“A few days ago. Noah turned around, and she was following him,” Cora reported.
“So big!” Mercedes crowed. “So smart. Such a smart girl!”
Cora shifted, hovering by the door. She looked weary. Worn.
“Well, she’s eaten, but what about you and me? Where should we go for lunch?” Mercedes asked, kissing Gia’s neck, only to have her squirm to be put down.
“Actually, I have a doctor’s appointment. I’m sorry. I scheduled it for today, thinking I could ask you to watch her, and then forgot all about it. Can she stay here for an hour or two? That’s not as fun as going to lunch, but honestly . . . Gia’s a handful, and we’d be chasing her all over the restaurant.”
“Sure. No problem. Are you okay, Cora?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just a one-year, post-baby exam. Nothing to worry about. I could bring her with me, but . . . she’s into everything . . . and . . .” There was something about her tone, her listlessness, that made Mercedes not believe her. Cora wasn’t simple. She was deeply complex, but she hid from her complexities by smiling banally at the world and making everyone believe nothing flickered behind her eyes.
“I’ll come with you. I’ll stay in the waiting room with Gia while you have your check-up. And when you’re done, we’ll go out. Or we can come back here and eat. I’ll trim your ends and wax all your unwanted hair,” Mercedes offered, waggling her eyebrows. Beautifying humanity was her gift and her goal.
“Wow. Waxing. That’s really tempting, Sadie,” Cora deadpanned. “I’ll pass.”
“I’ll give you a pedicure too. You’ll feel like a new woman when I’m done. Nothing feels as good as being pretty from head to toe.”
“That would be nice. I don’t feel very pretty lately.” Cora’s smile was wan. “But there’s no reason to go with me to the doctor. You and Gia will be much happier here. I’ll come back when I’m done, and I’ll let you have your way with me. I know you. You’ll pester me until I give in.”
“Yes. I will. And Cora?”
Cora’s eyes skittered away. “Yes?”
“You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” Mercedes pressed.
Cora looked out the open door as though she needed to get going.
“Are you late?” Mercedes asked. Cora tended to be very late or very early, like her internal clock was always off.
“No. No, I have time,” she said. But she stayed near the door, her eyes focused on the light streaming in from outside. “If something were to happen to me . . . you would take care of them, wouldn’t you, Sadie?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” Mercedes gasped, gaping at her friend.
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud. It’s hormones. Ignore me.” Cora tried to smile.
“Hormones or not . . . you’re scaring me.”
Cora waved her hand, dismissing the words. “I’m okay. Just really tired. I haven’t slept through the night for so long, I can’t remember what a good night’s rest feels like. I’m in a fog most days.”
“Are you still nursing Gia at night?”
“No. I weaned her.” Her mouth trembled, and Mercedes’s unease ratcheted up another notch.
“That’s good, right?” Mercedes said softly. “You’ll sleep better if you’re not getting up to feed her. And she’s over a year old now.”
Cora’s eyes filled up with tears, and she nodded rapidly, wiping her eyes. “It’s good. I can go back on my medication, I’ll have my body back, and maybe Noah will get his wife back. I haven’t been a very good wife. But I’m sad that it’s over. I loved nursing her.”
Mercedes nodded, not knowing what to say. She’d never been a mother, never nursed a child, never experienced the cycle of emotions she was sure were typical of the first year.
“I better go.” Cora leaned down until her face hovered above her daughter’s head. She kissed Gia’s downy crown and said, “I love you, Gia bug.” Gia smiled and instantly latched on to her mother’s curtain of red hair. Cora patiently unclamped the little hands from her long locks and straightened.
“I’ll be back soon, Sadie. Thank you.” Cora hesitated for a heartbeat, and turning, wrapped Mercedes in a fierce hug. She had to stoop to enfold her shorter friend, but laid her head against Mercedes’s dark hair the way she’d done when they were younger.
“I love you, Sadie. So much,” Cora murmured.
“I love you too, mama.” Mercedes hugged her back. Cora was affectionate and emotional; she always had been. But it had been a while—years—since she’d told Mercedes she loved her so earnestly, without it being tossed out in passing or parting. She released Mercedes abruptly and walked out the door without a backward glance.
Hours passed, but Cora didn’t come home. Gia fell asleep just after her mother left but woke an hour and a half later, fussy and hungry. Mercedes fed her a mashed banana and a few bites of the baked potato she’d made herself for lunch. Gia ate happily, and afterward they went for a walk, babbling to each other—Gia in an unknown tongue, Mercedes in Spanish, determined to make her goddaughter bilingual. It was a rare day for April. The sun was shining off the snow and no wind rustled the brittle branches above their heads or nipped at their cheeks. Mercedes was sure when they returned, Cora would be waiting for them. But she wasn’t.
Mercedes changed Gia’s diaper and coaxed her to walk a few more times before settling her with a pile of toys in the middle of the living room. Doctors were notoriously unreliable—especially OBGYNs. All it took was one patient going into labor to screw up the day’s schedule.
When Gia began to fuss and rub her eyes, Mercedes gave her a bottle of baby formula Cora left, and when she was finished, laid her back down amid the pillows and toys. Gia fell asleep again, her little bottom in the air, her arms tucked beneath her. Cora had been gone since noon. It was five o’clock. Mercedes called Noah, but the secretary at the Montlake Clinic reported that he was in a counseling session, and she would have him call her back when he was through. The salon where Mercedes worked was closed on Mondays, making it the day she caught up with her life. She typically cleaned, ran errands, watched TV, and baked, but she was too anxious to sit still and watch television. Her house was clean, and any errands would have to wait until Cora came back, so she resorted to her old standby, cooking. She’d just started frying her first batch of empañadas when her phone peeled. She ran to it, certain it was Cora.
Noah’s name lit up the screen.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Is Gia with you?” He sounded panicked, odd, and Mercedes could tell from the sounds bleeding through the receiver, that he was outside or in his car. A horn blared, muted and distant in her ear, and Noah cursed.
“Yes. She is. But Cora should have been here hours ago, Noah. She had a doctor’s appointment, and she hasn’t come back. Have you heard from her?”
“Gia’s with you. Gia’s okay,” he panted. “I thought . . . I was afraid . . .”
“Noah? What’s going on?” Mercedes interrupted.
“I thought Gia was with Cora. They said the car seat was empty—” He stopped. “Cora’s been in an accident. I’ll call you when I know more. They won’t tell me anything else.”
“What? Where is she? Tell me where you are.”
“She’s at the hospital—at Uni. I’m heading there now. I don’t know anything else.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The phone went silent in her hands, and she raced through the house, turning off the oven, gathering her purse and her keys, and banging out the door before remembering the child sleeping in a circle of pillows on her living room floor. She didn’t have Gia’s car seat.
“Crap. Okay. That’s cool. I’ll strap her in.” It wasn’t cool. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t safe, and if she got pulled over, she’d get a ticket the size of Texas. But she didn’t have much choice.
Mercedes bundled Gia up, snagging her diaper bag and a blanket from the floor as she hurried from the house, her mind a tumble, aware of only the next breath and the next step, refusing to tarry on one thought or fear for too long. She wouldn’t think. She would simply do. And all would be well. It would be okay. Everything would be fine.
Gia didn’t wake on the way to the hospital. Mercedes had decided to lay her in the footwell on the passenger side, tucking her blanket around her and making her as comfortable as possible; she was safer there than rolling around on the seat. Mercedes drove like she had a wedding cake in the trunk, her hands gripping the wheel, her eyes scanning the road and flickering back and forth between the sleeping child and the traffic ahead like a metronome. Tick, tock, tick, tock. She didn’t turn on the radio. She breathed. She drove. And her eyes swung back and forth.
The afternoon was vibrant and bold, detailed and undeniable. Not surreal. Not separate. She was living it. Wholly. Irrefutably. And her fear burned every scene and segment into her memory. When it was all over, she remembered exactly where she parked in the crowded lot, grateful she’d found a spot. She remembered breathing a prayer of thanks to the Madonna that she’d arrived without Gia waking. She remembered staring down at her feet, realizing she was wearing stilettos. Red stilettos and socks. They’d been right next to her front door, and she’d shoved her feet into them before running to her car. Red stilettos, jeggings, and a bright purple top. Purple and red. Not a great combination. She kicked off the shoes, pulled off her socks, and then put the heels back on. Her hair was in a tight knot on the top of her head, and she was wearing the earrings she’d made herself—dangling hoops strung with beads in a dozen colors. The earrings made the red and purple work. Why was she thinking about her outfit?
Her makeup was done—it was always done—and when she pulled the mirrored visor down, searching for her sunglasses, her face looked the same as it always did. She needed sunglasses. She needed to cover her eyes. She needed to shield herself from what was coming. Something terrible was coming. She was suddenly shaking, so afraid that she considered not going inside at all. She hated hospitals. She would wait with Gia in the parking lot until Noah called her again or until the baby woke. She slid the glasses over her nose and felt for her lipstick in her purse. She found it, the tube sleek and small in her hand. She uncapped it and tried to slick it over her lips, but it fell from her trembling fingers and rolled beneath the seat. She opened the car door and stepped out, so she could more easily retrieve it. Crouching down, she felt for it, found it, and pulled it free. A long crimson hair clung to the waxy stick.
Mercedes stared at the red strand. It wasn’t her hair. It was Cora’s, and Cora was inside. Cora needed her. She pulled the hair free and re-capped the lipstick, resolute. Without allowing herself to hesitate a moment longer, she collected her things, walked around to the passenger side of her old Corolla, and lifted Gia into her arms. Locking the door from the fob in her hand, she strode toward the hospital, eyes covered, lips painted, arms full.