Just Like Mother

Chapter 4

9

‘Coffee?’

I startled. It was the following morning, and Emily stood over me with two steaming mugs. The car Andrea had ordered dropped me at Rob and Andrea’s place late the previous night, after a creeping journey delayed two hours by an accident on the highway. I hadn’t been able to look at the charred shell of an SUV, but the mangled bits of it strewn across the road hadn’t escaped me. I’d had to dry-swallow a Klonopin right there in the backseat. And even with the anti-anxiety drugs, I still slept fitfully the night before. I was up with the sun that morning, eager to escape the house and get outside, where I made my way to the hammock out back, novel in hand. The thinking was, if the treetops speckling the blue canvas of sky couldn’t calm me, nothing could.

I’d read for a while, catching myself turning the pages without knowing how I’d gotten there. When it became clear I couldn’t focus, I set the book next to me, my thumb marking the page. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the crisp breeze offsetting the sun’s relentless gaze.

I woke to the sound of Emily’s voice. The sun was high above the trees and my exposed knees were turning a soft pink. I swung my legs over the side of the netting and blearily patted the empty canvas next to me. She sank down, lowering the seat of the hammock just a few inches above the lawn and splattering coffee across our laps in the process.

‘Sorry. I knew that wasn’t a good idea.’

‘So did I.’ We laughed, and I accepted the mug.

‘Where are the others?’ I leaned my head back against the netting of the hammock, balancing my mug on my stomach as I stared at the trees. I had never been alone with Emily. I wanted her to like me, but I felt nervous and awkward, as though I were on a first date.

‘Rob and Andrea took Henry to the farmers market. Figured they’d get him out of our hair for a while. Micah’s still asleep.’

‘How does Micah feel about baby number two? Is he hoping it’s another boy?’

Emily hesitated a beat too long, and I wondered if I’d over-stepped. I searched her face for clues. Her features were half hidden by the shadows cast by the trees as we swung gently in and out of the sunlight. Finally she turned, offering me a tight smile. ‘We both want a girl,’ she said. ‘Which is great, because it’s a girl. We were wandering around Red Hook the other day and stepped into this boutique I like… I can never remember its name.’

‘I know the spot.’

‘Yes, well, he couldn’t stop pulling out these darling little bloomers and bonnets and stuff. He has an eye for the old-fashioned outfits. He was definitely all about the girl apparel.’

‘And how are you feeling about having another one?’ I asked. ‘I bet Henry will be terrific with a little sister.’

‘It’s fantastic,’ she said. ‘It’s such a blessing to be able to bring children into the world. I’m lucky. I really do have it all.’ She bit her lip, loosening a bit of cracked skin with her teeth. ‘Having a girl will be the best thing that’s ever happened to us.’

‘I think it’s great that Micah parents just as much as you do.’ My words sounded wooden even to me.

‘Why wouldn’t he? Micah’s a great dad. That’s why I picked him. I could have picked anyone. But you have to choose right. A lot rides on it.’

‘He seems terrific,’ I acknowledged, lying to placate her. ‘I know you both work hard.’

‘Men aren’t babysitters of their own children,’ Emily told me. ‘They shouldn’t be rewarded for providing equal or more child care. Micah’s contribution to Henry’s upbringing shouldn’t be notable. And if Micah isn’t useful as a parent… well then…’ She shrugged. ‘What’s the point?’

‘Well put.’ I wondered if Micah knew her thoughts on the matter. If he knew where he really stood.

‘Anyway, rejection isn’t right.’ She shook her head.

Her tongue emerged again, sliding across her reddened lower lip. She caught me staring.

‘What?’ she asked. She brought a hand to her lips. ‘Oh,’ she said when she pulled away her hand. She stared at the small smudge of blood on her fingertip. ‘How did that happen?’

‘Are you okay?’ I asked gently.

‘Yes, fine.’ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Just chapped.’ She kicked hard at the ground, sending us gliding back through the air.

‘What did you mean about “rejection”?’ Emily looked at me strangely.

‘You said, “Anyway, rejection isn’t right.”’

‘Oh, yeah. Rejecting – rejecting a baby.’ I had a million questions I wanted to ask. ‘You asked how we were feeling about it. But you know, the mere act of not wanting a baby is wrong. It’s almost akin to rejecting ourselves, because we have to reject a fundamental part of our womanhood in order to reject having children.’

‘I don’t agree,’ I said carefully.

‘Sorry, Maeve,’ she said, her voice tight. ‘We feel differently on this one. It’s not as if no one ever struggles with pregnancy, you know. You just have to accept the challenge as part of the journey. That’s the NewLife philosophy.’

‘Is that really what you think, though?’ I turned to her. ‘Because, Emily… it isn’t wrong. It’s okay to dislike your kids sometimes. It’s okay to dislike Micah. To be exhausted and angry. It’s okay to feel whatever you want about the whole thing. It’s not just okay; it’s normal. You’re this amazingly strong woman with an incredible career. You have a choice. This entire thing, it’s a choice. Whether to have a partner. Whether to be a parent.’

I thought I had her. I saw her eyes catch mine. Spark. ‘You sound awfully patronizing, for someone who isn’t a parent.’

‘What?’ Then we swung back through the shadows. And when we emerged on the other side, her eyes were blank.

‘You’re the one who’s got it wrong,’ she said. Then she placed her heel against the ground, jolting the hammock to a stop so suddenly I nearly toppled. ‘I know what you did to her. I know, and I think it’s awful. After all her generosity. You’re Andrea’s cousin. If you didn’t look practically identical, I’d never have believed it. Don’t you want to help her fulfill her dream?’ She picked our up our mugs from the lawn and calmly headed back inside, leaving me speechless. The hem of her sundress lapped at her ankles as she walked, its folds a dozen tiny tongues. So that was it – the reason she’d been so visibly upset. Probably even the reason she’d joined me on the hammock. She saw my refusal to Andrea as a betrayal. Several long minutes after the screen door slammed shut behind her, her question lingered.

‘I thought you three could enjoy some girl time this evening,’ Rob told us, as I walked back into the kitchen from the yard, trailing Emily by a few minutes, the wariness that now existed between us weighing on me. ‘Micah and I can handle Henry for a night. What do you think, bud?’ Henry was looking at him curiously, having heard his name. ‘You want some more bro time?’

‘The stand at the farmers market has the best quiche,’ Andrea said. She’d just emerged from the kitchen and bent to place the steaming dish atop a pot holder on the table. ‘I love that idea,’ she added. ‘We could go to that bar-restaurant in Cairo.’ Chunks of oily bacon oozed fat in tiny puddles across the surface of the quiche. ‘The one with live music and karaoke.’

‘That sounds fun,’ Emily said. ‘I can’t drink, but I can definitely dance.’

‘Sounds great,’ I said neutrally. ‘I’m up for anything.’

Rob shoveled a giant wedge of quiche onto his plate. ‘We’ve got this. Right, little dude? Your dad too, if he ever wakes up from his beauty rest.’ Henry made a buzzing sound and slammed his palm on his tray, causing a Cheerios avalanche. Rob jumped to his feet and moved to pick the bits of cereal off the floor one by one.

‘Looks like you’ve got it down,’ Emily said, shooting Rob a grateful smile. ‘They’re all yours.’

‘Perfect,’ Andrea exclaimed. ‘It’s settled! Let girls’ night out commence at eightish.’

‘Just be safe,’ Rob prevailed, rubbing Andrea’s head. ‘These locals can be vultures around beautiful women.’ He planted a kiss on Andrea’s crown, and she gave him a return peck on the cheek.

Rob grabbed for the hot sauce and tipped the bottle upside down, puddling it over his quiche. He started talking about something – the weather, I thought. I was finding it difficult to tune in. He reached for the bread knife and began to saw at the loaf on the table. Front, back, front, back, like the steady ticking of a metronome. He glanced at Emily and laughed at something she said, taking his eyes from the loaf for a split second.

It happened so quickly.

The knife sliced neatly into the hand that was holding the loaf in place. The serrations cut through the fold of skin between his left thumb and forefinger. Reflexively, Rob yanked the knife back; it caught on his skin and dragged a ragged chunk away, exposing the thick muscle underneath. He dropped the knife, which clattered to the ground. He gripped his wrist as perspiration beaded his forehead, and he struggled to his feet. Andrea gasped and leaped from her chair.

It wasn’t bleeding, until it was. And then a thick river of blood pulsed from it, trickling down his wrist as Andrea put a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘Sit, Rob,’ she instructed, her voice tense. ‘I’ll get a towel.’

I watched the steady stream of red liquid pool in the center of Rob’s quiche, making an audible splat as it mixed with the hot sauce and trickled down the sides of his eggs. Emily was already on the phone with the urgent care facility, which was good, because Rob’s face had gone pale. He sank lower in his chair and the liquid kept pooling and trickling, covering every inch of his food until there was nothing left but red. Splat. Splat. Splat. An image of the doll, mutilated by Truman, rushed to mind, causing my hand to tremble. My fork slipped from my grasp with a clatter, to join Rob’s knife on the floor. Andrea rushed back into the room, towel in hand. A sweaty sheen had broken out on Rob’s forehead. From his high chair, Henry began to cry.

‘There’s no wait at urgent care,’ Emily said. ‘We should get him there now. He’ll probably need stitches.’

‘Okay,’ Andrea said. ‘Rob, you hear that? We’re going to get you taken care of.’

‘I can drive,’ Emily told her. ‘You sit with Rob in the back and keep him comfortable. Maeve, can you stay with Henry for a while?’

Her words sounded like they were coming from the other end of a tunnel. I stared at the blood, transfixed. The image of the doll’s severed, shredded head refused to fade. Another image appeared, one I’d tried hard to keep buried.

‘Maeve!’

I looked up, locking eyes with Emily.

‘I said, can you stay with Henry?’ Emily sounded irritated. Andrea was already halfway across the room, her arm wrapped around Rob.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, flushing. ‘Go on. I’ll clean up here too.’

Emily nodded and tossed her purse over one shoulder. Then she was out the door.

The blood was everywhere. I crouched to all fours to see the knife. It lay on its side, near Rob’s chair. A raw, bloodied chunk of skin clung to its serrated edge. I eyed it, willing the image it had conjured back into the darkest and most remote recesses of my brain.

Henry shouted then, banging on his tray for attention. I looked up. He had stopped crying and was staring directly at me. When I met his eyes, he grinned wide and toothily. But it wasn’t Henry who I saw through the haze of blood and hot sauce that covered the table. All I could see beyond the red was another child’s stricken face.