Joy (35 page)

“Anya, you're not thinking straight. One hour ago, a doctor tells us you're pregnant because you were raped. And now, you're calling this ‘your baby’ It's crazy!”

“It's not crazy for me to look at all of my choices.”

“Like what?” Braxton's expression dared her to say what she was thinking.

Anya's eyes had thinned to slits. “I could have this baby, Braxton. I could give it up for adoption or …” The rest of her sentence hung ominously in the air.

“Or what?” he yelled.

“I could have this baby … and we could keep it.” She whispered the words uncertainly.

He slammed his fist on the couch and stood, pacing the floor in front of her. “You have got to be out of your mind!”

Anya glared at him but said nothing, only folding her arms tighter in front of her.

After a few seconds, he crouched in front of her and pushed out a stream of air from his puffed cheeks. “I'm sorry. It's just that…” He shook his head trying to search for the words. “Anya, you can't have this baby. We can't do it.”

She took his hands. “We can do this if we stay on our knees.”

“Oh, I get it.” He pulled away from her. “This is a God thing for you!”

“This should be a God thing for you too. I thought you didn't believe in abortion.”

“Abortion is fine in this case. God doesn't want you to have this baby.”

“How can you say that when this is a life He created?”

He held his head. “You are so off-base. God didn't create this and He won't bless it.”

“I think that God creates all life. We may not like the circumstances, Braxton, but the result—this baby—it's all Him. I'm as scared as you are, but we have to trust God.”

“Honey,” he stooped in front of her once more, “no woman in her right mind would have this baby.”

“Besides the fact that I won't go against God, how can you ask me to have an abortion with everything I went through before?”

Braxton's head reared back. “I
knew
that was what you were thinking. But keeping this baby won't change what happened in the past.”

She twisted her lips. “Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now.”

Braxton shook his head. He wasn't going to let her shut down. If they didn't talk now, this idea would spread like slow poison until it destroyed her. “You're not thinking straight and I have to get you to see that.”

“Oh, I'm crazy and you're normal.”

“Just listen to yourself, and you'll know I'm right.”

Anya opened her mouth to protest, then just folded her arms. Braxton moved to the couch and sat as close to her as he could. He unfolded her arms and pulled her hands to his lips.

“I love you and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I'm just trying to get you to understand that you can have an abortion and no one would judge you.”

“No one but God.”

“Not even God in this case, Anya. He wants us to use common sense.”

Anya felt every muscle inside of her tighten, but she remained silent.

“Anya, answer this. What are you going to do when you look at this baby? Think about it—every time you look at this child, you'll think about the rape. You won't love this child, you'll hate it!”

“I would never hate this baby!” she said angrily, although she was angrier with herself than him. With that one statement, he addressed the question that was tormenting her. What if that was how she felt? What if, no matter how much she relied on God, she did hate this baby?

She began to tremble, breaking under the emotion. She stood, and walked to the patio doors. “I would never hate this child,” she repeated in a whisper. Her eyes burned from tears that had not yet fallen.

She couldn't listen to his words anymore. “I think you should leave.” Her back was still turned to him.

He barely heard her, but knew what she said. With slumped shoulders, he nodded. He took a deep breath, stood, and started toward her, but then stopped. He turned to the front door but then went back to her and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Anya.” His tone begged for understanding. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.” He walked slowly out the door without looking back.

Anya waited a moment, then dragged herself to the couch and lay down. She had known the pregnancy was going to be hard to take, but never did she imagine this.

She closed her eyes. So much of what Braxton said made sense—the words he uttered were the same ones voicing themselves in her head. But they were not the ones in her heart. She couldn't kill this baby.

She believed, inside, Braxton felt the same way. She'd convince him, she had to.

With her eyes still closed, she rolled to the edge of the couch and dropped to her knees. She clasped her hands in front of her and said, “Lord, I have to turn this over to you. Please, Lord, open Braxton's heart and show him this is all you.”

She wasn't sure how long she prayed, but when Anya rose, the house screamed its silence. She had to get away. It took less than a minute for her to grab her purse and jacket and run to the garage.

In her car, she called her office.

“Dianna, I won't be in today.”

“Oh, but David needs to speak to you. Let me put you through to him.”

A few seconds skipped by, then she heard his voice. “Are you all right, Anya?”

“I'm fine.” She tried to put a smile into her voice. “I need to take care of some personal things; I'll be in tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he responded, unable to hide his doubt.

“Dianna said you needed me.”

“No, you take care of what you have to do and I'll see you tomorrow.” He paused. “Anya, you can count on me for anything. So if you need to talk…”

His voice was so soft, and filled with such care, that Anya wanted to spill everything that was inside of her. But instead she said, “You worry too much.” She clicked off her phone before he could ask anything or before she could tell him everything.

But once she hung up, loneliness engulfed her and she turned her car in the direction of the only place where she knew she could find solace right now.

It took her just fifteen minutes to get to Madear's house. Before she got out of her car, Sasha was opening the front door. “What are you doing here?” she asked as Anya walked up the porch steps.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Anya stepped inside.

“Madear had doctor's and cable appointments scheduled at the same time. So I did the house-sitting thing.”

Anya smiled for the first time in hours. “You're kidding. Madear's getting cable?”

Sasha laughed. “It's only basic and I had to talk her into that.”

Anya joined Sasha's laughter, glad to have something to take her away from the pain that pulled at her heart.

“Sounds like you and Madear are getting along.”

“Of course we are,” Madear said, as she entered the room. “And we'll keep getting along as soon as she takes off that short skirt.”

Anya's eyes moved to Sasha, standing posed against the door in a black St. John's skirt that was high up her thigh. When Anya returned to Madear, her eyes were narrowed.

“Don't look at me like that,” Madear said. “This has nothing to do with my baby's skin color. That skirt is just too darn short!”

Sasha rolled her eyes, and laughed with Madear. Anya only sighed with relief.

“Baby, I'm glad to see you,” Madear said to Anya. When Anya leaned over to kiss Madear, she held her grandmother for a long moment, just enough for Madear to draw back and frown. “What's wrong?” Madear searched Anya's face for an answer.

The tug Anya felt in her chest was getting stronger, and she didn't have the strength to utter words without tears. So she only nodded.

“I've got to go to work,” Sasha said, unaware of the exchange. “Anya, I might be a little late tonight. Joan, my manager, asked me out for drinks after we close. She wants to get to know me. You know the drill,” Sasha chatted brightly. “I'll see you guys later.”

“I have something to tell you.” Anya squeezed the words from her throat. She spoke directly to Madear, but she added, “Sasha, stay for a minute.”

Madear took Anya's hand, and led her to the couch. Her soft green eyes were squinted with concern and never left Anya's face.

“What's up?” Sasha asked, dropping her jacket and purse back in the chair.

Anya closed her eyes. “I'm pregnant.’’ The brief statement was barely a whisper.

The audible gasps revealed their shock. Finally Sasha spoke. “Well, that's a good thing, right?” Her eyes darted between her grandmother and cousin. “You and Braxton are getting married in a couple of months anyway, so …”

When Anya turned to Madear, her grandmother's eyes told her she knew the truth.

Madear's hand was still over her mouth. “Baby” was all she could murmur.

Anya whipped away from her grandmother, and stared at her ring. “This is not Braxton's baby.” Anya could see the confused thoughts turning over inside Sasha's head. “When I was raped—”

“Oh, my God!” Sasha jumped up and knelt next to Anya. She took her cousin's hand. “I'm so sorry,” she cried.

For the first time, in the midst of women who loved her, Anya released tears that had been battling to be released. Madear and Sasha held Anya in their arms. Minutes passed before they broke apart.

When Madear rose to get tissues, Anya said to Sasha, “I shouldn't have told you before you had to go to work”

“I should call in and tell them I have a family emergency.”

“Don't do that. This is your first week. I'll be fine with Madear.”

Sasha glanced at Madear as she held a tissue to her nose. “Go on, baby,” Madear said.

It took several more minutes before Sasha broke away, but when they were finally alone, Madear held Anya in her arms. “Does Braxton know?”

Anya nodded and pulled another tissue from the box. “But we have a big problem.” When Madear remained silent, Anya continued. “I can't kill this baby, Madear.”

“Sweetheart, you don't have to do that.”

“That's what Braxton wants.”

Madear faced Anya, holding her hands, but she didn't say anything.

“I don't know if I'm crying because I'm sad, or scared. I don't know if we should keep the baby or not, but I know that I can't abort it.”

Anya wrapped her hands around her waist and let her eyes wander. Family history filled this room through the pictures that were scattered about. Now, inside of her, was a part of the family's future. But was this baby family? She squeezed her arms tighter around her waist.

“Braxton is so angry.”

“But you know he loves you.”

“I can't do what he wants.”

“Come here, baby.” Madear leaned back and Anya stretched out on the couch, laying her head in Madear's lap. “You're doing what you know is right. Braxton will come around.”

“Braxton thinks that I've blocked out how…” Then she continued. “But I just can't block out the part of this baby that's me. Does that sound stupid?”

“Honey, you're doing what's in your blood. For generations, Black women have birthed, raised, and loved the babies from their womb. It never mattered how the baby got there; we love our children. It's who we are.”

“Suppose I keep the baby and then I don't love it. That's what Braxton thinks will happen.” Her voice squeaked.

Madear tisked. “You don't have to worry about that. But, Anya, you have choices—there's adoption.”

Anya sat up and searched her grandmother's face. “Is that what you think I should do?”

“You should let the Lord lead you. Pray and He'll give you and Braxton the answers.”

Anya nodded. “I'm leaning on God so much right now.”

“That's how it's supposed to be. The Lord is your stronghold. He won't let you down. And neither will I.”

She rested her head back on Madear's lap and allowed the peace that she always felt in this house to engulf her.

As she lay, Anya tried to imagine the future—the baby, what it would look like, would they keep it? But all she could see was the coldness of a room in New York, where a part of her died, all those years before.

“The one thing I know, Madear, is that I'm going to give birth to this baby. I'm never going into an abortion clinic again.”

It wasn't until she heard her grandmother's low gasp that she realized what she'd said. Anya's eyes opened widely, she held her breath and waited for Madear to speak. But Madear remained silent and continued stroking Anya's head.

Anya knew her grandmother heard her words, but after a few minutes, she knew there would be no questions. Not now. The present was more important than the past.

In the silence, it was Madear's touch that let Anya close her eyes and sleep. When she awakened, the living room shadows were longer—morning had turned to late afternoon. But she was still in her grandmother's lap, and Madear was still stroking her, just as she'd been doing for hours.

Braxton clicked the mouse on the print icon and listened to the hum of the computer as it prepared to spew forth the four pages he'd written in the last three hours. He skimmed through a few lines on each page, sucked his teeth, then tossed them into the wire trashcan. He didn't know why he was sitting at his computer. It had been weeks since he'd written anything and just when he thought he'd regain his writing groove, he'd been hit with this—the sequel to the nightmare.

He highlighted the text he'd written, and hit the
DELETE
button. Instantly, the screen went blank. He shook his head at the simplicity. That's what he needed, a
DELETE
button in his life.

“I know how Anya is,” he said aloud. “I didn't approach her right.” He stood and went to the window. The sun was still hanging in the late afternoon, filling the room with its brightness. He closed the miniblinds, bringing darkness to his office. Then he returned to his desk.

He thought they'd endured it all. But how much more was God going to put on his shoulders? How much more could he take as a man?

There was no way he was going to allow Anya to have this baby—even if she said she'd give it up for adoption. He couldn't trust that. Knowing Anya, at the last moment, she'd choose to keep the baby and then where would they be? The baby couldn't be a consideration at all. He'd have to convince her of that.