Member-only story
Fiction
The Daughter You Leave in the Fire
What mother leaves her child in a burning house? June Lister.
This is the fifth installment in a series. To start from the beginning, head here.
June Lister remembers Kitty’s first shudder and scream. Shoulders born blue wrenched out of a river of blood. Fists clenched and valiant, she punched her way out of the womb. Years later, those hands would break birds. Her teeth would tear through to bone. Kitty was a biter, that one.
After the birth of her youngest daughter, June might have vomited; she might have screamed, I’d like to make a return. Can I speak with a supervisor? Yes, I’ll hold. She might have made a run for it, but she could only crawl so far before the nurses picked her up off the floor and shouted for her husband. But Paul couldn’t be bothered. He couldn’t handle unclean things and hospitals, and the rooms that held wives bleeding out were as dirty as they come.
When the contractions came close, he stared at the television screen and said, I’ll sit this one out. Her eldest, Jenny, busied herself by smearing Hershey’s Kisses all over her face. When the car came, her four-year-old ran toward her. Poking June’s belly she said, “Can you make it stop?” Paul yelled to call for the pickup. A car horn blared. June could have…
