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

“You’re hearing, but you’re not listening,” Nevaeh said. “Even if what you say is true, if, hypothetically speaking, you would’ve given Asali the caul to what end? The caul couldn’t make Asali rich, so she couldn’t properly take care of that baby. She could’ve placed the caul on the child, and it could’ve lived, but then what? She put the baby in a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom trash can, for God’s sake, Hallow. Does that sound like love to you?”

Hallow remained quiet.

Nevaeh leaned across the coffee table and touched Hallow’s right hand, which was lying on top of the New York Times. “Sweetheart, that child was not wanted. There’s not much hope for abandoned children, we all know that.”

Hallow stared at the headline of Asali Givens’s story and lost herself within the words. The child was abandoned, and maybe someone could have taken the child if it had lived. She was reminded of Iris’s claim that Josephine wasn’t her biological mother, a memory she had not dwelled upon since that night to avoid pain. But she had more questions now: If Josephine was not her real mother, then who was? If her mother was still alive, then hadn’t Hallow been abandoned too?

“My apologies, I . . .” She pressed a fingertip to the corner of her right eye and said, “Will you all excuse me for just one moment? I seem to have gotten a bit ahead of myself.”

Hallow walked to the hallway bathroom, twisted the doorknob, and tripped into the interior before locking the door behind her. Feeling constricted, she loosened a few buttons of her satin blouse before waving her hands in front of her face. The tears streamed down quicker than she could dry them. Once Hallow was able to steady her breathing, she straightened her back and leaned over the sink to inspect her face for any resemblance to Josephine or Landon. Where Josephine’s nose was aquiline, Hallow’s was wide. Hallow’s eyes were round, and her parents’ almond-shaped. No matter which angle she turned her head, the light could not contour her enough to fool her into believing that their face shapes were in any way similar. She wanted to believe that Iris was lying, to not allow the pain to settle in, but she saw no resemblance to either Josephine or Landon.

Now she was beginning to recall more of what happened the night Iris alleged that Josephine wasn’t her mother. The morning after Hallow visited Iris, she woke up on the living room sofa feeling as though her body and mind were torn apart from each other. When Josephine had asked what happened, Hallow told her nothing and did not change her story, no matter how much coaxing and bribery were presented to her. Hallow never brought up the issue with Iris again, and Josephine could not be in the same room with her sister unless they were at opposite ends. These loose threads were forming a spindle that was pulling Hallow more toward paranoia than measured inquiry. What if everyone else in that brownstone knew that Josephine wasn’t her mother? What if their persistent eyes were filled with pity and their smiles with pleasure at the impostor sitting before them with such counterfeit confidence?

Someone knocked three times on the door, interrupting Hallow’s thoughts. The diminishing force behind each rap was enough for her to know it was Josephine. When Hallow opened the door, Josephine peeked her head in and flashed an unimposing smile that made Hallow step back and allow her into the bathroom.

Josephine gently closed and locked the door behind her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just needed a moment, that’s all. I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Hallow raised her shoulders and opened her palms simultaneously. “Was there anything else you wanted to say?”

“Not really. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. They were pretty intense back there, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I can take ’em. I just wish Maman hadn’t left like that. I’m still getting used to having more responsibilities around here, and it seems like she always dips out too soon because she’s tired or upset or something. It’s like she wants to be detached from everything nowadays.”

“Maman is close to one hundred, Hallow. You have to be mindful of this. She has seen a lot.”

Hallow sighed. “I know.” She placed her arm on the wall and rested her forehead upon it, slowly rubbing from side to side.

“Hal, you seem stressed.”

Hallow lifted her head and blinked at Josephine. “What do you think about this story, the one of the sixteen-year-old girl?”

“Nothing of it.”

Hallow scrutinized how tightly the ends of Josephine’s mouth were pulled back and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m serious. I may not be as old as Maman, but I’ve seen things too. I know of too many women who wanted children and couldn’t have them or had them, but they didn’t last long.”

“How do you know of any women? You don’t have any friends. You barely go out.”

Josephine folded her hands and swallowed. “I had a life before you, Hallow, and I’ve seen things.”

“What things?”

Josephine said nothing. Instead, she kissed Hallow on the forehead, gripped her shoulders, then left the bathroom.

A few moments later, there was another knock at the bathroom door. Hallow flung the door open, assuming it was Josephine again.

Iris rested her elbow in the crook of her left arm and propped her chin on her knuckles.

“Oh, Iris.” Hallow rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “What is it?”

She asked, “We never painted over the spearheads, did we?”

“We did.”

“Did the painters use a primer before painting?”

“Why would they have needed to use a primer?”

“I see. Probably best to return to the party, don’t you think? You don’t want to keep our guests waiting.” She placed a hand on Hallow’s back and led her out into the corridor. The ladies were engaged in some kind of lively conversation in the meantime, which made Hallow think they weren’t all that concerned about her interlude.

Out