22
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Annie discovered a small package at her office door. It was wrapped in postal paper and tied up with twine. Annie took it into her office and eagerly unwrapped it, thrilled to discover a painting by Simon Haas. The canvas was no larger than a postcard and depicted purple grapes on a plate. Not just ordinary grapes. These grapes bulged and sprawled indecently across the canvas. Annie gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. She laughed abruptly, spraying the painting’s surface with spit. The phone rang. She was almost too frightened to answer it. “Hello?”
“Are you hungry yet?” It was Haas.
Starved, she thought. “It’s a lovely painting,” she said. “Thank you. It was very nice of you.”
“There was nothing nice about it, I assure you.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re painting again.”
“You inspired me.”
“I refuse to take responsibility for that.”
“You can refuse all you want, but it’s the truth.”
“I’m glad. That’s a good thing.” She didn’t know what else to say to him. This famous painter. This enigmatic icon of modern art.
“Yes, it’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing. I’d like to return the favor. I’d like to inspire every inch of you.”
The very idea of it terrified her. “Well,” she said. “I don’t know what to say. The truth is, I haven’t been properly inspired in a very long time.”
“Well, then, I suggest we get started right away.”
“I have to go,” she told him.
“Will you think about it?”
“Yes, I’ll think about it.”
They hung up, and for the next hour and a half she did absolutely nothing but sit there and think about him. When she had finally had enough of it, she got her things and went out. I have no time for this, she thought. I’m a mother, for God’s sake. I’m a married woman. What he wanted with her eluded her.
She had a few minutes to spare before getting the kids and decided to stop at Brewster’s to pick up some groceries. She had an uncanny desire for grapes. Rushing toward the produce section, Annie felt delirious with excitement. She ran her fingers over the tender, swollen fruit in the same way one caressed the keys of a piano, then chose an ample bunch and set them gently in her cart.
Heading toward the cashier, she turned down the cereal aisle; to her complete astonishment, Lydia Haas was standing at the end of it. She didn’t see Annie, her back half-turned away from her, and she was wearing her shabby toggle coat and muddy boots. Annie stopped where she was, hoping to back away before being seen, but Lydia’s odd behavior compelled her to stay a moment and observe. Lydia had taken down a box of Froot Loops, the contents of which she began to vigorously consume, shoving handfuls of cereal into her mouth. With each thrust of her hand, cereal spilled out onto the floor, but the woman seemed determined and when she finally found the prize at the bottom of the box, an expression of delight lit her face up like neon.
Time to go, Annie thought.
The store manager appeared at Lydia’s side with a broom and dustpan. Annie took advantage of the disruption and turned around, paid for the groceries, and got out of there. In the car, more than a little surprised at herself, she plucked a grape and ate it, savoring the sweet thrill of its pulp.
Arriving at High Meadow Elementary, she found the kids waiting out front, looking forlorn and bedraggled. Henry was pouting. “What’s the matter, Henry?” she asked when they got into the car.
“The kids ran away from me at recess,” he said. “No one wants to play with me. It’s because of Daddy.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, incredulous.
“Daddy kills babies,” Rosie piped in.
Annie’s heart churned. “Daddy is doing something very important. And some people don’t understand it. Some people think it’s wrong, but others don’t. It’s a very hard subject and people have strong feelings about it. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re going to have to be very brave now. You’re going to need a very thick skin. People are mean. They’ll say things that hurt. And you’ve got to be strong.” She turned down their street, relieved to be home. “Let’s get the mail.”
When they’d first moved in, Henry had painted the mailbox green and put yellow flowers all over it. He had written their name in wobbly black letters and turned the O in KNOWLES into a smiley face. Ever since, it had been his job to retrieve the mail. Annie pulled the car up to the box and with routine importance he put his window down. He leaned out and opened the metal door, but instead of getting the mail, his arm retracted like a snake had bitten him. “Gross!” he yelped.
“What’s the matter, Henry?”
“There’s a baby in there!”
“What?” Annie hurried out of the car and walked around to the mailbox, feeling as though she were being watched. There were a million places to hide out there. Taking a deep breath, she opened the mailbox and looked inside. Henry wasn’t kidding. There was a baby inside it.
Not a real one, but it looked real. Its arms reached out from the darkness within as if from a womb. Its skull was dented and had been dipped in bloody paint. Gingerly, Annie pulled it out slightly, just enough to see that someone had written DON’T KILL ME, MAMA! across its chest.
“It’s hurt, Mommy.” Rosie put her head out the car window. “It’s bleeding!” she cried. “Can we bring it inside and fix it?”
“It’s not real, Rosie. No. We can’t.” Annie pushed the doll back in and slammed the box shut. Back in the car, the children were strangely quiet, heady with judgment. She couldn’t help wondering what they were thinking. She pulled the car into the garage and ushered the kids into the house. Once inside, she dead-bolted the door and closed the curtains. She put the TV on for the kids, then paged her husband at the hospital. He called back at once. “You need to come home.”
At the first sound of Michael’s car, Annie instructed the children to stay put and grabbed her coat and ran outside. Michael was stiff, angry. “What is it? What happened?”
“Look in the mailbox.”
He opened the box and peered inside. For a moment he just stood there, staring at it. “What the . . . ?”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“This is fucked.” He grabbed the doll and pulled it out. Upon closer examination, the doll looked incredibly lifelike, wearing Pampers, its face pinched and pink like a newborn infant’s. Michael shoved it back in the box and slammed the door shut.
“Let’s call the police.”
“I already did. They’re sending someone,” Annie said, and, as if on cue, a patrol car pulled up the driveway. To Annie’s relief, Sheriff Baylor stepped out. He was an imposing man in a brown leather jacket and regulation brown trousers. Annie knew his wife from the PTA, and Michael had delivered his children.
“Sheriff.” Michael shook the cop’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“What’s going on here, Doc?”
“Somebody put a doll in our mailbox,” Annie said.
“A doll?”
“A bunch of fanatics. I consider it a threat,” Michael added.
“A threat, huh? I don’t like the sound of that.”
Baylor opened the box. “Now what in heck?” Squinting inside with apparent distaste, he turned on his flashlight to get a better look. “A doll?”
“We know who did it,” Michael said. “We want to file a report.”
The sheriff pulled the doll out and read the words that had been scrawled across its chest. “I don’t get it,” Baylor said. “What’s it supposed to mean?”
“It’s a threat,” Michael said. “There’s a group of people who don’t like doctors like me.”
“Oh?” Baylor scratched his head. His expression changed slightly, revealing his discomfort with the subject. He shook his head. “What do you suppose they want?”
Annie and Michael exchanged a look.
“They want me to stop doing abortions,” Michael said.
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“Well, now.” Baylor scratched his head again. “We’ve never had a problem like this before. We’ve never had anything like this here in High Meadow.”
“We want to file a report,” Michael repeated. “We want something on file just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case things get worse.”
“Well, the truth of the matter is, Dr. Knowles, there’s no real danger here. A little neighborly harassment is all, seems to me.”
“There’s nothing neighborly about it.” Michael raised his voice. Annie could hear a faint echo coming back with every word he spoke. “I pay taxes on this land and I consider it a violation of my rights. I don’t give a goddamn what you call it, call it trespassing if you want, but I want a report and I want it filed.” Michael took Annie’s hand and led her back into the house. Baylor stood there for a moment, staring at the doll in the mailbox, then took out his pad.
When they were finally in bed Michael said, “The cops around here aren’t used to dealing with this sort of thing. Raccoons in attics, foxes in chicken coops, but not this.”
“I’m not used to dealing with it either.” She looked at him. “You know I believe in what you’re doing, Michael, you know where I stand on the issue. But what if things do get worse? I’ve read about these people. Doctors have been killed. Remember the doctors in Florida? That guy in Buffalo was shot in his own home.”
“What do you want me to do, Annie? Quit? And then what? They threaten somebody else? And what about in ten years, when Rosie’s in high school and, God forbid, gets pregnant? What then? How can you, in good conscience, suggest that I quit? What happened to the feminist I married? Where’s my journalist wife?”
“She became your children’s mother.” Her eyes were burning. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”
“Look, I know you’re scared. But think of all those women out there. They come to me in desperation. I’m their last resort. And they expect nothing. They’re so grateful. I just can’t justify giving up the clinic when I see such a need. I can’t. Not for those creeps.”
“What about for us?”
He didn’t answer her. He turned away from her and went to sleep. She felt like they were standing on opposite sides of a great abyss. How to build a bridge across? she wondered. How to cross without falling into the deep black hole?
Henry woke her out of a deep sleep. “Mommy!”
Annie blinked at the clock: seven-fifteen. Michael had left for the clinic hours ago. He was probably already into his second case by now. “Henry, it’s Saturday. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Rosie locked her door. She won’t let me in.”
Annie got out of bed and pulled on her robe. She went to Rosie’s door and knocked. “Rosie?” Annie tried the door. “Rosie Knowles, you open this door this minute.”
“I don’t want to,” Rosie answered, wobbly voiced.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m mad.”
“What about?”
The door opened. Rosie was holding the doll from the mailbox. She’d wrapped it up in one of her baby blankets. A chill went through Annie; a lump rose in her throat.
“Gross, Rosie,” Henry said.
Rosie’s eyes welled up with tears and she began to close the door again. Annie caught it in her hand. “Let me see, lovey.”
Rosie held out the doll. She’d washed off the blood and had wrapped its deformed plastic head with every conceivable kind of Band-Aid. Annie crouched down and spoke quietly. “Is she feeling better?”
“I saved her. She didn’t like it in the mailbox. It was scary and cold.”
“You’ve done a very nice job, Rosie.” Annie took Rosie into her arms and held her close.
“I just want to play with her, okay, Mommy?”
Annie nodded. “But no locking doors.”
“I’m going to introduce her to all my dolls.”
“That’s a good idea.” Annie swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat was still there.
Michael had the day off on Sunday. They avoided each other, drifting through the hours and accomplishing very little. Every time she tried to talk to him about the clinic he changed the subject. On Monday, after her morning class, she went for a swim. The pool was empty and cold and she swam hard, trying to sort out her feelings. Michael’s obstinacy made her angry. She could give him an ultimatum, she thought: Quit the clinic or quit the marriage. But she didn’t feel right about that either. Although she hated to admit it, the Life Force propaganda was getting to her. Images of twisted fetuses and nearly full-term infants with bashed-in skulls. She found them incredibly troubling. On the other hand, no matter how many times they called Michael a murderer, they couldn’t be further from the truth. The issue seemed to be more about control than anything else. They wanted it; they knew how to get it.
Another swimmer had entered her lane and was coming up behind her. Undeterred, she swam harder and flip-turned at the wall, only to glimpse Simon’s gold cap swiftly approaching. He was the last person she wanted to see just now. Striving to keep her lead on him, she cranked down the lane, feeling the whirl of his turn behind her. But he caught up easily and passed her, running his hand, like a fish, along her thigh, sending a wicked rush through her loins. The desire quickly turned to anger, how dare he, and she pushed herself to compete, her body pumping with adrenaline until she passed the cocky bastard and took the lead back. When she reached the wall, she climbed out and disappeared into the dressing room with her heart pounding. Touché, she thought.
Stepping into her clothes, she realized she was shaking. She didn’t know what to do about Simon Haas and it terrified her.
Gathering her things, she rushed into the corridor, heading toward the double doors that led to the parking lot, praying she wouldn’t run into him again. The hall was empty and a smile played on her lips as she pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the rain. But there he was, waiting for her under an umbrella.
“Surprise, surprise,” he said.
“I would have thought you’d be the type to primp,” she said.
“I didn’t want you to get wet.”
“It’s only rain.”
“You’re right.” He closed the umbrella. “Getting wet is much more exciting.”
She stood there looking at him in the rain. If only he wasn’t so goddamn appealing.
“You wouldn’t want to get a drink or anything? There’s a nice little bar across the street.”
“What for?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t answer that.”
She frowned, bustling toward her car.
“Look, Annie, I’m sorry if I’ve distracted you.”
She turned to face him. “Distracted me?”
“Your cozy little life.”
The comment hurt; that was hardly the life she was leading these days. “You have no idea about my life. You have no idea what we’re going through right now. You want to know about my life? There’s nothing cozy about it.”