But she couldn’t talk. She could barely even breathe. Her entire focus channeled into enduring the pain. Her earlier contractions, the ones that had started around three o’clock, had made her feel as though a pair of giant hands were gently squeezing her abdomen, stealing away her breath. They were perhaps a two and a half on the pain scale that went up to ten.
This contraction was easily a seven.
Then, just as quickly as it had come on, it disappeared.
Josie lifted a shaky hand to her brow and wiped away beads of sweat, then she noted the time on her iPhone.
“Contraction.” She panted the word, but managed to keep her voice even so she didn’t alarm Zoe.
“Where’s your mom?” Frank asked, his eyes darting around the room, as if he might have overlooked her presence.
“She won’t be here for another hour or two,” Josie said. “I didn’t think there was any need for her to rush.”
“I’ll call her.” He ran to the kitchen. She could hear the rapid cadence of his voice, then he hurried back into the living room, just as another contraction hit.
This one was even worse, the pain spiraling deep inside Josie, as if someone were twisting her insides with a corkscrew. She gripped a throw pillow, her fingernails digging into the fabric, as her body clenched. When it passed, she checked the clock. Just three minutes since her last one. They were supposed to go to the hospital when her contractions were ten minutes apart.
She’d imagined taking a warm bath and going for a family walk before kissing Zoe good night and leaving for the hospital. But now she knew she had to get there fast.
“I need to get to the car,” Josie said as she struggled to her feet.
Frank looked at her face. Then he transformed.
He scooped up Zoe in one hand. He grabbed Josie’s purse with the other. He opened the front door and held it with his foot until Josie passed through.
“Wait here,” he told her as she paused on the front step. “Do not try to climb down those without me.”
She watched as he ran to the car, strapped Zoe in, tossed in Josie’s purse, and hurried back with a look on his face she’d only seen during the other times he’d transformed.
It had happened three or four times before, always in a crisis. Her laughing, overly social husband became a grim-faced man of singular focus. Once, it occurred when a young boy had come down the sidewalk on a wobbling bicycle that was seemingly out of control, heading directly toward Zoe, who was coloring with chalk.
Josie had been kneeling in the garden about ten yards away, planting purple and yellow pansies, and she’d looked up at the sound of the boy’s approach. “Zoe!” she’d yelled, knowing she couldn’t get to her daughter in time. “Look out!”
She’d seen a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Frank, who’d been pushing the lawn mower around to the front yard. He’d abandoned the machine and was sprinting diagonally across the yard, faster than Josie had ever seen him move. Then he’d hurdled the hedge—actually hurdled it, like a high school athlete at a track meet. Josie expected him to scoop up Zoe, or shield her body with his own, even though she knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid impact. Instead, Frank planted himself in front of the onrushing bicycle, reached out, and grabbed the handlebars. The bike jerked to a stop. The boy fell off and tumbled sideways onto the grass.
Josie watched, openmouthed, her trowel still in hand. By the time she reached Zoe, their daughter was already in Frank’s arms, and Frank was extending a free hand to help up the boy.
“Too bad you didn’t catch that on video,” Frank said, but he was breathing hard, and his eyes were wide.
“How did you— Frank, you saved her!” Josie cried. She reached out and wrapped her arms around both of them. The boy had already climbed aboard his bike and was wobbling down the sidewalk again.
Frank winced. “Pretty sure I pulled a hamstring,” he joked, reaching down to rub his thigh.
Josie put a hand over her rapidly beating heart. “You are the best father in the entire world,” she said.
Now, as Frank ran toward her as she stood on the front stoop, she saw that intent look on his face again. And as another contraction spiraled deep within her, stealing her breath and nearly sweeping out her legs from beneath her, she felt sure of one thing: Frank would keep her safe, too.
• • •
“Stay with me,” she pleaded with him as they pulled into the hospital’s emergency entrance. The ride had been torture, seemingly filled with potholes and stop signs and clueless drivers who were moving well below the speed limit. She’d been vaguely aware of Frank calling her mother again, instructing her to meet them at the hospital, and of Zoe asking from the backseat whether Mommy was all right.
“I will,” Frank promised as he put the car into park. “I just gotta run in and get someone to help us.”
He disappeared through the automatic doors, and a moment later, an orderly bearing a wheelchair came out.
“Ma’am?” the orderly said as he opened Josie’s door. “Can you come sit here?” He reached for her arm.
“No—don’t touch me,” Josie gasped. She felt her eyes starting to roll back into her head. She was in agony, gripped in the force of a contraction that made her want to thrash in pain. But she instinctively knew movement would make it worse, so she gripped the armrest and waited it out.
“Okay,” she panted a moment later, blinking back tears. “Okay.”
She eased herself into the wheelchair. “Zoe,” she said.
“She’s right here,” Frank said. “C’mon, Zoe, you’re going to see Grandma and then tomorrow you’ll get to meet your baby sister. I’ve got your bag, too, Josie. Your music and everything.”
She lost track of time, but she clung to his voice. It threaded through everything that followed. She knew her mother must have arrived, and Frank must have handed Josie off to her. She was aware of someone trying to insert an IV into her arm—those needle jabs were almost laughably insignificant on the pain scale—then a ridiculously young doctor was examining her.
“Where’s Dr. Barr?” she gasped during a lull in her contractions. Now they were about one minute apart. She’d forgotten to call her doctor; she’d been waiting for the mythical ten-minute contractions.
“On her way,” Frank said. “Look at me, Josie. We got this.”
We? she thought.
“Epidural,” she panted. “Why is it taking so long?”
She saw the doctor look at Frank. “She’s already nine centimeters,” the doctor said.
“Nononono,” Josie moaned. She knew what that meant; she’d heard stories about women who arrived at the hospital too late to receive painkillers.
“We can’t give her an epidural at this point,” the doctor said.
“Are you sure?” Frank asked. “Look at her! She’s in pain. Can’t you do something?”
“The anesthesiologist is with another patient,” the doctor said. “He probably wouldn’t be able to get here until she’s ready to push anyway.”
Then he shrugged. The ridiculously young doctor shrugged.
Josie wanted to rise up off the table and attack him.
“God, Jos, I’m so sorry,” Frank said. “Do you want, um, an ice chip?”
She gripped his hand as another contraction overtook her.
“Okay, we’re going to do this,” Frank said. “We’re going to breathe through it. I’ll breathe if you can’t. Ready? One, two, three . . .”
It was agonizing and endless and grueling; the violence gripping her body felt otherworldly. But an hour later—Frank would later tell her that’s how long it took, since she had no concept of time—she heard Izzy’s hoarse little cry. The doctor laid the warm, wet bundle that was her daughter on her chest, and suddenly, the pain was almost all gone.
“You did it,” Frank said. His hair was rumpled, and he was still in the dress shirt he’d worn to the office, though he’d discarded his suit coat and tie somewhere.
He
leaned down to kiss Josie.
She was too weak and drained to speak. She couldn’t even nod.
“She’s perfect,” Frank whispered.
“Would Daddy like to come and watch her get her first bath?” a nurse asked.
Josie found her voice. “Not yet.” She looked at her husband’s face. He had one hand on Izzy’s tiny back, and he was crying. She covered Frank’s hand with her own. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”
• • •
They couldn’t, of course. Things changed with two children; life grew busier, harder, messier. Izzy wasn’t a great sleeper, and Josie sometimes felt as stretched out as the old Gumby doll she’d purchased for Zoe at a yard sale. She never left the house without a diaper bag and drinks and snacks for the girls, but more than once, she’d arrived at the park and realized she’d forgotten to brush her hair. She snapped at Frank more often, too, but it felt justified, especially when he sauntered in the door after work, went upstairs to change, and flopped on the bed and channel surfed until she came to find him.
“I just need a few minutes’ break, okay?” he’d say to her.
“What about me?” she’d respond, stress making her voice brittle. “I haven’t had a break either!”
One of the worst fights of their marriage came when Zoe was three and a half, and Izzy was just six months old. Josie had staggered to bed around nine o’clock following a day in which she’d done nothing but wipe up spills, change diapers, soothe, clean, pacify, fix, repair, and cook.
Frank was downstairs on the couch, watching a game, of course. She was the more sleep-deprived of the two of them, because Zoe refused to take a bottle. “Princess and the Pea syndrome, huh?” Frank had said.
“Sure, joke about it,” Josie had said, aiming for a funny tone but landing more in passive-aggressive territory. Zoe’s particularities meant that Frank could no longer do nighttime feedings. He could sleep through the night while she alone tended to the baby. She felt hollow-eyed from exhaustion.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” Frank said.
She’d crawled into bed and had fallen asleep almost instantly, as though she were falling into a dark tunnel.
Then she awoke to feel someone tugging at her. She rolled over, expecting to see Zoe. But it was Frank.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, you were using my pillow.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I bought this new pillow yesterday, remember?” he said. “It’s one of those memory-foam ones.”
She vaguely recalled him mentioning he’d passed by a store and picked one up at lunchtime, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t asking for clarification about Frank’s preferred brand of sleep support.
“You were pulling a pillow out from under my head?” she said. “While I was asleep?”
“I didn’t know you were asleep,” he protested.
“What, my closed eyes weren’t a clue?” She was wide-awake now, seething with the injustice of it all. Izzy would be crying in another hour or two for a feeding, and Frank would just roll over and nestle more comfortably into his memory-foam pillow while she, Josie, got up and took care of their daughter.
And when was the last time she got a lunch hour? When did she ever get to go to a restaurant for a salad someone else had made, or to browse through interesting shops on her way back to an office?
Her anger was so close to the surface that she knew it must have been brewing there for a while. “You are so inconsiderate!” she shouted. She sat up and brushed away hot tears. “I can’t believe you woke me up so you could be more comfortable!”
“Jos, come on,” Frank said. “You were only in bed for a minute. I didn’t think you were really asleep.”
“A minute of actual time, or a minute of Frank-watching-a-game time? Because those are two very different things.”
“Seriously?” he said. “Are we going to start this argument again? Jos—what are you doing?”
She stalked across the room and yanked open the closet door, searching for her overnight bag. “I’m going to a hotel!” she yelled.
“What? Fine, take the pillow.”
“I don’t want the pillow! I want to sleep!” she wailed. She climbed back into bed.
“So sleep,” Frank said.
“Just—just—shut up!” she snapped. She flipped to her side, putting her back to him. Prolonging the battle would eat into her precious rest time.
She hated her husband sometimes, she thought. She rolled over to see him lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Don’t ever wake me up again!” she hissed. Then she flipped away again.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she heard Frank mutter in a tone that felt like an insult. She edged farther away from him on the mattress, resenting him more with every one of his exhales. And when Izzy cried in the night, Josie made sure she let the baby wail an extra minute before she rose, so that Frank would have time to become fully awake, too.
They didn’t speak to each other the next day. They never resolved the fight, either. But as time passed, it seemed to dissolve.
• • •
There were also moments of grace during those hard years, like flashes of sunlight glinting on the surface of a dark ocean.
One sunny Saturday in early October, shortly after Izzy had turned nine months old, they drove to a Halloween festival and clambered into a wagon for a hayride. Zoe curled up on Frank’s lap, while Josie cradled Izzy. Josie’s leg pressed against Frank’s every time the wagon went over a bump or made a turn. When they went around a particularly sharp curve and the hayride driver shouted, with mock fear in his voice, that everyone needed to hold on because they might flip, Frank wrapped an arm around Josie. The four of them were so close together, every one of them touching another, linked into a single unit.
We’re a family, she had thought, and happiness enclosed her, so deep and profound it nearly made her dizzy.
* * *
Chapter Seven
* * *
Present day
JOSIE PULLED UP IN front of their home and turned off the car engine. Stillness settled around her as abruptly as a slap.
The sun had slipped below the skyline, but the house was well lit and she could glimpse movement inside. The girls should have had dinner by now. Josie wondered whether Frank had done anything to make it special. Perhaps he’d cooked hot dogs and macaroni and cheese and had plated the meal to look like silly button faces with wild orange hair.
She exhaled and leaned back in her seat. She didn’t want to get out of the car for this conversation. She’d keep the keys in the ignition and her foot on the gas so she could drive away at any time.
The front door opened and Frank came out. He wore jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. He already looked thinner, somehow, even though Josie knew that was impossible.
Or maybe he had lost a few pounds recently, and Josie simply hadn’t noticed because Frank was so familiar to her—his body, his habits, his voice—that she’d stopped actually seeing him long ago. It was possible. Frank was better about such things than she; he always commented when she got her hair cut or wore something new.
Perhaps he’d lost a few pounds for Dana.
She flung open her car door and got out then, riding on a surge of anger-infused adrenaline. She folded her arms and watched as Frank drew closer.
She had to stay clearheaded, to the extent that it was possible. She’d already selected her opening words on the drive over.
“You lied to me,” she said.
Frank’s brow creased.
“On top of the obvious lies,” Josie said. “Dana and I had a nice little chat today.”
Frank’s eyes closed and something swept across his face, tugging his features downward.
“Five times, Frank?” Josie said. She drummed her fingernails against her forearms. “Five fucking times?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I’m so scared. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You haven’t shown me a lot of respect, Frank,” Josie said. “Why don’t you start now by telling me the truth.”
“It was five times,” Frank said.
“Are you sure?”
His head snapped up and he looked her in the eye.
“Maybe I just told you that to trick you,” Josie said. “You don’t know what I know. How much I’ve learned.”
“It was only”—he backpedaled—“I mean, it was five times. I swear. I swear on my life.”
“Did you two have fun on her birthday?” Josie asked.
Frank’s eyes widened. Josie’s lips curved into a cold, hard smile. There was something intensely satisfying about watching him twist after what he’d done to her.
“How did you—” Frank began.
She could see him mentally scrambling to try to recall exactly how many emails might have been on his phone, and what he and Dana had written. In another thirty-six hours, he’d be able to find out. Frank had used his work email account to message with Dana. So when he went into his office, he could use his work computer to access the account. Maybe he’d even try to go in tomorrow, on the holiday. She’d have to seal off that avenue now. She needed to stay a step ahead of him.
They were locked in a chess game.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” Frank said. “I’m telling you the truth, Josie. I couldn’t do that to you.”
A cold pebble of a laugh shot out of Josie’s mouth. “What integrity you have.”
Frank looked down and scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the pavement. “Do you want me to leave? I can go to the hotel.”
“Sure, why not. Invite your girlfriend to join you.”
He didn’t respond.
She looked at the house. “What are the girls doing now?”
“Watching a movie,” Frank said. “They had dinner.”
“Don’t let them watch too much TV,” Josie said. “Get them outside tomorrow. And do not leave them with a neighbor again. You need to watch them. I don’t want them out of your sight. Do not take them into the office so you can talk to your girlfriend, either.”
“No, Jos, I wouldn’t.” Frank looked wounded.
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