Shakira returned home ill. She couldn’t hold anything down and had a splitting headache. When she couldn’t sleep at night, Deon rushed her to the emergency room.
Reports from tests conducted in the night showed she was pregnant and needed to be on bed rest. She couldn’t understand how the baby could have survived through the rough times of her life, days and nights of endless grieving. The result showed she was almost two months along.
She didn’t want a baby. The doctor recommended she stay on, get admitted to the hospital, for a couple of days, but Shakira refused and signed herself out.
While Deon was at work, she drove 168 miles out to a thrill park and got on the most dangerous of the rides. She hoped to bleed her baby out, but this didn’t happen. When she got back home, she mixed and drank stuff she found online and ended up in the emergency room again. She lost the baby.
Deon was beside himself with anger and disgust when all she needed was his comfort. But he had none to give. His hopes had lifted when the result of the tests showed she was pregnant. At least they could have something new to look forward to, and he told her as much. His gentle words resonated as he tried to convince her it was good news. With the deal sealed on his property, and the confidence from Fraser, and news of the baby coming, things indeed seemed to look up so soon after the tragedy.
But he only had vain hopes. Shakira saw nothing bright or hopeful. Those babies were not coming back, which meant everything. Though Fraser had promised to give her regular updates weekly, it meant nothing either. She had no plan to move on to anything. The eighth of November was frozen in time. Nothing could move the date.
Kenya came over to stay with her. In the weeks following the tragedy, her sister had been drilled like a suspect. Kenya wasn’t the one who found the bodies, but that didn’t matter because she was meant to be in the house after the babysitter left. A neighbor called after she saw Florence Odu hurriedly leave the house and the police came over to check out the house. They found the babies in the bath. Like everyone else, Kenya felt the story was clear enough, expressing her frustrations and grief. After the police cleared her, she stayed away, nursing her ego and mourning the girls she loved as her own. But after Shakira’s miscarriage, Dr. Brickam put her on suicide watch, and Kenya volunteered to stay with her kid sister.
Shakira nursed a cup of coffee early one morning while Kenya made breakfast. “You’ve been through pain, Kenya. You know what loss is.”
Kenya sighed. “It is indescribable.”
“No one wants to understand. The worst is my husband. The father of those babies.” Shakira shrugged. “He hasn’t spoken to me since I came back from the hospital. What would we do with another child? Another potential victim? He refuses to see reason.”
It had been a few days since the incident at the park, and Shakira had refused to talk about it. Deon took time off work, hoping she would respond to treatment, face the reality, and agree to go to the tropical island he suggested. Dr. Brickam had commented that if Shakira continued to see Leila and Latoya as “those babies,” distancing herself from the crime, healing would take longer.
Kenya flipped eggs in the pan.
“What are you doing in my house, Kenya? You don’t sleep at night. I see you watching me.”
Kenya shifted slightly then put two slices of bread in the toaster. She poured some milk in a mug and put it in the microwave.
Shakira patted her arm. “Dr. Brickam sent you?”
“To look after you, yes.”
“Seriously? I’ll be fine, Kenya.” She poured another cup. Kenya made to stop her but changed her mind. It was her fourth cup. The only thing willing to stay in her stomach was thick black coffee.
“Everyone is worried.”
“The other day, Deon said I just committed murder. Can you believe he compared what happened to those babies with what happened to a piece of tissue?”
Kenya flinched. She made to remove the milk, but Shakira saw it.
“I can’t understand it. When someone says move on when the bodies of those dear babies are still warm. Move on to what?”
Kenya opened the refrigerator and poured freshly squeezed orange juice into a glass. “Who said move on?”
Shakira told her about Fraser.
Kenya gasped. “I wonder what he first thought.”
“What he first thought when? There are no first thoughts.” She watched Kenya arrange a tray with the milk, juice, toast, and eggs. “The first thought is, what’s going on, where am I?” Kenya placed the tray before her. She pushed it away.
“You’ve not eaten anything in almost a week, Shakira.”
She laughed. “Ya been heee tha long?” she slurred with her dry humor.
Kenya kept a straight face. “You’ll be sick.”
“No. I won’t. My body wants to live. My soul wants to live. My spirit wants to live. I want to see the woman who killed those babies come to justice. I want to see her roast on Texas death row.”
“Shakira!” Kenya exclaimed. “You will seek the death penalty?”
“Yes.”
Her parents had fought alongside Amnesty International on the death penalty. Before his death, her father had taught them to fight capital punishment. She expressed strong opinions for the cause of life without parole instead of death. But all ended on November the eighth, a day frozen in time.
Kenya poured a cup of juice for herself and drank it slowly.
“If you don’t agree with me, then you don’t understand it yet. I do. Now I sanction it. A person who would take the life of another is not fit to continue to live.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I never saw it this way.” She glared at her sister. “We were so blinded by our sheltered lives. We couldn’t see the pain of others.”
“So you ought to understand both sides now,” Kenya said. “And this woman ran away, but I’ve wondered if this could have been an accident and she panicked?”
“There are no two sides, Kenya! Only one. The side of pain. The side of justice.” She closed her eyes. “Fraser talked of peace, but there is no peace.”
Deon walked in. “Good morning, Kenya.”
“Morning, Deon. Hope you had a good night?”
Shakira opened her eyes. “He always has a good night.”
Deon walked to the table and picked the glass of orange juice from the tray. “I am not your enemy, baby. Don’t fight me.” He drank the juice and took a piece of toast. “Thanks for breakfast, Kenya.”
“It’s my breakfast,” Shakira said.
Deon gawked at her. “Then why aren’t you eating it? Trying to kill the last member of my family?”
Kenya’s hand flew to her chest. “Deon, please.”
“You don’t have family you don’t want. It don’t mean nothing to you who dies and who lives!”
“Shakira!”
“Let her talk, Kenya. Maybe then she can let off steam.” Deon squeezed the toast into his mouth and chewed awkwardly.
Shakira shrugged. “I have nothing to say.”
Deon drank milk. “No new exploits?”
Kenya walked over to stand between them. “Enough, Deon. Shakira, eat something, and you have medication to take.”
“Yes, big sis.” Shakira took the fork on the plate and pushed the eggs around, then stood up and walked out of the room.
Kenya followed her.