Every Breath You Take (28 page)

Time really
was
her enemy now. Her options for filling her time were limited: sleep, watch inane movies with Joey, or pace the room talking to herself in a desperate, tragic attempt to stay sane. She’d recited the fifty states so often, she thought she could probably deliver mail for a living. She grasped at whatever she could: street names, names of books, song titles—anything she could think of to keep her crumbling mind on somewhat solid ground for another day. She’d been given no books, no pieces of paper to doodle on—he wouldn’t even let her have a crayon. No radio. Not even regular TV—just movies. No Internet.

Just long, dark solitude.

Sleep continued to be her only respite. In her dreams, she and Jason were giddily choosing themes for his study that would become the nursery, going to baby showers, and murmuring late-night musings about college funds and future siblings. There were giggly dinners with Brandy and Christine and frenetic text sessions with Dina, who could always make her laugh.

She was so desperate to laugh again.

Were they laughing now? Who had her job now—her office? Had Jason’s family sold his place? Had Christine and Brandy given all of her things away? Kept a few mementos? Did Dina check in with the police to see if there were any leads?

Had everyone given up on her?

She slumped against the toilet and laid her head against the lid, trying once again to conjure up a method of escape. Sometimes they were elaborate fantasies: he would slip in the shower, hitting his head against the toilet, blood oozing out of the crack in his skull, she calmly taking the keys and shooting him the finger as she walked out the door to freedom. Or he would choke on one of his ubiquitous chocolate protein shakes, his lips ballooning into an ugly shade of purple before he keeled facedown on the table—she again taking the keys and shooting him the finger. Other times, she would seriously strategize about escaping; stabbing him with one of the plastic knives or forks, grinding the sharp point into a major artery where there would be no hope of survival; hitting him over the head with one of the heavy wooden dining room chairs (if she could even lift one), somehow managing to break or slide one of the windows open, slipping away before he even noticed she was gone.

The only bright light in the last few months had been Joey’s change in attitude toward her as he celebrated his impending “fatherhood.” Had she known the thought of becoming a father would quell his violent impulses, she would have said something much sooner.

The rapes stopped cold. He told her it wasn’t proper for an expectant mother to engage in relations. She laughed to herself at his use of that word. Relations. Like they’d been negotiating peace treaties every night.

The threats of starvation ceased, as did the slaps, punches, and chains. No more nooses hung above her head, though the hooks remained anchored to the ceiling, a subtle reminder those nylon ropes could make an encore if that’s what Joey wanted. Every day, he brought her a new trinket from her past with breakfast: her baby rattle, a blanket, more pictures of her parents, the remaining pages of her mother’s diary.

He talked every day about what they would name the baby and how they would raise the baby and who the baby would look like.

It would all be so perfect, he would coo at her. All their dreams finally coming true.

Perfect
.

She rubbed her belly and thought about getting up. If he found her in here slumped against the toilet, she’d never hear the end of it. Grunting, Natalie grabbed the counter to pull herself up, falling against it to steady herself before she waddled into the bedroom and eased down into the chair to wait for him. She looked past the engagement ring on the vanity, grateful she’d finally been able to convince him her fingers were too swollen to keep wearing it, and picked up a stack of her baby pictures. She flipped through them as she always did, almost not even seeing that smiling, bouncing little girl anymore.

The door beeped and Joey swept in bearing a smile, a tray of pancakes, eggs, and orange juice, and a tiny brown paper shopping bag.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Man, you look more beautiful every day. You know what they say about the glow of pregnancy? Well, Nat, you got it, girl.”

The hot itch of her hair burned under her arms, but she just offered a tepid smile. “Thank you, Joey.”

He ducked back out the door and pulled in a plastic basket with her laundry. She was happy to see a fresh set of sheets on top. She hoped he would be scrubbing the black rings from the tub and toilet today, too. Housekeeping was decidedly not his forte, as he seemed to remember only when she prodded him that there was a rim of black against the sheets or the bottom of the tub was slippery.

He held out the paper bag. “I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Joey.”

“I know. I wanted to. Come on, come on, look inside.”

She sighed as she took the bag from him and looked down into it.

A baby name book.

“That’s very sweet, Joey. Thank you.”

“You gotta see the best part,” he said, grabbing it from her and flipping through the pages. He tapped one and handed it back to her. “See? I’ve already gone through and circled some. So all you have to do is pick one and that’s what we’ll name the baby.”

She scanned some of the handles: Myra—that was his mother’s name. Hazel? Was that an aunt? No, his grandmother, the one who left him all that money, allowing him to build this house of horrors.
Yeah, thanks, grandma
. Wilma. Who was Wilma?

She flipped through the boy’s names. “You didn’t pick a boy’s name,” she said.

“That’s ’cause there’s only one boy’s name that counts. Joseph. Yeah. I always wanted a junior, and, well, no time like the present.”

“Joseph,” she murmured. “Joseph.”

“Yeah. Joseph Winston Green the fourth. After me, my daddy and his daddy before him. Got a nice ring, don’t you think? Tradition.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Joey. You shouldn’t have.”

He chuckled as he started to criss-cross cut the pancakes and slather them in butter and syrup. “Wasn’t no trouble, Nat. It was my pleasure.”

Natalie wrinkled her nose and looked away to escape the metallic, syrupy fumes. Food had become disgusting to her the past few days, and eating had been even more of a chore than usual. Yet something else she couldn’t mention. “Actually, Joey, I wanted to talk to you about the baby.”

“What about it?”

She fingered the pages of the book. “Well, when it comes time for me to deliver, I’ll need to go to a hospital.”

“Oh, I got all that covered. You don’t need to worry about nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

He continued cutting the pancakes, now a buttery, syrupy mush. “You won’t need no hospital because I’m gonna deliver our baby.”

For the first time in a long time, fear pierced her and ran through her veins like ice water. “You can’t do that,” she said, her voice pitching upward in a sharp point.

He stopped mashing the pancakes together and looked at her. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Natalie rubbed her forehead to calm herself down. “I just mean what if there are complications? The baby could be breech, premature, the umbilical cord could be wrapped around its neck—”

“See, why you gotta focus on the negative, huh? People was having babies at home for centuries, and it was fine.”

“Joey,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”

He softened and picked up her hand. “Aw, Nat. I’m sorry, baby. Don’t cry. Come on. Everything will be fine. Really, I been reading up on it, and we’ll be good. Promise. Now, here,” he said, holding a forkful of decimated pancakes to her lips. “You don’t eat, there won’t be no baby to deliver.”

N
atalie pulled the toothbrush from her mouth, lacy trails of pink swirling across the minty green foam. Her gums were bleeding again. She spit into the sink and watched the crimson froth swirl down the drain. She rinsed her mouth and sighed as she adjusted the contacts she’d finally been given to wear, after months of fading eyesight and no glasses. She blinked a few times and rolled her finger across her eyelid.

And then she felt it.

The pain, swift and merciless, pummeled her side like the blows of a brick. Her knees buckled and she grabbed the countertop to stay upright. Natalie clutched her stomach as she gasped for air. The pain lay dormant, but she was afraid to move, lest she reignite the pangs.

Was this labor? It was too soon . . . wasn’t it?

“Sonja, please be okay, please don’t. . .” Natalie couldn’t utter the word that had been swirling around her brain for months.
Die
.

“That won’t happen,” Natalie said as she started to inch upward. “You’re going to be born and be beautiful and amazing and just like daddy,” she said as she crept toward the bedroom, collapsing in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed.

• • •

Hot. It was just so hot.

Natalie moaned and let her eyes drift open. Joey was hunched over her, his face creased with sweat, fear, and worry.

“Joey, you have to take me to a hospital,” she murmured, feeling a breeze across the beads of sweat on her lip. “I told you . . . I told you something could go wrong. . .”

“Nat, baby, I’ve been so worried,” he said, fanning her with a damp cloth before pressing it to her forehead. “You been passed out for a while. How you feelin’?”

“What happened?”

“I think you went into false labor. That must be it, ’cause it ain’t time for that baby to come out. Not done cooking yet, not by a long shot.”

Natalie tried to calculate in her head how far along she was. She’d been about six weeks along when this nightmare began. It could be she was right on schedule.

“I came in here and you were passed out on the floor. I think you got tired or something. Anyway, you’re fine now.”

“I need a doctor, Joey.”

“Now, you just lay here and rest, and I’ll make you some soup. Soup makes everything better.” He kissed her hand and smiled. “I’ll be back.”

She grabbed his hand. “Please, Joey, I don’t want to have my baby like this.”

He didn’t respond, of course.

Just left her to worry.

She was running, sweat sliding away from her body like slicks of water.

Where was she?

The wail pierced the air, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was her baby. Even though she couldn’t see her, she’d know her child’s cry anywhere.

“Sonja, Mommy’s coming, baby, just hang on.” She looked up again, searching the clouds. She was here, she was here. Where was she?

There. Teetering on the edge of the building in a white bassinet. She cried out again. Yearning for her mother’s arms.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.” Natalie started to scale the side of the building, annoyed; something was impeding her. She looked down, surprised to see she was still pregnant. How could that be? Her baby was up there.

Sonja cried out again, and Natalie’s head flipped up. She couldn’t worry about why things didn’t make sense. She gripped the concrete ledge and hoisted herself up, ignoring the scratches against her stomach, keeping her eyes trained on the baby.

“Just a little longer, baby. Mama’s here. I’m almost there.”

The baby’s cries stopped.

“Sonja? Cry for me, baby. Let mama know you’re okay.”

Joey. Leaning over the edge, cradling her cooing, gurgling baby. He smiled as he watched her continue her long, slow climb. Natalie was crying now, her bloody, busted fingers grasping at the ragged concrete. She swung her arm onto the ledge and reached out her hand to Joey.

“Give me the baby,” she panted.

He laughed and kicked her forehead, sending her tumbling backward.

She was too stunned to scream, too scared to cry. Only thinking about the baby.

There. Sailing through the air. A pink bundle, flying away from her, screaming for both of them. Natalie clawed at the air, took handfuls of clouds in her bloody palms, and threw them behind her, trying to close the gap between her and the baby before they both slammed into the concrete.

“Y
ou remember when we watched this in the ninth grade?”

Natalie looked over at Joey, annoyed and distracted but not wanting him to see it. She’d peed four times since the movie started. Indigestion was pushing against her chest and her head was screaming.

And the dream was still drifting over her.

He surprised her by putting in
West Side Story
for the day’s movie, puzzling her yet again with his surprising sentimentality. They were halfway through Joey’s movie collection, and she dreaded what would happen when they were through. Would they have to start over from
Smokey and the Bandit
? Would he buy more movies?

Would she still be here?

She pursed her lips and forced a smile. “What?”

“Remember when Miss Perkins, our English teacher, made us watch this in school? Huh? Because we were learning
Romeo and Juliet
, and she said it was just like
Romeo and Juliet
?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, I do remember that.”

“That was the only way I finally understood it. That play, I mean.”

“The tragedy of young love,” she murmured as she watched Natalie Wood and Richard Beymer marry themselves in the dress shop.

“That’s real romantic, huh?” he said, pointing at the TV. “Marrying themselves like that and everything.”

“Right.”

“. . . after the baby’s born.”

“What?”

“I said that’s what we’ll do. After the baby’s born. Get married.”

She stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around the words he’d just spoken. Something about getting married. “Did you say we’ll get married after the baby’s born?”

He was looking back at the TV, engrossed once more in the movie. “Yeah. One big, happy family.”

Natalie looked at him, back to the movie, and at him again and opened her mouth.