Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 59

"Capo!" Missy calls and launches me into a tight hug. I push the bundle of blankets and the empty corpse into her hands. I don't wait to see her reaction. Sandy can explain.

We drive a few miles ahead and we near the closest most populated area before halting. Ace couldn't take any more of watching a dead baby in Lyra's arms being spoken quiet words of comfort and love without throwing up.

I walk up ahead, voices around me muffled, reassuring and supportive claps on my backs and arm gone unnoticed, and I walk up to Lyra who's pacing up and down the front of the car.

"Hey," I say

Lyra's state of clothing didn't really register to me in the shitass lighting and she explained it saying that she tried to use her clothes to make a blanket for the baby to lie on. Her hands are still red, and the blood under her nails has dried and frozen.

She doesn't really hear me. Choosing instead to mumble to herself and pacing. When she walks toward me, I put a hand on her arm to stop her. She pauses in her infernal stride. Carefully, I lift her and place her on the bonnet of the car.

I hand her a bundled wrap of one of my shirts. She wordlessly takes it and with her eyes focused blankly at nowhere, she puts it on. I help her with the buttons. The hem of the shirt falls to her knees. Her hands are shaking, and I don't think she notices. I give her a beer and opened it for her.

"Hey," I say again after she's warmer

She holds up her beer in acknowledgement.

It takes a second for her to answer properly.

"How's the baby?" she asks as if she only hears my greeting now

I don't say anything.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," I raise my eyebrows but she doesn't notice my dubious look, "How's the child? We need a hospital for him."

I don't say anything for a while. And she doesn't really notice that a while has passed because her eyes glaze over a little. She snaps out of it and asks again,

"Where's the baby?"

And this time, I try, I try to give her an answer.

"Lyra," I say quietly

"What's with that tone?" she demands before I can continue. I touch her wrist; she's running a fever and she's entering a state of complete delirium, "Where's the baby, Aiden? He's crying, I can hear it, he's going to wake the entire neighborhood up. He needs food, and water, and warmth, and medicine and—"

"The baby isn't crying," I tell her and she stops, pauses, and choses her words

She smiles sarcastically at me as if to jeer me for my joke.

I don't smile.

The smirk slides off her face.

"What—what do you mean—I can hear him—what do you mean he's not crying?" she scoffs a little, scared a little

"Lyra, he's not—" I close my eyes, "—he didn't make it,"

"Aiden," she laughs now, "I can hear him. He's still crying. He's been crying since he was born. He needs—he needs me," she says determined and gets off the bonnet

I catch her by the waist and lifts her back up.

"No, there's nothing—he's been dead for a while—"

"No, he—"

"No, listen to me," I breathe out, "He was born pre-maturely. He's too small. And a baby born like that already has low survival rates. Being born inside a freezer, without immediate medical attention—you, you did what you could Lyra,"

"No, you listen to me," she insists, "You think I don't know what's real?"

That's exactly what I think and she knows that that is what she is thinking too.

"You think I'm mad?" she inhales sharply

"No," I say quickly, "I think you are tired, confused and—"

I stop talking because she loses focus again. Her eyes mist over and she is spacing out looking into the space between my shoulder and ear. And it takes her a whole minute to blink and look at me. She had already forgotten what we were talking about.

"No—I, I, um...no, he is alive. He's crying. He is a little—a little bit blue but I tried—I tried to warm him up. I wrapped him in all my clothes. I promised him—" she breaks off

"I know, I know, I know," she falls onto my shoulder and I keep her there

"He's going to hate me, he's going to hate me, he's going to hate me," she mumbles and she's crying. She's crying so much. And it sounds like hell.

And then it stops. It stops after what feels like forever.

It's like the war between her determination to keep herself and the baby alive gives out against her strength. She faints. And I catch her just as she slides down my arm.

"How far is the nearest hospital?"