Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 47 | 19 YEARS AGO

Abraham was running on fumes.

Never had he been so tired or happy or afraid. He was also pretty sure caffeine and sugar were his two new dearest friends. Sorry, Ismael. The last forty-eight hours had been both the worst and the best of his life. As a doer and not a sitter, his experience once his wife went into the delivery room was nothing short of humbling. Knees shaking, waiting outside in a chair for the sound of their newborn's first cry was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Since surgeons got to charge more for C-sections, and they could do plenty of those throughout their nine-to-five, natural childbirth in Venezuela was almost unheard off by 1999, even in San Isidro. Low risk, high reward. At least for them. Now, after Marta had fought and pushed for over six hours to bring a new soul into this soulless country, Abe agreed with the doctors.

A C-section would have been better.

And then he heard Ofelia cry for the first time.

"Whatever it took, it was worth it," he whispered, holding his baby a few minutes later.

It was the tiniest, most beautiful thing he'd seen. They'd made her. Him and his wife. He understood the biology behind it, and still, there was not a doubt in his mind: This was a miracle. Those big eyes, that smooth black hair, the sweet smell of hope coming from her head... Oh, God! He wanted to hold her in his arms forever, protect her from the sharp edges of the world.

"You should get some shut-eye," Marta told him from her bed in a soft, tired voice later that night.

"Me? You are the one who had to push seven pounds and 21 inches out of your—"

"Honey," she raised her hand, interrupting him. "I know. I was there."

"Right," he yawned.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Last year," Abe joked.

It was also true, however. His wife had gone into labor the evening of December 30th and given birth to Ofelia as the clock struck twelve on New Year's Eve. The first baby of a brand-new millennium.

"That joke is so bad it bullies smaller jokes," said someone by the door.

"Father!" Marta managed a tired smile.

"Ismael, you are here. How?"

"I took the stairs." The priest walked towards Abraham and put a hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations!" He glanced at the scant Christmas decoration in the hallway outside. "And Happy New Year too, I guess."

"But I thought you were busy with the..." Abe couldn't remember what it was that his friend was studying these days. "Thingy."

"You won't get in trouble for coming here, will you?" Marta asked.

"I am me. You don't have to worry."

He loves saying that before or after breaking the rules. Abe shook his head. That's what I like about him the most.

"Do you want to hold her?" Marta proposed to the priest.

"May I?"

"Just be careful," said Abraham, handing him over his baby girl.

"I would never hurt her." He smiled at the newborn. "She's beautiful."

"She is perfect, compadre." Abe emphasized the last word.

"Compadre?" Ismael raised his brows in question.

Marta nodded her consent.

"There's not a rule that prohibits priests from being godparents," Abraham said after he sipped lukewarm coffee from a small plastic cup he'd placed on the windowsill. "Right?"

"Well... the church frowns upon it," the priest explained.

"Why?" Marta wondered, half asleep.

"Fear of favoritism." Ismael must have seen something in Abraham's expression because he hurried to say, "But like I told you before. No worries. I am me."

"Glad to hear that," Abe patted his friend's back. "How long are you staying?"

"Depends," Ismael said. "How are you?"

"Marta and the Ofelia are fine."

"I am asking, how are you?"

How could he answer that when 'he' was not the same? The last two days had changed his entire life. Was he a different person? No, but he could tell his moral compass pointed to a different north now that he had a baby; there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep his daughter safe. He was willing to go to impossible lengths; do things he would not have considered forty-eight hours ago. He would do whatever it took to make sure Ofelia's smile would never fade.

"I'm one happy dad," said Abe, gesturing for his newborn.

"Marta is asleep," said the priest, looking at his soon-to-be compadre. "Why don't you catch some Z's too? I'll keep an eye on her."

"Nah. It's fine."

"Sure?" The priest handed him the baby back with care.

"Yes. I want to hold her a little longer," Abraham replied, keeping Ofelia tight in his arms, knowing he'd rather die than see her hurt.