I saw my daughter-in-law throw a leather suitcase into the lake and drive away. I ran over and heard a muffled sound coming from inside. «Please, please don’t let it be what I think it is,» I whispered, my hands trembling over the wet zipper. I dragged the suitcase out, forced the zipper open, and my heart stopped. What I saw inside made me shake in a way I had never felt in my 62 years of life.
But let me explain how I got to that moment. How a quiet October afternoon turned into the most terrifying scene I have ever witnessed. It was 5:15 in the afternoon.
I know because I had just poured my tea and glanced at the kitchen clock, that old clock that belonged to my mother. I was standing on the porch of my house, the house where I raised Louis, my only son. The house that now felt too big, too quiet, too full of ghosts since I buried him six months ago.
Meridian Lake shimmered in front of me, still as a mirror. It was hot. The kind of sticky heat that makes you sweat under your blouse, even when you are standing still.
Then I saw her. Cynthia’s silver car appeared on the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust. My daughter-in-law. My son’s widow.
She was driving like a madwoman. The engine roared in an unnatural way. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I knew that road. Louis and I used to walk it when he was a boy. No one drove like that on it unless they were running from something.
She slammed on the brakes right by the lake’s edge. The tires skidded. The dust made me cough. I dropped my teacup. It shattered against the porch floor, but I didn’t care.
My eyes were glued to her. Cynthia jumped out of the car as if propelled by a spring. She was wearing a grey dress, the one Louis gave her for their anniversary. Her hair was a mess. Her face was red. She looked like she had been crying or screaming, or both.
She opened the trunk with so much force I thought she would rip the door off. And then I saw it. The suitcase. That damned brown leather suitcase I gave her myself when she married my son.
«So you can carry your dreams everywhere,» I told her that day. How stupid I was. How naive.
Cynthia pulled it out of the trunk. It was heavy. I could tell by how her body stooped, by how her arms trembled. She glanced around. Nervous. Scared. Guilty.
I will never forget that look. Then she walked toward the water’s edge. Every step seemed to be a struggle, as if she were carrying the weight of the world. Or something worse.
«Cynthia!» I shouted from the porch. But I was too far away. Or maybe she didn’t want to hear me.
She swung the suitcase. Once. Twice. And on the third swing, she threw it into the lake. The sound of the impact cut through the air. Birds took flight. The water splashed.
And she just stood there watching as the suitcase floated for a moment before it began to sink.
Then she ran. Ran back to the car as if the devil himself was chasing her. She started the engine. The tires screeched. She was gone. She disappeared down the same road, leaving only dust and silence.
I was paralyzed. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. My brain was trying to process what I had just seen. Cynthia. The suitcase. The lake. The desperation in her movements.
Something was terribly wrong. I felt a chill run down my spine despite the heat. My legs started moving before my mind could stop them.
I ran. I ran like I hadn’t run in years. My knees protested. My chest burned. But I didn’t stop.
I ran down the porch steps. Across the yard. On to the dirt road. My sandals kicked up dust.
The lake was about a hundred yards away. Maybe less. Maybe more. I don’t know. I just know that every second felt like an eternity.
When I reached the shore, I was out of breath. My heart was pounding against my ribs. The suitcase was still there. Floating. Sinking slowly. The leather was soaked. Dark. Heavy.
I waded into the water without a second thought. The lake was cold. Much colder than I expected. It came up to my knees. Then my waist. The mud at the bottom sucked at my feet. I almost lost a sandal.
I stretched out my arms. I grabbed one of the suitcase straps. I pulled. It was incredibly heavy. As if it were filled with rocks. Or worse.
I didn’t want to think about what could be worse. I pulled harder. My arms were shaking. The water splashed my face. Finally, the suitcase gave way. I started dragging it toward the shore.
And then I heard it. A sound. Faint. Muffled. Coming from inside the suitcase. My blood ran cold. No. It couldn’t be. «Please, God. Don’t let it be what I’m thinking.»
I pulled faster. More desperately. I dragged the suitcase onto the wet sand of the shore.
I fell to my knees beside it. My hands fumbled for the zipper. It was stuck. Wet. Rusted. My fingers kept slipping. «Come on. Come on. Come on,» I repeated through clenched teeth. Tears started to blur my vision.
I forced the zipper. Once. Twice. It burst open. I lifted the lid. And what I saw inside made the entire world stop.
My heart stopped beating. The air caught in my throat. My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a scream. There, wrapped in a soaked light blue blanket, was a baby. A newborn. So small. So fragile. So still.
His lips were purple. His skin was pale as wax. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving. «Oh my God. Oh my God. No. No.» My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold him.
I lifted him out of the suitcase with a gentleness I didn’t know I still had. He was cold. So cold. He weighed less than a bag of sand. His little head fit in the palm of my hand.
His umbilical cord was still tied with a piece of string. String. Not a medical clamp. Plain string. As if someone had done this at home in secret without any help.
«No, no, no,» I whispered over and over. I pressed my ear to his chest. Silence. Nothing. I pressed my cheek against his nose. And then I felt it.
A puff of air. So faint I thought I’d imagined it. But it was there. He was breathing. Barely. But he was breathing.
I stood up, clutching the baby to my chest. My legs nearly gave out. I ran toward the house faster than I had ever run in my life. Water dripped from my clothes.
My bare feet bled from the stones on the path. But I felt no pain. Only terror. Only urgency. Only the desperate need to save this tiny life trembling against me.
I burst into the house screaming. I don’t know what I was screaming. Maybe help. Maybe God. Maybe nothing coherent.
I grabbed the kitchen phone with one hand while holding the baby with the other. I dialed 911. My fingers slipped on the buttons. The phone almost fell twice.
«911, what’s your emergency?» a female voice said.
«A baby,» I sobbed. «I found a baby in the lake. He’s not responding. He’s cold. He’s purple. Please. Please send help.»
«Ma’am, I need you to calm down. Tell me your address.»
I gave her my address. The words tumbled out. The operator told me to put the baby on a flat surface.
I swept everything off the kitchen table with one arm. Everything crashed to the floor. Plates. Papers. Nothing mattered. I laid the baby on the table. So small. So fragile. So still.
«Is he breathing?» I asked the operator. My voice was a high-pitched shriek I didn’t recognize.
«You tell me. Look at his chest. Is it moving? Look.»
Barely. Very barely. A movement so subtle I had to lean in to see it. «Yes. I think so. Very little.»
«Okay. Listen to me carefully. I’m going to guide you. I need you to get a clean towel and dry the baby very carefully. Then wrap him up to keep him warm. The ambulance is on its way.»
I did what she said. I grabbed towels from the bathroom. I dried his tiny body with clumsy, desperate movements. Every second felt like an eternity.
