Miscarried

The woman caught a train in El Paso. It rained sideways as she waited on the platform, so she spent several minutes patting herself dry and wrapping up in her throw blanket. She made sure to secure a window seat so she could look out at the arid, ocher landscape and count the cacti she spotted.

She closed her eyes a moment after settling in. She was often tired, especially after visiting her wailing, sugar-drunk grandchildren.

When she opened her eyes, there was a young woman, maybe twenty, seated opposite her, diagonally. She had brown skin and a straight, blunt bob. She wore a gray jacket and a gray shirt underneath. In fact, everything about her was gray. She slouched forward over a protruding belly, her face blank, her forehead beading with sweat. Her clothes, like hers, were soaked from the rain.

The woman smiled, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. Then, the woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a hankie. She leaned forward. “Here,” she said.

Startled, she looked at her, then at the suspended piece of cloth. She cocked her head.

“I got them too, at your age.” The young woman didn’t seem to understand what she was talking about. “Those pregnancy sweats, I mean.”

Instinctively, a hand went to her forehead. Her fingers came back moist and oily. She nodded and took the hankie. “Thanks.”

The woman smiled. “Where are you getting off?”

“Santa Fe.”

Her eyes widened. “Me, too!”

She nodded politely.

“I’m Delores.”

Looked down at her belly.

“How far along?” Before she could answer, Delores chuckled. “About to pop, I’d say.”

She smiled uncomfortably, but Delores didn’t notice. If her children were here, they would’ve chastised her. Mom, leave her alone! She doesn't want to talk to you. She’s just being polite.

The young woman tried to hand the hankie back, but Delores shook her head. “You need it more than I do.”

Delores settled in and flipped through a travel brochure she’d picked up at the station. The train began to move, the overhead lights dimming. Soon enough, she dozed off.

When she woke up, she noticed her clothes had dried and she felt much more comfortable. Except now she was too hot, so she fanned herself with the brochure. She looked out the window at the yellow grass and smoldering afternoon sun. She started to count cacti, ticking them off one by one in her mind.

In the window’s reflection, she saw the young woman. She thought about her first pregnancy, Marianne. If she’d been on a train then, she might’ve gotten sick. She was sick that whole pregnancy. Robert had been a saint. He only ever caused trouble outside the womb.

Delores turned to check on her, see if she was still sweating. Instead, almost imperceptibly, she seemed to be shivering. Delores frowned and reached forward to cover her with the throw blanket. As she did this, she noticed that the woman’s hands were limp at her sides, not rubbing her belly. She’d never known a pregnant woman who didn’t rub her belly. It was like a habit. Delores caught herself doing it even after her babies were born for months, it took a while to shake.

And, as she situated the blanket over her lap, she noticed that the hem of her shirt was still sodden. Delores thought this was peculiar—the rainwater would have had plenty of time to dry by now—but she let her sleep.

Delores went back to counting cacti. So far, she’d seen forty-seven, including the snakelike ones that sprouted upward from rocks, the round breastlike ones, and only two or three with arms. Those could take a lifetime to grow.

After a while, she made her way to the bathroom to relieve herself. She splashed water on her face, applied lotion to her hands and elbows. On her way back, she stopped in the dining car and bought a deli sandwich and a hot peppermint tea. She sat alone in one of the booths and ate.

She hadn’t seen the young woman eat or drink anything and was beginning to worry. So she bought a pack of Saltine crackers and a bottle of water. She needed something in her stomach, or that poor baby would starve.

Delores found her blanket back in her seat when she returned. The young woman was awake again, staring off into space. Looking at her now, Delores thought she might’ve been younger than twenty. No ring. Her gray demeanor persisted.

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

Delores shook her head and pushed the water and crackers at her. “You need to eat, dear, else you might faint. There aren’t any stations nearby for an emergency stop.”

“I ate at the station.”

“That was hours ago. You’re white as a ghost.”

“Please.” Her eyes said, Leave me alone, but Delores didn’t notice.

Delores set them down on the seat beside the woman. “For later, then.”

She flipped through a home magazine for a while, sneaking intermittent glances at the woman.

“Have you thought of names yet?” she asked curiously.

The woman raised her brow and motioned to her ear.

“Names,” Delores said.

“Oh. No, not yet.”

“Have they told you the gender?”

“Uh, I want it to be a surprise.”

Delores nodded. “Yes, that is the best way to go. Better not to get your hopes up.”

“Exactly.” Her arms remained limp at her sides, and Delores noticed her face was like porcelain. Sweat was beading at her hairline again.

“Must be getting close, then?”

“Sorry?”

“To your due date. Do you know when you’re due?”

The woman looked at the floor. “Two or three months.”

Delores gasped. “Oh, no, that can’t be right!” The woman flinched. “You must be due any day now. Who’s your doctor? Is it Dr. Martinez? You should see Dr. Olivera instead.”

She kept staring at the floor. “Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.”

“Of course,” Delores said. She pointed behind her. “The closest one’s that way.”

She nodded, then leaned forward, finally holding the underside of her belly as she braced on the armrests to stand. She hobbled past slowly toward the bathroom.

She was gone for a long time. Delores thought about Marianne, years and years ago. When she was that big, she didn’t move from her bed until it was time. This girl was strong, didn’t come from a family of frail women like Delores.

That reminded her. She needed to take her vitamins, else her joints would start acting up, and then the rest of the ride would be intolerable. She rummaged through her bag. Counted eleven cacti out the window before the woman came back.

Delores acted like she didn’t notice that she still hadn’t touched the crackers. Not even the water. She remembered what her children always said to her. Mind your business, Mama! Stop it.

Delores closed the shade and lay back in her seat. She closed her eyes. She hoped the crackers would be eaten by the time she woke up.

They arrived in Santa Fe that night. The voice over the speaker startled Delores awake, and her eyes darted immediately to the crackers and water, untouched. She looked at the woman, still sleeping.

Last call, the voice said. Delores gathered her things in a hurry and stood up so fast her vision went black. She stood there a moment, bracing on the compartment overhead, before shoving her purse strap up her shoulder and balling up her blanket. She moved to the aisle, waiting as other passengers gathered their things.

The woman, still sleeping.

Delores ignored the voices of her children. This poor girl was going to miss her stop.

She bent forward and nudged her shoulder. “Come on, dear,” she said gently, “It’s our stop.”

Nothing.

Delores shook her.

The woman slumped over to the side, then collapsed stiffly to the floor.

Delores jumped back and shrieked. “Help!” she yowled. “Doctor! Doctor, now! This woman is pregnant!”

She fell to the woman’s side and unzipped her gray jacket. She glanced at her gray face, then down at the soaked gray hem of her shirt. Blood. It was blood. “My God, my God! She’s bleeding! Someone call 9-1-1! She’s lost her baby!”

Delores’ words became lost in her sobs. She patted the woman’s face, shook her, called out for her to wake up.

She reached for the shirt. Slowly, she pulled it up.

Her eyes bulged.

Before she could comprehend what she was seeing, a paramedic appeared, then two more. Hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up. Soon, the woman was eclipsed by blue uniforms, all shouting and scrambling for equipment.

Delores stood and sobbed.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” the female paramedic was saying, her face inches away. “Is this your daughter? Do you know her?”

Delores covered her mouth and shook her head. “No… no, I… she’s pregnant. I thought she was pregnant!”

The paramedic led her off the train and sat her down on the bench. A hundred different men in uniforms asked her a hundred questions, and still, she didn’t understand.

Her friend Rebecca picked her up from the station. In a daze, she allowed her to take her home and make her a cup of tea. Together, they sat at the kitchen table and watched the news.

And only then did the horror, the shock of it all, morph into something resembling reason.

The comely blonde news reporter explained in a rushed voice that no, the young woman wasn’t pregnant. She’d been surgically opened up, her stomach packed with pods of Fentanyl. She’d died hours before they arrived at the station in Santa Fe.

Delores remembered the clumsy stitching, the bloody rim so dark it looked black, the bulging skin a stretched, purple bulb. Later, Rebecca held her hair back as she vomited and asked God why He was so cruel.