Caul Baby by Morgan Jerkins (read any book .TXT) 📕

badgering requests. The stress of Laila’s stillbirth compounded with the news of Ralph and Laila’s marital home propelled Denise to snatch the phone from the nurse’s hands and dial Ralph’s number again. As soon as she heard the sound of the voicemail beep, she spoke into the phone, her hands shaking, and said, “Pick up, you motherfucker. Your wife just lost your baby, and your place caught on fire. Where are you?” She broke down into tears. “You have to be here. You have to.”

When Ralph heard about the loss of the baby, Laila’s breakdown, and the brownstone catching on fire, the tightness he held in his chest unclenched. At least, Ralph thought, he didn’t have to go home. Not being able to go home was a relief. The fire had released whatever he and Laila had built within those four walls, and if the repairmen could not reverse the damage, even better. He waited a few days, mindlessly wandering around the Charles River during his lunch breaks and waking up to see miniature bottles of Maker’s Mark on his nightstand.

The doorbell at last rang at Denise’s home, and she had it in her to sock Ralph dead in his face for abandoning his wife. But when she opened the door and took note of his swollen eyes and damp, reddened cheeks, she released her fist and dropped her shoulders with the realization that grief had already beaten her to the punch. The porch light shone on a few scraggly gray hairs in the middle of his head that she had never seen before and mild crust on his eyelashes. He refused to look her in the eye and handed her two suitcases. She unzipped one in front of him and saw women’s clothes with the tags still on them.

“Ralph—”

“These are for her. Since we can’t go back there. I can’t do it anymore, D. I can’t.” He sniffled. “This is too much for me.”

Denise looked over his shoulder and saw two passersby staring back at her. She placed an arm around Ralph and pulled him into her home to preserve his dignity. Over a kettle of honey lavender tea, they sat across from each other at the dining room table in silence. The light bulb overhead was somehow much stronger in this steeped darkness. Its brightness was painful to both of their eyes because they could not hide themselves and the weight of all that had happened with Laila and the baby.

“How is she doing?” Ralph asked.

“They want to evaluate her for a few more days. Doctors didn’t feel comfortable releasing her just yet. I tried to tell ’em that she’s mourning. Any mother who lost a child would be just as crazy.”

“How bad was she?”

Denise took a sip of her tea, placed her cup down on the coaster, and said, “Bad, Ralph. Really bad. She was acting like an animal. I guess all the pain and frustration finally broke her. It’s only so long you can keep it together.”

“Can I admit something to you in confidence?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“When I got the call, I knew deep down that it wasn’t good. I just knew. Don’t ask me why, but I felt it in my gut and I felt sick. I didn’t think about immediately getting the next ticket back home. I didn’t think about what was happening to my wife. All I could think was, Not again. Not this again. And I wanted to run away. I even checked train times to see if I could get on the next one back to Providence or Montreal. I had my card out with the ticket agent and everything until I saw that the woman was pregnant herself. She kept caressing her stomach while asking me if I wanted a coach or business seat. Just that fast, I came back home. But not to see if Laila was okay. To start saying my goodbyes, D.”

“So that’s why you came over?” Denise leaned forward in her seat.

“Yes. I can’t be the man Laila needs.”

“But—”

“Just . . .” Ralph held a hand up and took a deep breath. “Let me finish. I love Laila. I knew from our first date that she was going to be in my life for a long time. We were young and successful. We got married, socialized with others, and had great sex. But when you keep going through miscarriage after miscarriage, it does something to you. For the woman, it’s her body. And it fucks with her head. It fucks with a man’s head too. It’s my pride. I feel useless. I’m afraid that every time I touch her, she’ll be thinking about, Will this be it this time? And if it is it and she loses it again, I’ll feel responsible for that pain. That’s no way to live, D. I just feel like as much as I love her, our parts don’t fit! And the more we try, the more disaster happens. First it’s her, then it’s our home. What if she dies next time? I can’t be near her, D. Because every time I see her, when I close my eyes, all I see is death. Not my Laila, not anymore.”

“In sickness and in health, Ralph. In sickness and in health. She needs you. And she’s your responsibility! You’re just gonna up and leave?”

“Denise, if I don’t leave now, then you’re gonna have two extra people to take care of. I’m going back to Providence. I’m going to stay at my parents’ until I close on an apartment. In the meantime, I’ll get some therapy. Hopefully. I can’t stay here. People can’t stop giving me their condolences when I walk down the gahdamn street. I’ll suffocate.”

Denise nodded. “And divorce?”

“One step at a time.”

Denise shrank back in her seat and harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. “A wise woman once said, don’t let a man tell you more than once that he don’t want you. Guess the same rule applies for when he wants to walk out the door.