Five Roses Read Online Free Page A

baby’s back — so small she was! — on the flat of her hand and slowly eased her into the water. The baby moved her arms but didn’t wake. Thérèse squeezed water from a washcloth over her body and smoothed soap over her slippery limbs. She ran her wet hand several times across the baby’s scalp.
    She wrapped her in the towel and, holding her close, walked down the hallway. The kids had clustered around the bathroom doorway, holding up skirts and jeans they’d scrounged. The girl lay in the tub with her knees and breasts poking from the suds. The bottle of dish detergent Thérèse had brought was on the floor. “I can’t wear jeans,” the girl was complaining. “My hips are too big.”
    â€œBecause you just had a baby!”
    â€œNo, my hips —”
    Thérèse interrupted. “Someone has to buy diapers. I’ve got money.”
    A girl with small gold-framed glasses said she would go. She followed Thérèse to her room, cooing at the baby. “ Ooooh, qu’elle est chouette . The perfect little sweetheart.”
    Thérèse spread her fingers wider across the baby’s back. The baby needed more than pretty words and noises. She wasn’t a toy.
    At noon Thérèse called in sick to work. How could she leave the baby with the kids? The girl only remembered her when her breasts ached. All afternoon she lounged with the others in the next room. They giggled, shared a large pizza, traded stories about which bands they’d seen.
    At sundown they trooped downstairs as more kids arrived. Soon, Thérèse smelled the rank sweetness in the air. The thump and wail of music grew louder. She paced in her room with the baby, who began to cry and wouldn’t stop. Thérèse had no choice but to find the girl.
    The kids sprawled on the sleeping bags and cushions in the front room, passing around a pipe. Candles lit the gloom. The laziest movement cast long, distorted shadows. Music clashed and groaned. The scene was evil — an image of hell, which had never before seemed real to Thérèse, but which she recognized now that she saw it. She wanted to flee, but the baby had to be fed. Huddled over to protect her as well as she could, Thérèse crept into the room and kneeled before the girl, who could hardly rouse herself to lift her shirt. Jaw hard, Thérèse forced herself to watch. There had to be another way. A better way. There had to.
    That night Thérèse tucked the baby into bed next to her. She stroked her delicate cheek and whispered, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
    Later, when the baby woke and began to fidget, Thérèse carried her downstairs again. The house was quiet. The girl, still clothed, lay against a boy who was naked, both snoring softly. The girl didn’t wake. Thérèse rolled her aside with her foot, freed a breast, tucked the child against it, and gave her the nipple.
    For two days and two nights Thérèse cared for the baby. She hardly slept, but she had never felt more determined and awake. The baby was docile now that she was held, regularly fed, clean and dry. While she slept, Thérèse ran from the house to the store to buy more diapers and clothing. There she saw bottles and formula. Slowly, her finger on the package, she read the instructions.
    The baby sputtered when Thérèse rubbed the wet nipple across her lips, but Thérèse cajoled and rocked her, waiting for her to taste the few grains of sugar she’d added. “What’s your name?” she wondered. She’d never heard the girl say it. “I’m going to call you Rose.”
    That day, when Thérèse called in sick again, the supervisor told her she would need a doctor’s certificate if she called in sick the following night. Thérèse didn’t answer. A baby’s claims were surely greater than a length of grey carpet.
    Rose had taken the bottle several