The Promise Between Us

by Barbara Claypole White

  “Yes, we are!” Katie said.

  “Well, you two ladies barely need me, do you?” Jake paused. “I’m sure Lilah’s going to be fine. So don’t you worry. Right, Katie?”

  “Right.” They had reassured Maisie, but triage moments demanded triage tactics.

  “You look after each other till I get there, okay?” Jake said.

  “I love you, Uncle J. I’m sorry I got so mad before.”

  “Love you, too, ’Mazing Maisie. That’s all that counts.”

  Katie hung up the phone and slotted it back in its cradle. When she turned around, Maisie was huddled by the table, arms crossed over her stomach, hair flopped forward.

  “Your mom strikes me as a strong woman.” Katie sat down.

  Maisie lifted her head. “Oh, she is.”

  “And she’s going to an excellent hospital.”

  “But the baby’s not due for—”

  “Babies are born early all the time. You were three weeks early. Shall I tell you about the day you were born?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Maisie said. “I’ve never heard that story.”

  Without thinking, Katie held out her arms, and Maisie was in her lap. Maisie. Her daughter—

  so tiny, so huggable—smelled of strawberries and summer.

  Swallowing hard, Katie began to relive the best day of her life. A day when she surprised herself with her own level of calm. Cal, however, had been all over the place. He even left her in the car twice while he ran back into the house to grab things. Right there was a missed warning sign: she packed her hospital bag at the end of her first trimester as Cal retreated more and more into his own world. He told her he was trying to get ahead on two papers, but every time she went into his study, he was staring at a dark screen. Even then they hadn’t been on the same journey.

  Before long Maisie’s breathing evened out into a pattern of sleep. She twitched once, but Katie kept talking, kept filling the kitchen with the story that belonged to no one but her, Cal, and Maisie.

  Jake didn’t knock. She heard a low “Fucking A” as he walked through the hall, and then he was in the kitchen. Eyes only for Maisie. Katie held her baby tighter, pulled her against her heart, but Maisie stirred and raised her head.

  “Uncle J? That was quick.”

  “Hey.” Jake crouched down in front of them. “Next time use the bat signal, and I’ll be quicker. How’re you doin’, baby?”

  “I was super scared, but I tried to be brave even though there was sooo much blood. Even more blood than when Ava Grace cut her head open.”

  “That so?”

  Maisie nodded once, and Jake uttered a solemn “Hmm.” How many more memories did they share?

  “But Katie was awesome and didn’t panic once. She stayed as levelheaded as Ms. Black did when Parker ran out into the road that time at school pickup. Have you heard from Daddy? Is there any news?”

  Maisie thinks I’m awesome. Or does she? Did she say that? Maybe she didn’t and I imagined it. Did I, did I imagine it?

  “Not yet, but give a guy a chance. He’s got to park, find the right ward, talk to the docs. It could take a while. C’mere.”

  Maisie launched forward and he caught her. In one swift movement her limbs fastened around Jake, the keeper of all the missing childhood milestones. He stood, taking Maisie with him, and Katie looked down at her empty lap, her empty arms, her empty hands. One puff and she would evaporate. Disappear.

  “I’m sorry I was so mad at you,” Maisie mumbled into Jake’s neck.

  “Now, now, ’Mazing Maisie. You had every reason to be, but remember two things are never variables in your life: one, I will always love you; and two, I’m always here for my number-one girl. Even if we’re mad at each other.”

  Maisie pulled back. “You get mad at me?”

  “I’m projecting into the future. When you’re a teenager with a boyfriend who thinks your dad and I are stupid.”

  “Uncle J! I would never have a boyfriend who didn’t like you or Daddy. And besides, no one is smarter than my dad. He has a PhD, and you’re very clever, Uncle J.”

  He looked at Katie. “There you have it. Out of the mouths of babes.” Then Jake started singing “My Girl,” his voice deep and gritty and slightly off-key, but strangely pacifying.

  Katie stood and pretended to clear up the art supplies, still in a neat pile. A small plane rumbled overhead, and she closed her eyes and prayed, prayed that Lilah and her baby would live. Then Katie opened the door to the closet where she had once kept cleaning supplies. And so, evidently, did Cal and Lilah. Reaching up, she found the spray bottle of carpet cleaner. And a scrubbing brush. And a bucket that was—Katie scratched her wrist—exactly like the one she’d bought ten years ago. Towels, more towels would be good. Paper towels would be useless on such a large stain, would create more mess, would—

  “Katie?” Maisie said.

  Katie turned in a flash. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “Not unless you and Uncle Jake are tossing me out.”

  “Would you like her to stay?” Jake said.

  “Yes, please.”

  Swallowing, Katie grabbed a trash bag. “Okay, then. I’m going to clean up the living room.”

  She marched out of the kitchen. Maisie wanted her around; Maisie wanted her to stay. This should be the happiest moment of her life. Instead, the voice kicked into high gear:

  What if Lilah dies? What if the baby dies? The ambulance would have gotten here quicker if not for the clematis I planted, obscuring the house numbers. That cost the medics precious seconds. And Cal should’ve been here; he would have been here but for me. He never used to go to campus on weekends.

  If something happened to Lilah and her baby before Cal got to the hospital, Katie wouldn’t ask for forgiveness—from Cal, Maisie, or God. No, she would accept her guilt. Guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. And finally the OCD would have what it craved: certainty.

  THIRTY

  LILAH

  Razor-sharp sounds sliced into her brain. Words snapped, metal clanged on metal, footsteps ricocheted like gunfire. Why so many people in the room? Why such chaos, such noise? Something hit the floor with a clunk and a clatter. Shouldn’t hospitals be quiet?

  Voices echoed; someone swore. People yelled in words that didn’t make sense.

  Can we try that again in a language I understand?

  Had anyone called her parents? Was Maisie okay? Why were people rushing around? There was no pain. She just needed sleep, but sleep was impossible if they couldn’t muzzle it. She tried to open her mouth. Maybe they’d given her hardcore drugs. The world, wrapped in cotton wool, was white and soft. She could get used to this—except for the noise.

  Lilah stood next to Callum and tried to take his hand, but her arms refused to work. Nothing worked. Why couldn’t he see her?

  I’m right here, baby.

  Baby. The baby . . .

  You and I are fine, sprout. Don’t let all these grown-ups in scrubs scare you. We’ll get you a doctor’s outfit when you’re a toddler.

  The pain in her womb had dulled. The spasms had vanished, but the noises deafened. Why could the staff not be quiet? Callum leaned over to kiss the person lying on the gurney. Wasn’t her, though. She was everywhere and nowhere. Could see all around. Three hundred and sixty degrees.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “I can’t do this without you. I love you.”

  Why the tears?

  Machines beeped. She was sliding down a smooth slope. Warm, wet, peaceful. The beeping disappeared off into the distance. The person in charge—a beautiful Asian woman in a white coat—pushed Callum aside. Why was she shouting?

  “No! Don’t you dare, Lilah. Do you hear me, Lilah? Don’t you dare!”

  The doctor pounded on the patient’s chest. Kept pounding.

  Lilah started falling, falling . . . falling into white noise. Muffled noise. Silence.

  Serenity.

  THIRTY-ON
E

  KATIE

  After concocting a hundred excuses to circumvent her birthday, Katie had given up when Delaney proposed a no-gifts rule. And now she was paying the price for her weak-willed mistake. In the last two hours, everyone from the studio had partied on the Durham Hotel rooftop bar, unaware that the birthday girl stalled out on the first round. Trent wanted to go for pizza afterward; Ben had stepped up and said no. Then everyone left, except for Ben.

  He raised his beer. “Here’s to turning forty-one.”

  She clinked her glass against his and turned back to admire the view. The city sprawled, but in a contained way. The air was warm but not humid, and cool enough to make the half-hour walk home pleasant. The Art Deco building opposite was decorated with a vertical line of square purple lights. White floodlights illuminated the top layer of the skyscraper. The effect hinted at Gotham. Jake would likely tell Maisie the rays of light were the bat signal. Night had barely fallen, so it couldn’t be much past eight o’clock. Was he reading to Maisie? Were they watching a movie? Was Maisie crying again? Jake had shrunk Maisie’s world to him and him alone, which Katie understood and applauded. And hated.

  The voice volleyed back with fact, told her she was jealous, which she was. It should be me. It would be me if I’d been a better mother.

  Above, the sky was solid and starless; below, the downtown streets were artificially lit. Not with holiday lights, but even so, the city seemed to taunt her with Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas: family celebrations from a defunct timeline.

  For the last two days, the voice had launched unarmed missiles: she’d failed Maisie, irritated Jake—Since when do I care what Jake thinks?—was an ungrateful friend, and Ben hated her. Or she hated him. Toss a coin, Katie, see where the thoughts land. On the upside, less focus from the voice meant OCD had yet to settle on a target, hit, and detonate.

  “The architect who designed that also designed the Empire State Building,” Ben said, with a hitch in his smile.

  “I know.” She glanced at the cocktail in her left hand. Mainly melted ice, it was called the Undeniable Truth. Trent and Delaney had insisted the birthday girl be adventurous and try something new. It mattered to them, it didn’t matter to her, and the name had been appropriate.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Ben said.

  “Not in a celebratory mood.”

  The woman at the next table laughed too loudly and put a hand on her male companion’s knee. Her fingers inched upward; his smile dared her higher. Katie looked away.

  “I feel useless.” Ben sighed. “I know you’re suffering, and all I want is to help. Why won’t you let me help?”

  “This is how I survive. Alone.” She glanced back at the man and the woman. Were they a new couple, not yet disillusioned? “I’m sorry.”

  “I wish you’d trust me.”

  “This has nothing to do with trust, and it’s better this way. For both of us.”

  Ben shook his head slowly. “Can I at least drive you home?”

  She stood. “I prefer to walk.”

  He stood too.

  “Besides”—she pulled his wrist toward her and glanced at his watch—“I need to call and check on Maisie before it gets much later. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I always worry about you.”

  “Well, don’t. I’m used to city streets at night.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, “and you know it.”

  As they waited for the elevator, he dipped forward for the birthday kiss she’d been avoiding all evening. She stopped him with her hand flattened against his chest. “I’m sorry, but it’s taking all my strength to battle what’s going on in my head. There isn’t room for anyone else. Please don’t take it personally. This is me, Ben. The real me.”

  “I’ve told you countless times, you don’t need to explain.”

  “But you also want me to feel better about myself,” Katie said. “And I can’t.”

  “No, I want to look after you. Big brother with two younger sisters, remember?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You can’t fight instinct, Katie,” he murmured.

  The elevator door opened, and they stepped in. Ben cracked his knuckles—first one hand, then the other. Katie leaned against the far side, hidden behind him and his all-black outfit: black T-shirt, black jeans, black canvas Dr. Martens. Black mood.

  He hates me.

  She stared at the floor, and the door closed. Trapped her in a small space with Ben and a tumble of dark thoughts. Around and around those thoughts went, landing on Ben, the baby, Lilah, and Maisie. Always Maisie. Was Jake coping? Did he really know what he was doing?

  When they stepped out into the lobby, Ben drew in a breath and released it. “Happy birthday, Katie. I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah. See you around.”

  Ben pushed the glass entrance door open, said “Night” to the concierge, and crossed the street toward the parking deck. He didn’t look back.

  He deserves the best, and that’s not me. I’m a fool to expect anything else. Was that OCD or a real thought? She could no longer tell the difference.

  Katie strode away from the downtown lights and the couples arm in arm. Traffic thinned, the energy of a Saturday night pulsed behind her, and the symphony of cicadas and katydids played on an endless loop. A lone firefly sparked in a patch of long grass under an empty child’s swing set, its frame a ghostly shape looming out of the darkness. Her mind shot to chemical warfare, to bombs, to dead children, to abandoned playgrounds.

  Stop, stop. But the thoughts kept spinning, stuck on an imaginary record player.

  Sleep, she needed sleep.

  A thought is just a thought. It has no power.

  She turned onto a dark, tree-lined street with a thousand places a predator could lurk. The voice whispered that she’d screwed up big time, that she should have let Ben drive her home. Should call him and say, “Come get me. I’m not safe.” But she knew how to protect herself, didn’t she? No, it was Ringo who kept me alive on the streets, who guarded me.

  Katie slowed her breath and kept walking. Feeling at risk didn’t put her at risk; feelings were not facts. Yes, a woman alone on a dark street should be vigilant, but she didn’t need to listen to OCD warning bells. She could keep herself safe; she knew how. With her phone in one hand, Katie used the other to create a makeshift brass knuckle by curling her fingers over her keys. Then she lengthened her stride.

  She was about to hang up when Jake answered his cell.

  “Sorry—” He was breathless. “It was hard getting Maisie to sleep tonight.”

  Katie cleared her throat loudly. “Any news?”

  “No change.”

  Lilah was still on the vent, still heavily sedated. Jake was staying with Maisie, Cal was camped out in the hospital, and Katie was alone.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “The baby?”

  “No longer lavender colored. Callum says he touched him, through the incubator.”

  Three pounds, four ounces, and holding his own, despite being born with an Apgar score of one, which basically meant Baby MacDonald had a heartbeat and nothing else. And the poor little guy continued to be nameless. Of everything that had happened, that bothered her the most.

  “And Maisie?” Katie increased her pace. “How’s her anxiety? You’re not letting her sit around, right? She must keep busy, otherwise—”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m following your advice to a T.”

  Not a comment she’d ever expected to hear from Jake.

  “She’s eating? Sleeping?”

  “Would you stop sounding as nervous as a jerked-off cat? I’ve been looking after Maisie since she was two. I know what I’m doing.” He paused. “Mostly.”

  Not with OCD, you don’t.

  “By the way,” Katie said, “I’ve narrowed that list of child psychologists I gave Cal. Chosen two. Assuming he still has the same health insurance, both are in network. If Cal would pick one, I’d be willing to t
ake—”

  “He’s pretty much shut down, which is standard for our boy. It’s how he handles trauma. And he knows Maisie is fine with me. Let’s not give him more to worry about.”

  “But she’s not fine, Jake. She can’t be.”

  “Thor still looking after you?”

  “Stop changing the subject.”

  “Stop interfering and go spend the evening with your boyfriend. Isn’t your birthday around now?”

  How did he remember that? “I haven’t seen much of Ben in the last few days.”

  “Well, there’s your mistake right there, darlin’. I’m sure he could keep you distracted through many a night.”

  “Ben needs a break from me. I rely on him too much.”

  “Isn’t that for him to decide?”

  Two cars raced down the street, tailgating and speeding. Dear God, they could hit each other. They could hit a pedestrian. I should hang up and call the cops. What if I don’t and they hit someone? I’ll be culpable, and—

  “It’s complicated,” she said loudly.

  “Not to me. You avoidin’ him?”

  “I appreciate the advice, but I need to keep things simple.”

  “Ben seems like a simple kind of guy.” Jake paused. “Darn, that came out wrong. Lack of sleep and adult interaction, sorry.”

  Now he was apologizing to her?

  “But I wouldn’t let that guy slip through your fingers. He’s got keeper stamped all over him.”

  Katie glanced toward an unlit house, its front yard obscured by a massive magnolia tree. “You’re giving me love advice, Jake?”

  “I reckon so.” He blew out a sigh. “Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “For once you and I agree.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” he said. “You can go back to giving me shit tomorrow.”

  And Katie gave her first smile as a forty-one-year-old.

  THIRTY-TWO

  LILAH

  “She’s fighting the vent!”

  “You mean she’s awake?” The voice belonged in her dreams, where it spoke of love.

  “It means she’s breathing on her own, sir.”

  The noises were back but louder: the bells, the beeps, the footsteps. Tubes snaked into her body, pumping her full of drugs. No. Drugs were bad for the baby. Her baby. Where was her baby? Not in her womb! Her womb was empty. There was no flutter of life, no movement. Nothing.