Magdalena's Shadow, page 14
“Nothing,” Coco said angrily. She snatched the Yves Saint Laurent from Carmen who still held it. “I woke up, I came to my senses, and I realized that I’m just fine on my own.”
Carmen said nothing. Instead she watched Coco busily try to avoid her.
In the following weeks, Carmen ate lunch with Jack while Coco worked through all her breaks, not resting until the black dress hung on a form, complete in all its twisted wistfulness. Carmen was right: the dress was sad. Tosca could have worn it like a shroud floating tragically around her as she jumped to her death. A fitting image, Coco thought; she had worn bits of it in her own finale. Now the tattered remains of love and loss lay cut, coiled, and stitched into the most beautiful gown Coco had ever seen. Coco’s eyes misted over and her chest tightened when she spread a protective sheet over her creation. Yet in that moment her heart felt less cold, her shoulders less heavy. When she walked home that night she knew she would see Bebe and Tia and she would be grateful that she was alive. Somehow the completion of the dress had helped her know that Rob would fade. With time, he would be another face in a crowd of faces lost to memory. She would always love him, but she felt no longer certain that he had ever loved her. The dress was the death shroud laid over their short-lived romance. It was pain twisted and reshaped into exquisite art. As she watched the dropcloth float down Coco knew that someday she really would be fine.
Chapter Twenty
Gilman’s was a riot of activity by week’s end. Everywhere students scrambled to finish their eveningwear projects. Coco’s gown was the only completed piece. It hung nobly against the far wall, a beacon of elegant sophistication amidst the crisis of the day.
Now a used and very oversized man’s tweed jacket and ’80s’ thigh-length suede coat lay stretched out in pieces on the surface of Coco’s work table. But instead of separating the last few seams, Coco watched Carmen and Jack argue. It was obvious that Jack wouldn’t win with Carmen; the moment Coco reached this silent conclusion he turned and stalked away.
“Did ya get all that?” Carmen shot a glare at Coco who had been blatantly eavesdropping.
“Most of it.” She plucked threads out of the tweed jacket’s shoulder seam, her eyes refocused on her work.
“Just checking. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t left out. I mean no one can know your troubles, but you sure as hell know everyone else’s.”
“I’m sorry, Carmen.” Coco watched the jacket’s insides fall open as the seam separated. “Sorry I haven’t been a good friend lately.” Coco could feel Carmen’s eyes on her, but she still didn’t look up.
“So, what do you think? Should I move in with him or not?”
“Well,” Coco replied slowly, still not raising her eyes. “You’d get free rent in the big Gilman house, but you’d also be living with all his relatives under one roof….”
“Yes, all the crazy relatives. But that’s not the problem, is it?”
“No.” Coco’s smile looked bitter. “The problem is men. They destroy your focus while they eat up your heart.”
“Right!” Carmen stared coldly out the window. “I do like the free rent part. And being with the Gilman family would have its advantages. But….”
Coco didn’t respond. She separated the old brown satin lining from the back of the wool sleeve.
Carmen also faded into silence, her eyes refocusing on her friend. Her own evening dress hung mostly finished on its form near the table. “So, if you’re saying more than two syllables at a time now, are you planning on telling me what happened to you?”
“Maybe.” Coco felt her hands begin to shake, her eyes becoming fixed on the table. “What do you want to know?”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, not on purpose.”
“So, why did Rob leave?”
Coco stiffened at the sound of his name. It took her a moment to reply. “He was unhappy with me; I was not what he had expected.”
“How could you disappoint? You’re a six-foot Glamazon goddess. He knew you had a kid. He knew you for almost a year. What possible surprise could there be?”
“It was my age that upset him.” Coco still couldn’t look up. Carmen remained silent. When Coco finally glanced up she found the tiny redhead surveying her critically.
“Explain,” Carmen ordered.
“He felt like a pedophile when I told him I’m only seventeen.”
Carmen looked instantly shocked. “You’re shitting me! I would have never guessed you were that young. I knew you were young but… wow, you’re young.”
“Thanks, Carmen.” Coco glared at her friend.
“So, how did he find out?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. You know everything about me and dipshit over there. Come on, tell me.”
“He was freaked out that I was a virgin. He realized that Bebe isn’t mine, and he asked me my age. I should’ve told him right away, but I liked him –”
“Bebe’s not yours?”
“She’s my sister.”
Carmen didn’t speak for a long time. Coco tried to steady her shaking hands, while Carmen searched her face, looking for the girl she had somehow missed. “This is seriously messed up, Coco. I still can’t see it. You look like at least twenty-two or more. I can’t believe you’re still a kid. You were careful, right?”
“What?”
“Protection and all – you were careful with him? If he thought you were a sophisticated woman he probably thought you were on the pill… had things under control. You were careful, weren’t you?”
Coco shook her head, confused. “It all happened so fast. He said he loved me. That he would always love me. We were going to take things slow, but his friend kissed me at a club and….” Coco trailed off, lost in memory. “It was such a bad night. It just got worse.”
“You don’t want to be a baby mama for real, Coco.” Carmen watched her friend with concern. “Sister or not, one tot around the house is enough.”
“What?” Coco looked shocked, only just grasping Carmen’s meaning. “I’m… I’m not pregnant.”
“Well, if you think you’re fine, then you’re fine.”
But Coco was silent. Her heart ached whenever she thought of Rob. She had put him and the experience out of her mind, concentrating only on the present. The thought that anything more could have come of that night had never occurred to her.
“We were as close as two people can get.” Her voice broke. “I thought we’d spend our lives together. I never dreamed he would leave.” Coco’s hands shook, her shoulders bowing forward, the grief of that night overtaking her.
Carmen moved quickly around the table and grasped Coco’s hands. “Sit down. You’re okay, just sit down,” Carmen soothed seeing huge tears begin to slide down Coco’s face.
Taking a deep breath, Coco regained herself, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I thought I was past this. It just hits me sometimes, and I can’t stop the tears.”
“You’re crying because your heart’s been broken; that kind of pain doesn’t just go away. It lingers, honey.”
“I miss him.” Coco closed her eyes feeling fresh tears slip down her cheeks. “I miss him so much it’s unbearable.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Week ten after the breakup and Coco came down with a stomach flu she couldn’t shake. No matter what she did she felt tired and sick. Tia watched her move through the house, concerned.
“Are you eating from street vendors?” Tia stood in the bathroom door as Coco vomited, her hair pulled back in the compulsory ponytail, her knuckles white where she gripped the toilet.
“God, no,” Coco choked, feeling a second wave of nausea hit her. Just the idea of street-vendor food made her wretch. Those strange men with their carts of hot dogs and tacos going up and down the streets hawking to the business class.
“Tia,” she moaned when another wave of nausea hit her. “I haven’t eaten anything but what you made me.”
Tia shook her head with worry. “Are you nervous about showing your dress next week?” She turned toward to the kitchen for water and Alka-Seltzer.
“No.” Coco’s reply was hardly audible. The next wave of nausea sent her deeper into the toilet.
“Hmmm…” Tia muttered, pouring warm water into a glass along with two fizzing tablets. In the kitchen Bebe sat in silence, her untouched breakfast ignored in her baby dish. Tia shook her head at her before heading back to the bathroom. “Drink this.” She offered the glass to Coco, who sat on the tile floor looking pale and glassy-eyed. “You look terrible,” she added, watching Coco sip the fizzing water. “You look terrible and you have lost weight again. Have you been skipping meals as well?”
“I’ve been eating. I swear. I’m not nervous or depressed or even body conscious. I’m sick, Tia, and I don’t know why.”
The color returned slowly to Coco’s cheeks; with time she was able to stand.
“Go sit in the kitchen,” Tia ordered. “I’ll make you some eggs.”
“No, please,” Coco said quickly, “I could handle some crackers maybe and a Sprite, but no eggs.”
“If you say so.” Tia left Coco bleary eyed before the bathroom sink.
“You sick too?” Tia asked Bebe, who still hadn’t eaten.
“Yep,” Bebe answered, poking her eggs with her finger.
“How sick?” Tia examined the toddler. “Are you sick like Coco?”
“No, I not hungry.” With that Bebe left the table to play.
When Coco finally wandered in Tia was prepared.
“Sit.” She indicated Coco’s place at the large kitchen table.
Coco didn’t argue. Her strength was gone and she felt desperate to rest.
“I have something to ask you and you won’t like it.”
“Then don’t ask, Tia, I’m not in the mood.”
“Well neither am I, but here it comes. Did you sleep with Rob?”
Coco froze, her mind flipping from rage to indignation to exhaustion. But when she finally looked at Tia she didn’t see condemnation but sincere worry.
“Why?” Coco asked. “What does it matter if I did?”
“It matters a great deal if you’re pregnant.”
“I’m not pregnant.” Coco looked away, unable to look Tia in the eye. “I’m tired and sick and I’m ending this conversation, Tia.” Coco got up to go but her head spun and she had to sit down again.
“Are you late?” Tia persisted.
At first the question seemed meaningless – late for school, late for the bus…. “Late?” Coco asked, and then it hit her. The answer felt lost somewhere in the fog of the last two months, months she had spent hiding from every part of normal living.
“I can’t remember.” Coco shook her head vaguely. “I don’t know… I can’t remember what happened last month or the month before. I’m sorry, Tia, I can’t have this conversation. Not now, not ever.”
“Well let’s hope you don’t have to.”
Over the next four months Coco avoided having the conversation by avoiding Tia and her kitchen all together. She simply told Tia she was having breakfast with Carmen to prep for the day. Coco managed to avoid a lot of things by simply modifying her life as she modified her clothes.
The reality that she had screwed up her life irrevocably depressed Coco to the point of illogical denial. Even if she could face her situation, how would she ever face Tia? Tell Bebe? Let alone deal with Carmen, who would no doubt tear her to shreds.
By avoiding the subject completely Coco realized that she could go on living as if the worst possible outcome of her short-lived love affair was not a reality. To layered skirts, she added wrap sweaters, long scarves, and hobo bags. Unfortunately, the arrival of summer break made hiding impossible. Three months after her eighteenth birthday Coco became sickeningly aware that no matter how she dressed or how she sat, she could no longer hide the baby.
“I’m not sleepy,” Bebe said, rubbing her eyes. The toddler sat obstinately on the living room sofa, her toy dog under one arm, a defensively placed pillow in the other. She was trying to wall herself into the sofa, stacking pillows like ramparts around her and her small collection of toys. “I’m not sleepy and I’m not sleeping!” her voice rose in defiance.
“You are sleepy and you are sleeping.” Coco watched her sister patiently. “Please be a good girl, Bebe, it’s time for bed.”
“No!” Bebe yelled, throwing pillows at Coco, whose patience was quickly wearing thin.
“Now, Bebe!” Coco reached for her sister, who threw herself back against the couch kicking wildly. “Come on, Bebe, it’s time for bed.” Bebe kicked harder, thrashing and kicking with her eyes closed. No matter what angle Coco tried, she couldn’t find a safe way to pick up the exhausted child without risking a kick. “Stop it this instant!” Coco scolded, at a loss as to how to handle her sister.
“You’re a fat mean mama and I don’t like you!” Bebe screamed while throwing more pillows at her sister. “You’re a fat mean mama!”
Just then Tia walked in with a basket of laundry. “What on earth are you doing?” Tia yelled when she saw Bebe chuck yet another pillow at Coco. “You naughty little girl. You go to bed this instant.”
Bebe glared at Coco, gathered up her toys, and crawled slowly off the couch.
Coco couldn’t move; she stood frozen beside the couch watching Bebe run obediently to her room with Tia following quickly behind. In the midst of her temper tantrum Bebe had noted the one thing that Coco had worked so hard to hide. Slumping down on the couch, Coco hugged a pillow and tried to recover some shred of her dignity.
In the distance voices sounded, closet doors opened and closed, water ran, and teeth were brushed. The sounds of Bebe’s nighttime rituals washed over her unnoticed until they suddenly stopped and Tia entered the living room.
“Are you ready to have that talk now?” Tia sat down in a leather chair to Coco’s right. “You need to face this, Coco. You had me fooled for a while, but you can’t hide it anymore.”
Coco didn’t say a word. The only sound that broke the ensuing silence seemed to come from somewhere outside of her. The first sob was barely a whisper but was quickly followed by another and another, until Coco had to acknowledge that the grief was hers. In that moment the wall of denial slipped away leaving Coco to face the miserable reality of an unwanted pregnancy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The ultrasound was the needed magic that brought Coco peace. The baby had his father’s thick hair, his long fingers, his chin – and those hauntingly huge dark eyes. Coco carried the picture with her at all times, looking at it each time the day grew too hectic or her fears became too jagged. Over and over she studied his features – her baby boy, James – as he slept contentedly in the black and white photo. In less than two months Coco would get to hold her son and he would look like his father. She could already see his black hair curling around his temple, the strength in his steely dark eyes, and the set of his chin when he made up his mind. He will probably be a real handful, she thought, tucking the picture back into her bag. Bebe was a handful and she didn’t have Robert Banks’ genes for an excuse. The quiet acceptance that washed over her the first time she saw him was strong and enduring. Now it felt like he had always been there, a part of her life… of their lives. Slowly, day to day and week to week, James Robertson Banks became a person and not just a frightening idea.
It’s too hot to be this pregnant, Coco thought while she walked to the park with Bebe, the heat making mirages of the distant concrete. The constant wind that gave Chicago its nickname was mysteriously absent that day, and for once Coco missed it.
“Not too long, Bebe.” Coco stopped her sister before she had a chance to run off. “I’m tired and it’s hot.”
Bebe made no reply. Instead she headed to the water to look for ducks. She still loved the ducks, but now instead of chasing them, she watched them, counted them, and named them. They were all her ducks, and the thing Bebe hated most in the world was when little kids chased them.
“That kid chased my duck!” Bebe would shriek at the nearby adults anytime a kid stepped out of line.
“They’re Chicago city ducks,” Coco would gently remind her. “You used to chase them, too.”
Bebe never listened. She was now the protector of all park ducks, and she went each day to bring them treats and check on them. Her favorite was a giant, fat duck named Bob, who ate right out of her hand. If any little Chicagoan dared chase him Bebe would go into a screaming rage until, with time, all the kids learned to leave him alone. The best thing about Bob was his bad foot.
“Bob is broken,” Bebe once proclaimed, pointing at his bad leg. “That’s why he gets cookies.”
Bob got cookies. He ate out of Bebe’s hand and followed her looking for crumbs. Bob’s handicap made him sociable; he grew fat on fish crackers and handouts while the other ducks watched from the water. Bob knew the families, he knew the park, and he knew Bebe.
“Good morning, Bob!” Bebe yelled, running toward the water.
Bob stood in the shallows, his head bobbing up and down as he began waddling toward her. Coco dreaded the day when Bob disappeared. She was sure it was a matter of time before he got roasted by the homeless. Yet month after month passed and Bob remained. The trick with Bob was that he knew his people. Show him a kid, a mom with a diaper bag, and he was eating out of your hand. A man alone sent him swimming out to safety.
While Coco considered Bob and his many attributes, Deborah, Carson’s mom, walked up.
“Hey, Coco.” She sat down next to her smiling.
