The Hunger Moon (22 page)

“Excuse me,” she said, and went to the bathroom with her breast pump. When she saw the milk spurting into the storage bottle, milk that Charlie should be drinking right now, she started to weep again, so that her shirt soon became soaked with tears and milk mixed together.

A
RE YOU ALL RIGHT, MA’AM?”

Eleanor was sitting on the curb, her back straight, the bundled baby crying in her arms.

“Oh, Robert, thank God. Please, take the baby. It feels like I’ve been holding him for hours.”

He took Peter from her and held him up.

“He’s been crying like that for the longest time,” Eleanor said.

“I think he’s cold. Let’s get you two in the car.” He held the baby tightly in the shawl and murmured to him. “Hi, little guy. Hey there. Don’t cry.”

The baby stopped crying to stare at the new face. Then he began wailing again.

“I think he’s hungry,” Eleanor said. “Let’s just go home, Robert, please.”

“I think you’re thinking of someone else, ma’am. I’m not Robert. But I’ll be happy to take you home.”

As Robert drove, Eleanor had a nauseated feeling in her stomach; she thought she might be sick. She couldn’t imagine why she had started out for the grocery store like that. What had she been doing, anyway? Going for cereal. Rice cereal. For this baby, who—it suddenly occurred to her—wasn’t Peter. Something
cleared in her head. She felt her vision change, though she still had a pounding headache. Things became sharply outlined and familiar. She was on Washington Street, nowhere near Rosewood Avenue. This baby was Charlie, Renata’s boy.

“I don’t know you, do I?” said Eleanor suddenly, turning toward the man driving her.

“No, ma’am, we’ve never met. My name is Bryan Harmon. I saw you leave your apartment building, and I got a little worried about you because it seemed you had to rest a lot, carrying the baby. I got in my car and followed you,” he said.

“Now, why would you do a thing like that?” Eleanor asked suspiciously.

“Because I was worried about the baby. And you,” he added.

“Do you know this baby?”

Bryan laughed. “Yes, and no. This is Renata Rivera’s baby, right?”

Eleanor hesitated. “Yes. I’m baby-sitting.”

“Well, I know Renata Rivera. And I’ve heard about the baby. I was waiting for Renata when you came out. I heard you call him Charlie. I didn’t think there would be too many babies that age named Charlie in your building. Of course, I could have been wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong.” Eleanor was silent, trying to puzzle things out. “It’s kind of you to give us a lift home,” she said finally.

Charlie seemed to have given up on getting food for the moment. From his position in Eleanor’s arms he stared up at the man driving, who also kept glancing down at him. For her part, Eleanor furtively studied Bryan Harmon’s face, which seemed vaguely familiar. Then she looked down and examined Charlie, until things finally fit.

“Are you a relation, Mr. Harmon?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Does Renata expect you?”

“She has a message waiting from me. But before that, no, she didn’t expect to see me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t know yet. To visit.”

Eleanor reflected on that. Then she nodded. “You know, Renata’s never talked about family. I never asked, although, of course, I haven’t known her very long.”

“I don’t think anyone has known Renata very long,” Bryan said.

“What a strange thing to say,” Eleanor said. They sat in silence for a moment. “After all, Charlie has known her his whole life,” she continued, cradling him. His eyes were now focused on her face, but the lids were fluttering closed, soothed by the warmth and the motion of the car.

Bryan laughed. “Well, yes. I see what you mean.”

W
HEN THEY GOT BACK TO THE BUILDING
, Bryan offered to carry the baby.

“Have you ever held a baby, Mr. Harmon?”

“I’ve held this one—a few minutes ago, when I found you two. I think he likes me.”

When I found you two. Where had she been?
Eleanor knew she had better sit down, the sooner the better. The nausea was welling up again.

“Well, go ahead. My arms are aching. I’ll follow along right behind you.” Eleanor nodded to the young man at the front desk and Bryan accompanied her up to her floor, holding the baby. She rang Renata ‘s doorbell and waited.

When the door opened, Renata stood there, with puffy eyes and a pale face. Her gaze flew down to Charlie, then went from Eleanor’s face to Bryan’s, who was standing there holding the sleeping Charlie.

“Renata, we’ll talk later,” Eleanor said. “I don’t feel at all well right now and I’m going to my apartment to rest. Thank goodness for this young man; he appeared like my guardian angel when Charlie and I needed him.”

A
FTER LEAVING THE STUDIO
, June talked to Max briefly in the hall, and tried to look as though she shared his excitement.

“He said I have to try out, like everyone else,” Max said, his voice lilting with exhilaration. “And I have to pay my own expenses to New York for the audition. But if I make it, I get free room and board with the other apprentice dancers, and a small stipend. By the end of the summer, they’ll tell me if I get to participate in the year-long program, which would put me on deck to be performing. There are a lot of odds to beat, but I’ve got a shot.”

Max didn’t seem to notice June’s stretched, false smile as she nodded. Envy consumed her. She didn’t begrudge Max his chance, but why didn’t she deserve hers, too? She hated Richard for speaking to her so patronizingly—
Honey, let me save you some time
. She wasn’t like a thousand other aspiring dancers. Maybe if you put her and Max side by side he looked flashier, more athletic, but he didn’t have her intuitions, or her sensitivity. Why couldn’t Bruce Richard see her for the dancer she was?

She fought off the invisible feeling that she used to get when her father arrived home after work and made a martini before dialing his first call of the evening. Every night her father returned
from a day of business only to conduct still more business over the phone, sometimes even ignoring dinner on the table while June and her mother finally sat down. June remembered practicing her dancing in the living room in front of him as he talked interest rates and building permits and partnership shares. As a girl she would pirouette before him wearing her special pink tutu that was really supposed to be saved just for performances. She would keep her back straight and point her toes and hold an imaginary pear in each hand just as the teacher had instructed, and he never once saw her. If she spun all night in front of him, frozen in place like the plastic ballerina that rose smiling and perfect every time she lifted the lid of her jewelry box, her father would still see beyond her to the door, as if he were already planning his exit.

She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to crawl off into a hole somewhere and be by herself, or talk to someone, although she didn’t know to whom. She couldn’t think of anyone who understood. Neither Mrs. M. nor Renata had a clue about dance, not really. She suddenly remembered the way she had rushed out and left Mrs. MacGregor with a hungry baby—and for what? So she could be insulted by some rude egomaniac.

S
HE DIALED
M
RS
. M
AC
G
REGOR’S NUMBER
and listened to it ring. Mrs. M. wouldn’t be going anywhere yet, would she? It was only ten-thirty, and her children weren’t due in until later. June had gotten her all the food she needed from the store yesterday. She tried Renata ‘s number and got the machine. Worry began gnawing again; what if Renata had never come home? Charlie would be beside himself by now, and Mrs. M. would have no choice but to go to the store to buy him some baby formula or cereal. She could never manage to carry Charlie the whole way and shop as well.

Without bothering to change out of her leotard and Indian skirt, June threw on her peacoat and hopped on the T to Washington Street. For her two jobs she had a key to both Eleanor’s apartment and Renata’s. As the train stopped practically every
block to let people off and on along the B.U. area, June grew more and more impatient. She really had been selfish to make Mrs. MacGregor take over her duties like that. Even if Mrs. M. had told her to go ahead and go to her class, what choice had June left her, standing there practically begging?

It was almost eleven o’clock when she let herself into the apartment building; she dashed through the lobby and took the elevator to the seventh floor. Mrs. MacGregor wasn’t answering the doorbell. Before she used her key, she decided to check next door; maybe Renata was home and could tell her Mrs. M.’s whereabouts. No one answered there either. Alarmed, June let herself into Renata’s apartment to see if she had been home. Someone had been, clearly. There were dishes in the sink, and half-filled coffee cups on the living-room table. June’s note was on the kitchen table, instead of the refrigerator, where she had pinned it up with magnets. And when she went into the nursery, she saw that the sleeper Charlie had been wearing when June left had been balled up and tossed in the hamper. All was well. Renata had come home and taken Charlie from Mrs. MacGregor, and Mrs. MacGregor was now probably with one of her children. Maybe Janice drove over to get her early. At any rate, Renata was working again tonight, so June could see both of them and hear the details when she came to baby-sit.

Reassured, June locked Renata’s door and took the elevator to the lobby. She had forgotten the humiliation of the morning for a moment. Now it came back to her full force.

E
LEANOR WAS GONE BEFORE
R
ENATA
could even apologize or thank her. The sight of Charlie, rosy and sleeping, filled her eyes again with tears. She couldn’t speak to Bryan yet. He handed the baby to her wordlessly.

“See you later,” Bill said, touching her lightly on the shoulder and edging by Bryan with a nod. Then he was gone, too.

Cradling her baby in her arms, Renata turned and walked into her living room. Bryan followed, closing the door behind him. Charlie stirred, twisting this way and that to stretch.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear, so only he could hear. “I love you, Charlie. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.” She swallowed. “I have to feed him, Bryan,” she said aloud, her back still facing him. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” She headed for her bedroom door.

“Do you have to go in there to feed him?” Bryan said.

She stopped. She returned to the living room and sat on the couch. Charlie was waking, beginning a fussy little cry.

“All right.” She sat down on the couch and pulled up her T-shirt. She had nursed in restaurants, and parks, and even once on the subway. Now, before Charlie’s father, she was self-conscious.

Even though she had pumped, her breasts were still full and
hard. They began leaking as soon as she held Charlie, and as he fussed, the wetness spread into two circles on her shirt.

“Here you are, Charlie, back with Momma. There you go.” Charlie began drinking deeply, little
mmm
and
nnn
sounds coming from his busy mouth. His eyes opened now, and fastened on her.