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if I had to go to that much trouble to get a knife, I’d have time
to talk myself out of harming Maggie with it.
Back in the kitchen, I trembled as I picked her up, took the
bottle from the hot water, and settled down in the rocker to
feed her. With the nipple in her mouth, she quieted down.
I thought of mothers who hurt their children. People who
shook their babies so hard they caused brain damage. I was
scared. Was I capable of doing that?
“I love you,” I told her as I rocked, but the words sounded
like a line uttered in a play by someone pretending to be
someone else.
“I need to sleep,” I muttered from bed the next morning
when Jamie was getting dressed. We’d both been up half the
night, taking turns walking with our colicky daughter.
“I’ll take her to the office,”Jamie said, surprising me.I didn’t
even wonder how he would manage having her at the real
estate office with him. I rolled over and went back to sleep,
my relief at the thought of a day without Maggie outweighing
my guilt. Soon, he was taking Maggie with him every day while
I slept. I vaguely wondered what his coworkers thought about
the situation, but I didn’t really care. Jamie would find a way
to explain it.
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diane chamberlain
I felt drugged half the time, as though someone was slipping
narcotics into my drinking water. In my sleepy state, I fanta­
sized about running away. I could go someplace where no one
knew me and start over. When my chest hurt one afternoon,
I hoped I was having a heart attack. A fatal heart attack would
put an end to the numbness I felt inside. I wouldn’t have to
hear Maggie screaming any longer or do laundry or worry
about what to make for dinner. And Jamie and Maggie would
be better off without me. I was completely convinced of that.
“Do you remember Sara Weston?” Jamie asked me one
Sunday afternoon.
It took me a minute to place the name. “The woman who
came to the chapel a few times in the beginning?” I hadn’t been
to the chapel since Maggie was born, and the pentagonal
building down the beach from our house seemed miles away.
“Right. She came back today with her husband, Steve. He’s
stationed at Camp Lejeune. Anyhow, the reason she hasn’t
been coming is because Steve wasn’t interested but she finally
talked him into it today.”
“Did he like it?”
Jamie laughed. “I don’t think it was his cup of tea, though
he was a good sport about it. But anyway, what I’m getting at
is that Sara asked about you and I said you could use some help
with Maggie and she volunteered.”
Oh no, I thought. “I don’t want a stranger in the house,
Jamie,” I said.
“No, I know you’re not up for that. But she can take Maggie
when I’m tied up during the day.”
“We hardly know her.” I thought about the knives, which I’d
before the storm
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had to bring back to the kitchen to avoid having to explain their
whereabouts to Jamie and Marcus. Sara Weston could hardly
be as dangerous as I was.“If you feel okay about her, then that’s
fine,” I said.
I was still in bed the following Tuesday morning when Jamie
knocked on the bedroom door.
“Laurel?” he said. “Sara Weston’s here. Come out and say
hi.”
I shut my eyes, trying to draw energy from someplace inside
me. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said, too softly.
“What?” Jamie was right outside the bedroom door.
“In a minute.” I spoke louder.
I got out of bed, pulling on the same clothes I’d worn the
day before, and stumbled into the living room.
Sara looked as she had many months earlier, when I first saw
her at the chapel. Only now, in summer shorts and peach-
colored polo shirt, I could see that she was athletically built.
She looked like a soccer mom. She sat on the sofa, holding
Maggie on her lap.
“You have one gorgeous baby.” She smiled at me.
“Thank you.” I pasted on the smile as I sank into the rocker.
Jamie set a glass of sweet tea on the coffee table in front of
her.
“And I love your house,” she said. “So unique.”
“Thanks.”
“I wanted to meet you since I’ll be helping out with Maggie,”
she said.“You know, to see if you have any special instructions
or anything.”
“Just—”I shrugged“—you know…don’t kill her or anything.”
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She and Jamie stared at me, and I laughed.
“You know what I mean.” I knew I sounded insane. I didn’t
care. I wanted to go back to bed in the worst way.
“Well, okay.” She laughed, glancing at Jamie. “I think I can
manage that.”
I had my six-week postpartum checkup with my obstetri­
cian in Hampstead. Once he was finished examining me, I sat
up, crinkling the paper sheet around my thighs. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]