Free Calamity by J.T. Warren Page B

“Not now, no.”
    With that, Anthony was back to that day last month when Chloe’s screams broke through the entire house and Tyler ran out of his bedroom to find out what happened, who had gotten hurt, and Anthony had already known before he made it upstairs—the heavy stone in his gut told him so—that something terrible had happened to the baby. He took the stairs two at a time and didn’t trip, though he almost wished he had. If he had fallen, broken an ankle or something, the rest of the day would have played out much more directly. They would have waited for the ambulance that Tyler called instead of grabbing their newborn (face bulging dark blue) and speeding down Route 84 in Chloe’s car to the hospital. The paramedics, who arrived three minutes after he had sped out of their driveway, would have been there to administer CPR or some type of aid instead of Anthony pushing the car to ninety-five miles per hour while Chloe screamed for him to go faster for Christ’s sake go faster he’s turning purple he’s fucking dying Anthony don’t you hear what I’m saying our child is dying and you’re behind a fucking truck . And the paramedics might not have saved the child, but they would have been there at least to help shield him and Chloe from the horror they glimpsed when he passed a truck on the left side shoulder, the car’s tires lost their grip, and the car tumbled off the side and into the median ditch, the slope steep enough to flip the car once and Chloe screamed as the baby slipped from her grip and hit the ceiling only to crash back into her lap when the car landed right side up. The paramedics would have placed a sheet over the baby but instead he and Chloe stared down at their newborn’s dark purple face and the blood gushing from his right eye socket, Chloe repeating again and again like a secret spell: “ Not now, no, not now, no, not now, no .” There had been a pulse even then after the accident, but by the time the trooper arrived, the pulse had vanished. Then Chloe tried to run into traffic.
    “The kids miss you,” he said and hoped she wouldn’t turn away, thinking of the one kid who would never miss her, the child they had not even bestowed a name upon because they couldn’t agree. She had wanted Clayton; he, Michael.
    He started to get up and maybe try to motivate himself to make that call finally to Dr. Carroll when she spoke again. “You’re a good man,” she said. “A good father. I mean that.”
    “And you’re a good mother, don’t forget that.”
    “You’re raising them now.”
    “Why don’t you have some toast?”
    Her eyes slowly opened. Even with only the light streaking faintly in from the hallway, Anthony could see the swollen redness of her face. Perhaps nightmares did visit her in that drug-induced sleep.
    “I can make you some tea, if you want.”
    She touched his arm, her first gesture of affection, of even a connection, in several days. “I’m so sorry, Anthony. So very sorry.”
    Her tears were quick and full. He took her in his arms and let her cry against him. She had cried this way when he finally tacklickinally ed her at the edge of the median before an SUV would have taken off her head. She tried to punch him and kick him, but he clenched her so tightly that all she could do was cry. Eventually, the trooper drove them to the hospital where they sat with their little baby in a cold room for several hours before a nurse told them the room was needed and that, oh yes, she was sorry, so very sorry for their loss.
    “Why don’t we go somewhere?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “Delaney’s at SAT prep, Tyler took Brendan to bowling, so we can do whatever we want.”
    She laughed, not quite a real laugh, but still it was something other than crying or sleeping and it stirred something for a moment in his heart. “Like the old days,” she said. “Before any kids at all.”
    He smiled. “We can go to that old flea market where we made love in the back of