An incredulous cackle caught her unawares, bursting from her throat before she could choke it back. It was so wild her mother didn't even recognize it.
"Sarah? Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she answered. "Yeah, I'm fine."
67
It was one of those really bad days: the ones where the baby never sleeps and never eats and never stops crying. She tried burping her, shushing her, swaddling her; she tried tummy time and bath time and face time. The few times Rebecca passed out in her arms and Sarah laid her in the swing to try to sneak away to the futon, the baby was awake and crying again in minutes.
She was a ship in a sea storm, battered and sprouting leaks. Behind her eyes, her brain throbbed like a livid rash; her own screams boiled in her throat, threatening madness. She choked them down, desperate to quit her rage and do right by her daughter, but they grew stronger as the infinite day continued.
A little after seven, she put Rebecca in her swing so she could go to the bathroom. The girl's screams chased her to the toilet, scathed her as she washed her hands.
She'd eaten nothing since a hurried cup of yogurt and a banana at breakfast. She marched past her crying daughter and into the kitchen, where she grabbed a pot and a can of soup as if picking weapons before a battle. While the soup heated, she lurched back to the swing and picked Rebecca up again, buying a few precious minutes of quiet, but when she put the baby down to get her dinner, the shrieks resumed instantly.
As she stalked back into the kitchen, she thought of calling Cal.
"You want to get married?" she'd accost him, their daughter's ceaseless wailing driving her words home. But even in her own mind, this demand reeked of craziness; she stifled it and grabbed at the soup pot, which slipped through her fingers as she lifted it from the stove.
The pot spun lazily upside down, spraying noodles and broth the color of boiling piss in a shimmering arc down the refrigerator. It seemed to hang in mid-air, taunting her, before clattering to the floor with the roar of an earthquake.
In the aftermath of her failure, the air shuddered with Rebecca's screams.
68
"I can't do this!" She was sobbing into the phone. She barely remembered picking it up. "I can't do this!" Snot ran from her nose in a river. "I don't know what I'm doing and I'm so fucking stupid!"
"Sarah?"
"I can't even make soup! I can't make her... she won't shut up! She won't! She hates me!"
"No," Tiff urged. "Ah, god. Sarah..."
All her controls were broken; all her valves had blown. "I didn't mean..." she started, but the words dissolved in a flood of hoarse sobs. They swept her away, buffeted her until she was raw with shame.
"Okay. I'm coming over. Okay? I'll be right there."
She shook her head, felt her lips blubbering a refusal.
"No. Listen, don't do anything stupid. Okay? Just sit tight. I'll be there before you know it."
She didn't want that. She didn't know why she'd called. She wasn't Tiff's problem. It was unfair - it was fucking unfair of her to call like that. She felt like a manipulative bitch.
"Don't," she managed, but Tiff had already gone.
69
She was sitting on the couch, rocking back and forth in the sea of Becca's screaming, when the knock came.
It's him, something in her mind said. He's here for the baby, and you should let him take her. An image swam to her of handing Rebecca to some nameless man, his hands leaving black welts on the blanket. I'm sorry, she'd say, but Rebecca wouldn't believe her.
The knock came again, and she started to her feet.
"I could hear her all the way down the hall," Tiff said as she came in.
"She just won't stop. I don't know why, I've tried -"
Tiff steered her back into the living room. "It's all right."
"I can't..."
"Sarah, it's all right. Just take a little break, okay?"
She waved at the couch, but Sarah didn't move. "I didn't mean to call you." Her voice came out hoarse, trembling. "It's not fair to you after..." Her failures reared up, slicing and spitting, their many voices melting into Becca's constant, grating scream. "It's my job, I'm the one who fucked up, it's me, it's my job." They grabbed her by the ankles, dragged her into drowning; she gasped for air, appalled by their truths.
"Okay." Tiff's voice had gone flat. She was in prep time mode now, assembling the next speech's issues with mechanical efficiency. She glanced around, once, then marched into Sarah's room as if confronting an ancient enemy.
Sarah didn't want her in there. She'd see the mess. She'd realize how far off the deep end Sarah had gone. She -
Tiff came back into the living room and grabbed the whole swing, baby included, and hauled it into Sarah's bedroom. As she came back she closed the door behind her. The screams muffled, just slightly.
Sarah wrestled her delirious sobs down, forced her voice to ask, "What -? What are you -?"
"Come on," Tiff said, briskly but gently. She took her arm, and Sarah flinched. It was sore, like someone had grabbed it. Tiff's gaze flickered across the bruise - the look in her eyes was unreadable - then she moved her hand to Sarah's back. "Come on," she repeated, urging her toward the patio door. "We're going outside for a minute."
They took one step toward the door, then two.
"What? I can't - the baby -"
"She'll be fine. Come on. It's okay." They kept walking, each step an abdication. Tiff unlocked the door and swept her outside, then closed it behind them. It clapped a lid on Becca's screams, reducing them to muted rumors.
"Tiff, I can't - !"
"I locked the front door. No one will get in. We can see straight to the door. And we can hear her." She fumbled in her pocket, pulled out a bulging baby monitor. It was silent, but red lights burgeoned on its display like stabbing knives. "Okay?" Tiff pulled her in. "Shhhh. It's okay."
There were people in the parking lot, staring; people on the sidewalk, going about their business. She couldn't let them see her like this. She had to get her shit together. She couldn't just let the baby scream.
She melted in Tiff's arms, and sobbed.
70
They sank to the concrete, eventually: Tiff with her back to the patio door and Sarah clinging to her. Her arms were warm and quiet. Sometimes, she whispered again, "It's okay." Sarah didn't believe her, but she drank the words in anyway.
Slowly, the tide of failures receded. As she caught her breath, regained herself, she became intensely aware of the heat of Tiff's chest, the shape of her breasts beneath her t-shirt.
Sarah wanted to bury herself in them, so she pulled away.
"She's quiet." Tiff's eyes were on the monitor, where the stabbing lights had collapsed to tiny, green murmurs.
"Is she okay?"
"I'll check on her." Tiff stood up, gently pulled the patio door open.
I can do it, Sarah meant to say, but when she opened her mouth it betrayed her, split her face into a chasmal yawn.
"Why don't you just lie down for a second?"
She wanted to protest, but her feet carried her to the couch. When she rested her head on the throw pillow, the cushions sucked at her.
"You don't have to do that," she heard her tongue saying. The only answer was Tiff's footsteps, drifting back from the hall.
Sit up. Don't let her do this. The admonitions struggled against the chains of her exhaustion. Her body suffocated them as they railed. Her brain split into two: one screaming defiance, the other content to let it do so as long as it didn't try to make her body move.
"Oh yeah, she's out," Tiff reported. "I can keep an eye for awhile, if you want to..."
She didn't remember anything else.
71
Her sleep was a labyrinth of black passages, thrumming with anxiety.
Her mother took her to Pastor Dennis to be exorcised.
The Messenger grabbed Rebecca, grinning like an evil plot, and Sarah slept through it.
Tiff held Sarah to her chest, p
etting her and whispering. Sarah burrowed into her, shifting her hands to take her in. She felt Tiff's back arch and her breasts rise to Sarah's lips, her hips like the ocean.
72
She woke to a dark living room, the ghost of the TV shimmering. The cool fingers of a fan whispered over her face; on I-94, the ever-present traffic droned indifferently. The kitchen light was on.
The customary panic seized her, and she bolted upright. Rebecca. Where is Rebecca?
From the kitchen she heard sizzling, and the scrape of a pan on the burner. "Tiff?"
"Yeah," came the answer.
Tiff's still here. It was all right. Everything was all right.
She sank back into the cushions as Tiff emerged into the dining room, holding a pot. "You hungry?"
"I... god, yes," she realized.
"I made some mac and cheese." Tiff scooped some into a bowl. There was toast, too. She brought it over, and Sarah's stomach produced a noise like a mournful cat.
"Thank you." In that instant, she couldn't imagine a greater gift than macaroni and cheese.
"It ain't gourmet," Tiff said, "but you're welcome."
Sarah glanced at the clock. At 11:30, everything's gourmet, she wanted to counter, but the sight of the time tripped her up. "Holy crap, Tiff, it's 11:30."
"Yeah...?"
"Have you been here the whole time?"
"Well, yeah. I told you not to worry about it."
"Oh my god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sleep so..."
"Sare, it's all right. You really needed a break. Don't worry about it."
She didn't know what to say, so she finished her toast. "Has she really been sleeping this whole time?"
"She woke up around ten with a poopy diaper, so I changed her and made her a bottle. She didn't last long."
Gratitude squeezed Sarah's chest, fierce as a palpitation. "I didn't even hear her."
"Well good, that was the idea." Tiff gave her a quiet smile, but it died fast. "When you're done eating, if you want to catch some more sleep, I can stay for a little bit."
"I... you don't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to do it. I'm offering."
You can't let her stay. It's completely unfair. She found herself staring at Tiff's hips, at the curve of her jean shorts, and forced her eyes up. "I'll be all right."
"You sure?"
Sarah nodded. The TV droned. From down the hall, she heard Becca's swing creaking.
"Sarah."
She chewed, swallowed. "Yeah?"
"Was Cal here yesterday?"
"No. Why?" As soon as the word passed her lips, she knew.
"What is this?" Tiff pointed at the fading bruises on Sarah's arm. "Did he grab you?"
"No."
Tiff just looked at her, her lips pursed.
"No! Look, I'm not lying. I wouldn't let him do that."
"So what happened?"
"I -" What had happened? Her arm had been bruised when she woke this morning. "I think I did it myself, in my sleep. I think I... I think I might be sleepwalking again. I don't think I ever told you about this, but I used to sleepwalk when I was a kid."
Tiff's eyes were hard, unreadable. "You did tell me. I remember."
"I... yeah, and it's just like that. I can't remember, but I think I had a dream or something. I don't know. Maybe I was just sleeping weird."
"What happened in the bedroom? Was that sleepwalking too?"
Sarah sighed, embarrassed. "No. That was me, freaking out."
"By yourself?"
She rubbed her temple. "Yeah."
"You sure you didn't just trip on the stairs?"
Sarah looked at her, missing her meaning.
"Because it looks like Cal came over here, went on a rampage, and tried to kick your ass. I think he's done shit like that with other girlfriends, you know, no matter what Andrea said."
"I know. It wasn't him. It was right after he gave me that line about getting married. I..." Went ballistic. "I was a little pissed."
Tiff's lips were still pursed.
"Look. He hasn't been here. I swear to god. I know it looks weird." She felt like she should be offended by Tiff digging into her business, but instead, she was weirdly comforted. It was nice to know Tiff cared. She might have been the only one who did.
She had cooked for Sarah. She had fed Becca. She had taken the baby when Sarah had no one else.
She had bought Sarah time to sleep.
"I'm sorry," Sarah breathed.
Tiff waved her off, annoyed. "I told you it's fine. I don't mind -"
"No, not about tonight. About yesterday."
Tiff froze.
"I... the truth is, Tiff, you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I just got scared. I still don't know... you know, I just don't know what I'm doing. And..." She drew a long breath, trying to steady herself; it tried to turn into a yawn, and she stifled it mercilessly. "I'm sorry about that, too. I wish I was different. I wish I could be more like you. I can even promise to try. I just need time. If you can just give me a little time.
"I don't want to lose you."
In the next room, the swing creak-clicked. Tiff stared at the wall, her eyes shining. She sniffed once, hard.
Then she nodded. "Okay."
73
They watched a little late-night TV, mocked a few home-brewed YouTube clips. Sarah didn't mean to fall asleep again, but she did, the world slipping away like the receding roar of a jet plane. Her rest this time was black and dreamless.
Eventually she heard Becca chittering in the fathomless dark, and swam toward the noise until she was staring at the popcorn ceiling of her apartment.
She sat up, wincing at the stiffness in her back. Rebecca's chitters pawed at the bedroom door like a lazy machine gun. The clock said 9:47. The apartment was flooded with light.
Sarah took a deep, shuddering breath, as if she could draw the light in through her lungs and purge the memories of last night. She had acted like a child, completely overwhelmed. How could she raise her daughter, when she couldn't even get through one nasty day?
But the deep breath helped. She tried to expel her doubts with it. There was no room for them in the daytime.
Tiff lay curled awkwardly on the floor, an empty baby bottle behind her and two dirty diapers, neatly taped, near her feet. She stirred slightly at Becca's bizarre admonitions.
She had done enough. Sarah wanted to let her sleep, so she stood up and stumbled into the bedroom, where the clothes were folded, the closet door was back on its hinges, and the debris from the torn pillow was tucked neatly in the trash. Tiff must have cleaned.
Becca had broken free of her thin blanket; her limbs jerked around her like the arms of a machine she hadn't yet figured out how to operate. Her eyes were fixed on the little mobile at the top of the swing. "Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh," she accused it. "Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."
"How did you get out?" Sarah asked, smiling. "You heading off to see the world?"
"Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."
"I have to go to the bathroom. Do you think you can wait here quietly for a minute?"
"Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."
"I don't want you to wake Tiff up."
"Eh-eh-eh!"
She took Becca with her to the bathroom. It was awkward, but she got it done. When she came out Tiff was sitting up, still in the middle of the floor, blinking and looking confused. Someone had replaced her hair with a shock of wild straw.
"Shit," Tiff mumbled, for no apparent reason.
"You're fine," Sarah told her. "Why don't you go lay down on the futon? It's better than the floor."
Tiff sniffed blearily. "Thanks. I can get going."
"Were you up with her all night?" Sarah padded into the kitchen, started getting a bottle together. Becca had one hand in front of her face, fiercely trying to figure out what it was.
"No, no, not all night, she..." Her voice faded to a croak, and she cleared her throat. "Well... yeah, kind of. She fell asleep pretty good but I kept lying here awak
e thinking I heard her."
"Yes!" Sarah put a mixing bowl full of water in the microwave and pushed the arcane combination of buttons needed to get it started. It was an old one. Her mom had gotten it at a garage sale. "I know! You can hear her all the time, even when she's quiet."
"It's like she's inside your head." Tiff stood up, stretched, cracked a massive yawn, and came over. She ran a curled finger along Becca's temple. The girl's huge brown eyes swiveled to take her in, her mouth hanging open as if the apartment were filled with wonders. "Evil telepathy baby! Is that you?" Tiff squinted at Becca in mock suspicion. "Are you in my head?" Tiff yawned again, so hard she looked like she'd fall over.
"You look exhausted. You must be."
Tiff tried to wave her off, but the bleariness in her eyes betrayed her. "I'll just lay down at home."
"You'll fall asleep driving home. Just lay down in the bedroom for awhile."
Tiff hesitated, clearly wavering.
"The futon is so-oft," Sarah sing-songed. "The room is completely da-ark."
Tiff yawned again. "Bitch," she muttered matter-of-factly, and disappeared into the bedroom.
74
Becca was better that day. She only cried when she was hungry or tired. Sarah's raw exhaustion from the day before felt like a fading nightmare.
She was actually rested. She felt like Wonder Woman.
During Becca's first afternoon nap, she cleaned a little around the apartment - wiped the old coffee stains off the kitchen counter, tossed the nasty diapers from the night before - and started thinking about school. If Yale was out, maybe she could still apply again to Mac, or Hamline. If she was close to home, her mom wouldn't let her slip through the cracks. And Tiff had offered to help. That could change everything.
That old voice was whispering, telling her that settling for a local school when she had been destined for Yale was the worst kind of failure, but she plowed past it. She was awake. The world seemed to shine with possibilities, however fragile they might be. The act of cleaning bolstered this feeling. It felt good to grab hold of her surroundings, to fix and improve them, as if she still had the power to influence the world around her.
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