Amy Bohler

This is what Eve knows about loss: her grandmother put a bag over her own head and went to sleep. May told her daughters that their daddy's mother was very old and died in her sleep. Three years later, Eve heard her older cousin talking about it, and then she knew why everyone at the funeral had kept whispering.

She lost her grandfather to war decades before she was born. Her grandmother was pregnant with her daddy, and the day she heard the news she went into early labour. Eve almost lost her daddy and, with him, her own life. She had only one picture of her grandfather, sitting on the front porch in his uniform just before he shipped off, his wife next to him, her arms folded across her round belly.

Eve lost her best friend to moving away and a favourite teacher to retirement. She lost her interest in biology when she dissected a foetal pig, its small body covered in soft, white hair. She lost the Shakespearian sonnets her daddy brought her from England when she lent it to her first boyfriend. Two weeks later, he stopped calling her and showed up at school holding someone else's hand.

She lost Lilly to marriage, and then again to motherhood. She lost several cousins that way, too.

She lost the first boy she ever loved to the United States (U.S.) West Coast. He wrote her once, telling her he knew he had made a mistake by ending things because of the distance. She never wrote back, and now that he's gone, all she has are his words.

Her daddy used to say that God is shown to be the most beautiful and holy and true when we are at our worst, our most addictive deceptive.

If Eve felt God at all that day, the afternoon after her abortion, lying on the couch watching the sun stream in and catch swirls of dust, she felt his distant but terribly-disapproving glare, a god not unlike her mamma. But mostly she felt his absence, loud and stark, like empty hallways that used to be busy, like waking every morning after this one to the same desperation.

She turned on her side and pulled the hot-water bottle close to her stomach. The cat lay curled up on the back of the couch, and after Eve's movement disturbed her she yawned and stretched, draping one long striped leg over Eve's shoulder.

She reached up and pushed the cat off her shoulder, off the couch altogether. Oatmeal narrowly missed slamming into a floor lamp that stood at one end of the couch then landed on all four feet.

Eve leaned over to the coffee table for her cigarettes and an ashtray. She had quit when she found out that she was pregnant, but she bought a pack on the way home from the clinic.

She lit one and, as she exhaled a thick cloud, she opened the magazine she had taken from the clinic's waiting room. She had thought she needed something frivolous to keep her distracted but, flipping through it, she couldn't focus on spring fashions or the newest makeup trends. She laid her head back against the cushion and stayed still for some time, only moving to light or stub out a cigarette.

It had been raining a week earlier when Eve told Ashton that she was pregnant. After such a long and cold winter, spring had finally arrived, damp and new and, those days when the bright sun wasn't shining clear, an almost warm rain fell, watering the flowers she had set out in pots along the window sills.

"Aren't you on the pill?" Ashton asked, as if he didn't really believe what she said. He sat at the kitchen table reading a thick case study on anthropology and kept his head bowed, finishing the paragraph he was on.

Eve watched him read, tapping his pen in the margin. When he finally looked up, she turned away from him. "Yes," she said, "but you know it's not fail-safe."

"What do we do now?" he asked, as if he only knew how to ask questions about this.

"We, decide how we want our life to be," she replied, her back to him while she buttered her toast.

That evening they ordered huge plates of noodles and beef and vegetables and ate dinner sitting on pillows in the living room. Ashton poured two glasses of sake, and Eve was surprised when he gave one to her. She set it next to her plate but didn't drink it.

"So," she said once they were settled, "what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About me being pregnant."

"Well, you're awfully young," he said, "and you're still in school."

"But I'll be done in December, after my internship."

"I've just started writing my dissertation."

"Well?"

"You wouldn't be able to teach for a while." He drained his glass of sake and reached across the table. He picked up her untouched glass without saying anything and Eve didn't know if he realised why she hadn't drunk it.

"You know I'm not sold on the idea of teaching right away," she said. "And there's always day care."

"How would we pay for that? Anyway, we really don't have room here."

"We could put a crib in the office."

"Are you saying you want to have it?"

"I'm saying I'm not sure. I haven't ruled it out, though." She didn't know how to refer to the mass of cells and tissues inside her. She knew it was still something ancient and reptilian, but she imagined that there was a miniature person in her womb - skin darker than his but lighter than hers, with his dark-blue eyes, and her brown hair floating about a tiny face like seaweed.

Eve put her fork down and grasped his hand. She stared at him for a moment, trying to read him.

"Look, I love you so much that I want to raise a child that is part of me and part of you, and anyway," she touched his face with her free hand, "I'd love to have a reason to stay here in Boston after graduation."

"You wouldn't stay here anyway? You need a reason to stay with me?" He moved back so that her hand wasn't touching his face anymore but hovered in empty space.

"I didn't mean it the way that it sounded," she said, lowering her hand to rest on her flat stomach.

Then they were both quiet, and Eve could hear the thin, constant beat of rain against the windows. She saw him so differently now from when she first met him: standing in the street squinting against the sunlight. He was so full of possibilities then; it seemed that he could give her what she needed. Now in the weak light, his skin looked pale and unhealthy, his eyes colourless.

"You do what you want," he said.

His words split the silence between them, and she walked into the bedroom, leaving him in the dim candlelight.

The air was now so still that the smoke hung motionless in the air. In the sunshine she could see the layers and swirls as it settled into the corners and hidden places of the room. She blew and her breath caused the smoke to churn violently, then dissipate altogether as she broke the spell cast over the room.

She stood and walked into the smoke. It curled around her face like Ashton's hands cupping her cheeks.

She walked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water tap. She wedged the rubber stopper into the drain and sat on the edge of the tub. Oatmeal had followed her and hopped up next to her.

She wore one of Ashton's undershirts and a pair of white underwear. Her skin was pale and goose-bumped from the chilly air.

She heard footsteps in the hall and the front door slam shut.

'Hey, pregnant lady,' Ashton called from the kitchen. 'Where are you?'

His coat was draped over one arm and he held flowers in the other when he walked into the bathroom. Eve looked up from where she sat on the edge of the tub, petting the cat, blood smearing the crotch of her underwear bright red.

'Eve?' he said, recognition and dismay filling his eyes.

He set his coat and the flowers in the sink and, when he did, his elbow knocked a glass tumbler full of cotton balls off the ledge. The glass shattered when it hit the tile, sending shards and cotton flying across the floor.

Eve stayed at the bathtub, her fingers splashing in the water, and stared silently at Ashton because she didn't know what she should say.

That next winter, she stood in the kitchen in his old sweats and a thin T-shirt, scrubbing the sink for the second time that morning. She turned on the tap and splashed cool water over the wide silver basin.

'Are you OK, baby?' Ashton asked, leaning over the table, sipping at a large mug of coffee.

'I'm fine. God. I'm just a little freaked out today. I'm sorry.' She opened the cupboard and began to put away the clean dishes stacked on the countertop.

He walked across the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her body, letting his hands rest on her belly.

'Just be still for a minute, OK?'

She dropped her hands to her side. He spun her to face him and hugged her tightly, pressing her arms tight against her chest.

'Evey,' he said, titling her face towards his. His eyes were bright, the blue-green shining with concern for her, and also desire. He leaned down and kissed her, pulling her almost off her feet. She resisted at first, her body stiff and cold. He kissed her neck and chest, his mouth tracing the low neckline of her T-shirt.

She lifted her mouth to him and he kissed her again and she kissed him back. Kissed his lips and his cheeks and his forehead.

After a moment he reached down and hooked one arm under her knees and lifted her up and against his chest. Her head dangled over one arm, her dark hair hung loose in the air.

He laid her on the thick cream rug he had given her on her last birthday. Her dark hair was splayed out in contrast on the rug. One arm draped across her chest, the other stretched along the floor and her fingers dug into the deep pile.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she sat up and stretched her arms over her head, letting him pull her shirt off. He kissed her lips and the bottom of her chin, moving downward until he found her breasts. Once his lips closed around her nipple he shifted his body so that he lay in her lap. He buried his face in her warm skin.

'There is something so comforting about this,' he mumbled, his mouth full of her soft and slightly salty skin. 'Some days I just need my mother.'

Eve laughed, loud and harsh. Ashton looked up sharply, startled, it seemed, by the sound. Her laughter turned to sobs and her shoulders shook violently. Tears dropped off her flushed cheeks onto his forehead.

He sat up and pulled her close and stroked her hair, but she continued to cry.

After her sobs finally quieted, Ashton left her on the rug and went into their bedroom and picked up the bag that lay on the floor beside the bed. He walked back into the kitchen and put some water on for tea.

'Baby?' he called to Eve in the next room. 'Peppermint or chamomile?'

When she didn't answer, he chose chamomile for her. He leaned against the counter waiting for the water to boil, flipping through the morning paper.

After he brought her the tea, he helped her to the sofa and tucked a blanket around her legs.

'Baby, are you OK with me leaving?' he asked pulling a sweater on. 'I'd love to stay here with you all day but I have a lot of work to do.'

'It's fine,' she said, her voice thin and tired. 'I have to work later, anyway.'

Eve watched as he slipped into his coat and wrapped a dark red scarf around his neck. Its colour stood out against the black of his coat and the beige of his hair and winter-bland skin. He hefted his bag onto one shoulder and bent to kiss her goodbye.

After he left, Eve lay on the couch for a while, her arms crossed tight over her insignificant chest. Outside, the day was beginning: she could hear the traffic start and stop, horns blaring in the grey morning. She knew the seasons were moving forward without her, but still she lay alone on the couch.

The sun shone weakly through the half-opened curtains when she untangled her legs from the blanket and slowly stood up. She shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the hot water tap.

After her shower, she wrapped herself in a large towel and walked into the kitchen. The cat played under her feet, begging for food, but Eve shooed her away, kicking gently at her with her wet feet. She lifted the phone from its cradle and slid against the cabinet face until she sat on the tile floor, her bare damp legs stretched out in front of her.

'Mamma?' she said once she had dialled and the other end had picked up.

'It's my lovely Eve,' May said cheerfully. 'How are you? I hear you got more snow over the weekend. Staying warm enough?'

'Yes, Mamma. I'm warm enough.' Eve couldn't keep her voice from cracking. 'Hey, someone's at the door. Can I call you back after work?'

'Sure, baby. Your daddy and I love you.'

Eve didn't bother to hang the phone back in its cradle; she sat there on the floor, her eyes closed against the rush of tears.

Later that afternoon, she put the breakfast dishes in the sink, rinsed out the teacups, poured the water out of the tea kettle, and threw Ashton's toast crust on top of the kitchen trash. The can was full and needed to be taken out but Eve left it for Ashton to do when he came home from work.

She walked through the living room and into the bedroom. The bed was still unmade, and the things they'd worn the days before were draped over a straight-backed chair in the corner of the room. She picked up a pair of grey wool pants off the chair and laid them on the rumpled bed things. She opened the top drawer of the dresser she shared with Ashton and picked up a pair of thick wool socks and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them over the pair she wore already. Then she stood, put on the pants and slipped her T-shirt off over her head and walked over to the closet.

Her long hair hung straight down her bare back as she looked through the closet. After a few minutes she chose a plain white shirt and a dark blue sweater. Once she was dressed she sat on the bed and began braiding her hair. She worked quickly, her hands falling into the motion she had been doing since she a child.

She slipped on the wool coat that hung on the back of the door, tucking her braid under the collar before she buttoned it up. She picked up her matching blue scarf and hat off the top of the dresser - both made by May for Christmas last year - and pulled the hat down over her ears and wrapped the scarf around her neck. She put her wallet and keys in her pants' back pocket and walked out of the room.

Oatmeal sat on the kitchen table, busy licking her paws and cleaning behind her ears.

'Get down, silly kitty,' Eve said, gently knocking the cat off the table onto a chair.

She pulled her black leather gloves on and walked out the door, making sure it was locked behind her.

When Eve walked out of the lobby, the air was so cold it took her a minute to catch her breath. The last storm had dumped over two feet of snow and Eve had to step over a large drift to reach the sidewalk. She had lived in Boston for three winters, but she was still not used to walking on ice and almost lost her footing. She regained her balance, though, and crossed the street.

Christmas had been over for a month, but twinkling lights and green wreaths still hung on the storefronts and brownstones she passed. In the middle of Harvard Square was a large piece of netting strung with sparkling lights in the shapes of stars and spirals. They were intended to be magical, but to Eve it all seemed worn and tired.

She walked past the bookstore's faade - tall brick pillars and wide glass windows showing what the store had to offer - and around the corner to the narrow alley that led to the employee entrance. She clocked in, said hello to the security guard on duty, the one whose name she could never remember, and headed downstairs to put her things in her locker.

In the back room there was a cart full of books that needed to be sorted and shelved, but Eve just stood there, leaning against the banister of the wooden staircase that rose in a great spiral above her.

'Excuse me,' said a woman standing a few feet away from her. Eve didn't know how long she had been there trying to get her attention.

'Yes. Sorry,' Eve said. 'How can I help you?'

'I'm looking for books on gardening,' the woman said, gently pushing a stroller back and forth.

'Downstairs in the lower level. Take a right at the bottom of the stairs.' Eve peered into the stroller and saw two small feet in pink booties peeking out from under a yellow wool blanket.

'That's great. Thanks.'

The baby had begun to cry and the woman bent down and pulled the child from the carriage, gracefully wrapping the blanket around the small body at the same time.

The baby, a girl, was alert and stopped fussing as soon as she was in her mother's arms. A shock of black hair covered the top of her head. Her eyes were wide and dark blue. She was tiny but also complete. Eve stretched out her hand and would have rested it on the small round head, but the woman spoke again and she jerked her hand back.

'Miss? City gardening? Is there a separate section on gardening in the city?' she asked, holding her child closer to her body.

'Someone downstairs can help you,' Eve said, stepping away from the banister. 'I have to go. I'm sorry.'

She walked past the bewildered woman, past the table of new arrivals, past the cash register, and stepped out into the cold night, leaving the wide store behind her.

Her coat hung in her locker in the basement, but she walked out anyway, pulling her arms tight across her chest. She crossed the street to the curb where three cabs waited to be hired. The cabbie in the first car wore a hat pulled low over his forehead, but the small orange light of his cigarette lit his hooded eyes. She climbed into the back seat, and the cab pulled away from the curb.

'Could you spare a smoke?' she asked, leaning forward.

He lifted his arm over the partition and handed her a cigarette and a lighter. Leaning her head out the window into the crisp night, she lit a cigarette, a bright flash of orange lost among the traffic lights.

When the cab stopped in front of her building, Eve handed the driver his lighter with his fare.

'Stay warm tonight, dear,' he mumbled as he tucked the bills into his pocket.

Before Eve could thank him and wish him the same, he had pulled back into traffic.

She'd heard it might snow again, but the sky was still clear: black with what silver stars the city lights allowed and a bright white moon that cast stark shadows on the quiet street. Ashton was probably upstairs and she dreaded having to explain why she was home early and without a coat. She sat for a long time on the hard stoop watching the dark sky

She didn't sleep that night but sat on the couch staring out the window at the blank sky.

The cat walked into the room, and Eve held her hand down for it to sniff. Oatmeal arched her back, pushed Eve's hand against her open mouth, nibbled on her fingers with tiny white teeth.

'Mish, mish, mish,' Eve whispered, and the cat jumped on the sofa. She paced up and down Eve's legs before she settled on Eve's chest, curled into a ball, her head resting right below Eve's chin. Eve laid her head back on the armrest. She swallowed and her mouth was dry and sore and she felt something in the back of her throat, a whisper she couldn't quite say.

Eve looked up and saw that Ashton was standing over her, his face soft from sleep, squinting at the light from the table lamp.

'Come on, baby,' he said. 'Come to bed.'

He plucked the cat from her chest and put her on the back of the couch. He reached down and pulled Eve up, holding on to her shoulders.

She didn't say anything but let him wrap his arms around her.

After a while he said that he still loved her and she said that she still loved him too.

-Amy Elizabeth Bohler