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Authors: Christa Parrish
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of sorts across her torso, and walked. The baby bounced naturally with each step Abbi took; she whimpered and hiccupped, but the screaming stopped.
“Finally,” Abbi said.
Benjamin came close to her, close enough that the space between them was occupied only by the baby. He smoothed Silvia’s tiny eyebrows. “Thank you,” he said.
Abbi nodded. “I might as well keep her until she starts up again.” She lowered herself into the couch, imagining this was how a pregnant woman moved, off-balance with the weight in her abdomen, flexing her knees and holding the couch’s arm, and falling back on the cushions without folding at the waist. She lifted her feet up, bending her knees so Benjamin could sit on the other end. He closed his eyes, and Abbi hesitated only a minute before stretching her legs, resting her heels on his thighs. Benjamin lightly stroked her shin before dozing off, his hand suddenly heavy against her skin.
Benjamin went to work wearing fatherhood under his eyes and on his shoulder. After he left, Abbi dozed when Silvia dozed, and kept moving while the infant was awake—doing laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing the tub with the lemon rinds she saved during the week—because if she sat, she’d fall asleep. She carried Silvia with her to the mailbox, the sun giving her a bit of an energy boost, and pulled out an envelope of coupons and a phone bill. Closed the box with her elbow.
Marie Vilhauser dug in the flower bed along the split-rail fence separating their yards. She didn’t look up as Abbi passed, but said, “First coupla weeks are hardest. But it stops, eventually, the crying does.”
Abbi nodded. “Thanks.”
Chapter NINE
The computer listed seven Savoies in the Buffalo area. Two lived on the same street. No James. No Jimmy. Two J’s. Matthew copied them into his notebook, twice checking each letter, each number to be certain he’d not made a mistake. Then he figured the cost. Forty-one hours on a bus for eighty dollars—each way. By train, nearly a day and one hundred forty dollars, after he managed to get to the station in Minnesota. He jabbed his ballpoint into his pad, cutting the paper with deep, black lines. Threw the pen onto the table; it skidded off the end. He shouldn’t be frustrated. He’d known it would be expensive.
But money meant time.
He tore the scored pages from his pad, rolled them between his palms, like a child forming a Play-Doh snake. The librarian scowled, tapped her watch. He relinquished the computer and found a desk in the back corner of the three-room public library.
He’d have to go by train. The bus took too long. He shouldn’t miss a treatment, but could, had twice before. Once because of a snowstorm, and once when Lacie tripped and split her forehead open on the coffee table, and she wouldn’t go to the hospital without him.
With taxi fares, he’d probably need at least four hundred dollars for the trip, if he spent the night in the train station and not a motel. He could do odd jobs—painting, maybe, shoveling in the winter—and collect bottles and cans for the refund. Another year of long, tedious evenings and bus rides and needle sticks.
He was being stupid. Bullheaded. His aunt could pick up the phone and, in ten minutes, find out if Matthew was kin to any of the names on his list. But it seemed rude to have Heather calling paper names, asking if they had a son they’d forgotten. And he wouldn’t have some random relay operator do it—him sitting in the apartment typing out his life story while a stranger read it off a screen to another stranger in Buffalo, who may or may not care to know him.
Besides, he didn’t just want a kidney; he wanted a father. That was something that needed to be done face-to-face, man-to-man.
The library closed at five in the summer, and it was close to that. Matthew thought of things he could do instead of going home. There weren’t many. Too bad it wasn’t a dialysis day.
He envied Jaylyn sometimes—she
“Finally,” Abbi said.
Benjamin came close to her, close enough that the space between them was occupied only by the baby. He smoothed Silvia’s tiny eyebrows. “Thank you,” he said.
Abbi nodded. “I might as well keep her until she starts up again.” She lowered herself into the couch, imagining this was how a pregnant woman moved, off-balance with the weight in her abdomen, flexing her knees and holding the couch’s arm, and falling back on the cushions without folding at the waist. She lifted her feet up, bending her knees so Benjamin could sit on the other end. He closed his eyes, and Abbi hesitated only a minute before stretching her legs, resting her heels on his thighs. Benjamin lightly stroked her shin before dozing off, his hand suddenly heavy against her skin.
Benjamin went to work wearing fatherhood under his eyes and on his shoulder. After he left, Abbi dozed when Silvia dozed, and kept moving while the infant was awake—doing laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing the tub with the lemon rinds she saved during the week—because if she sat, she’d fall asleep. She carried Silvia with her to the mailbox, the sun giving her a bit of an energy boost, and pulled out an envelope of coupons and a phone bill. Closed the box with her elbow.
Marie Vilhauser dug in the flower bed along the split-rail fence separating their yards. She didn’t look up as Abbi passed, but said, “First coupla weeks are hardest. But it stops, eventually, the crying does.”
Abbi nodded. “Thanks.”
Chapter NINE
The computer listed seven Savoies in the Buffalo area. Two lived on the same street. No James. No Jimmy. Two J’s. Matthew copied them into his notebook, twice checking each letter, each number to be certain he’d not made a mistake. Then he figured the cost. Forty-one hours on a bus for eighty dollars—each way. By train, nearly a day and one hundred forty dollars, after he managed to get to the station in Minnesota. He jabbed his ballpoint into his pad, cutting the paper with deep, black lines. Threw the pen onto the table; it skidded off the end. He shouldn’t be frustrated. He’d known it would be expensive.
But money meant time.
He tore the scored pages from his pad, rolled them between his palms, like a child forming a Play-Doh snake. The librarian scowled, tapped her watch. He relinquished the computer and found a desk in the back corner of the three-room public library.
He’d have to go by train. The bus took too long. He shouldn’t miss a treatment, but could, had twice before. Once because of a snowstorm, and once when Lacie tripped and split her forehead open on the coffee table, and she wouldn’t go to the hospital without him.
With taxi fares, he’d probably need at least four hundred dollars for the trip, if he spent the night in the train station and not a motel. He could do odd jobs—painting, maybe, shoveling in the winter—and collect bottles and cans for the refund. Another year of long, tedious evenings and bus rides and needle sticks.
He was being stupid. Bullheaded. His aunt could pick up the phone and, in ten minutes, find out if Matthew was kin to any of the names on his list. But it seemed rude to have Heather calling paper names, asking if they had a son they’d forgotten. And he wouldn’t have some random relay operator do it—him sitting in the apartment typing out his life story while a stranger read it off a screen to another stranger in Buffalo, who may or may not care to know him.
Besides, he didn’t just want a kidney; he wanted a father. That was something that needed to be done face-to-face, man-to-man.
The library closed at five in the summer, and it was close to that. Matthew thought of things he could do instead of going home. There weren’t many. Too bad it wasn’t a dialysis day.
He envied Jaylyn sometimes—she
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