Bates

1

   Norma gasped. A nurse walked towards her, bundle in hand. She swore she couldn't have been happier.

   Her arms wrapped around what appeared to be a bundle of blankets, but was instead the body of her newborn son. He was surprisingly silent as his skin made contact with hers. "You're so small," she cooed.

   She pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Norma could hear footsteps in the hallway; someone was carrying her oldest son into the room. His body appeared to be untouched, but his brow was furrowed with worry. "Dylan! Thank God, you're okay!" she piped, forgetting the sensitivity of her baby's ears. He cried, and she calmed him, rocking him gently. She hugged Dylan with her free arm and kissed his forehead. The four-year-old boy said nothing.

   "Dylan, I want you to meet your little brother," she'd said, holding the baby closer to him. Dylan smiled.

   "What are you doing to call him?" the boy asked, leaning in over his brother curiously.

   "Well...I think I'll call him Norman," she said, stroking the newborn's cheeks. "Norman Anthony Bates." Norma smiled, for the first time in a long time, and kissed her baby's forehead lovingly. Norman's birth hadn't been planned, but he'd been the first thing she ever wanted. Pride welled in her chest. She'd even named him herself, too, without anyone else's input. This child was hers, and would be until the end of time.

   Norma stayed in the hospital for another day before being allowed to go home. She was lucky to have remembered the neighbour's number, or she might not have gotten home at all. Samuel Bates had missed out on the birth of his son. His wife had no clue where he was now. For all she knew, he was working, or out at the bar guzzling beer.

   She'd stopped to nurse as soon as she returned home. Dylan sat on the couch watching cartoons and playing with his Hotwheelz. She hadn't heard the screen door swing open, or her husband come in howling at the top of this lungs.

   Dylan burst through the door, and Norma rushed to cover herself. "Dylan?" was all she'd managed to mutter. It wasn't like him to walk in uninvited.

   "Sam's asking about supper," he told her. Norma placed her son in the bassinet near the bed and pulled a blue robe over her thin frame.

   "What're you up to?" he asked, dropping a beer bottle in the garbage can.

   "I was busy feeding Norman..." she replied, trailing off as she tried to escape into the kitchen.

   "Norman? You're stuck on that name, still, huh?"

   "It's his name, Sam. It's on his birth certificate, locked in the safe. You weren't there to name him, so I did it myself," she retorted almost angrily.

   He only sighed and took the remote from Dylan, changing the channel on the TV.

   Norma rushed to get supper ready. There was leftover meatloaf in the fridge; she could heat it up and have it done it less than two minutes. She dumped some beans in a pot on the stove and put some bread in the oven.

   Norman started screaming. "Is there anything that'll make him stop, Momma?" Dylan asked, holding his hand over his ears.

   "I'll have to finish feeding him," she'd said. "How about you go to your room and watch Ninja Turtles, okay?" she guided him away from the hot stove.

   "Supper ready yet?!" Sam asked as she breezed past him to check on Norman.

   "No, not yet. Soon."

   He rolled his eyes.

   Norma retrieved the newborn from the bedroom, carrying him over to the kitchen table. She laid a plush blanket there for him to lay on, and placed him there, doing her best to comfort him until he could be fed.

   Suddenly, a sharp, irritating noise pierced the quiet kitchen. She cursed. The bread was burnt.

   Dylan sped down the stairs, yelling something about fire. Norman slept peacefully on the kitchen table. Samuel grumbled, and Norma pulled the strings on the ceiling fan and waved a cloth in the air near the screaming fire alarm.

   "Is there fire?" she could hear Dylan question worriedly.

   "Everything's fine," she called, pacing into the living room. "The bread's burnt, but everyone's okay." Norma glanced at Sam, then at Dylan. When she looked at her oldest son, all she could see was Caleb. She turned away, knowing that the burnt bread would have to be properly disposed of.

   Five minutes later, she was setting supper between her husband and the television. He sighed.
"Leftover meatloaf?" he asked, poking at it with his fork.

   "I've got a baby to nurse, Sam. If you don't like it, you can make something else," she told him, taking Norman upstairs.

   Every moment that she spent with her child was perfect. He didn't ask questions, and hardly cried. He was starting to open his eyes and blink at her little by little. They were hazel right now, but she knew they could change as he got older. If it hadn't been for other obligations, she would have stared into those wandering eyes for hours.

   "Norma...you coming to bed?" Sam asked, his voice unusually calm.

   "No, I think I'll stay up for a little while-- keep an eye on him for a little while longer," she glanced back at her husband with vulnerable, blue eyes. "He's new. He needs to have contact with us as much as possible right now."

  For a moment, she thought that Sam might would come over and admire their creation. There was no such luck. The man shrugged. "You can't hold em' forever, Norma," he said, turning up a bottle of asprin and letting a few of the pills fall into his massive hand.

   She shuddered. Would he ignore his son forever, she wondered? He walked over to her rocking chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He's beautiful," he stated, as if it was something he had always been sure of. "I'm sure you did great."

   Norma's heart melted for the man that stood over her now. He might've been a brute sometimes, but he knew how to show her that he cared.