Morning of the Quiet Voice
Cathy Carroll-Moriarty
It had been an unremarkable autumn.
The tired sky resembled old light-washed jeans like the ones crumpled in the closet that no longer fit. Dust hovered in the air from harvesting the dry fields. The leaves shriveled from green to spotted yellow to grungy brown. Autumn simply faded into winter like it was slowly drifting to sleep.
It had maybe been around that time that Jayne had faded too.
She had started out optimistic enough. Bedrest wouldn’t be so bad. Anything to save this long-awaited pregnancy.
But then hours turned to days.
Days to weeks.
Lewis was sweet. He brought her food, texted her throughout the day, did all the household chores when he got home. Her sister came for a couple of weekends, but her bustling efficiency was an irritation. One of her friends stopped by to show her pictures of a recent mountain vacation. While Jayne listened to her gush about the slopes, the wine tastings, the shopping, the shadows crept in.
They eventually covered her like a blanket of winter snow.
When labor started, it was a relief. But again, hours stretched on. An eternity later, the baby was delivered via cesarean. But by then the shadows were too thick to see through. It was Lewis who recounted the baby’s birth story to everyone because Jayne didn’t remember the first cry or the nurse placing the baby on her chest.
From that day on, she did what her body was programmed to do. Sleep, nurse, sleep, nurse. Pump, eat, sleep, nurse. But the baby was nothing more than a warm stranger.
Somewhere from the deep, a quiet voice begged her to ask for help, reminded her that this wasn’t how she’d imagined things during the days of longing. When she knew that Lewis was the one. When friends were starting families. But as she stared listlessly at the swaddled life in the crib and shied away from everyone’s concern, she felt nothing at all. The voice silenced. The shadows thickened to suffocating blackness.
She peeked out from under the cold, heavy darkness at her doctor’s appointment to see Lewis’ dusky eyes and scruffy hair overdue for a haircut plead for help. Worry and confusion spilling out in broken sentences. Something wasn’t right. Something had to change.
Afterwards, she dutifully took the pill he gave her with her herbal tea and cinnamon toast every morning. She didn’t protest when he opened the curtains to let the light in. He made the appointment with the therapist, took her to the new parent support group, and prayed every night.
Now, in the wee hours, Jayne rolled to her side. The moonlight peeked through the open part of the curtain and highlighted Zelie’s face. Jayne stared at her, watching as her mouth made little sucking motions, the occasional twitch of her hand, the depth and peace with which she slept. As the moon lowered, leaving the room in darkness, Jayne grazed her fingertips along Zelie’s palm, Zelie’s small fingers curled around her pointer finger. A tiny spark flickered from somewhere in the deep.
The quiet voice that had been silent whispered again. Instead of ignoring it and curling deeper under the covers, Jayne slid out of bed. Wearing the same fleece joggers and t-shirt she’d been wearing all week, she tiptoed through the darkened house and found her old running shoes. She hadn’t run since before Zelie. She wasn’t quite sure how she was moving through the fog in her brain to put them on, to slip on Lewis’ hoodie, to exit the garage door and put one foot in front of the other.
The dawn welcomed her with the damp scent of early April melting snow. Her footfalls started clumsily down the driveway like a toddler’s awkward steps. Cracks in the pavement tripped her up and gravel crunched beneath her feet. But she kept going. One foot forward, then the other. She had to. Something told her that this early morning outing would keep her from continuing to die the slow death of despair.
Inside the pockets of Lewis’ hoodie, she felt his grandmother’s Rosary and a slip of paper. She pulled it out and saw it was a copy of Zelie’s ultrasound picture. Stuffing it back in the pocket, she gritted her teeth and swallowed the thickening tears in her throat. Years of praying and trying for Zelie and now this. Maybe Jayne didn’t deserve her after all. The feeling of Zelie’s fingers curled around hers kept her going.
The cool morning air rushed through her, filling her nostrils and lungs until tears came. She quickened her steps. Ultrasounds, baby showers, baby names, gaining too much weight, high blood pressure, anxiety. Her footsteps pounded against the uneven cement. Running away. Running toward. She didn’t know.
The sun rose like orange fire and burst the daylight upon the earth. Her heart pounded against her chest, her lungs struggled for air, tears cooled against her icy cheeks. Deep shadows that had stifled her for so long somehow began to thin. She stopped to catch her breath.
The newly awakened earth was dressed in the fresh green of new grass. Buds of pink and white reached for the sky as though they could touch heaven if they stretched far enough. She raised her arms so the day could pick her up and carry her there, too.
The shower was running when she entered the house. She made her way back to the bedroom. Lewis would’ve fed and changed Zelie by now. She crept over to the co-sleeper where Zelie lay. She’d held her so many times over the past months to relieve the aching pressure in her full breasts.
But never just because.
She hadn’t noticed that the shower was no longer running until she saw Lewis in the doorway, towel around his waist. His dark hair slicked back and wet, water droplets glistening on his tawny shoulders. It had been forever since she’d noticed how beautiful he was.
“I went for a run.” Her voice was gravelly from underuse. And her words seemed stupid given what hadn’t been said between them for months.
But Lewis simply continued to gaze upon her as though not sure what this moment meant. The stare across the chasm of their feelings was interrupted by Zelie’s whimper. Jayne felt the familiar fullness in her breasts but she didn’t move. Hurt flitted across Lewis’ face and he moved toward Zelie.
“I can feed her, then.”
She pulled her clenched fists out of her jogger pockets. Her eyes met Zelie’s in the morning light that peaked through the curtain.
“No.” Remorse, confusion, guilt, and longing trickled out of her eyes and down her cheeks and she was relieved. “I can feel again.” It seemed so silly, such a simple thing. Feelings. But she had been without them for so long that she had believed they were gone forever.
Lewis’ eyes remained fixed on hers as she reached into the co-sleeper and scooped Zelie into her arms. Jayne cooed, “it’s okay, sweet baby”, her gravelly voice smoothed and took on a softness that she hoped would be comforting. Sitting in the rocking chair, she held Zelie in the familiar way. But this time, she looked into Zelie’s eyes after she latched on. She stroked the dark curls of hair Zelie had inherited from Lewis. She melted into the feeling of Zelie’s small body nestled into her own. “I’m a mom,” she whispered. “I’m really a mom.”
Movement shook her from her reverie, Lewis stood before her, dressed to go downstairs and work for the day. She raised her hand to touch the soft curls of hair that fell to his chin. He leaned into her hand. They hadn’t touched each other like this since the early days of Jayne’s bedrest.
He leaned his forehead against hers, “I’ve missed you.”
She stroked his angular jawline. Zelie sighed against her chest. This was what she’d craved during the days of longing.
Cathy Carroll-Moriarty
Cathy is a 50-something emerging author from the Midwest. She enjoys reading a variety of genres and she writes in various forms including poetry, flash fiction, short stories, and a novel. Her short stories have appeared in Ariel Chart, Adelaide, and Grande Dame Literary.