Baby Breath revised, John Andrew Durler Sr. [best short books to read txt] 📗

warm meat, all those little micro organisms growing in the meat?

No, amputations on the job, poor safety, a guy falls, loses his legs, or gets crisped."

"Oh that."

"Yeah, when he started, Seeben was a skinny punk lawyer who smelled the money. Forget it. After he won, everybody who ever lost a suit against Lilco, went to him in droves."

"Would you know any other lawyers who sell babies?"

"Nah, I'm just a custodian."

"Would you have any of the files, any photographs, what she looks like?"

"I can't do that. Hey, you tell me you're a father who lost his kid and that's all I know about you. How do I know you're not an investigator for that bitch and she wants to take another crack at my Brother-in-law?"

"Listen, my name is Alexander Sinclair You want to go through my wallet?" He took it out.

He looked at it. "Nah. I'd rather not know who you are. Since you offered to show me your, I. D. It's OK. My name's Jake."

"Look Jake, I'll pay. All I want is a description. That's it--and an address would be helpful. I'll double what I gave you."

He leaned back and looked at me, sizing me up. "I can look in the boxes. When do you need it? I'm not promising anything."

"I need it now, or never. I can probably find her without your information just by looking up newspaper stories. But I don't have a lot of time."

"All right, I'll look now. Give me the money."

"Alex gave him a hundred dollar bill and said, "you get the other half when you give me what I'm looking for."

He shoved the bill in his pocket, got up, opened a door, and walked into a storage bin, turned on a light and said, "Come on. Help me. It's in one of these boxes. Her name is Norma Minguez."

The boxes were alphabetical, so we only went through three to find the file.
The hospital records were almost worthless. Alex jotted her address. They went through trial boxes and found a newspaper photograph of Norma. Alex wanted a physical description, and wanted her medical history, but Jake wouldn't let it out of his hands. Alex glanced through it and saw she was on anti-depressants before and after the birth. None during the pregnancy. Alex put the news clipping in his pocket and gave Jake another hundred dollar bill.

"Thanks much for the local color. I got to go. Thanks a lot, Jake."

Alex looked at Harry. "Then I came here. That's it. Wish me luck."
Sure, Mac, uh, Alexander."

"Call me Alex."

"OK, Alex. The best of luck. I mean it, from my heart, man."

典hanks Harry. I'll let you know how things work out."

"You bet." He said.

***

Alex left five dollars on the bar and walked out into the blinding sunlight. The woman was still sitting on the bench across the street, in Argyle park. The stroller in front of her. She hadn't moved an inch. He walked across the street through the parking lot over to the bench she was sitting on, past her to the waterfall, back around her and stopped between her and the stroller looking at the baby. It looked about the age Jenny was when she died, pink dress, yellow bonnet, and arms in a knit sweater, sleeves rolled up. This baby seemed strange, though, unmoving like Jenny did when Alex found her only Jenny was face down, eyes open. This kid had her eyes closed.


"This is a beautiful park. Do you come here often?" Alex asked trying to open a conversation.

"Oh, yes. I live just down past the library. It's cold there. The landlord didn't put the heat on yet. It's warm here in the sun." She didn't turn toward Alex, her head down.

"That's convenient. What a beautiful baby. Boy or girl?" Alex smiled at her. She did not see it, her head raised, looking toward the stroller. He saw she had been beautiful once. It hung there, beneath gray hair overtaking auburn strands, wrinkles etched her forehead, and a pallor of exhaustion seeped from her face. She looked at him then, nervous--off guard--making him uncomfortable, her eyes wide, mouth open, shaking her head as if to say how dumb he was not being able to tell that, then mumbled, "She's a girl."

"How old is she?"

"She's two months old," she said as if two months old was a burden.

He looked around the park. A couple strolled about thirty feet away. A group of kids raced around the lake. The boys in the front, long legs pumping like pistons called out jeering at the stragglers. He felt disoriented. "She looks so peaceful. Babies are so vulnerable, don't you think?" He remarked, suddenly thinking she could be his. As he turned to the baby he thought about Jenny's tiny hands gripping his finger, her breath sweet and fresh, her mouth wide in a smile as he blew kisses at her.

"How old is she? I'm sorry, you said three months, but she looks almost new born." Before she could answer, Alex bent over the stroller, unclasped the belt and lifted her, his heart pounding in anticipation of holding her close.

"Don't touch her!" She yelled.

The baby felt stiff, like a plastic doll. 妬s this a doll?" He turned, saw the fear in her face and chills ran down his spine and the back of his neck. "This baby's dead!" "She's ice cold!"

"She died last night. I didn't kill her. I can't give her up. I won't. I don't know what to do. I can't bury her, see her in a coffin."

"You crazy Bitch! You let this poor baby die, didn't you? You're a Jehovah Witness, aren't you? You sorry piece of shit! You killed her didn't you? Answer me!"

"I didn't kill her!" She sobbed, head down, turned away. "She wouldn't eat for days, and when I woke up last night to see if she would take a bottle, she didn't move."

Alex wanted to throw up. He put the baby back in the stroller, his knees buckling, his head reeling. He dropped to the bench, shaking.

"I'm calling the police, so you better leave as quickly as you can." His voice sounded hollow as if someone else was talking in his voice. Horror swept over him as an eight wheeler roared by, clack, clack, and clack. The horror passed with the truck leaving him queasy, yet relieved that circumstance developed this way, because a split second before he reached to pick her up, it had gone through his mind to snatch her. Norma sobbed, clutching herself, rocking back and forth on the bench. Jenny filled Alex's mind so overwhelmingly he touched her and said, "Calm down. I'm sorry. I lost a daughter too." In saying that, his heart went out to her for her need so immense for her baby, that the denial of the baby's death became so real, she could not imagine burying it, waiting for
things to go back to what they were.

He asked evenly, "Why is she so cold. You keep her in the refrigerator? Its common knowledge they freeze people and put them on ice for future times in hopes of finding a way to bring them back. It won't work. She's in good shape today, but tomorrow...?"

She picked the baby up and started to walk to the street. "I am calling the cops," Alex repeated. "You'll both be better off."

She ran. Alex looked at his watch. It was three thirty. He shook his head in bewilderment, got up slowly, walked shakily to his car and drove toward Bay Shore. He passed the first pay phone he saw and the second. At the third, he pulled over, dialed 911 and when it connected he hung up. Fuck it. He went home and crawled into bed.

A month dragged by as Alex gathered forms and applications. Reviewing the stack of Adoption documents, he got disgusted with the bureaucracy and the reams of small print paperwork. The six page applications of adoption applications were so involved he stopped before he started. Trying another venue, he placed advertisements in the personal section of Newsday. "Single dad wants to adopt a baby girl." He kept it to 3 lines for 30 days. He got every crazy, including desperate couples who would pay for any rejects and several lawyers who said they'd pay healthy finder's fees for any unsuitable baby produced by his ad. The most persistent of the couples were Bryson Vanbuskirk and his wife Mildred, who called every day, sometimes twice. Every day they'd leave a message, filling up his machine with their impeccable qualifications. He felt sorry for the Vanbuskirk's. If he found a baby girl, it would be Alexs' and the phone calls would be trashed. He was getting desperate, unable to steal a baby knowing how the parents would feel losing one. He thought about it, but that was it.

He went to church, a different one each day, sometimes two, to pray his heart out. He lit candles until his arm was tired, then stuffed the poor box, as tears streamed down his face while he sobbed, "Jenny, my Jenny."

At six o'clock, late afternoon the next day, he drove to the Post Office Cafe. It was crowded. He didn't go in. Instead, he walked around the Village, up and down the streets looking in windows seeing swing sets in back yards, bicycles, trampolines, kids through open windows all the way down to the Marina. It was getting dark. The smell of the sea was like the scent of woman that dusky night. Alex walked through a playground along the way, then started back to see if the Cafe had thinned out. As he strolled past the library, he saw a heavy woman turn the corner, broke into a run, turned the corner and saw her stop to cross the street. He walked quickly, and when closer, saw Norma's profile.

"Hey, how you doing, remember me?" He said, nonchalant, reaching her, wanting desperately to be with her.

"Oh!" Her head jerked, scared. "You're the man who yelled at me. I didn't kill her. I swear I didn't."

"I believe you," Alex spoke softly. "It must have been terrible losing two babies."
The light changed and Alex took her arm and they walked across to the park side of Main Street where she sat on a bench. He stood slightly away from her to her side.

"I only lost one." Her voice was suspicious, "How...how did you know about the other one? Mine is not gaining weight. She doesn't grow. The other one is, I guess, is still alive
somewhere, living with strangers. I pray for her."

"Silas David, the lawyer." I said.

"Oh God! Who are you? How do you know all this. Are you a detective? You work for Silas David, don't you?"

"No. I'm just a daddy that lost his daughter."

"Oh, please? Don't take my baby? Please don't...? She's not yours. She's mine. I have a birth certificate for her."

"Yeah? Where was she born?

"Brunswick." Brunswick was a general hospital and had a psychiatric and a