The Sisters

by Rosalind Noonan

  “Sit with me!” Laura was wrapping up the paper from a burger she’d just finished eating. “No one else is here yet.”

  “Thank you. And would you mind picking up our food? This one needs attention.”

  “No problem.” Laura took the receipt from her and leaned down to peer at Ruby. “Hi, Ruby. How are you?”

  Suddenly shy, Ruby pressed her face to the back of the stroller, as if that would make her invisible.

  “It’s polite to say hello to Mommy’s friend,” Glory said, her voice a bit louder to be heard over the baby’s crying.

  “Hello,” Ruby muttered into the fabric of the stroller.

  “She’s so cute. I’ll be right back.” While Laura went to fetch their food, Glory draped a light blanket over one shoulder and started Aurora feeding. By the time Laura returned with two plates of food, Glory felt calm, almost sleepy, lulled by the baby nursing at her breast.

  The kids’ meals caught Ruby’s attention. “Mommy, is that applesauce for me?”

  “Yes, it is if you eat some of the other food.”

  Ruby took a seat beside Glory. “I like applesauce.”

  “I know, love bug. Thank you so much, Laura. This one was so hungry. Say thank you to Laura.”

  “Thank you,” Ruby chimed.

  “No worries,” Laura said, lifting a plastic spoon. “Do you want me to feed her?”

  Ruby scowled at the little bird of a woman. “I can do it.” She spoke slowly, as if Laura would have trouble comprehending.

  “Mind your manners, Ruby,” Glory said, turning to Laura.

  “If you just open the applesauce, she can do the rest. She’s pretty independent.” Winston had worked with Ruby every day to teach her little things. He’d gotten down on his belly to encourage her to crawl and patiently worked with her until she could pick up Cheerios. He’d coached her constantly, building her vocabulary and a spirit of independence.

  With Aurora nursing, Glory decided to wait to eat her meal. “Thank you for helping us,” she said. “You’re a godsend.”

  “No worries. I find children fascinating. Maybe ’cause I can’t have them.”

  Please, take mine, Glory wanted to say, though she suspected the joke would be lost on the ever-so-serious Laura Lemon. And it was a joke. Glory loved her girls—Ruby with her hungry, inquisitive mind, and Aurora, with her cherubic smile, her baby Buddha belly—but these past few days they’d been pulling at the roots of her frazzled nerves. Aurora had her crying time—at least an hour a day at dinnertime—and Ruby had a tendency to venture off and whine and ask a million questions. But Glory couldn’t imagine life without her little family.

  And they said we’d never make it, Glory thought as she watched Ruby capture a spoonful of rice and beans and carefully lift it to her mouth. When Glory had left home to marry Winston on her eighteenth birthday, she’d been pregnant with Ruby and counting the days until she could escape her mother’s control. Winston had more freedom at home, but Glory didn’t meet with his family’s approval. His mother, Bernice, had died when Winston was in high school, and the aunt who took over caring for Winston and his brother believed that Glory was trying to cash in on Winston’s football skills. His father, Tom, a long-haul trucker whom Winston rarely saw, worried about his son having to support a wife and child without a job. Most of their high school friends had abandoned them, too, though some of that was to be expected after Glory and Winston left their hometown for Portland. The guys had thought Winston was a fool to tie himself down at a young age, while the girls were horrified at the prospect of giving up their shapes and their social lives to have a kid. “You guys will never last,” Glory’s friend Elizabeth had told her.

  Ha! Proved you wrong! Glory thought as she looked past her girls and focused on Laura Lemon, one of her new friends, who was talking with Ruby. Although Glory didn’t know Laura well, she knew the young woman could be trusted. Laura was part of a group that frequented the mall, congregating at the food court with the enthusiasm and spark of long-lost family members. The sisters, as they called themselves, usually stopped in to eat a late lunch after they finished their jobs at a nearby hotel. They filled the food court with smiles and goodwill before heading home to a house they shared within walking distance of the mall.

  Back when she was still pregnant with Aurora, Glory had silently observed as the young women swept through the food court, cleaning off tables and delighting over a new flavor of frozen yogurt. At first she’d been skeptical. How could they be so cheerful all the time?

  Months later, she still hadn’t figured the sisters out, but she had gained a few insights on their pasts. These women were licking their wounds, recovering from bad situations, and the owner of the house, a man named Leo Petrov, provided a place for them to heal. Although the women rarely talked about themselves, they shared sad details about their sisters. Rachel was a professional cellist who had sought sanctuary after a breakdown left her with a terrible case of stage fright, and Georgina had escaped a violent marriage. There was Natalie Petrov, Leo’s beautiful sister, who was confined to a wheelchair, and Laura Lemon, daughter of millionaire parents who had tried to confine her to a mental institution. Julia had been tortured by her own mother in a small town in eastern Oregon, and Annabelle now felt loved for the first time in her life after years spent in foster homes.

  Lost souls who had found happiness—that was who the sisters really were. Despite Winston’s cautions, Glory welcomed their help and enjoyed the company of women her age who weren’t supermoms looking down their noses at Glory for everything from marrying a black man to buying the cheaper inorganic produce. Let the stroller brigade down at the park criticize Glory all they wanted. These days one of the few things that recharged Glory’s battery was her trips to the mall, a chance to be a part of the energy that swept around the sisters like a fizzing, glimmering aura.

  “Your daughter is so cute.” Laura’s pale eyes soaked up Ruby’s gestures like a scientist observing a creature who had just landed in the mall from another planet.

  Ruby frowned up at the woman and continued counting out corn chips from her plate, counting only the unbroken triangles and popping the crumbs in her mouth. “Mommy? Can I save these for Daddy?”

  “I’d rather you eat them now.”

  “That’s sweet,” Laura crooned. “Is your daddy at work?”

  Ruby nodded. “He’ll be home soon.”

  “He’s been gone for months.” Glory blinked, embarrassed by the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. She was so hormonal lately, and though she was getting tired of telling her story, sometimes it helped remind her that she had a good man who loved her. “He’s never even met Aurora. She’s named after the aurora borealis. You know those lights up north, in Alaska? Her daddy says they’re amazing. That’s where he’s working, on the pipeline in Alaska. He adored Ruby when she was a baby, but he’s never met this one. Aurora was born after he headed north.”

  “And it’s hard for you,” Laura said slowly, as if trying to piece things together, “but it sounds like a great story that will end happily. Like a romance novel. You’re so lucky. I’m lucky, too, having Leo and the sisters.”

  “Your group seems to be very happy. How did you come to join them, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Uncomfortable now, Laura began gathering wrappers onto the tray. “Leo saved me.”

  “And what did he save you from?”

  “My parents. They wanted to lock me up forever.” Laura arose and lifted the tray. “But let’s not talk about the bad things. Only the good. Your husband will be home soon, I’m sure. A happy reunion.” She carried the tray to the bussing area and dumped the trash into the bin. “And there they are!” She waved toward the food court entrance. “My sisters.”

  They moved as a casual group, only a handful of women today. Glory recognized Rachel, Annabelle, and Kimani, followed by Natalie, being pushed in her wheelchair by her brother, Leo. Glory gave a casual wave, then lowered Aurora to her lap to quick
ly refasten her bra and button her dress. It was one thing to breastfeed in front of the sisters, quite another to feel exposed in front of the gorgeous, ageless Leo Petrov. With honey blond hair, eyes as blue as the sky, and a well-toned, solid body, he possessed a mix of charm and good looks that made Glory feel a bit nervous around him. Not that he was her type, and even if he were, she was a married woman who was very much in love with her husband. Winston was the light of her life, her soul mate. But Leo Petrov was a sort of celebrity, a bright sun, and when he was near, everyone seemed to draw closer, warmed by his glow.

  “Hey there, Glory,” he said, coming to the head of their table as someone else wheeled his sister over to the kebob shop. “Did you get food? How about you, Laura?”

  “I already ate, and Glory has a quesadilla here,” Laura answered.

  “Excellent. No one will go hungry on my watch.” His eyes gleamed as he smiled.

  It was a small gesture of kindness, but Glory was touched that someone in the world cared if she ate today. “Thanks for asking.”

  “It’s what I do. I like taking care of my sisters. I could take care of you.”

  “You’re so sweet.” She pulled her plate closer and bit off a corner of the quesadilla. Sometimes breastfeeding made her voraciously hungry.

  “It’s my calling,” he went on, “taking care of women who need help. It started with my sister when she had the accident that put her in that wheelchair. I learned that I could offer a safe home. Protection. I could protect you, Glory.”

  “It’s tempting sometimes,” she said lightly, “but I have a husband and these two.” She nodded toward Ruby, who held Laura’s hand as they waited in line for frozen yogurt.

  “Beautiful children.” He looked away, as if something else in the food court had caught his attention. “I love kids, but we’re not set up to handle them. Just the sisters. It’s sort of a primal thing. Man protecting woman. It works.”

  The way his eyes sparked when he smiled made something flutter inside her. Okay, maybe she did have a little crush on him, and she was drawn in by the fantasy of nearly a dozen women living as sisters, working together to love and support one another. Glory knew that the reality wouldn’t quite live up to her ideal of young women having an extended sleepover in a sorority house setting—something she’d missed out on by having a baby while her friends were attending college. Glory knew the sisters would have their issues and annoyances, but they would always have one another, someone else to share the burden of paying the bills, cleaning the house, and locking the door at night.

  Someone to talk to. Sometimes that was all a person needed.

  CHAPTER 7

  After the football game, Tamarind assisted Pete in conducting an awards ceremony of sorts—a McCullum family tradition that everyone enjoyed. Taking a seat, she tried to ignore the slight pain in her belly. Probably too many baked beans. She should have stuck with the veggies and the burgers that Doc had been tending on the grill. Tamping down the discomfort, she looked up at her gorgeous husband and tried to focus on what he was saying.

  “For the most botched receptions of the game,” Pete said from his spot at the head of one of the picnic tables, “the Oven Mitt Award goes to my brother James.” He extended a hand to Tamarind, and she handed him the hideous pair of quilted oven mitts made from brown fabric with autumn leaves in the design. “James, we know you’re an OB, but we’re all wondering how you manage to catch so many babies when you drop everything on the field.”

  Chuckles skittered through the crowd as Pete’s older brother, James, came to the front and stood beside his younger brother to accept his award. Both men had soulful brown eyes and smiles that lit their faces, though Pete was leaner than his brother, probably from all that running he did.

  “Now, for the most promising player, we have the Silver Cup Award.” On cue, Tamarind handed Pete a paper cup that she had covered with aluminum foil. “This one’s for the man who’s got the most potential in real football, and I’m proud to say that goes to Young Bozie, who you all know is going to be playing for the Huskies next season.”

  A cheer went through the crowd as Bozie, a broad, solid young man with tree-trunk thighs, jogged up to Pete.

  “To you, my cousin, the Silver Cup.” Pete handed it over with a flourish. “Make sure you always wear one to protect the family jewels.”

  Without a hint of a smile, Bozie held the cup up and waited until the applause died down. “I want to say thanks to Cousin Pete and everyone else for organizing this. Good to see everyone come out. But I’m afraid I can’t accept this award.”

  “What?” Pete feigned offense.

  Shaking his head, Bozie frowned at the cup. “I don’t know about you, brother, but this thing’s way too small for my family jewels.”

  People burst into laughter and applause. Tamarind laughed but found herself bracing against the tug of pain in her abdomen. Kaysandra doubled over and her husband, Ed, slapped the table as he leaned back and roared with laughter.

  As Pete and Bozie razzed each other and the afternoon heat seemed to swell around the group of people, a wave of lightheadedness washed over Tamarind. The sick feeling reminded her of the fertility process, the days and weeks spent giving herself injections that caused nausea and cluster headaches. Funny how a wave of nausea could bring back the past so vividly. With one palm flattened on the picnic table, she used the flat surface as an anchor and coached herself to take calm breaths.

  When the ceremony finally ended, Tamarind wanted Pete to walk with her to the restrooms, but he was surrounded by men who wanted to continue the jokes. She was not the kind of wife to break that up with a dramatic demand.

  Maybe the walk will help, she thought, swinging her legs around the end of the picnic table. She arose slowly, holding on, maintaining equilibrium. Bracing herself against the dizziness, she started walking, following the mulch path dappled with sunlight. They’d gotten a beautiful day, with a broad blue sky, a cool breeze, and the blessed sunshine that made Portland summers magnificent.

  A perfect day, until now.

  Something was wrong.

  By the time she reached the ladies’ restroom she could barely breathe with the tightness in her chest and the rapid thud of her heartbeat. Tears filled her eyes when she saw the deep red blood staining her underpants and shorts.

  Oh, please God, no.

  She used the thin toilet paper to clean up as best she could, all the while going over what she’d read about pregnancy and miscarriage. Sometimes there was blood—spotting—and everything turned out fine.

  That could be me. Maybe our baby is okay.

  But right now nothing felt okay, as the cramping was getting worse.

  Locked in the booth, she waited until a group of girls, probably around nine- or ten-year-olds, judging from their conversation about kickball and ice cream, left the restroom, and then she called the OB clinic and left a message for the doctor on call. Time dragged on as she sat there, trying not to cry. Stress wasn’t good for her or the baby.

  As she waited, she texted Pete, telling him she wasn’t feeling well, sharing her symptoms. She added that it wasn’t an emergency, as she knew that nothing could stop the worst-case scenario.

  Dr. Bergen confirmed that when she finally called back. “There’s nothing we can do to prevent a miscarriage,” she said, “but you should come in this afternoon or tomorrow and we’ll try to get a sense of what’s going on. We can do an ultrasound and check the levels of pregnancy hormone to see if the fetus is still viable.”

  “Okay.” Tamarind’s voice was a croak, her throat thick with emotion. “Can I come in now? I need to know.”

  “The clinic is closed today, but I can make arrangements for the tests to be run at our urgent-care facility.”

  They set up the appointment, and Tamarind ended the call and stared at the screen saver on her cell phone—a photo of Pete and her kneeling beside a wooden bassinette that her grandfather had made so many years ago. It was a family tra
dition to place newborns in the cozy structure. The day she and Pete had taken that photo, they had been so happy. Thrilled. But life had a way of knocking you to the ground when you least expected it.

  A sob slipped out, and she rested her face in one palm. Someone else was in the restroom, and she didn’t want to alarm the owner of the scuffling feet. Keep it in; hold it back. At least for now.

  “Is everything all right in there?” asked the other person.

  “Fine,” she said, trying not to show the strain.

  “Why don’t you come out? You sick in there?”

  “Kind of.”

  The feet came closer, pausing in front of the door. “Is that you, Tamarind?”

  Just her luck. There was nowhere to hide. “Yes.”

  “It’s Kaysandra. Do you need help?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Okay, then. I just can’t ignore someone locked in a bathroom. In my line of work you see people trying to live in restrooms, bathing in the sinks and all that. Drug addicts shooting up and overdosing in coffee shop bathrooms before anyone knows they’re in there. I’ve seen it all; some of it I wish I could unsee.”

  “I’m just sick. Cramps.”

  “It’s that time. I get it.”

  No, you don’t! Tamarind wanted to scream. You don’t have a clue about what’s going on with me and Pete and our baby. She tried to take a calming breath, but the air puffed in on a string of sobs.

  “Girl, you don’t sound right to me.” Kaysandra moved behind the panel, trying to peer through the slit. “You need an ambulance?”

  “No, I just—”

  “Open up. Come on, now. Don’t make me crawl under the door on this pee-stained, smelly floor. Open up, Sistah-girl.”