Then I hear the bolt pull back. The door swings open.
Peggy.
Standing in the doorway, wearing an old dress, legs streaked with blood.
She carries a bundle of towels. Then she steps into the room, gets closer. I look down.
It’s ababy. Beautiful. Newborn. A tiny, pristineperson.
“Richard wants to name him Richard ... and call him Chip—Chip off the old block—as a nickname.” She shakes her head vehemently. “But his name is Daniel.”
“Daniel.” I repeat the name as she transfers the bundle into my arms. The baby blinks up at me. Enormous blue eyes. Perfect rosebud mouth. My eyes burn as I fight back tears.
“I sent Richard to People’s Drug to fetch talcum powder for the baby.” She looks ravaged, terrified. “We don’t have much time.”
We leave the shelter and creep up the basement stairs. Peggy grabs the doorknob at the top of the steps.
And then it’s like God presses a button and sets everything in slow motion.
The door swings open ... and Dickie is there.
A scream rips from my throat as he looms at the top of the stairs, eyes gleaming, my dad’s shotgun ... the one he uses for skeet shooting ... cradled in his arms.
I clutch the baby tighter with one hand and reach for the handrail to keep from falling backward with the other.
“Where do you ladies think you’re going?” His voice is smooth, like water. Then he smiles. I almost throw up.
“I was just ... checking on her.” Peggy’s voice quivers.
“Just checking on her,” he repeats in a mocking tone.
Then he descends, shotgun in the crook of his arm. Each step slow. Deliberate. Dangerous.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Peggy reaches back and grasps my hand. We retreat backward, one step at a time until we reach the bottom.
“Get back in the fallout shelter, Dottie.”
I shake my head and clasp the baby tighter.
He points the shotgun at my chest. “Give the baby to Peggy.”
My body shakes, but I force myself to lift my chin, look him straight in the eye, to pretend I’m not afraid. “You can’t shoot me. How do you explain a gunshot wound on a woman who died in childbirth?”
He seizes Peggy by the hair and jerks her close.
“True. But I can shoother. I can dispose ofherbody. And no one will ever know.”
I can hardly breathe, much less speak. I inhale a slug of air, then force the words out. “Calm down, Dickie.”
“Put the baby down or she dies,” he repeats.
“Let her go.”
He shakes his head, eyes glowing, mouth set in a grim line. “Put the baby down or I kill her. Now.”
“Please, Richard,” Peggy begs, tears streaming down her face.
