Lazarus

Dr. Espinosa had been really clear when she told me that I needed to cut back on fast food and stress—it would hurt the baby. I could cut back on the food, but with Chris gone to Peru and my father possibly dead, stress was something I was soaking up like a kitchen sponge.

My cell rang loudly: “Somebody Told Me” by The Killers. I answered it the second time an androgynous boyfriend was mentioned.

“Hey Chris!”

“Callie, hey. How are you?” Chris sounded strangely monotone for being in South America.

“I’m fine. How was the flight?”

“Ah, yeah. It was pretty boring. Pregnant women and babies and all that.” I winced at the mention of boorish pregnant women.

“Wow, sounds like it must’ve been rough. How’s Lima?”

“Uh, good, you know, kinda’ nice. Different. What I wanted to ask you was if you had heard anything else about your father.”

“No, I haven’t gotten a call.” I was glad of that. I didn’t want to have to worry about my dead father and Chris’s weird reaction to South America. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I was just making sure you were still okay, with me gone and everything.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll let you know if something comes up, okay?”

“Sounds good. I love you, Callie.”

“Love you too, sweetie.”

There was a harsh electronic hiss, and the call was over. I tossed the cell on the couch and looked through the fridge for something mommy and baby friendly. The sudden though of baby made me sick, and I rushed to the bathroom for the second time this morning.

The apartment phone rang over and over, but I couldn’t manage to get up from the cold tile floor. I just remained motionless, my back pressed against the bathtub, and listened to the answering machine do it’s thing.

“Chris and Callie aren’t here, so just leave a message!”

Beeeeeeep.

“Uhh….” The voice sounded young, male, and disconcerted. “This is Tad Walker with the United States Navy, and I regret to inform you that one, Chase Warren Depfield, has been killed while serving our country. I’m sorry.”

My head spun wildly as tears rushed to my eyes. My fingers and hands flailed like thawed packages of hot dogs thrown down a flight of stairs as I reached frantically for something—anything—to help me to my feet. My fingers wrapped around our cat-patterned shower curtain and, before consulting my brain, frantically pulled me up out of this situation.

“Bad idea,” said my brain as the curtain rings popped under my weight with a “Ping! Ping! Ping!” I fell backwards into the bathtub, twisted my hand on a bottle of Vital-Sassoon’s “Naturally Brunette,” hit my head on the soap-tray, and felt really sleepy. I closed my eyes and blacked out.

“Callie? Are you there? Hello?”

The voice of my father echoed in my delirium. I wanted to see him, or hear his voice once more. Tears came to my sleepy eyes as I picked myself up out of the tub. I felt blood dripping down my neck from a cut on my head. The blood felt warm and wet.

“Callie, I need you to pick up.”

As I heard my father’s words, the blood turned to ice, freezing me in place. I wasn’t dreaming. I was actually hearing him.

“Ugh, I guess you aren’t there. Listen, I want you to know that I’m alright. I can’t talk about it now, but know I love you. Goodbye, California Dawn.”

The blood on my face mingled with tears and a smile as his words filled me with strength. I sat down in the tub and screamed out all the tears I had kept inside since I left him.

In a hysterical, broken language, I mouthed two words at my father’s message.

“Come back.”

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