The White Horse (13 page)

“No thanks.” Raina smiled. “I like what got.

“Me too.” The woman's family visited and called. Flowers and balloons bloomed around her bed. Raina had a phone; she longed to call the teacher. She's so beautiful, she'd tell her. I wish you could see her. If you did, you wouldn't ask me to give her away.

She'd always thought that hospitals were quiet places. People bustled in and out of the room all day. Volunteers in pink brought her magazines and menus. She chose whatever she wanted to eat. The food arrived on trays.

The nurses showed her how to bathe and feed the baby, and how to blanket her tightly so she wouldn't be afraid. Her milk wasn't in yet, but something else was coming out that was full of good stuff that protected the baby. She couldn't understand why Lyn had bottle-fed Jimmy, even propping the bottle on a blanket on his chest, when it felt so wonderful to hold and nurse your baby.

There was so much to learn. She had never been so happy. She wished she could stay at the hospital forever and teach girls like herself how to be good mothers. It's the most important job in the world, she'd tell them.

She held the baby for hours, just watching her sleep, breathing in the smell of her wispy hair, unwrapping the blanket to feel her skin. So soft. Like marshmallows, she told her roommate, laughing, the tiny fists curled tightly around her fingers.

Sometimes the baby looked right at her, her blue eyes calm and unblinking. I wonder what she's thinking, Raina thought. I wonder what she sees. I'm your mother, darling baby, precious little girl. And I'll never let anyone hurt you.

Things were going to change. Life was going to be different. She and Jenny would get a good place and fix it up. There'd be no junkies around, no people getting drunk. The kids would eat good food and get plenty of rest. They'd brush their teeth. Go to the doctor and dentist. They'd take a bath every day. She'd wash their hair. Their clothes would fit. Clean clothes, no stains. No shoes that pinched.

She wouldn't let them watch TV all the time. She'd take them to the library and read them books. They'd go to the beach and the park and the zoo. Maybe they could get a puppy or a kitten. It's your responsibility to take good care of it, she'd tell them.

There would be birthday cakes. Soft towels in the bathroom. Flowers in the yard and drawings on the fridge. When the kids got sick, she wouldn't act mad; she'd hold them on her lap and give them Popsicles and juice.

And when her mother said she wanted to see the baby, she'd have to promise not to smoke or drink or swear. She'd never go off and leave her baby there. There were always too many nuts around; guys you wouldn't trust with a puppy.

The next day Dr. Green dropped by. His mask had hidden a wonderful smile. He brought her a big bouquet of flowers. Her roommate said, “Will you look at those roses!”

Dr. Ramirez came to examine her, drawing the curtains around the bed.

“How are you feeling, Raina?”

“Kinda sore. But I took a shower. That felt great.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

She smiled. “Not exactly. It seems like she's always hungry.”

“I'm glad to see you're nursing the baby. Your nipples may get sore, but that will pass.”

“That's what the nurses said. They're teaching me stuff. I'm gonna take good care of her. I am.”

“I hope so, Raina. I really do.”

Dr. Ramirez said the baby had tested clean.

She flushed. “I told you I stopped doing that stuff.”

“Everything checks out fine so far, but there might be some problems later.”

“What kind of problems?” Her heart felt squeezed.

“Learning disabilities, hyperactivity. That type of thing. It's hard to say. Maybe not; she looks good. She's a beautiful baby. You've been lucky, Raina. Don't press your luck.”

“I won't.”

“Is there anything you'd like to ask me?”

The doctor sat beside her while they talked. Then she patted Raina's leg and said, “Come see me next week.”

A social worker came to talk to Raina. She asked where she planned to live with the baby, who was cuddled in a snug lump on her chest.

“We'll be staying in a shelter. Just for now. Me and a friend are getting a place next week.”

“How?” the woman asked, trying not to frown.

“I'm on AFDC. We're gonna get an apartment. Or maybe a house. In a nice neighborhood. My friend's gonna work, so we'll have enough money. And I'll watch the kids. It'll work out good.”

“Have you thought about adoption?”

Her arms tightened around the sleeping baby. “No.”

“It might be the best alternative, in your position.”

“I'm not giving away my baby.”

“Have you ever heard of open adoption?”

“No.”

“With an open adoption you could still be part of the baby's life. The parents would send you pictures—”

Raina cut her off. “No,” she said. “I mean the answer is no.”

The woman gave her a list of agencies that could help her, and said she'd arrange for some baby clothes and diapers.

“Thanks.” She wanted the woman to go.

“Think about it, Raina. If you should change your mind—”

“I won't.”

“Here's my card.”

She left it on the table beside Raina's bed.

Her roommate had been pretending to read a magazine. “When's lunch going to get here?” she said. “I'm starving.”

“Me too. I'll take good care of her. I will, I promise.”

The woman smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I know you will, honey,” she said.

Later, while she was nursing the baby, a secretary came to record information. She asked about the baby's father.

“He's dead.”

“What was his name? We need to know for the records. And the baby might qualify for Social Security.”

Raina pictured Sonny's father, his eyes brimming with pain.

“It coulda been a bunch of different people,” she said.

The woman checked a box. “What's the baby's name?”

Raina looked down at the sleeping face; so innocent, so helpless, so full of fragile hope.

“Hope,” she told the woman. “Hope Kathryn.”

She didn't want to leave the next morning but it was time to go. Her roommate's husband had come to take her home. He tied balloons to her wheelchair and helped her sit down, then handed her the baby and an armload of flowers. Raina held her baby and the diaper bag of stuff that the social worker had dropped off that morning.

They rode down to the lobby in the elevator together. A volunteer in pink pushed Raina's chair. The lady was so old, Raina told her she could walk but the lady said no, that was against the rules.

The front doors gasped open. They were out on the sidewalk, the sky as blue as her baby's eyes. Her roommate hugged her and wished her luck, then rode off in a car with her husband and son.

The old lady said, “Aren't your people coming?”

“I guess they're late. Thanks for the ride.”

She stood up, holding her baby and the diaper bag, and walked down the street to the bus stop.

Jenny wasn't at the shelter. People said she'd gone. She took her kids and left, they said; nobody knew where.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It felt funny not having any nurses around. There was no one to help, nowhere to put the baby down. She had to do everything with one arm, while the other held the baby to her chest.

The first night at the shelter, she hardly slept. She walked the baby so she wouldn't cry. Her body was exhausted but her mind felt peaceful. There wasn't time to think about herself anymore; the baby needed her every second.

For a couple of days it rained so hard people got to stay inside the shelter all day. The children played while the women talked or sat on their cots, their faces haunted.

Raina's milk was in but the baby was fussy. One woman said, “It's probably colic.”

“What's that?” she asked. No one knew exactly, but it was something babies got a lot. Raina called the clinic and made an appointment to see Dr. Ramirez the next afternoon.

The baby was up most of the night. Raina held and nursed her, whispering to her as they lay on the bed. She could not stop looking at her baby's face. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

The next morning was cold but the rain had stopped. The shelter guy gave her a token for the bus. A lot of the passengers were sneezing and coughing. She shielded the baby's face with her blanket.

The welfare office was jammed and noisy. Some kids were running around in shorts. When she finally got to the front of the line the guy told her she'd missed her appointment.

“You were supposed to come in the other day,” he said.

“I couldn't help it. I was having the baby,” she explained.

“I'm sorry, but we're overbooked today. You'll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Listen to me.” She spoke quietly. The baby was sleeping against her neck. “We're staying in a shelter. We gotta get out soon. I'm supposed to get money so I can rent a place.”

“I understand that,” he said, “but I can't just write a check. You have to complete the application.”

“I already did.”

The woman in line behind her shuffled and sighed. The guy said her paperwork had been misplaced. She took a seat while he tried to find it. The baby woke up. She was hungry and wet. Raina changed her in the bathroom, spreading her blanket beside the sink. Then she sat in a stall and nursed and rocked her until the baby fell asleep.

The seats in the waiting room were taken. She paced around until the guy called her back and said part of the application was missing. They'd mailed some forms to her mother's address.

“I told you I don't live there anymore,” she said. “We're staying at a shelter.”

He explained that, in order to receive assistance, minors had to live with family members.

“Since when?”

“Monday.”

“You're kidding.”

“Does it look like I'm kidding?” His face was young but it hung in tired folds.

“My mother threw me out. We got nowhere to go.”

“Are there other family members you could stay with?”

“No.”

“Then you'll have to talk to a caseworker. I can get you in tomorrow morning at nine.”

She stood there, stunned. The next woman in line moved up beside her.

“I'm sorry,” the man said. “That's the best I can do.”

She wanted to scream at him, to cuss the whole place out, but that would've woken up the baby.

They couldn't get back in the shelter until seven so they went to the Laundromat but Bert was drunk and when he saw the baby he got all worked up about his rotten kids and how they'd let him down.

The wind was blowing but she walked to the Square and hung around with some people she knew. The guys didn't pay much attention to the baby. The girls said she was really cute. It started to rain so they went to someone's house and it turned out Kimmy lived there too. She gave Raina a big hug and held the baby, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. The ash above the baby grew long and white. She was glad when Kimmy gave her back.

More people came by. A guy was talking to Raina. His name was Tom, he was one of Sonny's friends. She liked his voice, so serious and quiet, and the way his eyes got when he looked at the baby. He asked if she'd mind if he came by sometime. She said that would be okay.

People brought pizzas, beer and wine. She ate a ton; she was really hungry. Kimmy said she could put the baby down on her bed. It was quieter in there. Raina tucked the spread around her. The baby fussed a little but she didn't wake up.

Raina took off her coat and sat down on the couch. Tom sat beside her and gave her some wine. I can't, she explained; I'm nursing the baby. His smile made her blush. He said, A little won't hurt. You've really been through a lot.

The wine untied her. She started to relax. It felt so good to be with people she knew. Tom said he hoped he wasn't being out of line but he'd always thought she was beautiful.

A little more wine wouldn't hurt the baby. Some doctors even said it was good for your health. She'd seen that on TV one time; something about heart attacks and stress. Tom said that he had heard that too. He brought her more wine and shared his cigarettes. She liked the way the smoke made her feel less empty.

She felt so good. She loved the baby so much! It was so important to be a good mother. The most important job in the world. Tom agreed completely. He listened when she talked. He didn't look at any other girls.

People told her they were sorry about Sonny. Man, what a bummer. He was such a fine dude. Someone offered her a line, a little toot. For old time's sake. That won't hurt nothing. It burned up inside her nose like a cartoon fuse. The room got bright. Tom was holding her hand. It had been so long since anyone had touched her. Just doctors and nurses. Maybe he could be her boyfriend. She didn't care about the sex; that wasn't important. She just wanted someone to hold her.

Kimmy told a funny story about one of her landlords who'd screwed her over but she got him back. Raina laughed and laughed. She took another hit. Then another and another. She felt so strong. The way she used to feel a long time ago. Before Sonny died. He was dead. She was crying. Tom kissed her face and wrapped his arms around her. She kissed him back and her mind flew away, falling through silent space into darkness, the only safe place she'd ever known.

Something shoved her arm. An alarm was wailing. It wouldn't stop so she opened her eyes. She was seeing double; Kimmy's faces looked mad. She was holding out a crying baby.

“Didn't you hear her? She's been screaming her head off.”

She couldn't focus. The baby's face was a blur of red.

“I been trying to wake you up. You gotta feed her,” Kimmy said.