Victoria Bian: Chapter 1

He held his little girl in his arms. She was so small…so fragile. So easily broken. Her eyes were shut in fast sleep; he could almost hear her dreaming peacefully. A small, rational voice kept assuring him: she is safe. She is whole. She isn’t broken. But she could have been. How easily she could have been broken in half… Torn in two, right before his eyes. It was in that moment that Paul realized he would have to sacrifice his favorite part of his life, the thing that compelled him to continue to draw breath, so she could remain alive and well and safe.  Victoria Answith was no longer his daughter, and no longer herself.

         Paul threw the Barbie bag with purple straps into the trunk, slamming it shut with the palm of his hand, his other hand holding his daughter. Victoria still slept, lost in a pleasant nowhere. Paul buckled her into her child-safety-seat in the middle row of chairs in the minivan and pulled it calmly out of the driveway. His hands were shaking as he drove down the dark road, the only light from streetlamps and stoplights. It’s all I can do, he thought to himself. It’s the only thing I can give her. His eyes slid up to the rearview mirror, hungrily absorbing her sleeping image. He wondered if he would ever see her beautiful face again. 

         My God, he thought. She is an angel. He marveled at her through the mirror for ten more blocks before making a wide turn onto the expressway. Victoria Answith’s light brown hair fell in loose curls around her three-year-old face. Her eyes, though closed at the moment, were icy blue with a ring of darker blue just around the pupil. Her eyelids were perfectly smooth and her light brown eyelashes curled upward perfectly. Her hands were delicate, but would become longer: perfect for piano playing. A prominent freckle stood out on her left hand, in the patch of skin between the index finger and the thumb. Her lips were the perfect shade of pink, and her ears were attached at the lobe to her head, like her father’s. Paul recommitted all these things to memory as he drove through the night.

         He smiled vaguely at the accumulation of memories that had gathered in his head and reached a hand backward, gently stroking her forehead as she dreamed. She’s going to be a real knockout, he mused. A subtle frown creased his forehead. A new worry. But that wouldn’t be his to worry about; by the time boys take an interest… I’ll be long gone from her life… He hoped she would understand, but then knew she never could. She could never know he was ever present in her life. He cursed himself for hoping she wouldn’t remember his face when she grew up. He’d have to ask Libby to never mention him…to make up some story to explain away his absence. To pretend he was never around to begin with. Victoria, he closed his eyes and rubbed his finger and thumb into them gently, massaging away an oncoming headache.

         Sooner than he would have wanted, but not soon enough, Paul pulled into a quiet, dark driveway, on a quiet dark boulevard. It was average in every way. Picket fences, geraniums in ceramic flowerpots, sidewalk chalk snaking down the street, roller skates left out with a mess of shoelaces spilling out of the mouth of the skate, Oldsmobiles and minivans parked outside of perfectly respectable three-bedroom homes. A small light flickered on in the uppermost room of the house. Good; she’s home. This would have been harder in a note.

         “Paul?” Libby asked, hastily tying a bathrobe around herself as she leaned her head out of the window. “What are you doing here?”

         “I need your help,” he stated firmly. Libby nodded. She had suspected this might happen. She just…for some reason she hadn’t anticipated it so soon. Was Victoria already so old? She wondered what had happened to trigger this as she raced down the stairs to unlock the front deadbolt and let them in, flipping on lights as she went.

         She greeted a worn-looking Paul at the door. “Hi,” she breathed, gesturing for him to come in. He held a sleeping Victoria in his arms as well as a Barbie bag with purple straps. She was so small… Her tiny pink overall-dress over a small white turtleneck…Her miniscule pink, beaded-bracelet. Her diminutive cubic zirconium studs in her diminutive ear lobes, connected to her head, like Paul’s. Libby marveled at how large this tiny child had gotten…It seemed so recently that she was an infant, her small pink face, tiny pink fingers…Her squishy little body wrapped tightly in a pink, hospital blanket. How had Victoria gotten so big in just three years?

         Libby was stunned. It had been three whole years since she’d seen Paul as she flicked on the kitchen light and began a pot of coffee. Paul looked haggard. She wondered how much this was hurting him…this girl was his whole life. His whole life. She filled every corner of his heart. Her small, perfect features remained unaffected by Paul’s shifting as he sat down at the table, pulling her into his lap. She slept very soundly, didn’t she? Libby almost laughed, but this was far from being funny.

         “I’m sorry I have to do this.” He fingered the mug, thoughtfully sipping.

         “Where will you go?” she asked, knowing he couldn’t answer.

         “I don’t know…abroad some place…” His eyes slid out of focus. Libby felt tears nagging at her eyes. This was breaking him. She could see it…

         “Paul, if there was any other way…” she began, placing her hand lightly on his. His eyes shifted up to meet hers.

         “If there was any other way, I wouldn’t be here.” She knew what he meant by that, but it still hurt, idly nagging at a hole she didn’t know still riddled her heart. Minutes of silence passed after Libby had withdrawn her hand conspicuously. He could not be comforted. She internally ridiculed herself for thinking her concern could ease his pain. Finally, he spoke again. Libby was so grateful; the silence was almost as painful as the talking. Almost.

         “I’ve transferred as much as I could into your account…I have her papers; you adopted her from St. Thomas Adoption Center in Canfield. I never existed in her life.” He separated each word of the last sentence, enunciating them carefully. “She never knows I even exist.” Libby felt another tug in her eyes. No Paul. Ever. He did not exist in this world anymore. Understood.

         “I’ll make sure she grows up to be…” Libby wondered what words she had intended on saying. Just like you? She couldn’t find good enough words.

         “I know,” he said at last, saving her the struggle. “You’ll be an amazing mother.”

         Those were the words that shocked her out of her near-sobbing stupor. Libby? A Mother? I guess that’s true…I’m a mother… She mused to herself. That was mind-boggling. Just this morning, Libby had been just another Pacific Coaster with a grocery list and a house cat named Ian and a sitcom on in the background as she prepared macaroni and cheese…and now she was a mom.

         Another moment of silence filled the kitchen as Libby’s thoughts settled around her like a cloud of dust.

         “I have to go…” Paul said at last, his voice shaking. She could see that tears were begging his eyes to be released as well. Libby looked at her watch for something to preoccupy herself.

         “I’ll give you guys a minute,” Libby said. “She can use the guest room until I get something ready,” she continued.

         “Is it…?” he asked, standing and lifting her into his arms.

         “Oh, right,” Libby glanced back to the staircase that curved up around the kitchen. “The third door on the left.” Paul nodded silently. Libby sat at the kitchen table for ten minutes, wondering how long Paul would be. Wondering how long it would be until he was out of their lives for the foreseeable ever. Ten minutes. He walked back down the stairs slowly, his face slightly damp; but then that might have been a trick of the ambient kitchen light. He didn’t look at her as he walked back to the door, but she followed quietly, back through the dark hall and to the front door, still ajar from his entry.

         “You…take care of yourself,” she began, feeling a few tears escape. His eyes were dark, lost in thought. “She will always know who you are, Paul,” she added. “She’ll always love you.” Libby wondered if it was apparent how liberally she was using the word ‘she.’ He didn’t seem to notice as he pulled her into a fierce hug.

         “I’ll send word if I can…” he mumbled into her shoulder. “Give her this on some birthday when it seems like she needs it,” he said at last, shoving an envelope into her pocket. “It’s a necklace…her mother’s.” Libby didn’t say anything. He had never talked about the mother around her before.

         He turned and retreated into the darkness, back to his minivan. “Oh, Libby,” he called before shifting the car into reverse, the taillights biting into the shadows at the edge of the driveway and throwing a red cast on the street. “Her name is Victoria Bian.” Libby nodded, putting her hand in the air in a stiff wave as he reversed and disappeared into the night. She bit down hard on her lip, hard enough that she tasted blood in her cheek.

         “Goodbye,” she whispered to herself, turning back into the house to watch his child sleep. Victoria had sweet dreams till dawn.