Celtic Sister (2 page)

Amy lifted his hand and allowed it to rest on her palm. She gazed at him for a while before an onslaught of grief slammed into her.
Why?
Frantic, angry questions bombarded her brain like machine-gun fire pulverizing a target. Tears fell on the pink, fragile hand resting in her palm.

Because you never said no.

Amy stood purposefully, knowing what she had to do. There wasn’t time for a shower, so she threw her soiled dress into the bathtub, quickly washed her hands and face, and put on a T-shirt and a full sweat suit. Small white socks and tennis shoes completed the outfit.

Amy stared at the lifeless form that should have been her child. She found a razor blade in the medicine cabinet and cut the umbilical cord. A forest-green hand towel sufficiently covered the baby many times around. Amy wrapped him tenderly and laid him on the bed. She pulled the pillowcase off her pillow and filled it with underwear, a brush, makeup, some basic toiletries, and feminine hygiene products. She intended to grab her purse by the front door on the way out, but she knew she had less than forty dollars in her wallet, so she took a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills out of the fire safe and shoved the money in the pillowcase.

After a moment’s hesitation, Amy retrieved the box from under the bed. She removed the yearbook and added it to the bag. Then she crossed to the closet to grab some clothing.

The hum of the garage door opening stopped her in her tracks. Having long since determined that Brent had left the house during the miscarriage, Amy assumed the noise meant he was returning.

She grabbed the forest-green bundle, threw the pillowcase over her shoulder, and raced down the stairs. As swiftly as possible, she snuck out the back door and ran around to the side of the house. The car sat in the driveway, but Brent was nowhere to be seen. Shouts emanated from the house. Amy edged closer to the front yard, alongside the overgrown juniper bushes.

The guestroom window flew open. “You stupid bitch,” a loud, ugly voice bellowed. A jolt of adrenaline rushed through Amy’s body.
Can he see me?
Stealthily, she eased herself to the junipers. The window slammed shut, and the rhythm of descending steps reverberated through the house. Amy ducked out of sight seconds before Brent bolted from the house in a rage.

“Stupid, fucking bitch,” he screamed.

Amy held her breath. The bushes scratched her face but she dared not make a peep. A car door slammed, and an engine roared to life. Headlights flooded the bushes, and Amy gasped. She held the forest-green bundle to her chest and cried, scrunching her eyes closed as tight as possible. The headlights drifted across the patch of bushes and landed on the neighbor’s house. Then a squeal of tires resounded as the car sped off.

Amy lingered for several minutes, unsure of what to do. Emma Foster’s beaming smile remained imprinted on her brain.

Go
.

Chapter Two

Amy walked forty-five minutes to the train station. The baby, tightly wrapped in the green towel, rested in her right arm while the pillowcase swayed over her left shoulder. The toiletries made bulges which poked her back, but when she held the bag by her side, the yearbook banged into her leg. Amy wished she had grabbed a backpack instead. A suitcase filled with comfortable clothing would have been even better.

The neon lights of a liquor store in a nearby strip mall flickered sporadically. Almost as if on autopilot, Amy crossed the road and made her way to the door. She clutched the green bundle to her chest when she entered. The smell of stale cigarettes and leftover fast food permeated the air. Amy grabbed a bottle of whiskey and made her way to the counter. She set the pillowcase down and shifted the swaddled stillborn from one shoulder to the other. Her sweaty hair fell into her eyes as she rummaged through her possessions in search of the money stashed near the bottom. The cashier, a fifty-year-old man who glanced periodically at the television, seemed unfazed by the spectacle. Located strategically by an RTD bus stop and the light rail station, he’d probably seen far more bizarre characters. She paid him and moved on. For the rest of the walk, she switched the pillowcase from her shoulder to her side and back again.

As she approached the train platform, Amy watched the other travelers. The lights and sounds seemed surreal, like something from a long-forgotten era. Amy hadn’t had the freedom to peruse the city at night without her chaperone for years – ever since they’d moved to the suburbs. Date night meant traveling from the car to the restaurant and home again. Driving privileges were only allotted for grocery shopping trips, and even then only to the nearest store if she was allowed to go alone. Otherwise, they shopped together, ate together, and slept together. Amy’s friends drifted away, tired of declined invitations for lunch or a girls’ night out. Eventually, no one bothered to call.

Brent had shoved her into the wall a few times during heated arguments. Deep down, Amy knew the relationship was unhealthy, but she usually blamed herself. She couldn’t leave. He was Beaumont Richardson’s son. His parents and their legal team would decimate her in a divorce. Besides, who would believe her? Brent knew how to be charming with near strangers, winning them over with his dazzling smile and smooth mannerisms. Only those who made him angry or who spent considerable time with him learned of his terrible temper. On occasion, an acquaintance would ask him a difficult question, something that might be construed as an insult. In these cases, they might catch a glimpse of the narcissist behind the façade, but most of the time Brent won hearts and minds with little effort. The dichotomy taunted Amy and caused her to doubt her own observations.

When she got pregnant, Amy harbored a false sense of hope that God was looking out for her and her child-to-be. She resolved to make the best of it, focus on the good times, and pray she and Brent would become closer as they created a new little human. Such a naïve notion cost her baby his life.

The approaching train made a horrible squeal. It matched the desperation that welled up inside Amy. She held the green towel close to her heart and lifted her pillowcase into the train.

Amy sat listlessly on a gray seat and stared at the blur of lights. After a few minutes, she realized she hadn’t actually purchased a train ticket before she boarded. This thought began to trouble her, so she exited as soon as possible. She had no real destination anyway. It was not necessary to get as physically far away from Brent as possible. Slipping off the radar was good enough. Amy wandered away from the station on deserted side streets. Somewhere nearby, voices cackled and shouted. She tried to move away from the noise. When she rounded a corner, Amy saw the neon lights of a motel, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was called the Shanti Motel. The vacancy light flickered erratically, and the
E
was missing from the word
motel
, but otherwise the two-story brick building was well lit and inviting. Half a dozen cars were scattered in the parking lot, but fortunately no cluster of unseemly characters appeared to be lingering in the shadows.

Amy approached the front desk, laid the pillowcase on the wood floor, and dug through it with her free hand. She counted out five hundred dollars, stood up, and peered toward the back of the check-in area. Laughter emanated from a room somewhere out of sight. Presently, a petite woman dressed in an elegant blue-and-yellow sari appeared, smiling, her mind still engaged in the conversation she left behind.

“May I help you?” she asked pleasantly with a faint accent.

Amy shifted the green bundle to her left shoulder and laid her money on the counter. “I’d like to rent a room, maybe by the week if possible.” She brushed a snatch of hair away from her face. “Something small,” she added quietly.

Two boys, around eight or nine years old in Amy’s estimation, ran out into the check-in area, squealing and shouting.

“Abheek, Ravi,” the woman said sharply, followed by some admonishing words in an Indian dialect. She pointed toward the direction from which they came. They nodded sheepishly and returned to the other room. Their laughter resumed as soon as they crossed the threshold.

“Sorry about that, Miss. Anyway, our nightly rates are $49, but if you want to rent by the week and receive linens on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday, I can let you have a first floor room for $300.”

Amy closed her eyes and tried to remain calm. She probably had a few thousand dollars in the pillowcase, but she had no idea how she would survive the coming months. Would she find a job? Should she look for an apartment? Should she buy a Greyhound ticket and disappear? The weight of unmade decisions overwhelmed her. When she spoke, the smallness of her voice surprised her. “What if I receive linens only once a week?”

The woman examined her closely, her smile waning. Amy could only imagine what she saw – sweatshirt, tattered hair, a damp towel clutched to her chest. Perhaps her face had a smear of blood or mascara, outward signs that barely hinted at the severity of what had happened. Amy’s uterus cramped now and again. Otherwise her body seemed unfazed by the tragedy. Only her spirit was broken, but it was broken in a way that surely her appearance reflected.

Eventually the woman said, “How about $275 for the corner room next to the dumpster? Towels on Monday.”

“Thank you.” Amy pushed three hundred dollars in the woman’s direction.

“May I have a credit card and your driver’s license?” the proprietor said methodically as she pulled the money off the counter and opened a drawer.

“But I just paid cash.”

“I know, but we need a credit card on file. And I have to verify your identification.”

“My name is Amy. Here’s my cash.” This time she pushed the other $200 in the woman’s direction and reached down to grab another several hundred from the pillowcase. She slapped it on the counter. “Isn’t that all you need?”

The woman stacked the extra money in a pile, but did not take it. “The police visit me every once in a while when they’re looking for someone. Not that we’re infested with drug dealers here, mind you,” she said. “We’re a clean establishment. Kashi doesn’t tolerate nasty characters. But we have to be prepared to show the police who’s here so they don’t go knocking on everyone’s room.”

Amy fidgeted. Her driver’s license and credit cards were still in her purse back at the house. Besides, the license said Amy Richardson. She longed to be Amy Martin again, wipe any trace of that man from her life. Why couldn’t she start over again here? Pay in cash and form a new identity in the weeks ahead.

“I don’t want him to know I’m here. If you charge my card, he’ll know.”

The woman’s face softened. “Who will know?”

Amy bit her lip.

“Are you okay, Priya?”

Amy shook her head, willing the tears not to come.

The woman put the money in her pocket, came out from behind the desk, and led Amy to a small sitting area. She saw the pillowcase and moved it behind the counter. Then she gently tried to relieve Amy of the towel, but Amy turned away and clutched it even tighter. The woman touched Amy’s arm. “Are you in trouble?” she asked.

Silence.

“Listen. I’m Raksha.” The rich name rolled off her tongue –
rake-SHA
– strong and elegant at the same time. “I’ll do what I can for you, but you’ll have to tell me what’s going on. Okay?”

Amy nodded and took a deep breath. A couple of tears snuck out of the corners of her eyes. She let them roll slowly down her face. Finally, she found the courage. “I just left my husband. He pushed me down the stairs.” She could not bear to discuss the miscarriage or the contents of her mysterious green towel, but she did peer up at Raksha’s kind eyes. A sense of gratitude brought Amy a smidgeon of peace.

Raksha’s face softened and took on a depth of understanding and compassion Amy had not encountered in a long time.

“I see,” Raksha said. “How long have you been married?”

“Four years.” The words
I was pregnant
just wouldn’t come.

Raksha seemed to consider the situation somewhere deep inside herself. “Do you have any family?”

Amy shook her head no and then yes. “My mother lives in Aurora, but we’re not very close. I would just be a bother to her.”

Raksha smiled faintly. “A mother’s love is a very powerful thing, Priya. I’m sure she’ll welcome you and nurse you back to health. Don’t shut her out.”

Amy scoffed. “You don’t know my mother. She’s drunk half the time. I’ll interrupt her intimate moments with the bottle.”

“Um-hmm. Perhaps you can talk to my brother, Sahil. He’s the family drunk.”

“Why would I want to talk to a drunk?” At this point Amy was annoyed, physically and emotionally exhausted, and ironically thinking about the bottle of whiskey in the bottom of the pillowcase.

“Recovering alcoholic,” Raksha clarified, chuckling. “And quite open about it to anyone who cares to listen. He may give you some ideas. I don’t know.”

Amy didn’t think talking with a boastful alcoholic would do anything to mend her kaleidoscope of pain and emotions. Her unique situation left her feeling very alone. No one could possibly understand – holding a dead baby, running from an abusive husband, feeling angry with her self-centered mother, and having no idea what would happen in the months ahead. No. Talking wasn’t going to help. She needed solitude, rest, a moment alone to bury her child.
Where?
She just wanted to rent a room, close the door, and shut the world out.

“Please,” Amy pleaded, catching the woman’s warm brown eyes. “Can I please just have the room?”

Raksha nodded and patted her pocket. “I’ll keep the extra money as a deposit. When the week is up, just let me know if you wish to continue to stay or check out.” She returned to her place behind the counter. Once there, she counted the money, slipped it into the drawer, and pulled out a keycard. After programming the keycard, Raksha handed it to Amy. “Room 101.” Then she lifted the pillowcase onto the counter.

Amy froze. In her left arm she held her dead baby. In her right the keycard. The counter was too high for her to gracefully pull down the pillowcase without setting down the green towel bundle.