If I Had You

by Deborah Bedford

  I don’t have a broken heart. Nora unthreaded the cord from the cardboard and held the faceted glass in her hand. She felt the cool, fine heaviness settle against the hollow of her hand, and liked it there.

  “It’s so pretty.” Frieda Storm was gathering plates alongside Emma Franklin and carting them to the kitchen.

  “Something you’ll have forever,” Lavinia crowed, slapping her knees.

  And everything seemed fine until Caroline pronounced nicely, “She’s going to come back someday, I hope you realize that. You’re going to raise this baby, Nora, and then Tess will show up and break your heart all over again.”

  The room grew quiet all around her. Fifteen women, her pastor, and her husband waited to see how she would respond. They all heard the bitterness as Nora said, “I would never let that happen.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  And that was how their lives began with Tansy Aster. For all the encouragement Nora and Ben had, all the well-wishes and all the advice, they moved through their granddaughter’s first years with numb acceptance.

  This is how the days blur along. A family moves from supper to supper. From one day at work to the next. From one good sermon to another. The next visit to the chiropractor. The next Christmas. Switching from Bounty to Brawny. The next time Doc is on TV.

  There were the sleepless nights, the first traumatic haircut of that dark brown hair so curly that it sprang from her head like corkweed, the day the paperwork was approved by the Department of Human Services and the state of Texas and they stood in the Gilford County courthouse to be pronounced Tansy’s legal guardians.

  There was the first stab at daycare. (“I thought I’d found a lady who would take care of Tansy, only I can’t do it,” Nora told Lavinia. “I went to inspect the house and there was a baby with a scab the size of a silver dollar on his forehead. I asked what happened and she said, ‘Oh, isn’t it just awful? He rolled underneath the entertainment center and got stuck there.’ Can you imagine leaving a baby to roll under the furniture? I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”) There were the first inoculations, the first tooth to break through, the first smile, the first steps.

  There were the dozens of baby blankets Nora sewed from flannel, the edges hemstitched and crocheted. Nora couldn’t stop herself from making blankets. The frustration Jo Ellen Wort had evoked that day, bragging about Paige Lee having a baby, exploded out of Nora with her purchases of flannel yardages as soft as feathers. She started innocently enough, with a yard and a half, the same serene yellow as a canary’s breast. After she carried the fabric home and laid it out, she reveled in the chatter of the needle, the ripples of shadow and light, the heavy way the flannel pooled across the chair. Nora scarcely finished scalloping the edges on the yellow one before she had her eye on sherbet green, and on a blue that made her think of traces of sky.

  With each stitch Nora took, she journeyed further from her pain when Tess had said, “I don’t want you to make blankets. This is my baby, not your baby.” With each thread she snipped and each knot she tied, Nora cut herself away from her ache when Tess hadn’t shared her baby moving. “It’s bad enough that I’m here. Just don’t watch me all of the time.”

  Sometimes at the sewing machine, Nora would hum and be satisfied. She would hum and think how she thanked God that she and Ben had this child to show for it. This jewel of a little girl. A new beginning.

  Nora had noticed young mothers taking their children to the library, spreading out tablecloths and eating peanut butter crackers after story time. She decided to take Tansy to story time, too, and couldn’t resist lazing on the grass beside the water trough on two of those infamous flannel blankets. She’d made so many of them, might as well put a few to good use. Once, she’d stood up, brushed off her pants and had taken a step away. She’d left Tansy in the grass alone, this child that had become so important to her. She wanted to know what this would feel like. She took another step. She counted the steps it took to walk away. And when she turned back, all she could see of Tansy were her fingers and her feet stirring the weeds. Like she was a growing thing in that lawn, as natural as the nutgrass. Then Nora had counted the ten steps back.

  They went from tax season to tax season and claimed Tansy as a dependant. From one teeth cleaning to the next. From one Texas Aggie football game to another. This is how the days move along.

  Nora did not count the times that she took a second glance at someone during those toddler years, wondering if it might be Tess. When she was least thinking about it, when she was heading into the grocery store or darting into the Shell station for gas, she would glimpse someone stepping off the curb, hear someone’s fleeting call, see white-wheat hair glinting in the sun and she’d think, That’s Tess. There she is. And she’d try to will her heart to stop galloping, the gooseflesh to stop forming on her arms. She’s left Cootie and come back to find us.

  On the day of Tansy’s fourth birthday, Nora arranged the best party she could think of—a trip to Chuck E. Cheese’s with Lavinia and Claude Simms, Fran Coover, Jane Ruckmann, Dolores Kay Jones, Frieda Storm, Erin Hamm (Tansy’s best friend), and a generous group of other acquaintances from Mockingbird Preschool. “I like this party!” Tansy had said, grabbing Ben’s hands, jumping on his feet, swinging against him, until Ben had to say, “Hey, whoa there, girl! I’m not a punching bag.”

  “You’re not a punching bag,” she yelped back. “You’re a grandpa!” Then she slid, as if she were boneless, all the way to the floor.

  “Yes,” Ben said. “A very important grandpa.”

  The table set at the foot of the stage had been reserved for eight four-year-old children. It was perfectly adorned with eight pointed birthday hats, eight noisemakers, eight Chuck E. Cheese’s gift bags, and eight packs of free cotton candy. Nora had ordered pepperoni. The pizzas were waiting, ready to be placed in the oven on a rack. Tansy bounced on excited little feet while Nora straightened her velvet birthday dress. And Nora could not squelch her pride while the children ran amuck and the adults gathered at the table to chat.

  It was amazing how they’d been able to start a new life during these past years. I may not be the youngest woman on the snack calendar, but I do know how to pick the birthday spots! Nora gave a little nod of her head along with the satisfying rush of pride.

  Things began well enough, with the usual rush of adults at the counter ordering sodas. “And who’s the birthday girl?” a waitress asked. Someone pointed to Tansy as she ran away, skipping off into the crowd with her little friends. Chuck E. Cheese (some poor employee in a fuzzy bear costume) jumped around the table singing The Birthday Song. The pizza order, which had been quadrupled at the request of the adult males, disappeared almost as fast as they set the pans out. The food gone, the children scattered in every direction.

  The last time Nora saw Tansy, she was following the Simmses toward the prize counter. Between the two of them, Lavinia and Claude had accumulated enough tickets to trade in for some of the kitschy prizes displayed in the glass case. “I’ve got enough for one of those glow-in-the-dark neon bracelets,” Lavinia had said after she’d finished counting.

  “Do you have fifteen?” Claude had asked her. “I have 125. If we put them together, we’d have 140 tickets. We could afford the Dallas Cowboys alarm clock that shouts ‘Hut One, Hut Two, Hut Three,’ when it’s time to wake up in the morning.”

  “I’d rather die than wake up that way, Claude.”

  “Something else then. If we put our tickets together, we could afford anything on the back row.”

  “I don’t want to compile our tickets, Claude. I want to pick something out for myself.”

  When Tansy wanted to follow them, Nora held her hand a little longer than usual. “You stay right with them. There’s so many people in here. It’s hard for me whenever I lose sight of you.”

  Tansy raced off into the crowd and, when she grabbed Lavinia’s sleeve at the counter and Lavinia started showing Tansy the bracelets she liked, Nora helped herself
at the soda machine and turned back to visit with the adults.

  Chuck E. Cheese himself delivered the birthday cake not ten minutes later. Erin had already climbed into the chair beside her mother. Tansy’s guests converged from every direction. Nora’s chest clenched. Tansy hadn’t returned. Nora chided herself but, even so, she was worried. She stood on tiptoe and spied Lavinia and Claude weaving their way through a line of people at the salad bar. Tansy would be with them; of course she would be.

  But at the same time, Nora caught a glance of someone headed toward the door. Her breath snagged in her throat. From the back, she could see shoulders in a puffy black jacket. She couldn’t see his sleeves, but Nora was almost certain one of them had a VL embroidered on it. Cootie was here. Cootie and Tess had decided they wanted Tansy back.

  But here came Lavinia and Claude smiling. If anyone noticed she had gone pale, no one said anything. “Where’s Tansy?” Nora asked before they got the chance to show off their prizes. “Isn’t she with you?”

  “Oh, goodness.” Lavinia turned and looked behind her. “Where has she wandered off to? She was just here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nora said, pushing herself away from the table. “I’ll be right back.” She took ten paces, searching in every direction, before she began to call Tansy’s name. Everywhere she turned there was a kaleidoscope of people, all of them strangers, children screeching, adults laughing, lights dazzling, video games clanking and ringing.

  “Tansy?!”

  Nobody answered. When Nora spun again, she caught another glimpse of the man headed toward the door. Her heart stopped, then started racing again. From this angle, he looked like he might be carrying something. His dark curly hair stood out like a briar thicket from his head.

  “Tansy?”

  Her chest clenched tight. “Excuse me.” She began to sidle her way through the crowd. “Excuse me. I’m sorry. Excuse me. Excuse me.”

  Somewhere in the back of her head, Nora heard another commotion beginning. Or maybe it was only the others at her table, realizing she was worried about her child. In another world she heard the crying begin. It came from the sky tube in the play area.

  The shoulders Nora had been watching belonged to a man who had elbowed his way out the door. Around her, everyone else had turned to watch the child stuck in the sky tube. Every parent in the place took a collective breath and wondered, Is it mine? A boy darted out one end. “Hey, there’s a little girl up there. She’s stuck.”

  Parents and children milled around the base. “She’s stuck?” said one inexperienced father. “How can she be stuck? The sky tube is made for little kids to climb around in.”

  “Not this one. She isn’t climbing around. She’s sitting at the top screaming.”

  A throng of parents wandered around and tried to see up into the tube. There were peepholes ever so often, but all that was visible was a stream of kids pressing forward, moving along on hands and knees, shoving each other out of the way.

  “Excuse me.” Nora started to run toward the door. “Wait! Stop that man, please!” She nudged two more people sideways. “He just stepped out the door. He has my little girl!” She rushed past the security guard and went hurtling out the glass door, tripped over the threshold and almost fell to her knees. “Stop him!”

  Someone got his attention. A woman who was walking behind him sped up, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed back at her. Nora had a full view of the puffy black jacket. Oh, I’ve got you now!

  But when he swung around to stare at her, she saw he had a wide face, not thin. His nose was broad, not sharp. He had green eyes, not blue. He was carrying a huge stuffed koala bear that must have cost three thousand tickets at the prize counter. It wasn’t Cootie at all.

  Her legs went limp with relief.

  “Do you need something, lady?”

  “No. I-I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  He turned away, perturbed, and started on his way.

  When Nora turned back, Jane Ruckmann had stuck her head out the door and was calling to her. “Nora? We think Tansy’s stuck in the sky tube.”

  “Where?”

  “In there.” Jane pointed inside.

  Although Nora was already breathless, by the time she was halfway there, she had begun to run. During the past five minutes, she had shoved at least a dozen people out of her way. A few more wouldn’t matter now. She bypassed them all and crammed herself halfway into the sky tube even though the sign said you couldn’t do it if you stood over four feet tall.

  “Tansy Aster?!”

  “I—it’s m-me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m up h-here.”

  One of the younger, more petite mothers touched her on the shoulder. “Do you want me to crawl up there? I’m smaller than you are. Maybe I could fit.”

  “Thank you. But I’ll do it.”

  There wasn’t any way to stop the children from climbing in to the tube. Ben was there, too, for moral support, but Nora scarcely even saw him. She kept calling, “Tansy? Tansy, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  “I’m so s-sorry. I’m so sorry, Nana. Are you mad?”

  “No, sweetie. I would never be mad at you. Not in a million zillion years.”

  Isn’t it crazy, Tansy? I thought that man had you. I didn’t even know where you were.

  “There’s s-stairs,” said the teary voice. “I c-can’t see where to put my foot.”

  “You can do it. Just go slow.”

  “Every time I try, somebody pushes me out of the w-way.”

  “Look, here I am. I’m going in the tunnel. I’m this far. Here’s a corner. There! I think I see you. I’m stretching this far. What am I touching?”

  “My feet.”

  “I can’t go any farther.”

  “Please, Nana! Come get me. It’s my b-birthday.”

  “You have to do this by yourself.”

  “N-no.”

  “Honey, if I come in any farther, they’ll have to call a fire truck. They’ll have to cut me out with a saw.”

  “Ple-e-ease!” And Tansy started howling again.

  Nora’s voice didn’t waver. “If you’re scared, you could go back the way that you came.”

  “I don’t remember how to do it.”

  “Yes, you do. You did it without thinking before.”

  “I . . . well,” still sniffing. “Maybe I do know.”

  “Just turn around. If somebody pushes you out of the way, then you push them out of the way, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  It seemed to take forever, but Tansy began crawling in the opposite direction from the other swarming kids, sniffling all the way. Not until Tansy tumbled out into Nora’s arms did she cradle the child against her chest and think what it had felt like, chasing a stranger, thinking someone had run away with her.

  Maybe that man had looked like Cootie; Nora really couldn’t remember anymore.

  It had been so silly, hadn’t it? Tansy had only been caught in the sky tube, for heaven’s sake.

  Nora knew better than to laugh. She didn’t want Tansy to think she was laughing at her. But she did laugh a bit anyway, trying to cover up the question that rolled like a skee-ball through her head: Why should I be afraid, why should I? Why do I keep waiting for the next thing that’s going to be wrong?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Anti-Abortion Sunday at Butlers Bend Baptist Church was marked by the placing of tiny white crosses all along the front walk of the church. Every other Sunday of the year, these crosses were hidden away inside boxes in the storage shed until church members met the day before services to decorate the churchyard.

  Each of these crosses, painted white, sprinkled with glitter that glowed like fairy dust, was meant to act as memory and tribute to children who had died as a result of abortion in Gilford County.

  On the bottom of each cross, Harold Ruckmann had attached tiny metal spikes to keep the yard ornaments upright in t
he ground. Most of Nora’s friends showed up that day to help, starting on the north corner of the building, pushing the tiny stakes into the ground. Dolores Kay Jones, Jane and Harold Ruckmann, Emma and Pete Franklin, and Frieda Storm had volunteered to install them. On Sunday—the next day—during their after-church meal at Leslie’s Chicken Shack, these people would talk about the emotional experience this had been. Those who had forgotten to wear work gloves would compare their blisters; they would describe the sensation of planting the crosses for everyone to see. These volunteers would tell how, as they shoved the spikes into the ground, they could feel the giving way of the earth, the tearing of the grass, the separation of sod and roots. They would tell of particularly hard, rocky spots in the churchyard where they had used a hammer, how piercing the tough dirt crust felt like piercing someone’s skin.

  The first thing Nora had known about Anti-Abortion Sunday was the telephone call that had come on Wednesday, a few days earlier, from Frieda.

  “I have an idea,” she bellowed over the telephone without even saying hello. “I really have a very, very good idea. Thank you, Lord! I have an idea.”

  “Now, Frieda.” Nora had to hold the telephone slightly away from her ear because Frieda was so excited. “You often have ideas. You ought not to treat it like such a miracle.”

  “Yes,” Frieda managed in her elderly voice. “But this is a really goodidea.”

  “What do you need, Frieda?” Because, for the past thirty years, whenever Frieda called about a good idea, it meant that she expected you to volunteer.

  “Nora? Do you think you could convince Tansy to sing on Sunday?”

  “What?”

  “Do you think you could get her to stand at the front of the church and sing? Something simple. Something she already knows.”