My Belinda

Part 1

Milk, bananas, cereal, ground beef, and laundry detergent. I stared numbly at the items on my shopping list. In the back of my head there was a nagging thought that I had forgotten to add something to the list, yet I couldn’t bring myself to care what it was. It was hard to say why I agreed to going to the store at all. My husband was insistent that I should “get out of the house and take a breath of fresh air.” Supposedly it would be healthy for me. I think he was just tired of running all the errands while I recovered from my surgery.

My surgery. The operation that had taken away my uterus and my hope with it. The doctors had told me the hysterectomy was medically necessary and my odds of having children without it would still have been minimal. I already knew I was unlikely to bear children, yet I held onto a small flicker of hope up until the moment I woke up in a hospital bed and felt the incision that had snuffed out my dreams. The doctors had sent me home with strict orders to get plenty of rest and refrain from any heavy lifting for the next six to eight weeks. I did not argue, and thus I remained a couch potato for the past two months. This trip to the grocery store was my first attempt at venturing out of the confines of my own house. While I felt physically adept for the task, it was taking more of an emotional toll than I would have predicted.

I was jarred out of my daze by a sudden bump to the leg. I turned to see a perfectly round face set with deep blue eyes looking up at me. The startled toddler froze for a moment, his mouth positioned in a tiny “O” shape. Suddenly the “O” shifted into a wide, mischievous grin, and he sprinted down the aisle, nearly toppling a display of Valentine’s candy in the process. A young woman quickly rounded the corner while pushing a shopping cart.

“Alexander James! Come back here now!” In one swift motion she reached for the wayward child, swept him up in her arms, and plopped him into the seat of the shopping cart. The child began to whimper, and the harried mother looked him in the eyes. “I told you to stay with me if I let you walk. You didn’t obey, so now you can stay in the cart with your sister.”

My eyes darted to the infant car seat positioned inside the carriage of the shopping cart, and for the first time I noticed the small baby with a head full of dark brown curls. The mother shifted uncomfortably and seemed to notice I was staring.

“I’m sorry about that,” she fumbled. “They can be rambunctious at this age, you know?” I simply nodded my agreement and felt the familiar ache in my gut. I would never know from experience.

That was all I could take. It was time to go home. I wanted to retreat to my house and not come out for another two months. There were too many reminders of my loss out in the real world. I quickly gathered the rest of the items on my shopping list and waited in line to check out. The young mother joined the line behind me with little Alexander still whimpering his protests from the shopping cart. Eventually, his mother gave into his pleas. However, the moment his feet touched the ground Alexander predictably took off running. Exasperated, the mother had no choice but to chase after the little guy. Alexander disappeared down aisle nine with his mom on his heels.

I turned around and blinked. The small baby girl was left alone in the cart behind me. I peered closer and took in her small frame. She couldn’t possibly be more than a month old, and she looked like she was drowning in the oversized pink floral sleeper that was bunching around her waist. Her eyes matched her brother’s: wide and blue. It was a stark contrast to the dark, curly hair that crowned her head. I watched as her pale complexion turned pink and her face puckered into a frown. The baby began to cry and my heart simultaneously began to melt. The tiny cries sounded like a distressed kitten, and big teardrops were now dampening her rosy cheeks. I quickly scanned the area for her mother, but I could still hear the maniacal laughter of the busy toddler running up and down the aisles. It would be a while before she returned.

My arms seemed to move without consulting my mind first, and suddenly I was holding the infant. She scrunched up into a tiny ball and nuzzled into the curve of my neck. I was surprised by how much warmth such a tiny body could produce. The small kitten cries stilled and transitioned to deep, shuddering breaths as she began to calm. I was in love. I had never bought into the notion of love at first sight, but at that moment I could not imagine loving any little being more. All those hopes that had been buried the day of my operation seemed to revive in me - each one resting on the small person curled in my arms. I glanced up and noticed Alexander and his mother were returning; however, the young woman’s attention was still focused on the energetic toddler wiggling in her arms. A sense of panic began to grow inside of me at the realization that I was holding a stranger’s baby without permission. Yet, the biggest fear gripping my heart was knowing that this tiny infant would soon be taken away from me. My hopes would be stomped to ash once again. I could now hear the mother’s footsteps approaching. It would be mere seconds and the sweetness of this moment would be stripped away.

The groceries in my basket were left behind as I swiftly turned towards the exit and hid the baby under the flap of my jacket. My heart was beating wildly and thoughts were bounding through my head full of accusations and the desperate urges to come back to my senses. But I refused to acknowledge any of them. I let my body be controlled by my impulses as if it was on autopilot. My every move was being directed by the all-consuming desire I felt to nurture the bundle I had hidden under my coat.

I discreetly crossed the parking lot to my vehicle. As I closed the car door, I could hear chaos ensue. Several customers and employees ran out the doors and began frantically questioning every passerby. Wordlessly, I pulled out of the parking lot and never looked back.

Part 2

Three more blocks to go. I saw police cars whizzing by me, no doubt headed for the market I had just left. My leg began to shake, and I willed myself to drive the speed limit. “Don’t draw any attention to yourself. Just get home and everything will be okay,” I whispered.

Two more blocks to go. A faint whimper came from the floorboards where I had hidden my stolen treasure. “It’s alright, we’ll be there soon. It will all work out, little one.” I wasn’t sure if my words were reassurance for the child or myself.

One more block to go. I rounded the corner, relief washing over me knowing I had made it back to home base. However, the relief was immediately replaced with dread when I saw a bright red pick-up parked in the driveway. Steve’s home.

I hadn’t thought of what I would say to my husband, and my bringing a baby back from the grocery store was not likely to escape his notice. I mentally sorted through my options. Maybe he’d have the same reaction I did? Maybe he’ll want to keep the baby? As heartbroken as Steve was about our infertility, I knew he would not willingly go along with my plan. As if I even have a plan.

Maybe I could tell him I’m babysitting? A friend had an emergency, and I said I would watch her daughter. That might pass for a few days, but he’d start to ask questions. And what if the missing child made the news? He might see pictures and put the pieces together. No, my husband can’t know the truth.

I lifted my jacket and peered at the baby girl, who had thankfully fallen asleep. “I’ll be right back, little one. Please stay quiet.” I left the baby in the car against my better judgment, but I was beginning to doubt I had any sound judgment left anyways.

In a flurry, I ran through the front door and made a beeline for our bedroom. I grabbed a duffle bag from our closet and began stuffing it with clothes.

“Janet, what’s going on?” I turned to see my husband leaning against the doorway, looking concerned.

“There’s been an emergency,” I spouted. “I have to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Go where, Janet? What’s going on?”

I hesitated. Why am I such a terrible liar? I should have thought this through.

“Montana! I need to go to Montana. To be with my mom. She’s not doing well.” The lies were coming to me and immediately slipping off my tongue before they even registered with my brain.

Steve looked dumbfounded. I’ve never been the spontaneous type, and in our twelve years of marriage he certainly had never seen me this frazzled.

“What happened? Is she in the hospital?”

“Yes. She - she fell. She broke her hip. She needs me to take care of her.”

“That’s awful! How did she fall? Did the doctors say how long the recovery should take?”

“I don’t know much else, Steve. I have to hurry. I’ll call you with more details later.” I brushed by him and avoided eye contact.

Now Steve looked hurt. We were never this bad at communication. But then again, I had never hit him with such a monumental lie before. I tossed the duffle bag over my shoulder and practically ran to the kitchen. I opened the fridge door and scanned the contents inside. Wow. We really needed the groceries I left behind. I grabbed a half-empty jug of milk and headed towards the front door. Steve was hot on my heels and grabbed my hand before I could make my escape. He nodded his head towards my other hand and raised his eyebrows.

“What’s with the milk?”

“It’s for me. More calcium. My mom’s broken hip got me thinking about keeping my bones strong.” I laughed nervously, and I was sure my husband had lost all faith in my sanity. Hopefully he would attribute the nervousness to my being worried for my mother’s health. I quickly pecked a kiss on his unexpecting lips and was about to close the door when both our phones began vibrating and sounding shrill alarms. I glanced at the message on my screen. An Amber Alert. I felt shaken to my core when Steve’s eyes traveled from his phone’s screen to meet my gaze. He knows.

I turned on my heels and quickly slid into the driver’s seat of the car. The tires squealed as I skidded down the street. In the rearview mirror I saw one last glimpse of my husband, standing still as a statue in a state of shock.

Part 3

I had been on the highway for hours, determined to put as much distance between me and the commotion I left in my wake as possible. The baby had woken and began wailing nearly an hour and a half ago. I knew she was probably hungry, frightened, and in need of a diaper change, but I had no supplies to tend to her needs, and I wouldn’t dare stop so close to town knowing every officer and civilian would be on the lookout for the missing infant.

Eventually the baby’s poor voice became hoarse from the screaming and I realized I had no alternative. I pulled off at the next exit and found the nearest Walmart. This time I couldn’t leave her in the car. Too many people were milling about the parking lot, and her unattended cries in an empty vehicle would no doubt raise alarm. I coddled her in my arms and whispered assurances in a soothing voice. Her face was tomato red from all the effort of screaming. I attempted to feed her some of the milk I had grabbed from the fridge, but evidently feeding a nursing infant directly from a milk jug was a poorly thought-out plan.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you some better food, little one.” We made our noisy trek through the store, attracting lots of perturbed looks from other shoppers. Every time someone seemed to be watching, I would duck into the next aisle to ensure nobody saw the child’s face or distinctive curls. I filled a cart with clothing, bottles, a pacifier, and enough formula and diapers to make it through the next month. We headed for the checkout line.

“Stocking up on the necessities?” the clerk surmised as she scanned my hoard of baby items.

“Yeah, well. Road trips with babies take a lot of preparation.” I paused. Should I have said I was going on a road trip? Does that make it look like I’m skipping town? The clerk didn’t seem to think much of the comment. I hoped news of the missing child hadn’t reached this area.

Suddenly the overhead sound system chimed, and another employee began calling for assistance and spouting off code numbers. I knew it likely had nothing to do with me, but paranoia began to take over. What if they’re locking down the store? We need to get out of here. The clerk seemed unaffected by my fidgeting, and I mentally willed her hands to move quicker. By the time I finished loading the items into the car, I was convinced every person in the vicinity knew my secret. I installed the car seat at record speed and strapped the child securely inside. She began to scream again. Guilt set in and I felt like an utter failure. She would have been happy with her mother. She has been nothing but miserable since the moment I took her.

“You know what, little one? We are going to stop this frantic running for just a second, and I am going to make sure you are at least comfortable. And we are going to decide on a name for you.” I unbuckled the baby and went to work changing her diaper in the cramped backseat. Then I mixed together some formula, filled a bottle, and managed to feed her two ounces. For the first time since she had awakened from her impromptu nap, the baby seemed content. Maybe we can do this after all.

“Onto our next order of business. What should we call you?” In the secret place of my heart I had stored the idea of a name, hoping I would eventually have a daughter to bestow it upon.

“Belinda,” I whispered.

The small baby let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes. I took it as a sign that she accepted her new identity. “Okay, Belinda. It’s you and me now.”

Part 4

Belinda and I drove for another three hours that day before we finally called it a night. We checked in to a cheap roadside motel and lounged out on the queen sized bed. I attempted to entertain her with some of the rattles and stuffies I had bought at Walmart, but the toys did little to hold her interest. She was most attentive to simply watching my face or wrapping her tiny hand around my finger. Her big blue eyes focused on my face were enough to bring back all those feelings of euphoria I had experienced when I first held her earlier that day. Has it really been just one day? It has definitely been eventful. Belinda, likely exhausted from all the distressing events, drifted into a deep sleep.

My phone had died at some point during the car ride. I decided it was time to recharge it; however, I was not prepared for the onslaught of messages and voicemails that began to chime the moment the phone powered back on. Steve had sent thirty-seven texts and eight phone calls. My mother had called five times. Clearly that lie didn’t hold up very long. I continued scrolling through my missed calls. There were several unknown numbers that had tried to reach me, but one number in particular made my heart stop. Pierce County Police Department.

“They already know,” I whispered to myself. I didn’t bother listening to the voicemails. I already knew what they would say. I flipped on the television to the local news, and a breaking news story featured a large close-up of my face and repeated security camera footage from the market I visited earlier that day. I turned off the television. I didn’t want to hear what the media was saying about me. I was officially a fugitive. A known kidnapper. I knew my plan was poorly executed, but I hadn’t thought it would catch up with me this quickly. I cradled the sleeping child in my arms, curled into the corner of the hotel room and didn’t move. I didn’t move when hours later I heard the sirens and saw the flashing red and blue lights illuminate the dreary hotel room. I didn’t move when they banged on the door and demanded I peaceably surrender myself. I didn’t move when the door was busted open and several officers yelled their commands to me. I stayed still and cherished the time I had left with Belinda, while she was still yet - my Belinda.