Grievous Sin

Tears formed in Magda’s eyes. Stefan took his wife’s hand, squeezed it, then turned to Decker. “You come see your baby, Akiva. Just for a moment.”

“Go, Sergeant,” Hendricks said. “You could use a little joy.”

Slowly, Decker stood and blew out air. He didn’t want to go. What he wanted more than anything else was to see Rina. He wanted to hold her hand and kiss her long, slender fingers. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He didn’t want to be ecstatic while she was suffering. He didn’t want to do anything without her. Because nothing was as joyous as when they shared the moment together. But he decided to go see his daughter anyway. Because a little joy was better than none.

5 (#ulink_816dabcc-76b8-5bad-9bf1-da4764da8c42)

Cindy wiggled her fingers at the pink bundle with the saucer eyes, thinking the witch had purposely put the baby all the way in back. But it didn’t matter. Baby Girl Decker was so big and alert, she’d be visible wherever she was. The two layettes that abutted hers belonged to Baby Girl Rodriguez and Spencer Dole. BG Rodriguez was a teeny little thing with a head no bigger than a navel orange. She had thick black hair and wrinkled skin. Spencer had a fat, squat face and howled constantly. But BG Decker seemed unbothered by her roommates’ perplexities, preferring to drool on her paper bedsheet while trying to suck her thumb.

The nursery was a full house tonight—layettes filled with whites, blacks, Hispanics, and one Asian named Baby Boy Yamata who never cried. Rows of innocent babies out of Central Casting. Baby Girl Decker was living in a veritable pint-sized UN. A moment passed, then Baby Girl Jackson, representing the African-American contingent, opened a toothless mouth and let out a silent wail.

Nose to the glass, Cindy made silly faces at her sister, wishing she could hold her, hoping that Nurse Marie Bellson would go off shift and let her alone. The woman was intimidating, lean with knobby, rakelike fingers. Bellson was a deciduous tree in the wintertime—thin and barren. She had a way of making you feel guilty even if you hadn’t done anything.

Cindy’s eyes moved to the wall clock—visiting hours were almost over. She knew she’d have to leave any minute. As if to prove herself correct, she saw Bellson come out of the nursery. The woman was pure no-nonsense. She wore little makeup, and practical jewelry—a class ring, two gold stud earrings and a gold cross above her uniform breast pocket. She had attractive eyes, though—bright green spotted with brown. They’d be even prettier if they didn’t look so angry. Cindy put on her nicest smile.

“One more minute?”

Bellson shook her head. “You’re getting too attached to the baby. You’re her sister, not her mother.” She flicked her wrist. “Visiting hours are officially over. Good night.”

Cindy sighed, looked down the hallway, then broke into a grin. “That’s my father and my stepmother’s family.”

Bellson put her hands on her hips and shook her head again. Cindy jogged down the corridor and gave her father a bear hug.

“Rina’s okay?”

Decker linked arms with his daughter. “She’s out of surgery. Sammy gave her a pint of blood, God bless him.”

“But everything’s okay?”

“Not out of the woods yet, but I feel a lot better than I did an hour ago.”

“You look beat, Dad. You need rest.”

Decker knew she was right, but that was immaterial. He wasn’t going anywhere until he saw Rina. “Are you our personal escort?”

“Absolutely, if Bellson doesn’t kick us out. She just told me to leave.” Cindy frowned. “Here comes the Wicked Witch of the West now.”

A thin woman in white approached them. She had surface wrinkles trailing down the corners of her eyes and mouth and a set of wavy lines across her forehead—the kind of wrinkles that usually come from overtanning, except this woman held a proper Victorian pallor. Her hair was clean, but the color was dingy—pipewater from old plumbing. Her eyes were her saving grace—Kelly green sprinkled with coffee brown. They were clear and perceptive. She wasn’t pretty, but she managed to strike an attractive pose. Decker put her age at around forty. She held out her hand, and Decker took it.

“How is your wife, Mr. Decker?” Bellson asked.

“She’s still in Recovery.”

The RN nodded. “We’ve got the best post-op care in the country. So try not to worry. I’ll let you folks take a quick peek at the baby before I boot you out. Not my idea, but the babies are being transferred from the nurseries to their mothers for the ten o’clock feeding. We don’t like outside people in the wings while we’re wheeling them down the foyers. Who knows what kind of bugs they’re harboring.”

Magda said, “We be quick.”

“Come.” Bellson’s walk was brisk. “You’re the grandma? You look too young.” She stopped at the glass window. “She’s all the way in back. I’ll put her in front for you.”

Cindy watched Bellson disappear behind the nursery doors, amazed by the woman’s transformation. From sneers to smiles, she’d become all-accommodating. It made Cindy feel funny. Why was Bellson so mean to her and nice to everyone else? She shrugged. At least Dad was happy. His smile was genuine—first one she’d seen tonight. She went over and leaned her head against his arm. Together, they watched Bellson—who had donned a blue paper gown, gloves, and a face mask—rearrange the layettes until BG Decker was in front. Then the nurse picked her up and gave them a front view of the bundle. Cindy noticed that her father was holding back tears. He’d always been good at damming his emotions. It was one of the reasons why tonight seemed surreal. She had never seen him scared.

She said, “She looks like you, Daddy.”

“No, no, no,” Magda said, rapping gently on the glass. “She look like Ginny, but she has Akiva’s coloring—the red hair and fair skin.”

“Poor kid,” Decker said. “Another lobster in the sun.”

“Suntanning isn’t good for you anyway, Daddy,” Cindy said. “And if that’s not a cheap rationalization …”

“Grandma’s right,” Marge said. “She does look like Rina.”

“Of course she does,” Magda announced. “I’m good at faces. Nu, Stefan, tell them.”

“She’s good at the faces,” her husband stated.

Decker turned to his sons. “What do you think?”

“I think she’s funny-looking,” Jake said. “She’s all red.”

Magda gently hit his arm. “You were red when you were born.”

“No, no, no,” Stefan said. “Yonkie was never red. Shmuli was red.”

Decker regarded his elder stepson, still pale but steady on his feet. He seemed lost, his eyes unfocused. “Are you okay, Sam?”

“Huh?”

Decker put his arm around the boy. “What are you thinking about?”

“I wish I could see Eema. You know … just see her.”

“Boy, I know how you feel.”

“She’ll be okay, won’t she?”

“Doc assures me she’ll be fine. I believe him, Sammy.”

“When do you think you’ll see her?”

“I don’t know, Sammy. Soon, I hope.”

“Will you call us after you see her?”

“Depends on the time.” Decker hugged his shoulder gently. “I’m not going to call you at three in the morning.”

“No, you call us, Akiva,” his mother-in-law said. “I don’t sleep much tonight anyway. You call us as soon as you see Ginny. I want to know.” She wiped her eyes. “Please, you call.”

“I’ll call.”