Hush by Anne Frasier Page B

and wet trickling
down his leg, his foot, puddling on the carpet. The smell of urine
stung his nostrils. Confused, he wondered what he'd done wrong.
    The beautiful woman behind the desk stood up.
She wasn't smiling anymore. Her red mouth was a straight line, her
dark brows drawn together, creating deep creases between her eyes.
"Isn't he toilet trained?" Her voice held disbelief combined with
shock.
    "Thought you could take care of that," his
mother said. She waddled across the room, grabbed his hand, and
pulled him after her, his wet feet squishing in his flip-flops.
    But now she wore the opal necklace he'd given
her. And she had something from every mother he'd ever killed.
Seeing her wear his gifts made him feel wonderful because they were
the truest symbols of his deep and profound feelings for her.
    From above his head came a crash, followed by
a heavy thud that shook the house.
    What now? he wondered. What now?
    And then she began screaming and moaning.
    "My leg! My leg! I broke my leg!"
     

Chapter 11
    In Japanese, Sachi meant "child of bliss."
LaDonna Anderson wasn't Japanese, but she'd traveled to Japan as a
high school exchange student. That had been years and years ago.
And even though she'd thought about her Japanese parents often,
hoping to someday go back there, she never had. She'd married a
kind, patient man who developed emphysema from working in a coal
mine. They had one child, and LaDonna named her Sachi, child of
bliss.
    Sachi was a beautiful girl who became a
beautiful woman. When her father died and LaDonna was too overcome
to speak at the funeral, Sachi delivered a wonderful eulogy. She
was that kind of person. Someone who could do anything.
    And when she accidentally became pregnant and
announced she would keep and raise the baby without the father's
help, LaDonna had thought, Yes, you will. And she thought, There
are no accidents. Only miracles.
    During Sachi's pregnancy, she and her
daughter often talked about going to Japan together someday. It was
a dream they'd often shared through the years, and now that dream
included a child. They would take Sachi's baby with them. . . .
    The baby ended up being a boy. Sachi named
him Taro, Japanese for "firstborn son."
    It had been expensive to have the special
birth announcement put in the paper. Even though LaDonna couldn't
afford the forty-dollar fee, she'd done it anyway. She wanted all
of her friends to know that she was proud of her new grandson,
proud of her beautiful daughter.
    LaDonna worked nights at a market only three
blocks from where she and Sachi lived. She could pick up a paper
that evening when she got to work, but she couldn't wait so long.
And sometimes there were no papers left by evening.
    She got up early and walked to the market,
buying a paper and a cup of flavored decaffeinated coffee for
Sachi, caffeinated for herself. Sachi had temporarily given up
caffeine and chocolate because she was nursing. Some people said it
didn't matter what a mother ate, that it didn't have any effect on
her milk, but LaDonna knew better. Food like beans and brussels
sprouts made a baby colicky, and caffeine kept an infant awake, and
Lord knew a mother needed that baby to sleep as much as
possible.
    LaDonna hurried home with the paper.
    They'd lived in the apartment on Mulberry for
more than three years. Enough time so that she no longer saw the
carved names on the walls, or noticed that the handrail to the
second floor was loose. What was outside their apartment didn't
matter. Because inside was their world, their safe, cozy world.
    In the kitchen, LaDonna cut out the birth
announcement and stuck it to the front of the refrigerator with a
magnet. Later, she would take Taro's hospital photo and the birth
announcement and have them framed. It would be a surprise for
Sachi. Something she could save along with all of her other
treasures.
    The apartment was still quiet, so she left
the white plastic lid on Sachi's coffee, opened her own, and sat
down at the