Garden of Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

blanket.
    The vast relief she’d felt turned to crashing despair.
    It’s so dark! A mass of glistening black hair framed a tiny squashed-looking face the color of
    an old penny. Its eyes opened, and Sylvie saw with a shock two gleaming jet buttons. Weren’t all
    babies’ eyes supposed to be blue?
    Sylvie felt her insides funneling down like sand through an hourglass. She had a falling
    sensation as she stared into that tiny dark crumpled face, as if she were slipping down into a black
    void.
    Nikos’s child. There could be no doubt. None.
    But still, she longed to hold it. Felt her nipples stiffen painfully with the desire to clasp it to her
    breast.
    She turned her face away, a new kind of pain welling up in her, tears sliding down her cheeks.
    God, I can’t. I don’t want to. She’s his baby, not mine and Gerald’s. How can I love her? It will
    kill Gerald, make him stop loving me.
    “They all cry,” she heard Sister Ignatious observe knowingly to the young nurse at her side as
    she relieved Sylvie of her burden.
    Sylvie was wheeled into another room. It looked the same as the previous one, except that her
    bed faced a window overlooking [16] a brick alley. There were three beds besides hers, all
    occupied. Two of the women were asleep, the other one eyed her sympathetically.
    “Well, it’s over at least, ain’t it?” She addressed Sylvie with the Bronx twang she herself would
    have had if Mama, thank God, hadn’t constantly corrected her speech, kept her insulated with all
    those afternoons in the Frick, and Saturdays at the plays, concerts, dance recitals to which Mama
    often got free tickets.
    Sylvie acknowledged her with a nod, too exhausted to speak.
    “My third,” the roommate continued, unfazed. She had an open face framed by curly brown
    hair. Large, merry brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. She sighed.
    “Another girl. Dom was countin’ on a boy this time. Boy, is he gonna flip! Not that he don’t like
    girls, mind you. It’s just he was kinda hopin’ for a boy.”
    “He doesn’t know?” Sylvie had trouble forming the words. Her mouth felt stuffed full of
    cotton.
    The girl gave a raspy laugh. “That’s the U.S. Navy for ya. Baby wasn’t due for two more
    weeks. They’re shipping Dom home next week for the big event.” The smile faded and her
    expression darkened. “His ma, I coulda called her, you know. The old bitch, excuse my French.
    But I figured she’d just give me a hard time like she always does. ‘You shoulda waited,’ ” she
    mimicked in a whiny, nasal voice. “ ‘Doncha think Dom’s got enough on his mind being at sea
    without worryin’ about more babies. Isn’t two enough?’ Ha! She oughta talk some sense into her
    son when he climbs into bed. Who does she think I’m married to, the friggin’ Pope? Whew!
    Damn good thing she’s in Brooklyn. Don’t see much of her since me and the girls moved up here
    to be with Ma ... just until Dom gets home, that is. Ma’s lookin’ after Marie and Clare right now,
    or she’d be here.” She reached for her handbag on the metal stand beside her bed, fishing out a
    pack of Lucky Strikes.
    “Cigarette?” Sylvie shook her head. The girl shrugged, tossing away her match. “Name’s
    Angie. Angelina Santini.” She squinted at Sylvie through the haze of smoke drifting from her
    nostrils. “How ’bout you? Got any other kids?”
    “No,” Sylvie said with a shudder, wondering again why any sane woman would go through
    that kind of torture more than once. Yet in some small way she felt comforted by Angie’s easy
    confidence. [17] As far as Angie was concerned, they were two soldiers sharing the same
    foxhole.
    “It’s rough, I know.” Angie nodded knowingly. “Especially the first time. But you have a way
    of forgettin’. It’s ... whadayacallit ... human nature. You sorta blank it out ... like when your
    man’s on shore leave and you ain’t seen him for four months. ...” Angie