Celtic Sister Read Online Free
Author: Meira Pentermann
won’t call you that anymore, Amy.”
“No, wait. Please do.”
Raksha smiled. “All right, Priya. We’ll see you tomorrow then. You can wash up in the bathroom, and if you need anything, please let me know.” She slipped out and closed the door.
***
Amy sat in silence for several minutes, still clinging to the green bundle. Eventually, she laid it gently at the head of the bed. Afraid to open the towel, she sank to her knees and gazed at it. Tears eluded her. All she felt was emptiness and a desperate yearning to cry now that she finally found herself alone and safe. The monotonous hum of the freeway behind the Shanti Motel slowly drowned out the sound of blood pumping in her head.
Amy turned her attention to the pillowcase. She dumped its contents onto the paisley bedspread and sorted through the items. She was pleased to discover $4100 in hundred-dollar bills, a sum that made her feel far more secure than she had only moments before at Raksha’s sign-in desk. Amy hid the money between random pages of the Gideon Bible and dumped the underwear and toiletries into the second drawer. Then she grabbed her keycard and plastic ice bucket and went in search of the ice machine.
When she returned, Amy filled a flimsy plastic cup with ice and poured a glass of whiskey. She hadn’t had a drink since she’d learned she was pregnant, and the soothing liquid looked very inviting. She placed it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Amy wanted to examine the dead child but could not find the courage to open the towel, so she picked it up again and held it close to her chest. Still, the tears refused to come. It was as if her conscience had decided to punish her for all her stupid choices, leaving her a prisoner in her pain rather than allowing her to grieve and heal.
Amy settled herself on the carpet and leaned her back against the end of the bed. Several gulps of whiskey eased her tension, and she opened the yearbook.
Who are you, Emma Foster?
A chill went up her spine as she whispered, “What did he do to you?”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Amy awoke on the bed still dressed in her clothing. A debilitating headache saluted her with an edge of condemnation. She had drunk whiskey until she passed out, a page out of her mother’s book.
Amy sat up and was shocked when she realized she had been lying on the small, green-toweled bundle. It was very damp and almost flat. She touched her chest. It also felt slightly moist. All of a sudden, Amy became aware of the stench – a mixture of blood, death, and innocence ripped apart. Had she smelled this bad when she arrived? Raksha did not appear offended, but she was a kind woman. Perhaps she simply wanted to offer Amy a place of serenity, an oasis free from judgment.
“It’s time to bury my baby,” Amy said, disturbed by the words, but resigned to them. She wondered if letting go would help move the grieving process forward.
After washing her face and putting on her shoes, Amy clutched the bundle and began to search for a worthy place to lay her stillborn child. She wandered around for an hour, encountering parking lots, apartment buildings, and eventually a small neighborhood. Along the way she spotted a convenience store, a liquor store, and a few restaurants in a strip mall. The absence of parks and the abundance of concrete frustrated Amy. She found a patch of dirt here and there and one gravel parking lot, but nothing fitting for the final resting place of a murdered child. Then she began to imagine gruesome scenarios – animals digging him up, police gathering, reporters taking pictures. How long would the body last? Would it lead back to her? Was this a crime, what she was doing?
Suddenly afraid, Amy returned to the motel and hid the baby in a drawer. She located the near-empty bottle of whiskey and gulped it down. Not nearly enough to make a dent in her anguish, the liquor only agitated her paranoia. She needed more.
Hours later, wearing only her bra and
“No, wait. Please do.”
Raksha smiled. “All right, Priya. We’ll see you tomorrow then. You can wash up in the bathroom, and if you need anything, please let me know.” She slipped out and closed the door.
***
Amy sat in silence for several minutes, still clinging to the green bundle. Eventually, she laid it gently at the head of the bed. Afraid to open the towel, she sank to her knees and gazed at it. Tears eluded her. All she felt was emptiness and a desperate yearning to cry now that she finally found herself alone and safe. The monotonous hum of the freeway behind the Shanti Motel slowly drowned out the sound of blood pumping in her head.
Amy turned her attention to the pillowcase. She dumped its contents onto the paisley bedspread and sorted through the items. She was pleased to discover $4100 in hundred-dollar bills, a sum that made her feel far more secure than she had only moments before at Raksha’s sign-in desk. Amy hid the money between random pages of the Gideon Bible and dumped the underwear and toiletries into the second drawer. Then she grabbed her keycard and plastic ice bucket and went in search of the ice machine.
When she returned, Amy filled a flimsy plastic cup with ice and poured a glass of whiskey. She hadn’t had a drink since she’d learned she was pregnant, and the soothing liquid looked very inviting. She placed it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Amy wanted to examine the dead child but could not find the courage to open the towel, so she picked it up again and held it close to her chest. Still, the tears refused to come. It was as if her conscience had decided to punish her for all her stupid choices, leaving her a prisoner in her pain rather than allowing her to grieve and heal.
Amy settled herself on the carpet and leaned her back against the end of the bed. Several gulps of whiskey eased her tension, and she opened the yearbook.
Who are you, Emma Foster?
A chill went up her spine as she whispered, “What did he do to you?”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Amy awoke on the bed still dressed in her clothing. A debilitating headache saluted her with an edge of condemnation. She had drunk whiskey until she passed out, a page out of her mother’s book.
Amy sat up and was shocked when she realized she had been lying on the small, green-toweled bundle. It was very damp and almost flat. She touched her chest. It also felt slightly moist. All of a sudden, Amy became aware of the stench – a mixture of blood, death, and innocence ripped apart. Had she smelled this bad when she arrived? Raksha did not appear offended, but she was a kind woman. Perhaps she simply wanted to offer Amy a place of serenity, an oasis free from judgment.
“It’s time to bury my baby,” Amy said, disturbed by the words, but resigned to them. She wondered if letting go would help move the grieving process forward.
After washing her face and putting on her shoes, Amy clutched the bundle and began to search for a worthy place to lay her stillborn child. She wandered around for an hour, encountering parking lots, apartment buildings, and eventually a small neighborhood. Along the way she spotted a convenience store, a liquor store, and a few restaurants in a strip mall. The absence of parks and the abundance of concrete frustrated Amy. She found a patch of dirt here and there and one gravel parking lot, but nothing fitting for the final resting place of a murdered child. Then she began to imagine gruesome scenarios – animals digging him up, police gathering, reporters taking pictures. How long would the body last? Would it lead back to her? Was this a crime, what she was doing?
Suddenly afraid, Amy returned to the motel and hid the baby in a drawer. She located the near-empty bottle of whiskey and gulped it down. Not nearly enough to make a dent in her anguish, the liquor only agitated her paranoia. She needed more.
Hours later, wearing only her bra and
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