A Spark of Light(102)

He was saved from skating further down this morbid path of thought by the buzzing of his cellphone. Bex’s face popped onto the screen, and he smiled, shaking his head. “Happy birthday to you,” she sang, as soon as he answered. “Happy birthday to you!”

He let her finish her off-key rendition. “I think I know who Wren gets her dubious singing ability from,” he said.

“Because it’s your birthday,” his sister said, “I’m going to let that slide.”

Hugh had three siblings, but he was the accident, born ten years after his youngest brother. He was closest to Bex, even though she was the oldest. “How come you’re the only one of my brothers and sisters that remembers my birthday without fail?”

“Because I’m the best one,” Bex said.

“And the most humble,” he added. He scratched his neck. “Tell me, does it go away?”

“What?”

“This feeling that it’s the beginning of the end.”

She laughed. “Hugh, I’d give anything to be forty again. You must think I have one foot in the grave.”

She was fourteen years his senior, but he never thought of her that way. “You’re not old.”

“Then neither are you,” she said. “What are you doing to mark this festive occasion?”

“Protecting and serving.”

“Well, that’s depressing. You should be doing something extraordinary. Like taking a salsa lesson. Or going skydiving.”

“Yeah,” Hugh said. “I don’t think so.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Tied to a paycheck,” Hugh said. “Today’s just like any other day.”

“Maybe you’ll be wrong,” Bex replied. “Maybe today will be unforgettable.”

He carried his empty plate to the sink, ran water over it, like he did every morning. He grabbed his badge and his car keys. “Maybe,” Hugh said.

—


EVERY MORNING JANINE WOKE UP and said a prayer for the child she didn’t have. She knew that there were plenty of people who wouldn’t understand, or who would call her a hypocrite. Maybe she was. But to her, that just meant she had something to make up for, and this was how she was going to do it.

She padded into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. There were anti-lifers who would rather cut off their arms than change their opinions. But she could try to make people like that understand how she felt:

Start with the sentence The unborn baby is a person. Replace the words unborn baby with the words immigrant. African American. Trans woman. Jew. Muslim.

That visceral yes that swelled through them when they said that sentence out loud? That was exactly how Janine felt about being pro-life. There were so many organizations set up to combat racism, sexism, homelessness, mental illness, homophobia. Why shouldn’t there be one to fight for the tiniest humans, who were the most in need of protection?

Janine knew she would never be able to convince everyone to believe what she did. But if she changed the mind of even one pregnant woman—well, wasn’t that a start?

She reached for the wig that she had propped over the neck of a shampoo bottle last night. Inclining her head, she slipped it on, fitting it tightly against her scalp. Then she looked in the mirror.

Janine grinned. She didn’t look half bad as a blonde.

—


OLIVE LAY ON HER SIDE, watching Peg sleep. There was so much she did for her wife that Peg did not acknowledge. The first cup of coffee that was always too bitter? Olive took it. The floor was a mess? Olive vacuumed while Peg went for her morning run. The sheets on the bed that were fresh every Sunday? Didn’t change themselves. Olive had done these things because she loved Peg. But now, she could see into the future. A year from now, Peg would spit out her coffee, wade through tufts of dust bunnies, sleep in sheets that were never washed.

Maybe they would smell faintly of Olive.

The truth was, for years now, Olive had been unable to imagine a world without Peg in it. Peg was about to have to imagine a world without her.

Peg’s eyes opened. She saw Olive staring and snuggled closer into her arms. “What are you thinking about?” she murmured.

Olive felt her throat tightening in the grip of the secret she held, and it felt wrong, unnatural. “I’m thinking,” she said finally, honestly, “about how much I’ll miss you.”

Peg smiled, closing her eyes. “And where exactly are you going?”

Olive opened her mouth and then hesitated. She might have to count time, but she didn’t need to start the clock yet. She pulled Peg into her arms. “Absolutely nowhere,” she said.

—


JOY DID NOT REMEMBER HER dreams, as a rule. This came, she was certain, from sleeping with one eye open at foster homes, to make sure that another kid wasn’t stealing something that belonged to her—a book, a candy bar, her body. Yet months ago, the night before Joy had taken a pregnancy test, she’d imagined that she had baby, wrapped in a blue blanket.

She’d had the same dream last night.

Her alarm had awakened her—another anomaly; normally she woke up at least five minutes before it went off. But she couldn’t be late today. So she had showered quickly, only to realize that her razor was broken. She did not eat—she’d been told not to—and since she was not supposed to drive herself home, she called for an Uber.