Joy (40 page)

As he turned onto Stocker, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. He held his own stare for a few short seconds, then turned away.

“I'm protecting her,” he said to himself, as their conversation played through his mind. He knew his words had been rough, striking all that was close to her heart. The key was Junior. It would kill her if she believed she was the cause of him not having a relationship with his son. That had been a stretch, but from the look in her eyes, it had been effective.

He shook his head and sighed, thinking about how much he'd hurt her. But it was all to prevent a life-long mistake.

He only had to wait for her call. He'd won, he knew that. But it wasn't winner's relief that filled him. Instead, his body was stiff with the pain in her eyes and the sound of those children in the park.

As he turned onto the freeway, he prayed for the relief he expected, but it never came.

Dry sobs heaved from her chest as Anya leaned against the door. Finally, she moved onto the patio where she rolled the steel grill aside, and pulled one of the green floral chaises into the sun. She stretched out and closed her eyes, wanting to clear her mind of the chaos that choked her.

When this day began, there was no way she would have even considered an abortion. And now … how did it happen? She rubbed her arms as the early evening breeze waltzed across the terrace.

Maybe Braxton was right. Obviously, he'd thought this through. He could see things that were hidden from her. Like the impact of her baby on others. She hadn't considered Braxton. And she had never considered his child. Was she being selfish?

Anya laid her hand across her stomach. “You're just a baby,” she whispered.

She could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she forced them back. There was no room for emotion. This had to be a logical decision.

As the sun began to fade, she moved inside. The house was dim in the early evening light, but she didn't touch a lamp.

In her mind, she could see Braxton sitting, waiting for this call. Her legs weakened, and she slumped onto the couch. She'd give herself five minutes and then she'd call him. Her eyelids were closed, shut against tears that were fighting to release themselves, but in the end she lost the battle, and she cried until she drifted to sleep.

Darkness completely enveloped the house and she squinted to see the clock. It was after nine. Anya scurried up the stairs, glad that Sasha hadn't found her in her distressed state.

In her bedroom, she stared at the phone, before she picked it up, pushed the speed-dial, then hung up before it rang. A few minutes passed before she picked up the phone again and willed herself to allow the call to go through. It rang once … barely.

“Anya.” His voice sounded as tight as a stretched rubber band. When she said nothing, he said, “Anya, sweetheart.”

She wanted to hang up. “Make the appointment,” she said softly. “Good night.”

“Anya, honey, wait. Are you all right?”

She looked at her cold reflection in the mirror. “I'm fine.”

“Sweetheart, this is the right thing. Let me come over.”

“No.”

“We're in this together. I want to hold you, and let you know that I love you.”

She was still staring at her reflection—an empty face, devoid of emotion. “I don't want you to come over.” Her voice was flat.

“Is there anything you need?”

I need to keep my baby, was what she wanted to say. “Good night, Braxton.”

“Anya, wait—I have to tell you … I made the appointment.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper.

His words tore at her insides, and she had to hold onto the headboard.

“When I didn't hear from you earlier,” he continued with her silence, “I didn't want to chance missing the weekend appointments. So … I made a tentative appointment for tomorrow at ten. Is that okay with you?”

A pocket of air caught in her throat. She needed more time. “I'll be there.”

She heard him exhale.

“They want us to be there a half-hour early—to sign some papers and …” He coughed. “They want to go over some things.”

“Where?” her voice squeaked.

She didn't write the address down; she would forever remember the place where her baby would die.

“Anya, this is for the best. I'm only doing this because I love you.”

She hung up the phone.

Chapter 49

A
nya pressed her legs together to try to calm the shaking. But then her hands began to quiver. Maybe if she didn't move, maybe if she closed her eyes, then opened them slowly, she would wake up from this hellish dream. She waited a second, closed her eyes, but when she opened them, it was still the same. It was still Saturday, she was still pregnant, and she was still going to go to an abortion clinic.

She heard the garage door open, then a minute later it closed— the sign that Sasha was gone. That's what she had been waiting for. How could she look into Sasha's eyes now, when she had tried to be an example?

Finally, she stood and walked from the bedroom. As she got to the first floor, she heard Sasha moving in the kitchen. She turned to go back, but Sasha called out her name.

“I thought you had left,” Anya said when Sasha met her at the stairs.

“I'm on my way out,” Sasha replied, crunching on half a bagel. “I needed a napkin.” Sasha looked at Anya for a long moment. “What's wrong with you?”

She brushed past Sasha. If she had to answer that question, she couldn't look into Sasha's eyes.

Sasha followed her. “Are you and Braxton still fighting?”

Anya opened the refrigerator. “No, it's over.” She faced Sasha. “I'm going to get an abortion this morning.”

Sasha's mouth opened wide. “Are you okay with this?”

Anya pressed her lips together, holding back the emotion. “I can't talk about it right now,” she quivered. “This is how it has to be.”

“Anya, you can't do this if you're not sure. Don't do it today.”

Anya shook her head. “There are things that you don't understand.” She turned her back to Sasha and stared out the window.

“Have you talked to Madear?”

“No,” Anya said, and turned to Sasha for just a moment. “And don't tell her. I have to handle this my way.”

“Then I'm going with you.” Sasha said, once again talking to Anya's back.

“I don't want you there,” she said harshly. Then, she softened her voice. “Braxton's meeting me. The only reason he's not here now is because I asked him to give me some time. I need to be by myself.”

“But, Anya—”

“Please, go, Sasha. I won't be able to stand it if you're here.”

Without another word, Sasha hugged her cousin from behind, grateful that Anya couldn't see the tears that were building in her eyes. “Make sure this is what you want to do,” Sasha whispered. “This is your baby.” Sasha paused. “This is God's baby.” Sasha blinked in surprise at her own words and she felt Anya flinch under her arms. But she turned, and walked away.

Anya stood at the window, with tears dripping from her eyes. Why did Sasha say that? Thoughts of the Lord had come to her all night, but she had pushed them away. She couldn't think of God, or even talk to Him right now. She was too broken to pray.

She laid her hands on her stomach and tried to calm the tremors that quaked within her. There was so much she wanted her baby to know. She had to explain that it was loved, but the time wasn't right. She couldn't keep it because it would mess up her relationship with Braxton, and it would never have a father, and it shouldn't be raised without one. She couldn't keep her child because it would never be loved the way it should be.

She recited all of Braxton's thoughts in her mind, not believing any of them. This baby would be loved—it was already loved more than she could have ever imagined.

But she knew that sometimes in love you had to do what you didn't want to do. Braxton was right—there were too many questions. How would her child feel knowing it was born from a rape? And, what if Alaister found out about the baby? But the question that cut her most— what would she see in her baby's eyes?

“I love you so much,” she spoke to her hand that was still resting on her stomach. “But you'll be better off … with God.”

She walked to the living room patio and opened the doors. “This is where you would've lived.” She spoke as if the baby could see. Then, she moved through the living room, touching every piece of furniture, as if the baby could feel.

When the clock chimed nine times she stiffened, but then with quick movements, she picked up her purse and jacket. Tears flooded her, as she turned around the room one last time. She was trying to grasp the moment, hold onto it forever.

Then she walked out the door knowing that, no matter what, she would never be able to look back.

After checking in, Braxton took a seat that gave him a view through the tinted windowed doors of the clinic. He'd be able to see Anya even before she walked through the door. He glanced around at the others, mostly young girls waiting their turn.

He rubbed his hands together. Maybe he should wait outside. Then he shook his head slightly. Anya would come. He had planted deep seeds, ones she could never ignore.

He picked up one of the magazines on the table—
Family Life.
Chuckling, he tossed the magazine aside. He glanced at his watch. In just a few hours, this would be over. They would be able to move on. And he would be able to return to his goal—to make Anya the happiest woman alive.

Even with the rain pelting from the sky like machine gun ammunition, it hadn't taken her long to get to the clinic. No matter how slow she drove, every traffic light was green.

Pulling into the parking lot, she eyed the empty space next to Braxton's car, then drove to one in the back, far from the front door.

She turned off the ignition and her eyes moved to the clock. She was five minutes early. Her eyes stayed on the clock, watching the second hand that barely seemed to move. But time was slipping quickly.

She took a breath and stepped from the car. The gravel crunched under her feet as she walked slowly across the puddled lot. But before she got to the front door, she stopped, turning suddenly, and ran back to the car.

“What is wrong with me?” She banged her hands on the steering wheel. She pulled down the visor and stared at her reflection, searching for the person she knew.

“Okay, God!” she cried aloud. “I need you like I've never needed you before. I know I haven't talked to you about this, but I'm coming to you now. You know what I'm feeling, but now please hear me. And talk to me, Lord. Please, in the name of Jesus, help me. I have this life inside of me that I know you put there. Why did you give me this baby?”

She paused, the words sticking in her throat. “I want to know what you want. I need to know and I'm trusting that you will tell me. Speak to my heart, Lord. Please.” She paused, remembering how Jesus had prayed:
I thank thee that thou hast heard me.
So she did the same. “Heavenly Father, I thank you, for hearing me.”

Then she leaned back, and waited. Closed her eyes, and listened. Calmed her breathing, and trusted. And as the rain began to slacken, she heard Him. She heard Him as clear as the silence surrounding her.

She remained still, allowing His message to sink into her heart. By the time she got out of the car, the rain had stopped. She maneuvered once again through the small circles of water covering the gravel, but halfway to the front door, she turned back.

Inside the car, she put her hand over her stomach and rubbed it in small circles. “I don't need to go in. They'll figure out that we're not coming.” She turned on the ignition. “Come on, little one. We're going home.”

She drove off, splashing water along the curb as she sped away from the clinic.

Braxton had only used the key that Anya had given him for emergencies a few times. Today, he used his key.

As soon as Braxton stepped in, he saw her. He held the door open for a few seconds before he let it slowly close behind him. Then he stepped to the couch and sat beside her.

Anya kept her eyes pasted on the mantel in front of her. But she could feel the glare of his stare.

Finally she whispered, “I couldn't do it, Braxton.”

“Anya, you don't have a choice.”

She simply shook her head.

“What about all the things we talked about?” he asked, keeping his voice steady. “You're going to hate this baby.”

“That's not true.”

He began to pace. “You're going to see the rape in the child's eyes.” He crouched down in front of her. Finally, their eyes met. “I can't let you do this.”

“Braxton, I can't explain it, but I love my baby already.”

He cringed. For the first time, he noticed the Bible next to her, but he forced his eyes away. “You don't love this child.”

She shook her head. “You don't understand, this child is a part of me.

“But think about the
other
part, Anya. How can you even think about bringing that man's child into the world?”

Her eyes pleaded for him to understand. “I wish I could find a way to explain, but there's nothing else for me to say.” She paused and took his hands. “I'm going to have this baby.”

“You're talking like this is just about you,” he said, snatching his hand away. “What about the rest of us?”

“That's what makes this so hard, because I am thinking about you and Junior. But I don't see why I have to give up one person I want to love, for another person I love.”

With his hands, he waved her words away. “You keep talking about love, but this is not about that. You can't love this … thing. You're in shock” He sat next to her again. “Anya, just remember that you were raped.”

“Even without your constant reminders, I will always remember that.” He held his face in his hands. “I'm just trying to get you to understand.”

“And I want
you
to understand. This baby is a part of me. Fifty percent of this child is me!”

“Okay …” He stood, his eyes flashing with anger. “Finish the equation, Anya. This baby is fifty percent you and—”

“This baby is fifty percent me and one hundred percent God.”

Braxton sucked in air, then exhaled, letting silence visit them again. Minutes passed before he spoke. “Honey, this is not what God wants you to do.”