BELLA SAT ON HER battered suitcase in her red coat in front of the hospital waiting in the cold, the healing wound across her belly tender and itching, her breasts hard as boulders, stuffed with backed-up milk, dribbling and bitching.
Who was coming to get her?
Father Michael? Her papa?
Please, God. Don’t let it be my papa.
It wasn’t long before the familiar farting of an old truck announced who it was.
“Joe Cabral at your service, milady!” the rodeo Romeo cheerfully hollered as he hopped out of the cab spitting a stream of his disgusting tobacco, all dimple-smiling and self-satisfied. Long Joe, lean Joe, anxious Joe sauntered up to her like the dog-mushing Jack Thornton in Call of the Wild.
As soon as he landed in front of her, Bella burst into tears.
“Holy moly! What’s all this?”
He tried to get her to stand but she slipped through his grip and collapsed onto the pavement.
“They took my baby, Joe!” she sobbed from the cracked cement. “They told me they would keep him somewhere safe until I was ready to take care of him myself! But I don’t know where he is! They won’t tell me!”
“Shh, honey,” Joe soothed, rubbing her back. Then he went in for the lift. “Let’s get you home. Then we’ll see about your kid.”
With what little strength Bella had, she stopped him. “No! I want my baby! I have to feed him! I haven’t fed him since yesterday! He must be starving! He’s always hungry! My baby needs me! I need my baby!”
“Okay, okay!” Joe said. He picked her up and carried her over to his truck and tucked her in. “You sit tight,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
After what felt like forever, Joe finally stepped out of the hospital carrying nothing but an empty baby blanket. When he climbed into the truck and handed it to Bella, her breasts burped and leaked. She started hyperventilating.
“Where is he? Where’s my son?”
Joe produced a tiny ID bracelet, six square glass beads, each with a single letter on it.
D-O-N-A-T-O
“What did they do with him?!”
He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a flask. “Here. Take a swig of this.”
The liquid burned Bella’s lips.
He told her to take another swallow as he turned the key in the ignition.
Bella grabbed his arm. “Where are we going?”
“To the place where they sent your kid.”
As the truck flew down long, ribboning roads past shingle-patched houses, seedy pubs, and corner markets, Bella wondered if Joe was lying.
“Where are we going?” she repeated. “Where is he?”
“Hang on, kid.”
They drove for what seemed like miles. When they finally stopped, Joe pointed to a box of a brick house floating on a small hill rising up from a busy street. Crumbling bricks. Party-hat turrets. It stood bookended by two gnarled trees.
“That’s where he is, honey.”
An iron sign read:
SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI
HOME FOR WAYWARD ORPHANS
AND LOST SOULS
A dented metal lamb rested above the letters.
Was her son in the arms of his papa?
Was this some kind of crazy dream?
Bella didn’t understand.
“Come on,” Joe said. He eased her out of the truck and coaxed her up the long walk.
Up close, the place was even more menacing. Iron-laced glass front doors fashioned like an ancient set of pearly gates. Dark windows masked with battered gray shades.
Joe pulled the bell handle. No one answered so he tried the knob. It was unlocked, so they pushed in.
The dusky entry hall was as quiet as Christ’s tomb. Their shoes squeaked across the pocked floor to a faded statue of the Blessed Virgin. Bella stopped in front of her. “I think I’m gonna faint.”
They were interrupted by a tall, pug-faced nun. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see the Donato baby.”
The woman stiffened beneath the folds of her habit. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Why not?”
“Are you the baby’s father?”
“Yes, I am.” Joe had no problem lying to a nun. “And this here’s the baby’s mamma and we’re not leavin’ until we see our son.”
The frazzled sister led them into a long, murky room full of mismatched cribs and small beds. On a cot against the wall a grade-school-aged girl sat on her knees clutching a ratty ragdoll. “Are you here to take me home with you?”
“Quiet, Agnes!” the nun hissed.
On another mattress a larger child, maybe seven or maybe six, watched them, his thumb jammed in his mouth.
A toddler crouched next to him started whimpering.
What the hell kind of a place was this?
Finally, in a metal crib tucked in a corner, Bella found William sleeping. Damp lashes closed, hands curled into little fists, his tiny chest softly bellowing.
Bella’s heart skipped a beat. Her breasts started belching.
“I wouldn’t wake him,” the old nun warned. “We have a lot of trouble getting this one to sleep.”
Bella’s chest was drenched under the wool of her coat. Her tits were screaming.
“His name is William and I’m taking him home with me.”
The nun was about to intervene, but Joe stepped between them. “Bella,” he whispered with urgency. “If we show up with your baby your papa will toss us all in the street.”
“I can’t leave him here, Joe. I can’t. How can I leave him here?”
“We’ll come back and get him when we can. I swear we will,” Joe said.
Then came the holy refrain.
“We’ll hold him here, in God’s care, until you’re ready,” the nun promised.