And Then There Was Victor

Chapter 23

I didn't realize I was shaking until Mercy reached out and grabbed my hand. When I looked at her, I saw Mercy had tear tracks down her face, even as her face sat impassive and strong, silent tears dripped down her cheeks. I wondered at Mercy's grandmother, if her grandma had also caused quite a scene when Mercy was conceived. If her Mom had also been shunned. If Mercy had heard whispers from her own Grandmother on what a failure her Mom was and how little Mercy had ruined everything, how the baby in the belly had been hated and despised.

Finally. Finally, Yara's name was called and Rafael left, leaving us women to handle the ashes left behind. Mrs. Martinez had calmed down, she had mostly cried into tissues and compulsively read her Bible.

"I'll see you when you wake up," I smiled at Yara. I had to be strong but she looked so small on the prep bed, her big hair was encased in a surgical cap.

"Did you see where my Dad went?"

I shook my head.

"How are you going to get home?" Yara asked.

"Don't worry about it, we'll figure it out," Mercy said. "Just worry about you."

Yara nodded, resting against the bed as the IV took its effect. "I would've kept it, you know."

"We know," I said.

"Even if she would've hated me her whole life," Yara whispered, her eyes dropping.

Mercy sniffed and she leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "We'll be here when you wake up, Yahaira."

We each took one of her hands and held them tight. Why anyone would think a woman would be flippant about abortion was beyond me. As if we would forget. As if we wouldn't care.

Mercy and I watched as Yahaira was wheeled away and nodded when the nurse told us it would be quick. About 45 minutes. We drove to Subway and got something to eat but my appetite was shot and so was Mercy's. She looked older; her shoulders hunched over.

"I don't think I want children, Becky-girl," she whispered.

"You say that cause you're young," I said.

"No." There was a determination in her voice. "That's what people say when they don't like our opinions. As if life is going to teach us the same lessons. I don't need to date an alcoholic to find out alcoholics make bad husbands."

I stared at her, only nineteen, and already life had shown Mercy far more than it had shown me. Her clear green eyes looked back at me.

"You want all of that, don't you, Becka? Kids. A husband. A nice house."

I shifted and slowly nodded. "Yeah. Right person. I'd like it."

She smiled. "I'll be the best aunt. The cool aunt, you'll send your kids to Summer with me and I'll smoke weed with them."

I laughed which felt strange after today. "And who will I have all these kids with?"

"Whoever he is, I hope he makes you laugh."

×××

The respite of the day was momentary and when we got back to the waiting room I saw that a social worker had put Mr. and Mrs. Martinez in a small room and they were both crying and holding each other's hands. It would be awful to go back home with them plus I felt I would intrude on something personal, something they needed to handle on their own.

When they told us the procedure was done and we could see Yara I thought it best we sneak in before her parents. Mercy and I walked to find her already sitting on a chair and she was drinking grape juice, sipping it slowly from a juice box when she turned to us. She looked pale and broken. My heart twisted.