Chapter XV: Blessing, Part 2
It is August, the month when the rainy season paints the streets of Hermosa in puddles and mud, when umbrellas bloom like flowers over the heads of people rushing to the market. The sky is low and heavy, the air thick with the scent of wet earth.
At the Bensmert Store in Caluipat, Ben sits on a small wooden bench, holding a folded piece of paper — his new job contract. The ink is still fresh, and every time he looks at it, he feels a mix of excitement and apprehension.
He takes a deep breath, turns to Meric, and says, "I got the job. A Construction company in Baguio."
Meric blinks. "Baguio? As in Baguio-Baguio? The City of Pines?"
"That's the one. I start next week. I'll be gone for a month."
Meric leans back against the counter, trying to act casual, but her lips twitch in a pout. "Before my birthday?"
Ben grins sheepishly. "Yeah. But don't worry, I'll make it up to you. I'll bring you strawberry jam, peanut brittle, maybe even a knitted beanie that smells like pine."
"Better bring the whole pine tree," she mutters, but there's a small smile tugging at her face.
A week later, Ben boards a Partas bus at dawn. The headlights slice through the mist as the bus hums its way out of Hermosa. Meric waves from the roadside, arms crossed, pretending not to be emotional, but her eyes glisten as the bus disappears around the bend.
A few days later, the Bensmert Store is closed. Meric is at home in Caluipat, not in the mood for customers or counting coins. Instead, she is working out — or at least attempting to — on an Abs-King exercise machine they bought from a store in overseas.
She grips the handles, pulls herself forward, and groans. "Why did I even buy this torture device?" she mutters. She manages a few crunches before rolling off dramatically onto the woven mat.
In the afternoon, she walks to Solid West, near the Provincial High School in Hermosa City. The rain has stopped, and the roads are shiny under the pale sun. She enters a small clinic beside a bakery, its glass door creaking open. The sign above reads: Dr. Besavilla, OB-GYN.
Inside, the air smells faintly of rubbing alcohol. Dr. Besavilla, a middle-aged woman with kind but sharp eyes, greets her.
"So, irregular periods?" the doctor asks, flipping through a chart.
"Yes," Meric says, swinging her legs nervously.
"We'll do a pregnancy test first," the doctor says.
Meric laughs lightly. "C'mon Doc. Me and my husband tried many times, and it's negative. It'll be negative. It's always negative."
But when the results come back, Dr. Besavilla smiles faintly and slides the paper toward her.
"Congratulations, Meric," she says. "It's positive."
Meric freezes. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Then, all at once, her hands fly to her face. "Oh my God," she whispers. A thousand emotions swirl in her chest — joy, disbelief, nervousness, a sudden craving for pancit canton.
Instead of calling Ben immediately, she walks straight to Calle Gen. Antonio. The RQ Store is busy, the sound of coins clinking and the aroma of freshly cooked rice filling the air.
"Mang!" Meric calls, stepping inside.
Mercy looks up from behind the counter. "Oh, you're here. What—"
"Mang, I'm pregnant."
Mercy's eyes widen, then her hands fly to her mouth. "Oh my, thank you, Lord!" she exclaims, rushing forward to hug her daughter. Rico, sitting on a stool, grins from ear to ear.
"That's my girl," he says proudly.
Later that evening, Meric finally calls Ben. His voice crackles through the line — he's high up in the mountains, wind rushing past.
"It's positive," she tells him simply.
For a moment, silence. Then Ben lets out a joyous shout that echoes off the mountainsides. "YES! Thank you, Lord!"
That night, as his bus descends toward Baguio City proper, Ben walks to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Atonement. The cool air nips at his cheeks as he kneels before the altar, thanking the Blessed Virgin Mary for this miracle.
Three months later, it's a Sunday morning at Hermosa Cathedral. The grand wooden doors stand open, letting in the soft breeze. The congregation sways gently as the choir sings the Our Father.
Ben and Meric stand side by side, hands raised. But halfway through the prayer, Meric's vision begins to blur. The stained-glass windows melt into patches of color, the voices sound far away.
The next thing she knows, she's on the cool stone floor, surrounded by worried faces. Someone is fanning her with a pamaypay. Ben kneels beside her, his hands trembling.
"You fainted," he says softly.
After a few minutes, she sits up, her face flushed. "I don't want to raise my hands anymore during mass," she mutters, embarrassed.
They decide to skip the rest of the service and head to Plaza Jose for steaming bowls of miki. The hot broth revives her, and soon she's laughing again. They stroll down Calle Plaridel, turning right onto Calle Gen. Antonio, heading for the RQ Store.
When they tell Mercy and Rico what happened, both parents are shocked. "You need to take it easy," Mercy scolds.
Months pass. Ben is called back to Baguio for more work. March 16 is circled in red on their wall calendar which is the expected due date. But on the night of February 5, disaster strikes.
Meric's water breaks suddenly. She calls out, and Rico immediately fires up his tricycle, the engine roaring in the quiet night. They race to a private hospital in Guardino, just 4.4 km from Caluipat.
Back in Baguio, Ben's Nokia phone buzzes with the news. His heart pounds so hard it feels like it might break his ribs. His coworkers pace the floor of their shared quarters, as anxious as he is.
At 10 p.m., the call comes. "It's a boy," Rico announces, his voice brimming with pride.
Ben lets out a shout so loud it startles the neighbors. "I'm a father!" he yells into the misty night, his voice echoing over the mountains.
But the joy is tinged with worry as the operation was a C-section. In the hospital, Mercy rushes in, demanding to see her grandchild.
The nurse's face is serious. "Mapan mo kitan diay apo mon. Bassit lang biag nan. (Go see your grandchild. He is losing life."
Mercy hurries to the incubator, her hands pressing against the glass. "Agbiag ka, Agbiag ka. (Live. Live.) Live, apo," she whispers fiercely. "Live for your mother and father."
The baby's health becomes steady.
Back in Hermosa, Mercy and Rico light candles at the parish office for a thanksgiving mass.
When Ben finally comes home from Baguio, he tells Meric, "Let's name him Belarmino III."
Meric shakes her head immediately. "No. Ben, not because you're the junior, doesn't mean you have to name him the III. And he would be could Thirdy. Imagine his friends calling him, Nerdy Thirdy."
They debate for days, scribbling names on scraps of paper, until finally they settle on one: Mark.
The baptism is held not at the grand Hermosa Cathedral, but at the smaller, humbler Our Lady of Hope Parish Church in Pardas. The sun shines brightly on the day of the ceremony, the air filled with the scent of fresh sampaguita.
Though Mark's blood is Hermosan, but the family remains in Caluipat, Pardas — a place where laughter echoes in the kitchen, prayers are whispered before meals, and love grows, day by day, around a newborn's cry.