Saving the Moon

  Saving the Moon

  by Mette Ivie Harrison

  Copyright 2012 by Mette Ivie Harrison

  Smashwords Edition

  Table of Contents:

  A Candle at Midnight and an Open Door

  The Ghost Who Loved Shoes

  The Hand-Me-Down Bag

  Lucky Socks

  Saving the Moon

  Stolen Hearts

  The One Who Waits

  Typhoid Magic

  Psychological Loss

  Fun With Dick and Jane Austen

  7 Rules For Finding a Dead Boyfriend

  A CANDLE AT MIDNIGHT AND AN OPEN DOOR

  Koren had taken to stopping by the park on her lunch break. There were a lot of young mothers with children who came here with a picnic or simply as a regular outing, to meet friends or to have better luck getting children to take a nap who might otherwise be past the age.

  At seven months pregnant, Koren was large enough that no one hesitated to ask when she was due or to even to pat her stomach as if she were some lucky talisman or a great Buddha statue, her belly filling the role of the bald head.

  Most of the children at the park she knew by name. There was Donald, presumably named after an older relative with a lot of money. He was two years old, and was very demanding. “Come push me, Mama. Come watch me slide, Mama. Come let me bury you in the sand, Mama.”

  Chance and Fortune were twins, boy and girl, who seemed to plan their escapes together. How they communicated, Koren could not tell. But any moment their mother turned away, they were off, running for the street, or for the stream that ran on the other side of the park. They were fast three year-olds. Koren thought someone should bring an Olympic scout to watch them.

  Alice was a toddler who had a high-pitched shriek that, once set off, would go for an hour or more. She threw herself at her mother and banged her head again and again on her mother’s chest. The mother—Koren didn’t know any of their named, because they were only ever “Mama” to their children—would say calming words for much longer than Koren thought she could, and eventually would take Alice home, still screaming.

  But that day Koren noticed that Alice was missing. Her mother was there, the woman with the short, black hair and the pixie-ish face, but Koren looked over the park and could see no sign of the little girl.

  Koren was bold enough to go touch the woman on the shoulder. “I think we should call the police,” she said.

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

  “Alice. Your daughter. She may have been taken.” Koren didn’t mention the stream. Somehow that seemed worse, more permanent, than kidnapping. “How long has it been since you saw her?”

  “I didn’t bring her,” said the woman.

  “What? Do you mean you left her at home alone, without realizing it?” Koren had heard stories of parents who left children strapped in car seats, asleep, while they went into work or to run errands. It wasn’t a warm day, and if she wasn’t in the car, she might be safe. But perhaps Koren should call the police herself, and report the woman’s negligence.

  “No. I didn’t bring her. I’ve given her up,” said the woman.

  Koren stared at her blankly.

  “She was too much trouble. I didn’t want to chase after her anymore. I enjoy the park. I always did. I don’t know why I thought I had to bring a child with me to come back, though. I’m enjoying it far more without her.”

  “You gave her up? For adoption?” Was that even possible, at Alice’s age? Koren couldn’t believe it. The woman had to be mentally ill. The stress of caring for her daughter had sent her over the edge.

  “It’s not what you think,” said the woman, with a strange smile. “She’s happier where she is. And I’m happier, too. It’s the right thing for all of us.”

  “Umm. How long has it been?” asked Koren.

  “A week or so now. The last full moon.”

  Koren tried to understand why the moon would matter, then shook her head. “What happened, exactly? Can you tell me?” Maybe the baby had died or had been kidnapped or something and the woman could not handle the truth. There seemed to be something sinister here.

  “It’s not that complicated, really. I just waited until it was midnight. Then I opened the door and lit a candle to show the way to her room. In the morning, she was gone.”

  Koren was chilled. So, it had been a kidnapping. But if there had been no sign of a break-in, it had to be a relative or someone close who had taken her. “Maybe it was your husband? Are you and he struggling?” she asked.

  The woman waved a hand. “I’m not married.”

  “But Alice’s father?”

  “He wasn’t interested in her from the beginning. He wanted me to have an abortion. Maybe he was right. He certainly wasn’t ready to be a father. And I suppose I wasn’t ready to be a mother, either.”

  It was all said so cavalierly that Koren felt sick. “I’m going to call the police,” she announced.

  “Oh, that again?” said the woman. “I’ve already talked to them. Yesterday one of the women in my apartment complex called them. They came and looked through my apartment, but there was no evidence that there’d ever been a child there. No crib. No dresser. No clothes. The desk I had put in there before I got pregnant was back, along with files up to my waist, and a coffee mug with a stain that held it down like glue underneath.”

  “But—” said Koren.

  “They couldn’t find any files at the hospital, either. I’d never had a baby, as far as the officials are concerned. She never existed. That’s what I was telling you. I gave her up. Past and future, forever. She’s not mine. They took her and made her their own.”

  “They?”

  “Oh, they’re called fairies sometimes. Or the folk. These days some people talk about aliens in space ships. It’s all the same.”

  “You’re saying your daughter was taken by space aliens?” Koren echoed.

  “No, I’m saying I gave her up to space aliens. They want babies, you see. They have such a hard time having their own. They’ve always wanted human babies. Haven’t you read the stories?”

  “Yes, but—they’re only stories,” said Koren.

  “Are they?” asked the woman. She shook her head. “It’s supposed to be beautiful there. You’re never hungry or cold or unhappy. And such incredible, eery music. I’m sure that she will like it there better than here.” She met Koren’s eyes, but Koren could see no trace of guilt in them. No trace of any emotion at all.

  “You heard her, screaming like that. She was unhappy with me. She had to sense how angry I was with her, even though I tried not to show it.”

  “Did you ever—?” asked Koren.

  “Hit her? No, of course not!” The woman seemed genuinely affronted by this accusation. “I could never do that to a child. The things I’ve seen in my life—no, I swore to myself that no matter how much she upset me I would remember I was the adult and she was just a baby. And I did. I really did.”

  “Then what happened? Did you stop loving her?” This was disturbing to Koren, the idea that a woman could love a child one day and the next—simply, not. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The books said that a woman fell in love at first sight, at birth, and then there might be hard times after that, but the love was always there, strong as ever.

  “I don’t know if I stopped loving her. I just stopped wanting to. And then when she was gone, I cried for a little while. An hour or two. But then I was finished, and I was so glad. It was such a relief, you know?”

  Koren shook her head. She did not know. She did not want to know. She put a hand on her stomach protectively.

  The other woman followed the movement. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have notice
d earlier. You know, just because I had trouble doesn’t mean you will. I mean, you will probably have a completely different child than my Alice. I bet she won’t scream for hours on end, no matter how much you try to help her. She’ll be an angel and you’ll love her and never think about giving her up.”

  Koren considered this for a moment. So the woman was suggesting that if her daughter wasn’t an angel, then Koren would want to give her up?

  “They really found no trace of her in the records?” asked Koren.

  “No.” She snapped her fingers. “Magic, I guess. She was just gone when I wanted her gone. I think they take a lot of children like that. You never hear of them because the parents don’t report them as missing, and well, there’s no proof.”

  “But I remember her,” said Koren. “She had dark hair just like yours, and fair skin. A turned-up nose and hands that she always gripped into fists when she was afraid of something.”

  The mother nodded. “You’re right. I think that is how she looked. The pictures are all gone from my apartment now, too. But I still remember her in my mind. In a few weeks, maybe, not so clearly. And in a year or so, I’ll be as wiped clean as the records are. It will be easier then. No chances for regret.”

  “Do you regret it now?” asked Koren, feeling a morbid curiosity, despite her feeling that this could not be real, that she had to be missing something.

  “Oh, there’s a twinge now and then. I was getting used to the feel of her weight on my hip, and when she slept, she was beautiful. Those rosebud lips and the relaxation of her face. Until she woke up crying, of course, and I had to figure out what she wanted.” The woman shrugged. “Listen, if you ever decide to change your mind—” She waved at Koren’s stomach. “You can talk to me about it. I won’t judge you. And I can tell you how to do it. How to give her up to them.”

  Koren walked away, her arms wrapped full around her stomach in terror as she realized that she’d never told the woman she was expecting a girl. There was a fifty-fifty chance, of course. It could be no more than a lucky guess. But still, it was frightening.

  That night, after work, after dinner, Koren lay in her husband Adam’s arms and recounted what had happened at the park.

  “Isn’t that horrible?” she asked him.

  “Are you taking enough vitamins?” asked Adam. “Do you have a temperature?” He put a hand on her forehead. “I think you should go in and see your doctor right now.”

  “I’m not making this up. It actually happened,” said Koren.

  “A baby who disappeared? Given up to the fairies? That’s ridiculous.”

  Koren tried to tell her mother the same story, over the telephone, but her mother had the same reaction.

  So Koren learned not to talk about the woman in the park to anyone. But she kept going to the park, and the woman was frequently there. She kept her distance, so Koren was never afraid of any physical violence, but she waved and made sure that she recognized Koren, and sometimes when Koren was leaving, she called out a farewell, or asked how the baby was doing.

  Koren did not answer her.

  Six weeks later, the OB/GYN told Koren that she was three centimeters dilated at her appointment. “Which is fine, since you’re full term now. You can deliver at any time without complications.”

  “But I thought—two weeks,” said Koren.

  “Oh, it’s anywhere in the last three weeks. Forty weeks is just an estimate anyway. It’s a general average, but many women regularly give birth earlier, and there are some who go two or even three weeks over every time, and that’s normal for them. Think of it as a bell curve and you’re heading to the bulge.” He patted her stomach and then gave her a hand to sit up.

  “Any time, then,” said Koren. “I could be a mother.”

  “Of course. Isn’t that what you expected when you got into this?” He smiled indulgently.

  “Yes, yes,” muttered Koren. “But it was a long time away then.”

  “Nine months away.”

  “I don’t suppose you could give me a little time—”

  “Turn back the baby’s clock so you can be pregnant for a few extra months?”

  “Exactly,” said Koren. She thought of all the things she still hadn’t finished yet. The painting in the nursery. That border she had wanted to put up, and got too tired to finish. It was in the storage room, waiting for her. She picked it out and ordered it, months ago. And there was cleaning to do. Books she hadn’t read yet. Important books, like how to get your baby to sleep at night, and how to have a baby that doesn’t cry, how to speak in the language of your baby. How could she do all that now?

  “You know, most women are so eager not to be pregnant anymore that they want to see if I can speed up the process a little. But there are always a few like you, who panic at the very end. Let me assure you, Koren, you’re as prepared to be a mother as any woman I’ve met. You’re going to do fine at this. Sure, you’ll have moments where you don’t know what to do, but you’ll get through them. People just do. We’ve been doing it for thousands of years. That’s how the human race has survived, eh? It comes naturally, mostly. Just follow your instincts.”

  Koren was following her instincts and her instincts were telling her that this wasn’t the right time. That she wasn’t ready. That she would never be ready.

  She walked out of the office slowly and went straight home, though she’d told everyone at work she’d be back in. They’d been planning a baby shower for her for this afternoon and she’d been excited about it. Then.

  Now she couldn’t imagine sitting and opening presents that were for a baby she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore. What kind of a person was she, anyway? That she could change her mind suddenly like this, and feel like a baby was a horrible mistake? She hated herself, and that was why when Adam came home, she said nothing about it.

  “Your office called. They said you were supposed to be there for a shower. Did you forget about it? They couldn’t get you on your cell.”

  “Oh!” Koren pretended to being abashed. “I can’t believe I did that. I went to the doctor’s and I just felt tired afterward, so I went straight home and took a nap. I must not have even heard the cell phone.”

  Adam patted her stomach affectionately. “They’ll understand when you explain it to them in the morning. You’ll just have to have your shower tom tomorrow.”

  She didn’t tell him anything about the three centimeters dilation, and though she felt enormously tired, she did not sleep. Adam was snoring gently beside her and she got up out of the bed and went down to the nursery.

  She thought about what the woman in the park had said. She thought about the nursery being an exercise room again. She thought about not having any trace of pregnancy, not stretch marks, no extra weight, no sagging breasts.

  What if everything could just go back to where it had been before she got pregnant? Had that been so bad? She loved Adam and she knew he loved her. She was the one who said she wanted to have children. He was happy to go along with her, and he loved the idea of having a daughter to spoil. But there hadn’t been anything wrong in their relationship.

  Midnight, Koren thought, was an hour away.

  She went downstairs and opened the front door a crack, then got out an emergency candle, one of the ones she’d used that first month of her pregnancy when the lights had gone out and she’d had a chance to think about what life would be like for a pregnant woman before modern times. Before hospitals and doctors and ultrasounds and epidurals and clean conditions. Before WIC and government welfare made it a lot less likely that another mouth to feed would mean that a mother went hungry.

  In those days, it might be excusable for a woman to think about giving up her baby to—whoever would take her. A wealthy, childless couple. Or a witch, like Rapunzel in the fairy tales.

  But these days, there was no excuse. She had chosen to have this baby. It was no accident of birth control. She and Adam had been trying for four months before they had success, and she’d told him wh
en the stick came out blue that she was never so sure of anything in her life.

  It wasn’t just one thing she could put her finger on. Babies cried, yes. She knew that. She could live with that. It was only temporary, surely. And then they grew older and began to talk, and talk, and talk. The teenage years were supposed to be the worst, though Koren remembered her own teenage years with some fondness.

  It was just—the responsibility for it all. The thought that this child would depend on her for everything. That she would take the place of “Mother.”

  She lit the candle.

  She could blow it out before it was midnight, she thought. And besides, it probably wouldn’t work, anyway. The woman in the park had hardly been the kind of person to depend on for vital information. Yes, she had stopped coming with Alice, but who knew if the little girl had been hers to begin with? She could have been a relative or something. The little girl could have been stolen from a hospital, for that matter, and finally sent back to her real parents. And all the talk about fairies taking her away was just her excuse, so that she didn’t have to admit to the truth that was much worse.

  Life with fairies wouldn’t be so bad, though. Koren thought about the old stories she’d read when she was younger. The beauty of the fairies. The way they lived forever. The magical food and drink. How time passed differently under the hill. It was the kind of thing you’d want for your child, wasn’t it? If someone offered eternal life for your baby, and all you had to do was give her up, wouldn’t any good mother do that?

  Koren put a hand to her stomach and grimaced as a contraction hit her. Braxton-Hicks? Or a real one? It felt real. They all felt real, as far as she was concerned. Real pain was real pain, whether it produced a baby or not.

  She breathed gently through the contraction, closing her eyes, thinking of the ocean where she used to spend summers as a child. The water that came up on the shore, up and up, and then receded, down and down. And the contraction was over.

  Koren breathed deeply and looked at the clock. Four minutes until midnight, and the candle was still lit. But the woman at the park said she was supposed to light the way to the baby’s room. She stood up, then sat back down. She couldn’t do it. Not so deliberately. Put a light in the nursery and then wait to see what happened?