by Haylen Beck
“This is it?” she asked. “This is the Schaeffer-Holdt Clinic? Where’s the receptionist who always answered the phone?”
“I use a service,” he said. “Please take a seat.”
She sat down on the cheap swivel chair in front of the desk. It wheezed beneath her weight and sank at least two inches. Dr. Sherman took his seat on the other side, a black faux-leather affair that probably came from some discount office-supply warehouse.
“Mrs. Reese, before you say anything more, I have to tell you there can be no question of a refund. The contract is quite clear on this, so if you want to pursue that line, I suggest you talk to my lawyer. I can give you his—”
“I don’t want a refund,” she said.
He tilted his head and studied her. “Then what do you want?”
“I want my baby,” she said.
A nervous smile flickered on his mouth. “The birth mother absconded with the baby, you know that. She broke the agreement. There’s really nothing more I can do.”
“You can tell me where she is.”
“Mrs. Reese, I don’t know where she is. Believe me, I wish I did.”
“I saw a local news report from a Pittsburgh station,” Libby said. “They showed CCTV footage of a man assaulting a nurse. A young woman had given birth there a few hours before, and she disappeared from the emergency room. So did the man. Now, I believe he works for you, and I want you to tell me who he is.”
Dr. Sherman smiled and shook his head. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She looked him hard in the eye. “Maybe I should call the Superior Police Department in Pennsylvania and tell them about your operation here, and that the man in that video works for you. When they come asking, will you know what they’re talking about? Your operation is completely illegal. Do you think maybe the NYPD would take an interest?”
His smile dropped away. “I don’t like threats, Mrs. Reese.”
“Neither do I,” she said. “I’m just telling you how it’s going to play out. Maybe you should take a look on your computer there, see if you have any employees you’ve forgotten about. I can promise you, Dr. Sherman, if you don’t tell me who that man was, I will not be the last person to come up here and ask.”
He exhaled, withered in front of her, and reached for his keyboard.
* * *
—
THE NEXT MORNING, Libby left the hotel on Thirty-Ninth Street to attend her breakfast meeting. The hotel was one of those modern places, cheap for Manhattan, aimed at hipsters with its podlike rooms and its rooftop bar. She had felt old as she entered the lobby, seeing all these young tourists from around the world, the reception staff with their tattoos and piercings. They made her feel vanilla, white-bread, and horribly out of place. She had eaten at an Irish bar around the corner instead of the hotel’s own taco place, just so she could feel less like a Midwest soccer mom who’d gotten separated from her tour group.
As morning people rushed about their morning business, she walked the short distance north to Bloom’s Deli. Passing the windows, she noticed one man watching her. She held his gaze, and he nodded his recognition; she returned the gesture. At the front desk, she told the waitress she was meeting someone, then weaved her way through the tables until she reached him.
“Mr. Kovak?” she asked.
“Mrs. Reese,” he said, standing.
He extended his enormous right hand, and she stared at it for a moment before shaking it. He was an extraordinary specimen: broad at the shoulders, slender at the waist, his body carrying a strength that was visible from the other side of the room. He wore his hair short, which suited his thinning pate, with a beard that looked less like a style choice and more like the result of simply not shaving. A fresh-looking scar marked out an inch-long line above his left eye, mirroring the older scar beneath it. Libby was both frightened and impressed by him, which she supposed was a good thing. He indicated that she sit, and she did so. The waitress offered coffee, which Libby accepted.
He stared at her as if she were a walking wonder.
“You’re so alike,” he said. “I mean, if I didn’t know, I would swear…”
“Swear what?”
He shook his head and said, “Nothing. How are you?”
She had not expected such a question, and for some reason it left her without an answer. Out of my fucking mind, she wanted to say. A danger to myself and others, might also have been a reasonable reply. Instead, she asked, “What do you mean?”
His face remained impassive, softening only a fraction. “I mean, it must have been a very difficult couple of weeks for you. After all the waiting and expectation, all these months, to be let down like this. It must have been tough.”
“You have no idea,” she said.
“I might have some,” he said. “I’ve been a part of this process for the last year, same as you have. Granted, I don’t have the same kind of emotional investment as you, but—”
“That’s right,” she said. “You don’t. So please don’t patronize me, Mr. Kovak. I don’t need your sympathy. I need your help. Given that this mess is largely your responsibility, I think you owe me that.”
He sat back in his chair, his features hardening once more. “Ma’am, I lost a good job over this. What do you think the opportunities are for veterans with piss-poor education and bad knees? If I’m lucky, I get to put on a uniform and walk around a department store smiling at the customers for the rest of my days. You don’t need my sympathy, fair enough, but I don’t need your anger. This wasn’t my doing.”
The waitress appeared with a notepad. “So, we ready to order?”
“Sure,” Mr. Kovak said. “I’ll have the smoked salmon and onion omelet, please.”
“And ma’am?”
“No,” Libby said. “Nothing.”
“You should eat,” Mr. Kovak said.
She ignored him and said, “You say it wasn’t your doing, but you were there. You let it happen.”
He smiled at the waitress. “Maybe some orange juice for me too, and that’ll be all, thank you.”
The waitress gave them each a glance, then said, “That’ll be right out for you.”
Once she’d gone, Mr. Kovak said, “Yeah, I was there. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” He touched the angry pink line above his eye. “That still doesn’t change things.”
Libby leaned forward. “But we can change things. We can fix them.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You can go and get my baby back. Take him from her and bring him to me. To his mother. Where he belongs.”
He stared at her for a time before speaking. “You’re serious?”
“You know I am.”
Mr. Kovak sat forward, lowered his voice. “Mrs. Reese, Libby, you have to listen to me now. That baby is gone. He is with his mother, his real mother—”
“I am his mother,” she said, the words forced hard between her teeth.
“No, you’re not, goddammit, you’re not. This child is lost to you, and you need to accept that and move on. For better or worse, he’s with a mother who loves him enough to go through what she did. For Christ’s sake, just let them be. Let her have him.”
“Never,” Libby said. “Will you help me?”
“No,” Mr. Kovak said. “I won’t.”
Libby reached inside her purse and pulled out the manila envelope. She emptied the contents onto the table, loose bills spilling over the place settings.
“How about now?” she asked.
Mr. Kovak became very still. “How much is it?”
“Five thousand,” she said. “Ten thousand more when you bring my baby to me.”
He began gathering up the bills, his enormous hands moving with a shocking grace.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
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* * *
—
LIBBY LOGGED OUT of the Skype app and returned the cell phone to the dresser in her own bedroom. Her overnight bag lay on the bed, the contents unpacked.
So, her baby was in New Prestwick, Massachusetts. A drivable distance from Albany. She could be there and back in half a day. Back with her son.
Time to pack what she needed, which wasn’t much. Some basics for the baby, that was all. And one other thing, which rested in the safe that was bolted to the floor of the closet.
A very small thing that fit her hand perfectly.
47
ANNA AND MARIE SAT ON the porch of their mother’s house, sharing the swing seat. Marie’s eldest lay curled in her lap, sucking his thumb. L’il B slept in Anna’s arms, having gorged himself into a stupor.
“I swear, I’m like a milk cow,” Anna said. “I mean, it’s constant. It’s exhausting.”
“I sometimes wish I’d done it,” Marie said.
“They seem to have turned out fine anyhow.”
Marie toyed with her little boy’s hair. “Yeah, I guess. That’s the thing with being a mother. You spend your time comparing yourself to everyone else, wondering if you’re doing things right, worrying you’re going to ruin them somehow. Truth is, everyone’s just muddling through and doing their best. You can’t beat yourself up about it. You just do what you can.”
They sat quiet for a while as the evening chill began to bite. L’il B was well wrapped up, but Anna had begun to shiver. But it seemed a perfect moment, and she didn’t want to break it.
“So, what’s next?” Marie asked after a while.
“I don’t know,” Anna said. “I need to register the birth, I guess.”
“You haven’t done that already? Why not?”
“Let’s just say it’s complicated,” Anna said, and Marie seemed to understand she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Where are you going to live?” Marie asked. “You can’t stay out in that trailer park. When the weather gets colder, you’re going to feel it.”
It was the first place Anna had found when she returned to New Prestwick a week ago. The park was half-empty, the trailers falling apart. The single-wide Anna had rented was barely habitable, but the landlord had accepted cash and asked no questions. She would trade comfort for anonymity, at least for the time being.
“I don’t know,” Anna said. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”
“Why don’t you move in here with Mom?”
Anna looked at her sister. “Are you kidding? My God, we’d kill each other within a week.”
“You don’t know that. I mean, yes, our mother is a dragon, but she’s so good with my two, and she always loves having them. You know what she’s like, if she isn’t fussing over someone, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. I think you and the baby being here would be good for her. And you too. Just imagine being able to hand him over and go take a nap.”
Anna laid her head back on the seat. “Oh God, yes, or even a bath.”
“You see?” Marie said. “This shit sells itself, right?”
Anna laughed and pictured it. A good life in a warm home. Food on the table. Help when she needed it. Yes, she and her mother had a knack for bringing out the worst in each other, but perhaps Li’l B would provide the cement between them. She couldn’t deny it: the idea had legs.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “I might need you to soften Mom up for me, though.”
“She doesn’t need any softening up,” Marie said, giving Anna a sideways glance and a playful nudge. “It was her who suggested it.”
Anna smiled. “Ah, sneaky. Well, tell her maybe, and thank you. And really…” She reached across and took Marie’s hand in hers. “Thank you for…”
“For what?”
“For everything. For not judging. For not asking a hundred questions.”
“Oh, I got more than a hundred. But yeah, I’ll keep them to myself. You tell me about it when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” Anna said.
“I maybe ought to get my guys home to bed or else I’m going to have two little monsters on my hands by the morning. Speaking of which, what are you doing tomorrow?”
Anna thought about it for a few moments before a quite wonderful idea appeared in her mind.
“Maybe I’ll take L’il B for a walk in the park, go down by the pond, let him see the ducks.”
Marie’s face brightened. “Maybe I could tag along?”
Anna felt a bright glee that seemed almost like panic. The idea of arranging to see her sister, like a normal family. What a thing, she thought. What a beautiful thing.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” she said.
“And I could take you to lunch after. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” Anna said.
They carefully embraced around their children, said their good-nights, and Anna didn’t feel like too much of a liar.
* * *
—
L’IL B WOKE her at six, and for a moment she imagined she was back in the single-wide in Lafayette, and she was late for the breakfast shift. The nauseous panic dissipated after a few seconds, and she sat herself upright as a hint of dawn crept through the blinds; then she reached into the straw bassinet that lay beside her and lifted L’il B out.
“Oh, such a hungry boy,” she said, her voice morning-hoarse.
She lifted her pajama top, and he latched immediately. As he fed, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to drift. Images rolled through her mind, places and people, strange and familiar. She thought of old friends she’d had at school, wondered how many of them were still around. Not many, she thought. New Prestwick was not the kind of town that held on to its young. It bled them out to the cities far and wide until only the old and aging remained.
Her mother’s offer entered her mind. A place to live, a real place, not this dump. The trailer had been barely adequate in the cooling weather and would be uninhabitable come winter. She could picture the frost on the insides of the windows, and she would not subject her child to that. Besides, although she’d contribute in whatever way she could, it would make more economic sense to live with her mother. She still had a decent amount of money left, but it wouldn’t take long to burn it up.
Anna decided then that she would accept the offer. The security of a real roof over her and her baby’s heads made too much sense. She would tell Marie over lunch.
Once L’il B had eaten enough, she burped him, then laid him on her chest, where he burrowed into the warmest place between her breasts, his face beneath her chin, his feet lying across her stomach. She listened to his breathing, the contented snuffling, and ran her fingertips over his cheek, his nose, his lips, his chin. His face was not visible to her, but she imagined his reactions to the sensation, the widening of his eyes and his mouth.
“You’re a perfect little man, L’il B, did you know that? Just perfect in every way. And we’re going to be so happy together, just you and me, because you’re my Little Butterfly and I will never let you go.”
She allowed her head to fall back, her eyes closing, and decided she would doze a little more, with L’il B nestled between her breasts. You weren’t supposed to do that, she’d read, in case she rolled in her sleep. But it was only for a few minutes, and he felt so cozy there.
Anna floated in a thick and warm haze, chasing fragments of memories, glimpsing dreams. Then, for no reason she could understand, she snapped fully, utterly awake, her heart racing.
She blinked at the dim interior of the trailer, suddenly aware of all its shadows, the grays and blacks, the deep pools of darkness. Her eyes strained to focus on the farthest places that seemed full of unknown things. And with a cold certainty, she knew she was not alone.
“Who’s there?” she said, her voi
ce feeling very small inside her throat.
The shadows shifted, dark becoming light, light becoming dark.
He stepped into the center of the trailer, the breadth and the height of him filling up her vision. Her bladder ached for release.
His voice, when he spoke, shocked her in its quivering.
“Hello, Anna,” Mr. Kovak said.
48
MR. KOVAK HAD BEEN WATCHING her for some time. He had stayed in the shadows and observed as she first awoke and fed the baby. The door to the trailer had not been hard to open, and he’d been able to do it without waking her or the infant. Perhaps he should have grabbed the bassinet from the bed while they slept. He might have been able to take the baby without disturbing Anna. But something had stopped him. The idea of her waking to find the baby gone. He had been surprised to discover that he could not be so cruel.
But still, somehow, it had to be done.
Just this one last sin. Like a drunk who swears this is his last whiskey, like a smoker who promises to quit tomorrow. He had this final terrible thing to do and then he would be gone, find a straight job, try to make a decent life for himself.
And really, it’d be doing the child a favor, wouldn’t it? Look at this place, he thought. The trailer park was a dump, half of the homes derelict and empty, abandoned to rot. The single-wide she’d been living in was in terrible condition. Even in the fall, a deep damp chill permeated everything. How could anyone hope to raise a child in a place like this?
But then he watched as she fed the baby. He saw her wake as the child cried, reach into the bassinet, lift him out, and bring him to her breast. And even from here, even in the dimness of early dawn, he could see how small, how beautiful he was.
He’s so small, he thought, and I’m so big. If I snatch him from her, I’ll crush him, my hands are too big and clumsy. So precious and beautiful and I am so ugly and my hands are so hard. The idea paralyzed him, held him in the shadows, silent and still like he’d been carved from stone.
