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It started as sort of a game. One night, Stella couldn’t sleep and she asked Hank to tell her a story. Something about him that she didn't know. He asked her to share something with him the next night and they made it a weekly ritual, trading nights back and forth. They both had a whole lifetime of stories to share. Tonight was his night.
“The most terrifying night of my life,” he started, “was when Becca was just over a year old and she had this fever. It was hard to tell something was wrong, at first. She was a pretty quiet, serious baby. But, she just...as much as a baby can have a self, she wasn't herself.”
Stella was sitting up in bed, Hank was leaning back against her chest. She stroked his hair with one hand, her other arm was crossed over his chest.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Well, Karen and I didn't really know what the fuck to do. This wasn't like the fevers she had when she was teething. She didn't cry, but she did kind of have this pitiful, infrequent cough. We were young, but not young. And we weren't stupid, we just didn't have any experience with babies. It was a Saturday night. Do we call the pediatrician? Do we take her to the ER?”
Stella rubbed Hank’s chest where her hand lay. “Your heart is pounding,” she said.
“I remember it so vividly.”
“So, what did you do?”
“There was this little old Indian woman who lived in our building. She had kids in and out with her all the time. Grandkids, I imagine. She didn't speak much English but whenever she saw us on the stairs, she used to pat Becca’s cheeks and say, ‘pretty baby, pretty baby.’ Karen thought, with all those kids around, maybe she would know what to do.”
“How did you work around the language barrier?”
“I didn't have to. I went down there and I guess looking really freaked the fuck out is universal. She came right up and took Becca from Karen and laid her on our futon. She stripped her down to a diaper right away and then started patting her all over and running her hands over her arms and legs. She put both hands on her chest for a long time and it looked like she was listening to her with her hands, like a faith healer or something, and I wondered if any minute Becca was going to sit right up and ask for juice.”
“Is that what happened?”
“No. And I know I'm a total asshole but I can't remember her name. Something like Molly, but not Molly. She chattered the whole time in Hindi or...I'm not sure what she spoke, but she chattered the whole time. I don't know if she was talking to Becca or trying to tell Karen and I something or just mumbling to herself, but she pats her a few more times and then leaves. But, she's pointing and jabbering and leaves the door open so we knew she was coming back even if we had no fucking clue what she was saying.”
“And she came back?”
“She came back a few minutes later with some jars and bowls and this thin red towel. She dunked the towel in this bowl that smelled like vinegar and started rubbing Becca down with it. When she finished with that she opened up this jar that reeked of garlic and dipped her fingers into it. It was some sort of oily paste that she rubbed onto Becca’s chest and the bottoms of her feet.”
“What were you thinking that whole time?”
“That we were probably crazy for letting this woman turn our kid into a Cesar salad. I mean, by the time she was done, it smelled like an Italian kitchen. At the same time, it also seemed legit. Like she really knew what she was doing.”
“People put a lot of faith in Eastern Medicine.”
Hank nodded a little and Stella smoothed his hair back.
“So she gets done with all that and she takes these little knitted socks she brought up with her and puts them on Becca's feet, over the garlicky shit. She also puts this little white t-shirt on her and then she takes me to the clock on the table and starts pointing at all the numbers and then patting my arms and legs and gives me the little red towel.
“I'm guessing she wants me to rub her down with that vinegar stuff every hour. I give her the thumbs up and she leaves. Karen and I took turns through the night rubbing her down, even though there was no fever within a few hours. I woke up the next morning on the floor next to the futon and Molly was in the kitchen quietly bathing Becca in the sink, who was perfectly fine.”
“No fever?”
“Cool as a cucumber and just smiling away. She always just smiled, never laughed. That smile wrecked me though. Karen heard me crying, woke up and thought something had happened to Becca. She punched me in the arm when she saw Becca was alright and called me an asshole and then started crying too. Molly probably thought we were insane.”
“She sounds very intuitive. I'm sure she understood your emotions.” Stella crossed her arms around Hank’s chest and rested her head against his.
“I didn't. Not at the time. When it was happening I felt paralyzed, but if anything happened to Becca I was sure I would die. Like it would just kill me on the spot. And Karen would never forgive me, because it would be my fault. Even if she didn’t blame me, I would blame me. Because I should’ve done something more. Then, when it turned out she was fine, I felt like that was going to kill me too. The relief was so strong I couldn't handle it.”
“Whatever happened to Molly?”
“God, I don't know. We tried to bring her gifts and she refused them all. She'd still pat Becca's cheeks when we saw her and call her ‘pretty baby,’ and then one day she was gone. Moved out I guess. That just happens in New York. People are there one day and then they're not.”
“Did it have any long lasting effects?”
“Well Becca puts garlic on just about everything. She'll be safe from vampire attacks for the rest of her life, I'm pretty sure.”
“I mean with you.”
“I don't know. I always worried. I still do.”
“I can't imagine it.”
“No, I don't think anyone can until you experience it.”
“I never thought I’d be a good mother.”
Hank shifted so he could turn his head and look up at her. “I never thought I’d be a good father. Mostly, I’m not. She was an accident, but...I guess the best accident that ever happened to me.”
Stella smiled and ran her thumb back and forth across his shoulder. “You kind of make me wish I’d had an accident,” she said.
“You still could. We could...”
She paused for a moment and then continued stroking his shoulder. “No. But, I am looking forward to meeting your daughter.”
The End