Layers of Pain

The ultrasound probe hovers above my be-gooed tummy, excitement building like an electrical connection to this magical instrument.

-Do you want to know boy or girl?- The tech, honey blonde, sweet, smiles at us.

I laugh and squeeze James’s hand.

-Yes, but I already just know it’s a girl. We’ve named her Rylee.- I look at James, then blush. What if I’m wrong and it’s a boy?

-You two are so cute. How long you been together?- The tech is gushing. But I feel like gushing too.

-We just got married in March, but we’ve known each other for ages. We grew up next door neighbors, and I hated him most my life till one day I realized he was cute when we were at the park and we made snow angels together—

I’m babbling. I shut up. James leans back in his chair, the smiling tech taps her keyboard, the probe descends. Are those my butterflies in my stomach, or are they Rylee’s?

The tech freezes. No more smiles. Cold fingers sneak around my heart.

-What’s wrong. What is it?-

Honey blonde hair shaking no, she can’t tell us. The probe is hard, pressing against Rylee, seeing black and white encrypted code.

She stands, doesn’t look at us. Has to get the doctor.

We wait. James leans forward, squeezing my hand till the bones scrape. The belly gel evaporates, leaving behind cold seeping into every pore. Goosebumps rise on my arms. The forgotten probe on the desk screams ultrasonically.

The doctor arrives. Gray hair, stern bespectacled eyes. He sits, probes, photographs, sighs.

-You need a level three ultrasound.-

-Why?- Cold around my heart is a fist, squeezing. No one is giving answers.

-We’re looking at severe brain, severe heart, and severe skeletal issues….

You might consider pregnancy termination.-

I shake my head no, violent. James is white, mute. Doctor shrugs.

-I’m amazed you’ve made it this far. Not much we can do for this severe of a case.-

-Why.- James is ragged, croaking. -Why did this happen?-

Doctor takes off his glasses, no longer stern. Just tired, and old.

-Your family history of conditions is clean?-

We nod.

-Are you related?-

Sharp looks between James and me.

-No.-

-Usually we only see severe cases like this on a genetic basis, such as when the parents are closely related-

***

I know. I know before I pack my sweats and my toothbrush and call James to bring me in.

-She’s gone.-

I don’t cry. My heart is too cold to cry. None of this is real. I’m not the newlywed any of this is happening to.

They hand me a tiny broken baby wrapped in a too-big pink blanket. It’s a girl. I stroke her perfect cheek. James sobs, great gulping heaves. I wish my mom was with me, for the first time since we married.

I’m too much ice to cry.

***

-You’re saying I share half my genetics with my husband.-

I laugh at the prim dark-haired genetics counselor. I'm delirious with pain and disbelief.

-We have completely different parents.-

But the ice has crept to my chest, my fingers, my toes. I’m like a tree in an ice storm, with layers of rain freezing to its branches, the laminations building up until the ice is too heavy and the limbs break, destroying the tree.

-Genetic tests tend to lie less than people do, sadly.- She tosses her dark bobbed hair and pushes the report across the desk with one perfect red fingernail.

I stand and leave, my limbs creaking ominously with their load of ice.

***

-Mom. What were you really doing all those times you went over to take care of James’s bedridden mother? -

Silence, that shouts louder than talking.

-Who is my real dad?- But I already know. I shake my fingers, trying to bring feeling back into them and hide the trembling.

- I tried to warn you.- Her voice is heavy, dark, sharp, like an icicle after a midnight blizzard.

- By being the White Witch when we wanted to get married? Because we loved each other? Why didn’t you just tell us the truth?-

She coughs, like when one steps into the too-cold wind and the breath is stolen out of the lungs.

-You killed your grandchild.-

I hang up the phone. Does the man I called Dad all these years even know?

***

-I’m worried about you.- James, so sweet and caring. All the reasons it was so right are now all the reasons it’s so wrong.

-Maybe I’ll go out today. Maybe shopping.-

-That’s a good idea, change of scenery. Wish I could go with you.- He moves to kiss me but it’s awkward now. I hate it. He leaves for work.

I step off the bus onto the street. The street I lived all growing up, and now I am a stranger. Autumn chill whispers dry leaves in eddies. I pull my hoodie closer around me. Nothing warms me anymore.

James’s dad—not mine, anything but mine—pulls out of his garage in his Hyundai and drives down the street.

I look at the keys in my hand. If I was less numb, I would be nervous.

I cross the street, head low, the first snowflakes of the season hovering around me. I avoid looking at the house I used to live in. It is not my house anymore.

James’s old keys unlock his parents’ garage door. Despite Sam’s threats before we got married, the locks weren’t changed. I carefully close the door behind me.

The green Explorer sits where James last parked it, seven months ago. It was me or the car, Sam had said. The irony strikes me, and I laugh, the sound more like the haunting moan of the north wind. Sam was the man who gave us everything, and he also took everything away.

I fit the key in the ignition.

-Let’s go shopping, Rylee.-

I turn on the car and roll down the windows. Half a tank of gas, layers of dust on the steering wheel. I buckle my seatbelt, take the garage door opener off the visor and toss it in the backseat.

White knuckles on the steering wheel, like stones buried in a glacier.

I lean back and close my eyes. Rylee is in her infant car seat, in the back. We’re going to Target, we need diapers, and

No, Rylee is a blond-haired imp with her daddy’s blue eyes, and she’s smiling at me.

-Mommy, can we go to the park?-

-Sure, honey, we can go wherever you want.-

-I want to go to the park in the snow, and make snow angels, and then go home and have hot chocolate.-

-Why those things?-

-Because I get to be with you, and when we get cold, Daddy is at home and we get to warm up with him.-

-But don’t you want to--

I open my eyes, but now I’m not sure if I really have. Rylee is a teenager, and she’s sitting in the front seat.

-Mom, you never told me-

-Told you what-

-Why my head and my heart hurt so much-

-Mine hurt too-

-I just want to give up-

She’s crying, and I can’t bear to see her crying. Is that why my face is wet?

-Don’t give up, baby.-

But she’s falling asleep, and if she does I will lose her, she will slip away forever.

-Stay with me!- I lunge to hold her, but my belt catches me, strangles me. I frantically try to free it, but my fingers won’t work.

-Mom, I’m too cold-

***

I’m under the glacier, frozen into it. I’ve become a layer of it.

-Hannah!-

Sam’s voice comes from miles away. I try to call back, to move, but I can’t. The weight of the ice is too much.

I am covered in something warm. A coat?

Sirens. -Stay with me, kiddo. Oh God, let her be okay.-

-Get the oxygen on her.- A new voice. -How long was she in there?-

-I don’t know. I'd just left for work, Carmen called and said someone was in the garage. Can’t have been longer than fifteen, twenty minutes.-

-She your daughter, sir?-

A long pause.

-Yes. Yes, she is.- Sam coughs and clears his throat, then

-Stay with me, Hannah! You hear me? Don’t give up, baby.-