The Mothers(31)

“Heard you got in a wreck,” he said.

“Months ago,” she said.

“You okay?”

She hated his fake concern. She pushed herself to her feet.

“I don’t have the money,” she said.

“What?”

“The offering. My dad has it. But I’ll pay you back.”

“Nadia—”

“Six hundred, right? I’d hate for you to feel like you ever did me any favors.”

“I’m sorry.” Luke glanced over his shoulder, then leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I couldn’t go to that clinic. If someone had seen me—”

“So you didn’t give a shit if someone saw me?”

“It’s different. You’re not the pastor’s kid.”

“I needed you,” she said. “And you left me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer. “I didn’t want to.”

“Well, you did—”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t want to kill our baby.”

She would later imagine their baby growing up. Baby takes his first steps. Baby throws his bottle across the room. Baby learns to jump. Always Baby, although sometimes she wondered what she would’ve named him. Luke, after his father, or Robert, after her own. She even thought of more distant family names, like her mother’s father, Israel, but she couldn’t imagine a baby bearing the heaviness of that name, its biblical sternness. So Baby he remained, even though in her mind, he grew into a boy, a teenager, a man. After Luke had said, for the first time, “our baby”—not the baby, not it—she couldn’t help wondering who Baby would’ve become.

That night, the Flying Bridge was mostly empty, except for fishermen sharing a round at the bar, their thick backs hunched in flannel. She pushed through the front door, toward the booth in the back where Aubrey was waiting. Sometimes she thought about telling Aubrey everything, about Luke, about the abortion. She imagined the two of them in a dark room, how she would take a shaky breath and confess, how Aubrey would tell her that she had been forgiven. Sometimes she wondered if this was what had drawn her to Aubrey. If some small part of her thought that by gathering near to Aubrey—with her purity ring and her good heart—she would somehow be absolved. She would close her eyes and feel Aubrey’s hand on her forehead, all of her sins lifting out of her body.

“What’s wrong?” Aubrey said, as soon as Nadia sat.

Maybe Nadia could tell her how she hadn’t been ready to be a mother, to forfeit her future, how she couldn’t imagine how she could live any longer trapped in a house that only reminded her of her mother. How she’d thought she and Luke had both agreed it would be for the best, but how she hadn’t really cared because she was granted the right to be selfish this one time, wasn’t she? She would be the one sharing her body with a whole new person, so she should get to decide, right? But then Luke’s face today when he’d told her that he’d wanted the baby—not the baby, our baby—which had gutted her, since she’d never imagined that he might. What young man did? He was supposed to be relieved that he’d been freed of his responsibilities, that she had handled the difficult part and resolved their problem. But maybe Luke was horrified by what she’d done. Maybe he’d left her at the clinic because he couldn’t even stand to look at her after.

She could tell Aubrey all of this, and Aubrey would understand. Or she wouldn’t. Her face would fall the way Luke’s had—in horror, in disgust—and she would back away from the booth, unable to conceive of how anyone could kill a poor, defenseless baby. Or she would say she understood, but her smiles would tighten, never quite reaching her eyes, and she would call less and less until they stopped talking altogether. She would disappear, like everyone eventually did.

Nadia pushed away from the booth, suddenly feeling trapped. She wandered to the pool table, tracing her hand along the green felt. Her father had taught her how to shoot pool when she was young. He’d brought her to his commanding officer’s house for a Christmas party, and while his friends drank spiked eggnog, he’d spent the evening in the back with her, teaching her how to shoot pool. After, they’d driven home slowly, circling through neighborhoods to look at the Christmas lights. Despite her pleading, her father never bothered to put up Christmas lights at their house, but he still drove her around to show her the beautiful designs other people had created.

“Do you play?” Aubrey asked. When Nadia shook her head, she said, “Wanna learn?”

“You play pool?”

“Kasey taught me.” She grabbed a cue stick, handing Nadia the other one. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”

She patiently guided her through the basics, then stood behind her to correct her stance. Aubrey’s hair tickled the back of her neck as she guided her hand back for her first stroke. Nadia wanted to feel the soft, constant pressure of another person’s touch. She wanted Aubrey to hold her, even if it was a fake embrace.

“Can you show me again?” she said.





SIX


We left the world.

Each in her own time and way. Betty left when her husband died. On a business trip, he fell asleep one night and never woke up. Didn’t seem right to her for anyone to die in a Motel 6, alone until a maid pushed in carts of clean towels. She thought of that moment often, how the maid must’ve shrieked, backing into the metal cart until it tipped, laundry flapping into the air; Betty imagined herself wrapping her husband in one of those fluffy white towels and holding him in her lap. But he had already left the world, so she left with him. Flora left the world when her children fought over who would care for her. She had wet herself again, and listened to them argue while she sat in her own mess. Agnes left the world long ago, when she’d gone to the store with her children and the white man behind the counter said, let’s see how much money you got there, gal. He made her empty her pocketbook on the counter, her few coins spiraling out, while he laughed and her children watched.