Monica: The Untold Story- Chapter 3

"Shhhhh, it's okay, little one," Monica soothed the little baby. She looked up at Augustine, who was standing over them in awe. "It's a boy. We didn't think of any boy names. Somehow 'Rita' just doesn't suit a boy!" 

"Bruce," Augustine whispered. "My grandfather's name."

Monica wrinkled her nose. "Bruce is an ugly name!" she protested. 

"We're naming him Bruce."

"I carried him for 9 months and I gave birth to him. You spent one evening enjoying yourself. I have the final say and we are not naming him Bruce. It's hideous."

"I like it!" Augustine snapped. It really annoyed him how Monica hated his favorite name so much. 

Monica saw it coming at her, but frozen in fear, she dared not duck. The glass smashed into her face, a piece cutting her temple. She felt blood trickle down her cheek. 

"Look what you did, you b****!" he screamed at her. "You're going to have to get me another!" 

Monica felt tears mixing into the blood. "I'm sorry," she apologized, stooping down to clean up the glass.

"I'm sorry," Monica apologized. "I didn't mean to upset you. We'll call him Bruce, if it means that much to you. Maybe Anthony for a middle name?" 

Augustine smiled. "Thank you. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. Anthony will be his middle name." 

Monica didn't answer, but privately, she made a note to herself to always call her baby 'Anthony' when her husband wasn't around.

Just then, little baby Bruce Anthony started to fuss again. "I think he's hungry." Monica held her little boy up to her breast, and her face lit up with awe as he latched on and started to suck. 

"How does it feel?" Augustine asked, watching and feeling a little envious. 

"Like Heaven," Monica replied in a low, soft voice. She stroked her little baby's hair. "Does he look like a little redhead to you? I think he's going to be a redhead!" 

"Dream on," Augustine chuckled. Then, seeing the hurt look on Monica's face, continued, "he'll be beautiful no matter what."

Monica snuggled the little baby closer to her and rested her head down over his. 

She saw Augustine again the next week, at a little coffee shop. She was sitting at a table, drinking a tea, and saw him come in. She looked away quickly, but he had already seen her. 

"Mind if I join you?" he asked. 

She nodded silently, tongue tied. 

He sat down and stretched his long legs out under the table. "I was hoping I'd see you again. How have you been?" 

"I'm all right," Monica replied shyly. "You?"

"Doing well as well. I'm working on a new story."

"Oh? Do you write?"

"I'm working on a novel right now. I'm hoping to get it published once I finish it."

Monica smiled. "I've never known an author before."

He laughed. "I don't know that I qualify yet, but thank you. What do you do?"

Monica started. "Oh! Oh, I work at a department store. And a restaurant."

"Two jobs? You must be dedicated," he commented. 

"Yeah, well, I don't really have much choice..." her voice trailed off. 

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

"Can I have your phone number?" he asked. 

Monica hesitated. If he found out... "All right," she relented. She'd just be careful. 

It was a few days later, and Monica and Anthony had come home from the hospital. Despite Augustine's insistence that she rest, Monica was up and trying to do as much as she could. For one thing, she was getting tired of eating his spaghetti every night. 

"We should take some nice pictures of Bruce," she called upstairs, where Augustine was working on his computer. It seemed like Augustine was always working on his computer. The life of an author...

She waited a few minutes, and after she didn't get a response, went back to making dinner. Sometimes it seemed like Augustine spent more time at his computer then with her... She shook the thought off. She knew he was working hard to get his next novel done. Having a wife and baby was putting more pressure than ever on him to write and keep getting his novels published. 

She sat in a little office in the side of the church, talking to Fr. Ó Raghallaigh. She found herself telling him everything; all about the abuse, how miserable she was living with her boyfriend, and how much she wanted to leave but was too afraid, and besides, she didn't have a place to go now that her parents had downsized their house. He listened sympathetically, nodding here and there. She got the impression that none of this was new to him. 

"May I make a suggestion?" he asked her when she was done. 

"Pray. I know. But I don't know how to pray!" she replied disheartened. 

He gave her a sad smile. "That wasn't what I was going to say, but yes, you should pray. And I'd be happy to give you materials about that if you'd like. But actually, I was going to suggest that you try calling this phone number."

She took the card from his hand, looked at it, then gave it back. "I don't know..." she hesitated. 

His had a warm, understanding light as he replied. "Then maybe you'd like to come back and talk some more?" he asked. 

Monica smiled at him, feeling hope for the first time in a long, long time. "I'd like that," she replied shyly. "You don't mind that I'm not Catholic?"

Fr. Ó Raghallaigh laughed. "I'm a Catholic priest. I give help to all I can. Whether or not you're Catholic makes no difference."

"Then I'll be back," Monica promised.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: Parts in italics are sporadic memories flashing through Monica's mind and have no connection to current events or to each other, but are rather intended to provide insight and context for characters as the story progresses.