“Scarlett.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t do this.”
“Oh! I’m too—” I went to get up, but he held me in place.
“Not that.”
“What then?”
He touched my stomach.
“You mean have the baby?”
“Suffer.”
“Brando—”
I could see the tension in his jaw, feel it all throughout his body. “I don’t know if I can bear to watch you suffer. To cry out from pain, knowing there’s something to save you from it.”
“You don’t understand, but I do. Sometimes we have to suffer for those we love. I can’t promise that I won’t cry, or scream.” I grinned. “But doing this natural makes me feel at peace.”
“I can’t save you from this. If something goes wrong—” He refused to finish, but his one hand squeezed the arm of the rocking chair. The veins swelled above his skin, even more pronounced than before from pressure.
I stood with his help and went to the window to look out. A cool autumn breeze swept in, bringing the outdoors with it: lemon, mint, a smoky tinge that reminded me of burning fires (though it wasn’t cold enough for that yet), and the smell of changing earth.
Come springtime, the rolling fields would be exuberant with wildflowers. I’d had an artist paint a woodland scene in the nursery, including two whimsical deer centered around an oak tree, one with a butterfly on her upturned nose.
“Control is an illusion, Brando,” I whispered. “For you, for me, for the whole damn world.” I could see the sickle-shaped moon so clearly. It was the same shape on the music box, except in the music box, the moon had a genial smile and even happier eyes.
“Look.” I opened my fist and then clasped my fingers, giving the impression that I had somehow seized the moon in my hand. Spinning around to face him, I kept my fist clenched shut. But at the perfect time, I opened it to him, revealing nothing but my palm.
“A trick of the mind, Brando. Just as well as you saw me steal the moon, just as well as you can believe in the notion of control, both are nothing but an illusion.”
He stood from the rocker, coming to stand beside me, staring at my palm.
I seized his hand, setting it on my stomach. As soft as my skin was, it was also taut. The baby inside moved, swishing, causing waves that I knew he felt.
“You are a man of honor, my husband.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. Not tears of fear, but of concentrated conviction. The solid tone of my voice backed me up. “This baby isus. Our blood, our bone, our flesh. Our love. Our immortality. I know you can understand that above all things, our immortality is worth dying for. She is worth dying for. Death is not the worst thing that can happen to us.”
“Last night. You and Tito talking. I overheard.”
Brando had fallen asleep next to the bed, sitting up in another armchair. Maggie Beautiful had slept next to me, but again, Pastini decided she wanted to play. And after the night we had, there were thoughts I couldn’t seem to escape.
Uncle Tito had sensed my unease. We both thought Brando was asleep. I should’ve known better.
I had asked Uncle Tito to make sure that if something were to happen to me, he would take care of Brando and the baby. It seemed so morose to think of it, but there was no fear, almost acceptance. If something were to happen, they would have each other. My husband and our child. But the strong urge to express the thought with someone who could be trusted had to be shared.
Uncle Tito had smiled knowingly at me, asking permission to lay his hand on my stomach. He was one of the few men that Brando didn’t mind touching me.
“Ah,” he had breathed out. “This isnormaleto have these feelings before delivery. You will be fine,piccola colomba. Our Bagel too, ah? HerPapàwill not be able to dislodge himself from her pinky finger.”
He had lifted his up, wiggled it, and we both smiled.
“As men prepare to go to war, they pen letters confessing sins and fears buried down deep, among other things, and women share these same moments before giving birth. It is natural, and in the olden days, it was true. There was no help.” He had lifted his pointer finger. “Today, not so.” His hand came down on my head, warm and strong, a doctor’s healing touch. “Get some sleep,piccola colomba.”
He smiled down at my jiggling stomach. “That is, if you can. Mother Nature is a beautiful being. She prepares us for what is to come.”
