by Lisa Tucker
Kyra was so relieved—and so surprised she was relieved—that she couldn’t find her voice. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she’d hated being the one pushing her sister to get an abortion. When she was ten years old she’d marched with the anti-abortion crowd in St. Louis on the anniversary of Roe versus Wade. Amy was there, too; the whole Catholic grade school was there; but Kyra had really believed in the cause. She’d made her own sign using her stepmother’s red and black magic markers: “What If Your Mother Had Chosen Abortion?” By the time she was in high school, she wasn’t quite as confident that abortion was wrong, but she still thought it should be used only as a last resort. If the idea of having one herself was horrifying, the idea of her sister having one was almost as bad.
Amy being way too immature to be a mother wasn’t a good enough reason to qualify for a last resort, but Amy not knowing who the father was or even seeming to understand why knowing the father’s identity was important—that did qualify. A child needs a father, as Kyra had told her sister over and over. And when she recovered her ability to speak, she said it again while Amy and her blanket slumped down in the wicker chair.
“I get it,” Amy said, rubbing her thumb against her forehead. “And I do know who the father is.” She looked out the window though there was really nothing to see. It was a gloomy day in February: dreary and drizzling and threatening to ice up that night. “It’s Zach,” she said softly. “Who else?”
The question seemed strange. In the last few months, Amy had slept with Peanut and possibly Tim, in addition to having a one-night stand with some guy she’d met when the band was on the road. And these were only the ones Kyra knew about it.
She took a breath. “Are you sure?”
Her sister nodded.
Kyra put the useless pamphlet down. “Then you have to tell him.”
“I knew you’d say that, so I stopped at a pay phone outside the clinic.” She was still rubbing her forehead, like she had a headache. “He’s looking for an apartment for us right now.”
“Good,” Kyra said, but she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. A moment later, she felt Amy’s arms around her. “Naturally, I told him I’m not moving anywhere without my sister.”
“You and Zach should stay here. It’s two bedrooms, perfect for a baby. I’ll move to a studio apartment closer to school.” She looked up at Amy, kneeling in front of her. “Please don’t argue with me.”
Of course Amy tried to persuade her anyway, but for once it didn’t work. By the middle of March, Kyra had moved out and Zach had moved in. Zach was predictably ecstatic. He cut back his school schedule and got a full-time job selling medical supplies to support them. A good thing, too, because when Amy was four and a half months pregnant and definitely showing, Peanut dropped her from his band. “People don’t come to clubs to see that,” Peanut said, pointing at her stomach, and proving what Kyra had always thought: Peanut was a total lowlife.
Zach pressured Amy to marry him, but she kept saying no—until Kyra told her sister that she had no choice. Zach’s new job had health insurance and a 401(k). It was the responsible thing to do. Amy reluctantly agreed, and Kyra served as a witness at their wedding in the courthouse. She would never forget how unhappy her sister looked that day.
To say the pregnancy was uneventful, though true on some level, would be to ignore how it must have felt to be Amy. She was alone in the apartment most of the time, with no school or band to distract her as her twenty-one-year-old body underwent the strange, necessary metamorphosis to accommodate a new life. Zach adored her, but it clearly wasn’t enough, though he remained confident that her sister would come around sooner or later. He never understood that Amy couldn’t seem to find a way to love him, no matter how hard she tried.
Kyra thought it was a serious flaw in her sister, that Amy failed to recognize how great Zach was. But she truly believed Amy was trying, until the hot afternoon when Amy was eight months pregnant, and she found out otherwise.
Zach was working nine to five at the medical supply company, and Kyra had been working all summer, too, as an actuarial clerk. It was a paid internship, but the only thing she’d learned was that she most definitely did not want to be an actuary when she graduated. By the middle of August, she was so sick of running programs of meaningless numbers and formulas that she decided to take the afternoon off, telling her supervisor that she was coming down with something. It wasn’t a lie. She was coming down with extreme ennui.
It was 97 degrees, according to the sign at the bank across from her office, and so humid that the leaves on the trees looked as droopy as Kyra felt. She thought about going to the mall and wandering around in the air-conditioning, but then she remembered her sister and how miserable she must be. Amy and Zach’s apartment had a window AC unit, but half the time the blower didn’t come on. The landlord was supposed to have replaced it weeks ago.
As Kyra climbed the stairs, she could hear music coming from inside the apartment, but when she knocked, Amy didn’t answer. She knocked again, harder, and when Amy still didn’t answer, she reached for the knob. Amy had left the door unlocked, as usual. Kyra said, “It’s me,” as she walked in. She could hear water running in the kitchen. The radio was playing, too, a Nirvana song. No wonder Amy hadn’t heard.
When she walked into the kitchen, she saw her sister awkwardly kneeling on a chair, which had been pushed over to the sink. Amy’s head was as close to the sink as she could get, given her huge baby bump. It was a ridiculous way to wash her hair, but that was what she was doing. Or, more precisely, that was what some man was doing for her. One of his hands was holding the nozzle of the spray hose, the other was pulling up sections of Amy’s hair, which had become much thicker since she got pregnant. She was always complaining that it was itchy, especially in the heat.
The first thing Kyra noticed was that the man looked old. He had gray hair and a graying beard and lines around his eyes and mouth. Some people probably considered him distinguished, and he was definitely well-off, judging by a very expensive-looking watch that was lying on the card table that served as Amy’s kitchen table, next to a briefcase that also looked expensive. But he was old enough to be their father. Literally. Their real father was forty-four. For all Kyra knew, this guy was older than their father.
He was wearing Amy’s goofy cow apron over pin-striped pants, a white oxford shirt, and a burgundy tie. The cow apron had been a gift from Zach for her birthday. Amy was wearing nothing but her stretchy black shorts. Her large breasts were hanging down, touching the edge of the sink.
At some point Kyra must have made a noise. She felt like her throat was too tight to let any sound escape, but suddenly, both Amy and the man were looking in her direction. Or maybe they just looked over because the radio had switched to a woman talking about the mayor, and the strange man had finished rinsing Amy’s hair and turned the water off.
Amy walked over without bothering to wring out her hair or grab a towel. When she was standing right in front of Kyra, she pulled her wet hair off her neck with one hand. She sounded furious. “What are you doing here?”
Kyra tried not to stare at her sister’s belly, but it was right there, between them, enormous and pink and glistening, with a strange line down the middle that made Kyra think of the indentation of a peach.
“I don’t know,” Kyra said. She was so shocked that for a moment, she honestly couldn’t remember. Then she said softly, reminding herself, “I was going to take you to the mall. Buy more booties.”
The booties were a joke between them. Their stepmother had sent eight pairs of crocheted booties for the baby, and she was reportedly working on another pair or two; their father wasn’t sure how many more were coming. Amy and Kyra knew she loved to crochet, but why not a blanket or a hat or a sweater? Why only booties? Amy said it was her obsession with feet, which wasn’t a joke: the woman had more socks an
d shoes than anybody in their town. From the calves up, their stepmother wore strictly polyester from Venture or Kmart; from the ankles down, she could have been featured in Glamour magazine.
The man walked over. He handed Amy her towel and her white robe, and introduced himself as Gregory Todd. Or was it Todd Gregory? He made some comment about people reversing his name, but Kyra wasn’t listening. She was staring at the ring on his left hand.
“This is my sister,” Amy said.
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard so much about you, Kyra,” he said far too pleasantly. She hated everything about him, but she hated his insouciance most of all.
After a moment or two, when no one had spoken, Gregory or Todd or whoever he was said, “I should go.” Kyra stood on the right side of the doorway, sweating, as the man took off the apron and put on his watch. Amy walked with him into the hall. They kissed for a very long minute. He whispered something in her ear and she laughed.
When Amy returned, she went into her bedroom without saying a word. After a minute, Kyra remembered how to move and followed her. Amy was lying on the side of the bed closest to the air conditioner, which was working, at least. The bedroom was actually a little chilly.
“What’s going on?” She heard her voice becoming squeaky, hysterical. “Why was that man in our apartment?”
Of course it wasn’t her apartment anymore, but that was only because she’d given it to Zach and Amy and their baby. Not to Amy and this stranger.
“You’re not going to say anything?” Kyra stomped over to the bed and looked down at her. The robe barely tied around her sister’s huge waist. “You’re going to cheat on your husband with some guy you barely know and not even try to justify yourself?”
“He’s not a guy I barely know,” Amy said. She lowered her eyes. “I’ve been in love with Gregory for almost a year.”
A year? A year? How on earth was that possible when Kyra had never heard the man’s name before? She thought back to the week of her sophomore finals, when Amy had broken up with Zach and Kyra had gone to his apartment, to comfort him. Had Amy already known this guy then?
Without being questioned, Amy explained that they’d met one night last fall, when the band was playing on the Plaza. So the answer was no: she did not know Gregory when she broke up with Zach. And Gregory was not the father of her child, she emphasized that, though Kyra hadn’t thought to wonder about it yet.
“He’s not happy with his wife,” Amy said.
Kyra rolled her eyes and snickered. “Oh, of course.”
“I don’t care if you believe it. It’s true. His wife is awful to him, but he can’t leave because he has three kids.” She smiled. “I’ve met them. They liked me; I could tell. It’s nothing like Marie.”
Marie was their stepmother. Meaning Amy was already pretending she was some kind of stepmother to this guy’s kids? After meeting them in secret somewhere, what, once or twice?
“You’re delusional,” Kyra snapped. “What is this guy for you? A father figure?”
“So what if he is? It’s not like I ever had a father who loved me.”
“Neither did I, but I’m not—”
“Think what you want about me. I don’t care. When I’m with him, I’m happy. He doesn’t want me to be perfect or special. He likes me as I am, just Amy.”
Just Amy? What did that even mean? The whole situation was so bizarre and overwhelming that Kyra slumped down on the bed, but on the other side, as far as possible from her sister. Amy was lying very still. Her wet hair was soaking the pillowcase. The air conditioner was only a foot or so from her bare legs. Her feet looked puffy and red and cold.
“You have to tell Zach,” Kyra finally said. She was looking at a pile of his T-shirts sitting on top of the dresser. She knew how devastated he would be. Where would he move? How would he and Amy deal with sharing child care?
Amy didn’t respond.
“I’m serious. If you don’t tell him, I will.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange,” Amy said, “that you’re the younger sister, but you’re always telling me what to do? It’s like you think you’re my mom.”
Kyra could have said a hundred things to defend herself. Since they’d moved to Kansas City, Amy had done one irresponsible thing after another. What was she supposed to do? Just sit back and watch her sister ruin her life? The truth was that this was hardly the way she’d imagined college would be. She was always being forced to drop whatever she was doing to deal with yet another problem of Amy’s. Her own problems, such that they were, never got any attention. Compared to her sister’s drug use, pregnancy, marriage, and now affair, how could it matter that Kyra was afraid some of the people in her math study group didn’t like her? How could her feeling that life was passing her by possibly be important, when her sister was living like she was speeding down the road, about to crash into a wall?
Amy turned to her side and used her hands to push herself up to a sitting position. She leaned closer and made her voice sound like a child’s. “Mommy, don’t you like me anymore?”
“Cut it out,” hissed Kyra.
Her sister shook her head like a wet dog, and a water droplet from her thick hair hit Kyra in the face. “Have you ever been in love, Mommy?”
Kyra felt her cheeks burning. “Stop it, Amy.”
Amy put her hand on her abdomen. Kyra could tell the baby was kicking. But it didn’t stop her sister. “Of course you haven’t,” Amy said flatly. “You’re too busy looking down on screwups like me to have time to fall in love with anyone.”
Kyra stood up, but before she could leave the room, Amy said, “You know what I told Gregory?”
“I don’t care.” She refused to turn around, but she couldn’t help walking more slowly.
“I told him about the worst day in my life.” Somehow, Amy had gotten to a standing position. Kyra could hear her breathing heavily as she came up behind her. “Want to know what it was?”
“No.”
“Come on, sure you do.”
Kyra was wearing a sundress. Amy’s cold hand on her bare shoulder made her jump. She spun around. “I already know, okay? It’s the day Mom left. You’ve been telling me about this all my life, like I wasn’t even there.”
“No. It’s the day you moved out of this apartment.”
“Oh bull.” She shook off Amy’s hand. “You wanted to live with Zach!”
“No, I didn’t. He wanted me to and you wanted me to, but I just wanted to be with you. Like the Callahan Child Care Company, the two of us, taking care of the baby.”
Kyra remembered Amy saying that she wouldn’t live anywhere without her sister, but she refused to think about that now. It had nothing to do with what was happening with this married man. It changed the focus and turned the whole thing into a guilt trip.
Amy heaved herself over to the couch, and Kyra leaned against the wall and stared at her. They were both silent for a while. At some point, Kyra sat down on the dusty floor and said, “This is why you didn’t want to marry Zach.”
“Yeah.” She paused. “Why did you push that so hard? It can’t be just insurance.”
Amy was right. Though the insurance was a perfectly good reason on its own, it wasn’t her only concern. “It will probably sound dumb to you, but it was Father Tom. Remember him, from church?”
“Sure I remember him.”
Kyra picked at a piece of rubber hanging off the heel of her sandals and thought about when Father Tom had suggested Amy might be an angel. It seemed like a million years ago. She wondered what Father Tom would say if he could see them now and sighed. “I thought about that lecture he gave us on teenage pregnancy and giving birth to a bastard. I just didn’t want your baby to be a bastard.” She sat up straighter. “I’m sorry if that seems stupid.”
“It doesn’t seem stupid.”
>
“So you do want the baby, at least?”
“Oh for God’s sake. Someday you’ll realize that a pregnant woman this far along wants her baby more than she’s ever wanted anything.” She patted her stomach and her voice grew soft. “I don’t care how bad the timing is. I love this little person more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
Kyra looked closely at her sister and realized it was true. After months of Amy being strangely disconnected from the life growing inside of her, she’d finally fallen in love with the baby.
Maybe that was why, before Zach came home that night, Kyra had softened enough to agree not to say anything to him about Gregory. Amy had to promise not to see the man again; Kyra insisted on that first. Amy had to promise that she would try to give her innocent baby a normal life.
A few weeks later, on September 14 at 11:17 AM, the baby was born. She was gorgeous, with a tiny tuft of blond hair and light blond, almost invisible eyebrows, pink cheeks and startling blue eyes, and a plump little mouth and perfectly shaped little head. Not one mark on her, as Amy said, laughing that she’d finally done something right by pushing out her baby so efficiently. Both Kyra and Zach fell in love with the little girl the first time they held her, in the delivery room. Naturally, Kyra was in the delivery room, too. Her sister had said she needed her there, and that was all Kyra had needed to hear.
The fact that Amy got a huge bouquet of roses in the hospital, without a card, should have alerted Kyra to the fact that Amy had broken her promise, but they were all too happy about the baby. Amy named her Hannah, which she said meant “grace” or “favored one.”
“You are my favorite,” Kyra whispered in Hannah’s little ear, so intricate it looked funny sprouting from the side of such a tiny head. She put her finger in the baby’s hand and Hannah grasped it tightly. It was only a reflex, but it felt like Hannah was holding on to her for support or even protection. Zach noticed it, too. He said to Amy, “Our baby likes your sister.”
