tears. “…with my angel. I want her to have something to remember her mother.”

  Araneae

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Louisa from my phone before Patrick and I left for my office.