Celtic Sister Read Online Free Page A

underwear, Amy sat on the bed, drinking whiskey. She had made several trips to the strip mall to purchase supplies – loaves of bread, bags of chips and nuts, granola bars, peanut butter, coffee, and bottles of whiskey and red wine. Then she had taken a bath and put her dirty T-shirt and sweat suit in the bathtub to soak. Curtains drawn and TV mumbling, the room seemed smaller than the night before. Amy held a remote, and she flipped hypnotically from station to station, but her eyes remained fixed on a place somewhere on the wall below a painting of the Rocky Mountains.
    Sometime after midnight, she retrieved the green bundle and slowly unwrapped her stillborn son. The smell of decay assaulted her senses as she freed him from the damp towel. His waxy, lifeless face still seemed surreal. It frightened her.
    “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she swathed him again. She sank to the floor and began to scream like a wounded animal, pounding the carpet until her fists hurt. When her voice began to grow hoarse, she realized what she must do. Numb, in an anesthetized trance, she walked out to the garbage, opened the cedar gate, and dumped the green bundle over the edge of the dumpster.
    ***
    The days passed, but time meant nothing. Whiskey was her best friend now. It conveniently suffocated the concept of time altogether, shoving it under the covers and holding a pillow over its head with an evil air of triumph. Amy could not be sure if she had been at the Shanti Motel for three days or three weeks. Did it really matter?
    Sometime during this period of self-induced comas, Amy awoke to the sound of a car alarm beeping incessantly. She pulled the covers over her head. The loud humming of an engine alerted Amy to the fact it was not a car alarm but some kind of large truck backing up. Then a distinctive noise fully illuminated the reality of what transpired just outside her room. A garbage truck vibrated as its claws grabbed the dumpster and tilted it. The unbearable sound of garbage shifting, clanging, and landing with a thud followed. Then an excruciating squeal as the compacting arm compressed the garbage to make room for the next stop.
    What have I done?
    Amy bolted from the room, screaming, but the grinding noises drowned out her voice. She stumbled and fell to her knees. It must have been just before dawn. A hint of orange barely illuminated the truck as it drove away. It picked up speed and rolled onto the empty street without stopping. Amy got to her feet and ran in pursuit, her breathing compromised by gasping sobs. When she reached the edge of the parking lot, she stopped and watched the truck disappear around a corner.
    Her baby boy was on the way to the city dump to rot – squished between dirty tissues and banana peels – nameless, tombless, and forgotten.
    When Amy returned to the motel room, she retched until there was nothing left in her system. Then she grabbed a new bottle of whiskey and took a swig.
    ***
    One morning, the door to Amy’s room burst open and Raksha appeared. The lovely woman wore dark blue capris and a flowing teal blouse, her hair tied up in a neat braid, her expression disapproving. She yanked open the curtains. Irritatingly bright light poured in.
    “Get up,” Raksha shouted, as she gathered wrappers, chip bags, and empty whiskey bottles and hurled them into the trash. She opened and closed drawers aggressively.
    “What are you doing?” Amy moaned.
    “We do not tolerate drugs or addicts in the Shanti.”
    “I don’t have any drugs. Just alcohol. It’s legal.”
    Raksha disappeared into the bathroom, cursing in her Indian dialect. She reappeared and shouted a few hostile, foreign words in Amy’s direction.
    “What time is it?” Amy rubbed her head and shaded her eyes against the light.
    “What time is it?” Raksha mocked as she opened the drawer that held the Gideon Bible. Most of the money was tucked in the pages, but some twenties and loose change rolled around in the empty