Intersections Read online

  When the baby had finished, falling lax from her breast and into sleep, Tori carefully tucked her child into a snug bundle of blankets. Holding the baby close to her chest, Tori made her way down the hall to the bathroom the hulking man had shown her last night. The bathroom was so small the only place to put the baby was on the floor in front of the toilet or in the claw foot tub. The tub at least looked clean, so that's where Tori settled her.

  She peed forever, biting her tongue against the urge to cry. She lost. At the sting between her legs, silent and scalding tears slipped over her cheeks and into her mouth. She couldn't even wipe properly, not with the handful of stiff toilet paper from the roll set on the back of the toilet. Even the quilted kind would have been too much, and this paper was the bargain variety, cheap and pulpy. She was lucky it didn't have bits of wood left in it, that was how rough it felt. Eyes closed, she leaned forward, breathing through the burn, then opened them to tug open the cabinet beneath the sink to see if maybe there was a box of tissues or something softer.

  She found a small bucket and a stack of folded rags. Even by the bathroom’s dim light, she had no trouble seeing the faded stains on the cloth. Her lip curled. She'd hoped to find a package of pads or maybe some incontinence panties, either would've done the job, but she had not expected to find old-fashioned cloth menstrual pads. Then again, thinking of the crone she'd met last night in the dining room, how could she be surprised? The last time that old lady had her period, women probably hadn't yet been granted the right to vote.

  It hurt to laugh. Tori clutched her still softening belly with one hand and put the other over her mouth to hold back the giggles. She didn't want to wake the baby...or anyone else. Especially when the laughter became a series of choking, gasping sobs that rasped at her throat.

  She had survived giving birth unattended in a supply closet, being hit by a tractor trailer and hiking through the woods in the dark, enduring frigid temperatures with a baby strapped to her by bungee cords. She was not going to lose her shit now. It was true that Tori had never been good under pressure. She'd been known to freak out because she'd snagged a pair of new tights, not to mention her habit of cutting and running in the face of any kind of conflict or adversity.

  She had to be better than that, now.

  For her daughter.

  "Gonna take care of you, Little Bit," Tori murmured. The baby's tiny mouth pursed, sucking at nothing, but she didn't wake.

  The disposable pad pinned to Tori's underpants was soaked nearly through. The panties themselves came up to her belly button in the front and the middle of her back behind; the pad reached as far. She turned her face from the dark, glistening mess. Several large clots slipped out of her and into the toilet, splashing. She shuddered. Her gorge rose, but the years she'd spent sticking her fingers down her throat had also given her the ability to control her puke reflex with spectacular precision, and she managed not to vomit.

  The problem was, she didn't have anything to use in place of the sodden pad. Tori took a long, shivering breath and forced herself to count to ten. Then again. Every time she drew the air in through her nose, she winced at the stench of body odor, coppery old blood, and sour breast milk. She needed a shower, desperately, but didn't dare attempt one. Not with her sleeping infant in the bottom of the tub, certainly. Not in a stranger's house without permission, no matter how kindly they'd taken her in.

  By the time she opened her eyes, she was no calmer, but she'd formulated a plan. It would be more embarrassing to bleed through her clothes and possibly onto the bed sheets then it would be to take one of the stained rags from the pile beneath the sink. They'd been used, but they were clean, and they were all she had. Within minutes she'd tidied herself and wrapped the used pad in wads of the horribly rough toilet paper, then tossed it in the small trash pail next to the commode. She stood at the sink to wash her hands, amazed at how much better she felt with such a simple change.

  In the mirror, her face looked gaunt. She turned it side to side, studying her hollowed cheeks. The circles beneath her pale green eyes. She'd spent a lifetime wishing for her cheekbones to stand out, but now all she could see was a skeletal face staring back. She cupped a handful of water and rinsed her mouth, then spat to rid herself of the taste that had lingered since last night. She gripped the sink, bent over for a moment or so while she waited to see if she were going to faint. The dizziness passed in seconds, but left her feeling trembly and weak, on unsteady legs.

  Her stomach rumbled. Tori turned off the water and dried her hands on a stiff towel embroidered with daises. A layer of dust covered the top of it, something she only noticed when it darkened her damp hands. With a frown, she rinsed her palms again, then looked at the towel. Possibly it had never been meant for more than decoration, the way her mother's bathroom had been set up with soaps shaped like shells and towels never meant to be used. She patted her hands against the front of her oversized t-shirt, instead.

  "C'mon, Little Bit."

  Too late, she realized that putting the baby in the tub had been easier than lifting her out. Something again tore deep inside her when she tried. She had no choice, though. Gritting her teeth, Tori managed to brace her knees against the tub's curved rim, then get her hands beneath the bundle of blankets and pull the baby against her chest. Breathing hard, she gave herself a few seconds to get her balance. How did anyone manage this alone? How had she ever thought she could?

  The hall was empty and quiet, and she was grateful. She wasn't ready to face anyone. In the bedroom, she tucked a spare diaper and the last of the wipes into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Her stomach rumbled again, and she put a hand over it. She thought of the granola bars in her bag, but she needed something more substantial than that...and she wanted to save them for an emergency she hoped never came.

  In the hall, she passed a long line of closed doors, then paused at the head of the stairs. She could barely remember climbing them last night. Luka had shown her the bathroom and left the tea, and after that everything was blurry. Daunted by the incline, she bounced the baby gently, considering how much it was going to hurt to descend, not to mention the odds that she was going to trip over her own feet.

  It took her a long time to get down, one careful step at a time, but she made it. At the bottom, she faced the front door. Arched doorways on either side led to shadowed rooms, and a long hall stretched to the back of the house. A kitchen, she presumed. Food, she hoped desperately. It seemed she’d spent most of her life fighting off her appetite, but it had never been this bad. Since having the baby she’d suffered a never-sated hunger nibbling constantly inside her.

  Tori stopped, listening for signs that anyone else in the house was awake. Luka was big enough to shake the house if he were up and around, she was sure of that. Despite the silence, something prompted her to peek into the dining room.

  It looked no different than the night before, although now the dim wall lamps were off and the only light filtered in through the large front window, hung with heavy curtains that kept out most of the brightness. The same broad, ornate table set with the patterned cloth. The vase of dead flowers. The upholstered chairs, six of them.

  "Oh," Tori said. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I didn't expect to see you there."

  Had the old woman not gone to bed? She sat in the same place at the head of the table. Wore the same dress with the high throat and long sleeves. Her gnarled hands rested in the same place on top of the table, this time one to either side of the spirit board.

  "Good morning," Tori ventured and kissed the baby's cheek when it began to stir against her chest.

  The old lady put her hands on the plastic planchette. Looking straight at Tori but not saying a word, she moved it toward the YES. Something moved it, anyway, Tori thought, holding her ground in the archway. She lifted her chin. So…this was creepy. Sure it was. But she didn't believe in ghosts and never had, so she wasn't going to start now.

  Tori cleared her throat. The awful taste had gone away, but her voice