Memories of A Mortician Part 6 Birth in Death Washed Ashore
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"I just got her to sleep right before you came," Lauren was able to say through her tears. "And a good thing, too. She cries every day, almost all day long. I just don't know how to get her to stop."
"What's her name?" I asked dumbly. I was still too surprised and stunned to formulate any coherent sentences.
"Carla," Lauren sobbed. "I wanted to name her after her father."
"What did your husband have to say about that?" I asked, continuing with the dumbness.
"He didn't know. At least not at first. He thought she was his when she was born."
Lauren was beginning to calm down, and I was beginning to come out of my shocked state. She turned on one of the bedside lamps.
"How do you know Carla is mine?" Finally I was beginning to think more clearly.
"Well, look at her. There's not a single thing about her that indicates she might be of Asian descent."
Lauren was right. The light skin and blonde hair definitely didn't make me think her husband could have contributed any genes. I might think differently when I see Carla with her eyes open.
"After Carla's birth, William started to get suspicious. So he had a paternity test done. And it turned out she definitely wasn't his. He went ballistic."
Lauren started to unbutton her blouse while looking at me directly in the eyes. I started to tell her to please stop. But when the scars and redness began to appear as her blouse opened, I could only stare in disbelief.
"Look at what he did to me," Lauren said, pulling her blouse completely open. Tears began to form in her eyes again. Her chest and breasts were covered in a mass of red scars and welts. She was braless, but I could hardly make out her nipples. "He hit me so hard I fell to the floor. Then he jumped on top of me and hit me so many times I passed out."
"Oh my god, Lauren!" I was again in shock. "Did you call the police? Did you go to the hospital? That son of a bitch." I was livid with rage.
"He told me that if I called the police or told anyone he'd kill me. I went into the bedroom and cried. It hurt so bad. Still does. I can't wear a bra, and my blouses have to be loose. And I can't breast feed anymore, either. Even if milk would come out, it would hurt too much to let her suck on me."
The baby started to cry, softly at first, but then the volume and intensity increased until it sounded like she was yelling bloody murder.
"She cries all the time she's awake, ever since she was born. Even when I give her the bottle, she cries between gulps. And when I feed her, she cries between bites. I just don't know what to do."
I leaned into the crib so I could see the baby's eyes. They were full of tears and squeezed shut with every howl. But she opened them when inhaling to fill her lungs with air to continue with the next scream. They were round and blue. I remembered back over a year ago when Lauren and I were in the training room, the thought about blue-eyed parents always making blue-eyed offspring had popped into my mind for some reason.
"Shhhh, don't cry little Carla," I cooed stupidly, not knowing what else to say or do. As if on cue, Carla stopped long enough to look at me. I thought she was about to fill her lungs again for another outburst, but curiously she continued to look at me. Emboldened with my effect on her, I continued talking to her.
"My name is Carlos. Your mommy says I'm your daddy." I reached down to try to take her hand in mine. She grabbed my forefinger. Her hand was unbelievably soft and warm. "I'm pleased to meet you," I said, shaking her hand slowly up and down."
Carla suddenly smiled and starting making funny noises as if she was trying to talk. All it accomplished was baby spittle and drool coming out of the corners of her tiny pink mouth.
"Oh my god, Carlos. She's stopped crying."
She had, indeed stopped. I reached down and picked her up. I could smell that she had soiled herself and would need a diaper change. Carla was indifferent to her condition and reached up to touch my face and mustache, giggling as she seemed to be exploring me with her little hands.
"Somebody needs a new diaper," I said in baby talk, certainly sounding idiotic and making a complete fool of myself. "Yes she does," I continued. Carla gurgled as if she was trying to answer me.
"Here, I can change her," Lauren said. But as soon as she reached for Carla, the baby started crying again. She tried to grab me me as much as she could, with all the strength she could muster, sobbing continuously. The tears were streaming from her eyes.
As soon as Lauren backed away, Carla relaxed and her crying eased. But then as soon as Lauren leaned in again, the tantrum continued.
"I guess I can change her. But I have no idea how to do it. You could give me instructions."
I remember all those sitcoms and movies where the guy sees soiled diapers for the first time. They always shrink back in horror and disgust, scrunching up their noses and faces as if it were the worst thing they'd ever experienced. Well, they weren't far from wrong. Let's just say that Carla's diaper and bottom were a complete mess, so much so that I wondered how such a disaster could ever be cleaned up. But Lauren explained everything to me every step of the way.
Carla cooed at me and had this amused look on her little face the entire time. It was all I could do to keep from gagging at the sight and smell. But after I disposed of the dirty diaper, cleaned her up, applied the lotions and powders, and installed the fresh diaper, I began to feel a lot better.
"You did that so well, Carlos. And she seemed to like it. She always cries so uncontrollably when I change her. I guess you have the touch I don't."
I could see tears begin to build up in Lauren's eyes. Her blouse was still unbuttoned and open, with those angry injuries still exposed.
"You have seen a doctor about your injuries, haven't you?" I asked.
"No, not yet."
"You're kidding! You should go as soon as possible. Your dead husband can't hurt you anymore." I realized I enjoyed saying those words, "dead husband."
"What could they possibly do?"
"Well, they could examine you to see if there's any unseen damage that needs treatment. Who knows what could be wrong. And maybe there's something they can do to remove or cover up all the scars. I don't know. But you should really have a doctor look at you. It looks really bad."
"I guess you're right. The bastard can't hurt me again. I'll make an appointment when I get back to Houston." Suddenly she began to cry with great heaving sobs. She winced every time she took a breath. "I'm so sorry, Carlos. I'm so sorry all this has happened."
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her head to my chest. As I looked down Lauren's blouse in the back I could see that the damage hadn't been done just to her front. William Tran had really done a number on her. And it looked like he'd been extra careful not to hit her anywhere it would show. If he hadn't been already dead, I'd be sorely tempted to go find him and finish the job myself. Luckily I hadn't seen any damage on Carla when I was changing her diaper.
I needed to ask Lauren a lot of questions. I looked down at Carla and she was fast asleep. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought she kind of looked like me. Her little mouth seemed to be smiling, like she had finally found a place where she felt calm and safe.
"Tell me more about Carla. Let's assume she's mine. I'll need a paternity test just to be on the safe side." Lauren nodded. "When was she born?"
"Pretty much nine months to the day after we made love in the training room. She's four months old now."
"Was your husband belligerent before Carla was born, or did he start in on you only afterwards?"
"Well, when I told him I was pregnant, he said something like, 'That was pretty quick', and he got a funny look on his face. But he seemed OK with everything until after Carla was born. When he saw her for the first time in the hospital he didn't look so happy. I was so confused. But then it began to dawn on me that maybe the baby wasn't his.
"After we got home the next day, that's when he started getting physical. At first it was just some pushing. Then nothing until about a month ago when he got the paternity test results. That's when he beat me." I could see the tears forming in her eyes again.
"I'm so sorry, Lauren. Up until then you thought it was his baby?"
"I have to admit I had some suspicions. Babies are all wrinkly at first, so it's hard to tell. But once her skin smoothed out and her hair grew a little, I knew pretty much that it couldn't possibly be his. I don't know how William could tell so soon. But then, of course, the test results proved everything.
"I wish I had never married him. And not just because of what's happened because of Carla. I knew long before, back when I was still in California that he was a hothead. I should have never moved to Houston with him. I should have stayed in California ... with you."
Lauren reached over and put her hand on my arm.
"You treated me like I was someone special, like you really cared. You made me feel like I was loved and appreciated. You did love me then, didn't you?"
"You have no idea, Lauren. I really fell for you. It took a long time to get over you. Jazz," my voice cracked a little as I said her name, "helped me in so many ways. She was quite a woman. I miss her so much." Lauren increased her hand pressure on my arm before pulling back.
"So how did everything at the church happen, Lauren? I can't believe you had anything to do with that."
"I guess I did and I didn't. Please believe me, I had no idea he was going to do anything like that. I didn't even know he had a gun. But all this happened because of me. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry." She cried, and I could tell she was blaming herself, even though she didn't have a violent bone in her body.
"William and I argued constantly, especially after the test results. He kept demanding to know who the father was, but I wouldn't tell him. I wanted to call you and tell you, but just couldn't bring myself to do it. After I saw your marriage announcement in the newspaper I wrote you a letter. I looked you up online and found your work address. But I decided not to send it. It wouldn't have been right to do something that might ruin your marriage.
"But William found the letter and read it. He went ape shit and beat me again. Then he seemed to calm down. He apologized for beating me. I wanted to believe him, even though my brain was screaming at me not to trust him. He didn't mention anything more about it for a couple of days. And on the morning of your wedding he said he wanted to see you, to talk to you man to man, tell you about Carla. He said he thought you needed to know that you had helped bring a life into the world. I told him I didn't think it was a good idea. He smiled and said if I came along we could both talk to you. Looking back I should have recognized that smile. He always got it right before launching into one of his verbal tirades.
"So we drove to the church. When we got there he said he'd go find you and bring you out to the car. A few minutes later I heard the shots, although I didn't know what they were right then. A few people came running out of the church. And then all these police cars starting pulling up with their lights going. That's when I began to put two and two together. I panicked and wanted to get away as quickly as possible. When I started the car a few policemen ran over and told me to stop the car and get out. When they found out during questioning who I was and what I was doing there, they took me to the station."
Lauren sounded sincere as she told me the story. And I wanted very much to believe her. I told her about my life since the last time I saw her, about moving to Houston, having a hard time getting over her, wanting to call her many times, and finally falling in love with Jazz. I also told Lauren about the day of the wedding, of seeing William and his face as he shot me and everyone else, of waking up in the hospital and all that happened to me there. But I didn't say anything about seeing Jazz in my dream or vision or whatever that was. And I certainly didn't tell her anything about Sharon, other than the fact she was the nurse.
"She seems like she really cares about you. I mean, she was ultra protective there in the hospital. She threw me out on my ear."
"I'm glad you weren't a part of what happened at the church. You're not to blame, you know. You didn't know what he was going to do."
"But I could have figured it out. I had all the clues. And I should have dumped him when I found out how wonderful you were. I should never have moved to Houston with him."
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