She was born on a Sunday, in the upstairs of the house on Hickory, with the help of a woman who called herself a midwife. I know people don't have babies at home much anymore, but that's what I had wanted. I couldn't stand the thought of a whole group of doctors and nurses peering between my spread legs like it was some sort of geological dig. Plus, all the sterility and beeping and flat surfaces of a hospital give me shivers.

I named her Evelyn. Evelyn Grace. She became the name beautifully. On her sweaty new head, curls pressed around her ears and around her forehead. They were dark and resolute.

I pulled my baby girl to my chest and promised her I'd never leave her. I told her she was more beautiful than all of God's creation, and that she had a large and significant purpose.

Today, two afternoons later, my mother called to wish me a successful life of single parenthood.

"Whatever less-than-ideal circumstances you experienc... I just want you to know that life is hard. I didn't necessarily want things to turn out the way they did."

She had something in her voice that I mistook for affection, and I asked her if she'd like to come visit for the weekend to meet Evelyn. I told her I wouldn't mind having somebody around until I got back on my feet.

"Jimmy's coming by Saturday," she said, and that was all.

"Okay," I said.

"I'll meet the child soon enough. May as well visit sometime when you'll both remember it."

In the sun room, Evelyn whimpered in her sleep.

"I have to go check on Evy," I told my mother.

I set the phone down and pulled open the blinds. The sunlight flooded all over Evelyn's face as she slept in her bassinet.

My nipples stung as my breasts let down some milk, with no one to drink it. I had nursed Evelyn two times while the midwife had cleaned up after the birth. Evy drank my foremilk sleepily but assuredly as I whispered those sweet promises to her.

When the midwife left, I stopped giving my milk to Evelyn. I tore open a can of formula - a sample I had been sent - shaking the powder with water fiercely. I cried as she explored the new bottle's nipple. I felt guilt washing all over me, like I had already broken my word to her.

Now my breasts were huge and sore and full of milk, as if to punish me for what I'd done.

My screen door clattered with incessant knocking. I pulled my sweater more tightly about me, trying to hide my swollen breasts as much as possible. I looked out into the

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