“She’s not well.”
“How long has that smell been there?”
“I don’t know. Who are you again?”
“Gary Davidson, and I’m with the Department of Buildings of the New York City government.”
“Okay?”
“We’ve been receiving noise complaints from all the construction and repairs you’re having done on your home. Would it be all right if I came in to assess what’s going on?”
“No.” Hallow blocked his path as soon as she saw him stepping forward.
“Then I will come back with a warrant.”
“You do that. Have a good day.”
Hallow shut the door in Gary’s face and jumped when she saw Iris standing in the middle of the hallway in regular clothes with a hint of gloss on her lips. Her hair was still bedraggled, and the linings of her jean pockets were turned out.
“Damn, Iris!” Hallow said as she rubbed her chest. “You scared me.”
“There’s nothing that you can do to stop them coming for this brownstone, you know.”
“Who, the neighbors? They’ve tried many times before. They’re not getting it.”
“I’m not talking about them.”
Iris cracked her neck and looked up toward the ceiling. “I’m talking about them.”
Hallow followed her eyes to the large, dark pockets in the ceiling, which looked heavier and deeper than when she last saw them just a few minutes ago. She rubbed her chest harder as it tightened over how spooked she was.
“Them? Who’s ‘them’?”
“The spirits, of course. The spirits of all those we chose not to save. Every crack you’ve seen, every bad scent you smelled—did you think that that was just because the place was . . . old? They’re coming. They’re all coming, and we’re all on our own now.”
Hallow tried to pay Iris no mind by continuing on with her rest of the day studying and preparing to go to Blessed Waters later that night. She frequented the facility four times a week, where she either took classes or helped to clean and maintain the space, and she loved every second of it. There was nothing else in life that excited her more than the messy complexities of a woman’s body: the perineum, the Bartholin’s glands, the Pitocin, the oxytocin. Nothing else she’d learned required such keen repetition. Even when Hallow memorized the terms and functions of each organ and groove of the reproductive system, she was reminded in practice that every woman was different, which meant that she would have to recalibrate with each and every client. This kind of training was foreign because of its different foundation. When Hallow sold caul, she did not need to be bogged down with all the intricate details of the recipient’s body and the sickness that plagued it. A cut here and there, a sophisticated packaging, an invoice, and that was that. Hallow found during the first several weeks of being at Blessed Waters that she made simple mistakes: her eyes giving a perfunctory glance over terminology and her mouth too fast to interject when her mentors were trying to educate. Learning to be silent and subordinate was what she’d never known she needed, an oasis amidst the chaos.
By nightfall, she had her tote bag filled to the brim with books and writing utensils, and as she was about to head out, her intuition told her to check the front-facing windows first. There was yet another police car parked outside the brownstone. It was accompanied by a second one stationed right behind it. To avoid the hoopla, Hallow left out the back door like she had done with Helena in the past and circled around from the small yard in the back to the street. Once she saw that the red and blue lights were becoming dimmer, she breathed easy, believing that the police were not following her. By the time she went underground, she didn’t spare a thought for them. If her family could be careless or willingly neglectful about what went on inside the home, then she would be the same with what happened on the outside. Back on ground level, Hallow saw another police car parked right outside the exit where she emerged, but she inserted herself in the crowd of people before walking as fast as she could to Blessed Waters, where she arrived unexpectedly in the middle of what appeared to be an intense meeting.
Odessa was standing at the podium in front of the Angela Davis wall mural and was raising and lowering her arms multiple times to quiet the women. Hallow sat in the back, cross-legged, and watched.
“Look, I know it doesn’t look good optics-wise, but this is a big damn donation from the prosecutor’s office, and this can help us out a lot around here,” Odessa said. “All we have to do is hear them out.”
“Hear them out?” said a woman, whose large, round belly made it impossible for her to stand to her feet. “This money is from the feds. Look at how the NYPD have been intimidating us. They park outside here, and they make these little smart-ass comments when we don’t even do nuffin’.”
The rest of the woman vocally agreed.
“All money ain’t good money. They’re just trying to get in our good graces because Amara Danville is running for DA. I’m not voting for nobody. It’s nothing but pandering, and she can’t be trusted,” the same woman said and caressed the top of her belly.
“So do you want me to throw the check away? You want to rip it up for me? Come on, y’all. We need this. Y’all know how much rent costs nowadays. With this money we can support doulas like myself and continue to do this work and bring more people into the fold. Bianca, help me out here.”
Everyone turned to face Hallow, whose cheeks were flushed with redness and skin pallid from the embarrassment. “Well—” Hallow said. “If Amara wants to come, then she should agree to our terms. Put her on the spot. Get her to agree to certain things if she wins and
