Signs of Pain, page 3
After scooping her owls off the table, Ida joined her daughter.
“Zinnia did some investigating of Paula’s case for me. She’s not allowed to tell me everything, but what she could verify goes along with the claims of that chismoso bingo lady,” Cherry said, examining her notes.
“No one found out who raped her?” Ida said.
The word rape rang a new tone. Hearing her mother state it so plainly depressed Cherry. While following her suspicions about Paula’s situation, Cherry had not yet crossed that mental line. Until now, she had not labeled the sinister circumstances. What happened to Paula, in her disabled capacity, was probably rape.
“We only recently became aware of Paula. We don’t know the facts, because it is a private matter. On the positive side, she has her mother to see to her affairs...”
“How do you know about her mother?”
“One day I waited in the lot. The mom picked her up. She’s not young, the mom. There’s a higher risk...of the disorder, with older women getting pregnant,” Cherry said. “The mom looked real tired.”
Ida fretted, hands cemented at her cheeks.
“I think they take advantage, the church,” Ida said. “They don’t really do much for those folks. Maybe I shouldn’t play there.”
“Maybe you should. It’s close, and you can watch the goings-on.”
9
Less than a week later, Cherry drove an uneasy Ida, without Esther, to the Errant Sheep Tabernacle to play. Both Ida and Cherry saw Paula with a very pregnant stomach through the fence, sitting still on a bench.
The following week Cherry and Ida brought along Esther. There was no sign of Paula anywhere.
“Did she have the baby?” Cherry asked a woman attending the bingo check-in.
“Who?” the woman said.
“Paula, the pregnant woman, in day care,” Cherry said, annoyed, her hand pointing out of the windows.
At the sight of the special needs group, the attendant nodded unconsciously. “So?”
“You’re nodding to say, ‘yes, she had the baby’?” Cherry asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“There was a woman here, under the church’s care during the day, who was pregnant. She’d walk into the hall sometimes.”
The bingo attendant shrugged. Other check-in workers turned their blank faces away from Cherry.
She bristled, partially lifting tensing hands to slam the table, but instead took advantage of their indifference to slip unseen into the courtyard.
“Hi,” said one Latino man standing in the center of the patio. “Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi.”
Moving closer, Cherry could see his black furrowed brow moving with great animation, tongue up against his teeth as he smiled. His was an unfiltered, friendly face.
“Hi back. What’s your name?”
“Hiram. H I R A M.”
“Hi Hiram. Where’s Paula?”
“She got sick.”
“Sick? How did she get sick?”
“I dunno. She was sleepy. She stayed home.”
“Paula stopped coming?”
“YEAH!” Hiram’s response echoed off the atrium walls.
“Can you tell me any—”
“What are you doing here?” It was Helen, the killjoy Errant Sheep Tabernacle official, extra stern in a buttoned-up rose cardigan accentuating the red of her lumpy nose. On top of the sweater was a finely jeweled religious necklace with a cross pendant, perhaps a locket, too chunky for the chain. “You don’t have a clearance to be here. Please go back to the hall.”
“Bye!” Hiram said, cheerfully. “Bye. Bye. Bye.”
Cherry waved to Hiram. He blew a kiss back.
Without touching her, Helen surrounded Cherry with widespread arms, bulldozing her toward the bingo space.
“What happened to Paula?” Cherry said.
“Paula isn’t on our care roster right now.”
“Is she okay? How did she become pregnant?”
“You should know better. I can’t tell you private matters about clients.”
Helen closed the Dutch door lower half, trapping Cherry inside the hall. Fuming, Cherry stomped past players and tables covered with good luck Kewpie dolls and fluffy-haired trolls. She locked eyes with Ida, shaking her head no.
Someone she passed whispered loudly to her.
“Hello, honey!”
Cherry felt a tickle on her elbow with some paper. She turned to see a smiling elderly man, African-American, salt-and-pepper hair spiffily cropped to the scalp. He leaned flirtatiously from his table to catch her attention.
Nodding abruptly, she carried on out the door. At the hatchback, Cherry turned to find the man had followed her. Outdoor light enhanced the full dapperness of his outfit: mustard-copper checkered pants, with a plaid short-sleeved shirt of the corresponding hues, navy espadrilles.
“How come you don’t ever stick around for games? I’m a little sweet on you,” said the codger. “I’m Dimanche Quinn.”
“Not interested on both points,” Cherry said, getting into her car. “Sorry, pal.”
The man remained upbeat.
“I’ve noticed too, some funny business,” Dimanche said, discreetly making a hitchhiking gesture toward the day-care area. “One time I pulled my car in—that’s my car there, the Datsun,” he pointed to a boxy 70s vintage car with a sleek beige finish, “and I almost hit one of the individuals. A girl. She got out of the gate apparently.”
Though still pleasant, he shook his head disapprovingly.
“The girl was dirty, as if she fell in a gutter or the mud,” said Dimanche. “Or she soiled herself. And she barked, like a dog.”
Cherry got back out of her car.
“Was she pregnant?”
“No. Eventually I was able to flag down an orderly,” he said, “but seems they simply lost track of her. I’m glad I don’t have to depend on these folks. Well, bye now—what’s your name?”
“Cherry.”
“See you, Cherry.”
Dimanche sauntered back to the hall.
10
Cherry anxiously deep cleaned her room while awaiting a return call from Zinnia. Her friend sounded inconvenienced when Cherry again inquired about Paula’s welfare, specifically her day-care absence.
When her phone went off, Cherry dropped the duster to the floor, scrambling for her device.
“What I can disclose to you, is the best is being made of a trying situation, and the infant is healthy, and has been adopted,” Zinnia said.
“Healthy? No Down Syndrome?”
“Correct,” Zinnia said. “Now are we ever gonna have some fun with Jill? Or do you just call me when you, as an ace busybody, need help saving the world?”
“I apologize,” Cherry said, relief trilling her voice. “Let’s go to Eve’s one of these Sunday afternoons. We’ll hire a ride, so we can imbibe the alcohol.”
“Good plan, Orozco. Let’s relax, not obsess.”
11
Spirits rose at 5 Meadowlark Lane, as late spring sailed the Orozco household into summer, warmer temps brightening their daily routines. Cherry even made good on her “relax” promise to Zinnia, meeting up with her and Jill at Eve’s Beer Garden.
“FUUUUUCK!” Jill exhaled after quaffing a pint of red ale. “I’d like to get into some incredibly edible female trouble tonight! Let’s cop a FEEEL!” She mimicked a soccer announcer’s diaphragmatic pronunciation of GOOOOOAL, directing her comments at a passing attractive woman. The chick quickened her step to the saloon’s outdoor deck among strings of pineapple lights.
“Take Tom Petty’s advice, honey,” Jill said loudly through the picture window. “Don’t do me like that!”
Cherry crossed her eyes.
“Jill, do you want the bouncer to speak with you again?” Zinnia asked. “Remember that time you really got out of hand?”
“Pshaw! The bouncer has a thing for me, calls me Pixie.” Jill pointed at her pixie haircut. “They expect me to be a bit randy. It’s not like I’m still pickpocketing or committing identity theft. The bartenders never turn down my honestly hard-earned money.” She slurped the foam of another glass of brew.
“So anyway,” Cherry said, addressing Zinnia. “I’m really grateful for all those strings you pulled at work. Ida and I are more at peace now that we know Paula’s ordeal is under control.”
Zinnia patted Cherry’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about it. The departments see a lot of horrible cases, and we get somewhat desensitized. But, c’mon, your concern and shock about a pregnant woman with Down Syndrome is completely warranted. Sorry for being impatient.”
“Well, I did bug you at work. But I could not shake it, couldn’t look away from Paula.”
“Remember when we were riding to high school, the bus incident,” Zinnia said. “Those drunk numbskulls were teasing the girl with disabilities...even though you got rough, you stopped it. Something inside you needs to provide protection.”
“That’s right! What assholes,” Jill said. “Those homies were singing ‘Freakshow,’ and one was pop-locking in front of the girl and her mom. You slugged him so hard he fell into the seat. So many broken blood vessels! His cheek swelled so much he had a dead eye. Served him right.”
“Okay,” Cherry said. “Enough talk of that.”
“We had to pull you away when the bus driver called the cops, and you bounced out the back door,” Jill said, on a roll. She downed her beer, and raised three fingers to the server.
“Let’s detour from Memory Lane,” Cherry said curtly. “You should focus on beer and pussy.”
“Then you were known around Raptor Flats as Bomb!”
Cherry slammed down her drink. “You were known as Felon! Stop talking about old times.”
“Hey, we’re supposed to relax,” Zinnia said, referee hands held up.
“So what? This felon started college classes while locked up in Chino,” Jill said. “Released into a CPA program, presently an accountant at a classy non-profit of which the principals are pleased as spiked punch to employ such a life-turned-around story. Now having much deserved weekend drinks with my girls. I’m proud of my checkered history.”
The barkeep set down three new pints.
“And you should be proud too, Cherry Bomb with the big heart,” Jill said, glass raised. “For walking a weird path and still looking out for the meek ones. And for not murdering me for being an obnoxious smartass.”
Zinnia clinked her glass with Jill’s. “Drunk Jill is very eloquent tonight.”
Cherry smiled like a cracked watermelon, and gulped her ale.
12
While waiting in line at the Post Office, Cherry’s phone went off. The ringtone, intro to Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow,” caused other queued-up customers to gawk at Cherry. Extracting the phone from her blue cargo pants, she answered before the song’s obscenities started.
“Cherry, she’s back!” said Ida breathlessly.
“Who’s back?”
“Paula!”
Cherry immediately pivoted from her place in line, barreling out of the pneumatic door. “I’m on my way!”
Quickly, the hatchback steered into a parking stall, facing the fence, beyond it the outdoor day-care activity.
Observing from there, Cherry’s sorrow returned at the sight of Paula cradling what looked like a three-month-old infant. Paula paced, putting the baby at her shoulder to elicit a burp with gentle back pats. Walking toward the fence, the afternoon light haloed about her wavy red hair. When Paula about-faced, Cherry saw the child was actually a highly realistic, pale-toned doll, the sort American Girl would manufacture.
Though Cherry did not ever consider motherhood, she had immense sympathy for this young woman having to give up her child. How could someone like Paula process such a hard knock? Could she have postpartum depression after separating from her baby? As a lifelong member of Team Underdog, Cherry felt, so deeply, the loss, the suffering, the need for pacing in the church courtyard, as well as the confusion. Was there understanding how a life could grow and come forth from her? Hormones, Cherry thought, are likely off-kilter, maybe whooshing inside after giving birth. Paula wants to hold her baby, to hold any baby. Even a doll.
As a veterinary intern in college, Cherry witnessed female dogs rescued from backyard puppy mills. The canine mothers, bereft of their offspring, would be comforted with stand-ins: other puppies, kittens, rabbits, knotted-up socks. It was an appropriate surrogacy.
Seeing Paula caressing a baby doll did not sit right with Cherry. She was more than a casual observer, but, as Zinnia described her, a busybody with zilch legal recourse to know more. Cherry admitted Paula did not look distressed, or as exhausted as she did when quite pregnant during the days Cherry first noticed her at Errant Sheep. The young woman embraced the doll contentedly while under care at a licensed facility. What is wrong with that? What is wrong with me?
As Paula’s pacing bewitched Cherry, Mrs. Freiberg’s Buick Regal pulled up alongside the gold Honda.
She signed her daughter out at the alley door. Paula appeared with the doll tucked in the crook of her arm against her torso, in the mode of motherhood immemorial.
The attendant called out to Paula, requesting the return of the doll. Paula jerked away, turning her back to this church worker, shielding the doll from being snatched.
“That item belongs to the day care, Mrs. Freiberg,” said the attendant, holding out her arms for the doll.
“You listen here,” said Paula’s mom in a serious growl. “I kept my mouth shut! The least you can do is let Paula keep the doll.”
“We’re providing a free service for your daughter,” the attendant said.
“Free my ass! Who do you think you’re fooling?” said Mrs. Freiberg. She irately yanked open the car door for Paula. “You get paid by the state. We all know what happened with Paula. Pretty lousy service.”
Cherry sunk low in her seat. She was stunned at what it seemed to reveal: Paula became impregnated under the care of Errant Sheep Tabernacle.
Who? Most workers and volunteers were female, but there were some men around, plus she guessed the pastor had a penis.
She grew anxious for bingo to be over, to talk with Ida. Like magic, Ida and Esther appeared at the hall door, waving for Cherry.
In a wink, the hatchback was at the passenger loading curb, and the ladies piled in.
Esther spoke first.
“Did you see that poor girl? She misses her baby.”
“Very sad.” Cherry was solemn, but internally she was anxious. Fuck, thought this was put to rest. Double fuck! Gotta tell Zinnia what I overheard, but I know she’ll be pissed I’m bothering her again.
“Good grief! When I heard your sweet voice, I assumed this was a lighthearted social call,” Zinnia countered over the phone that evening. “So she had a doll, no big whoop. That is an appropriate transitional object for kids. It’s appropriate for adults with disabilities.”
“Sure, but I heard a heated exchange at the dismissal door, where guardians sign out their relatives,” Cherry said, “and it sounded like Paula became pregnant on their watch!”
“Oooh!” Zinnia said. “That is a horse of a different color.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Zinnia sighed.
“All right, I will follow through until I get more answers about the day-care center.”
Slightly relieved Cherry let out a sigh. “Thank you, Zinnia.”
13
The better part of a week passed before Zinnia dropped by 5 Meadowlark Lane.
“We’re lucky I have friendly work contacts,” Zinnia said, detaching her crossbody purse and settling at the dinette with Ida.
“Coffee? Tea?” Cherry said positioned at the stovetop.
“Agua, please,” Zinnia said, fanning her face. “This morning, my pal Jorge Rojas from the regional center, let me tag along for a surprise visit to Errant Sheep Tabernacle. We timed it early, so Jorge could speak with Mrs. Frieberg when she dropped off Paula.”
Cherry set down a tartan green glass of water, jangling with ice cubes.
“At first she was annoyed being delayed for work, but she mellowed when Jorge apologized and promised a quick talk,” Zinnia said. “Mrs. Frieberg was forthcoming about their home life. Dinner in early evening, watching Wheel of Fortune ‘like a couple of spinsters,’ she said. Paula is in bed by nine. And on weekends they are constantly together; no local family. In the event she dies first, the mom told us a trust has been established for Paula, in which a younger female cousin in Pennsylvania is designated to care for her.”
Zinnia sipped water.
“I can’t imagine the amount of worry Paula’s mother must have,” Ida said.
“What about the pregnancy?” Cherry asked.
“Getting to that,” Zinnia said. “Because Paula does better with routine and is used to that place, Mrs. Frieberg doesn’t want to uproot her. Now, the day-care staff was cordial, but they were hovering about nervously. Jorge insisted on some privacy when asking Mrs. Frieberg about the possibility her daughter could have conceived while under the church’s care. She wearily shrugged, guessing ‘they lost track of Paula for fifteen minutes’ and she had relations with one of the few male clients. She had assurances the caretakers will be more on their toes from now on. The day-care staff said as much to Jorge and me. Jorge also wants more indoor rest areas at the center, and better restroom maintenance. The center agreed to both improvements in writing.”
“So no idea who...” Cherry said.
“The baby’s father?” Zinnia said. “Nope. It will likely remain a mystery.”
Cherry thought of the cheerful young man, Hiram. She remembered seeing other men in the day-care group as well. It was possible that Hiram and Paula could have managed to get it on successfully enough to result in pregnancy. Not that it was Hiram, but in her mind Cherry filled in the blank with his name.
“This is what Mrs. Frieberg felt happened, and wanted no rape charges,” Zinnia said. “It is irresponsible of the church, but I’ve seen and heard of far worse so-called facilities.”
