Christopher Ransom - The Birthing House

I realized, reading some book or another at three in the morning on my mother's threadbare sofa, that if Holly really wanted to see me, she would have found a way to write or call. She had done neither. I knew that whatever she had gone through to get to the point where she didn't want to see me or talk to me had also killed her. Everything between us had been real. But whatever forces her father had marshaled, whatever people or doctors or hospitals he brought in to dissolve her wishes and render her speechless, whatever world she lived in now, well, they were stronger.

I was just a kid. I tried to be a man, but in the end I was just a kid.

You think of them living somewhere with some other guy. Maybe he is an executive, or owns his own company. You see them standing on a porch, holding hands. Your love is now a woman and your unborn child is now a son. He's ten. He rides a skateboard. He needs a haircut. You think you will be upset by this, but you are wrong. Seeing this would make you happy, because then you would know.

I never knew where she went, or if she kept my child. That is the sucking black hole of it. I never knew. I let go, but you never let go.

I moved, worked, tried college a few times, and then my mother died. I never saw my father, but someone told me later that he had been there, at her funeral. He went back to his life and the last time I saw him he was burned and dying of a stroke in Chicago.

He was a coward. He failed. He ran away. I never ran away. I won't ever run away. Because if the world can take my child and my family, is it not possible that same world can deliver me another?

This is why I chose this house. This is why I am here. Now I have found you, Nadia. I have been dying since that night. But I'm here to take care of you.

This is a beginning.

I understand why you are crying, but you should stop that now, Nadia. And trying to pull away. Now that you know my story, you must understand why I will never, never let you leave.

33

He waited in the silent room for her response, a judgment. Now that it had been told, a stab of regret went through him. What had he done? What must she think of him now? Telling her had been like going back there with Holly, a little bit. Okay, a lot. He could not really be sure what he had said and what he had seen only in his head. When another minute of silence passed, he suspected she had fallen asleep. Then a violent, full-body twitch seemed to confirm this, but no. She was awake. Whatever she'd heard, she'd heard enough.

'Conrad, I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

'For you.' Her voice had changed yet again. Or maybe he had been hearing Holly's high voice and forgotten Nadia's flatter tone. 'But I don't think we should do this. I want . . . I need to talk to my mom.' She hitched a few times. He could hear the tears running down her cheeks, patting the pillow.

He coughed. 'Aren't we a little past parents now?'

'We can talk to them. They're going to find out, anyway.' She paused, and he let his silence tell her what he thought about that idea. 'I'm hurt. Maybe when things calm down--'

'The baby is home, where he should be. And as long as we take care of the baby we'll be safe.'

'But--'

'We need to make amends and do it right this time, Nadia. There is no other way.'

He counted seventeen heartbeats before she said, 'What did you find downstairs?'

'We're being tested. But we're going to be good now.'

'Tell me. I know you saw something. It's making you confused. '

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. 'We're healing. This is a new life between us. This life. And this life between us.' He rested his other hand at the top of her belly to see that she understood. She stared at him, eyes glassy. 'I just want to be a good father. Will you let me?'

She rolled over on her side, her back to him.

He slid under the blanket and pressed against her. His left arm fell over her hip, his fingers spread in a fan, the palm resting on her soft belly above the wound. She tensed.

'I'll take care of you,' he said.

Her breathing slowed.

'You can choose,' he whispered in her ear. 'Who is the father of your child.'

She did not answer and he had to fight the sleep pulling him down.

'Tell me.'

'You.'

Later, early in the morning, Conrad dreamed of three gray women cloaked in black. They bowed their heads when they entered the room, following orders from another, darker presence that lorded over the proceedings. In the dream he felt the bed shift as the zeks carried her away to a place he was not allowed. He tried to scream but his muscles were frozen by her cool shape enveloping and pressing him to the bed until it was safe to let go.

When he woke just past noon the room was bright and Nadia was gone.

34

'When was the last time you spoke to her?' Gail Grum was placing souvenir bottles of barbecue sauce on the table in a neat little row, already sensing the need to restore order.

He made a face of recollection, and his face was convincing, because he did not know. Conrad had spent yesterday - the long day that followed the morning Nadia had vanished - catching up on chores, cleaning the gutters he had neglected for the past ten days. He had called Jo half a dozen times, but still she was not answering. He thought of calling the police, but that would open a line of questions he was not prepared to answer. Having Nadia or Jo by his side would give him someone to lean on when the questions came down - inviting more on his own was unthinkable. He waited for the phone to ring all night, and he could not remember sleeping. He had been frantically washing dishes and sweeping the floor when he realized the sun was rising. He had seen their car arrive just after noon, and went to greet them with the news.

Now, sitting in the kitchen with Gail while Big John unpacked the car, Conrad was not as nervous as he had imagined he would be. He was concerned, even frightened. But he had no answers, and acted as such.

'Last time I spoke with her? Hard to say, Gail. I think . . . today's Wednesday?'

'It's Friday, Conrad. Are you all right? You look like hell.'

Did she suspect him of something? Or was this just part of the deal when you've come home to find your daughter missing?

'Oh, I guess I'm not, Gail. I meant to call, but I didn't want to worry you.' Gail tensed. 'It's Jo. She's left the training grounds. They don't know where she is. A man mentioned health issues.'

'Jesus!' Gail put one shaky hand to her cheek. 'She's missing?'

'She could be home any day now. Or not. We, uhm, we've been fighting.'

'Have you called someone? Friends? Family?'

'I appreciate your concern, Gail. But let me worry about that. I don't want to burden you two on top of this other thing.'

'Other thing?'

'Nadia. I didn't really think she's missing, you know. I mean, she was still talking to Eddie. I heard her on the phone a few times. She didn't share her plans with me.'

'Nadia doesn't make plans. That's the whole problem.'

'She's a smart kid, though. Tough. We had some nice conversations. '

Gail frowned. 'Conrad. I'm sorry. I'm still a little lagged from the trip. But is there something you're not telling me?'

'What do you mean?'

'Did she go to a friend's and ask you not to tell us? I understand - I encouraged her to talk to you, in fact. But it's not like her not to call or leave a note, even when we're fighting.'

'As I said, I was a bit wrapped up in my own problems. But that's not the whole truth, Gail. Nadia told me she was planning on running away. She asked me to drive her to the airport.'

'Running - the airport!' Gail had forgotten about the barbecue sauce.

'I know, hold on. I talked her out of it at the time. But she said she wanted to go to Seattle.'