by Ellie Monago
She’s listening attentively. She’s just so present. I’ve been missing that with Doug for a while, I realize. And this might sound crazy, but when I look into her eyes, I get this feeling like I’ve known her forever.
I really must be losing it.
But I keep talking, because I need to.
“There’s a boy next to us,” I continue. “He whines sometimes, and the nurses go in and out constantly. His mom seems to know them really well. I overheard them talking about him. He’s three, and he’s got some kind of brain tumor. This is his fifth surgery.
“The curtain was open one time, and I could see inside. His head is in this weird vise, like in the Hannibal Lecter movie. And I think, that’s a circle worse than mine. Because Sadie will probably be fine, but he and his parents have to keep going through this, time and time again.”
“Or maybe he’ll be cured. Maybe the fifth time is the charm.”
“Or maybe he’ll die. Or maybe Sadie will. That’s the inner circle.”
“But it’s also the smallest, right?”
Our eyes meet, and that earlier gratitude returns. I want her here. I need a friend so badly.
“I can imagine with all the free time you have in here,” she says, “your mind goes all sorts of places.”
“My mind does that anyway. Even when I’m not at the hospital.”
“Mine too,” she says. “The thing about having kids is that there’s such a small chance of something really awful happening. Like a one percent chance, maybe. But you have to keep dodging it. In the womb, you’re dodging. They say up to fifty percent of pregnancies end in miscarriages. Then they’re out in the world.” We both look at Sadie; both of our eyes fill with tears. “There’s a slim possibility of any one terrible thing happening to them, but you have to keep dodging. It’s like this juggernaut you spend your whole life running from. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, right? You can’t imagine going back to your life before they arrived.”
“No,” I say, “I can’t imagine going back.”
CHAPTER 24
ELLEN
“So, how is she?” Brandon stands on my doorstep, his eyes worried but something else, too. He’s hungry for the update. He likes to be in the loop more than any human I’ve ever known.
“She’s still in the ICU,” I say. “The ICU for kids. It’s called the PICU. She’s barely conscious, and the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
“I can’t even imagine. A baby that young, in a big, scary hospital. So full of germs. I get freaked out just visiting a place like that. I want to take a Purell shower afterward.”
“Well, that’s why I went instead of you.”
His eyes narrow just slightly. “I didn’t really expect you to be the one to volunteer, honestly.”
“I didn’t expect to, either. But when someone’s in need, you go to them.”
I can tell he thinks there’s more to the story, and boy, is he right. But I’m not about to divulge it, especially since my plan is working. Katrina needs a confidante, and right now, it’s clearly not her husband. As much as she might want to push me away, she doesn’t have the strength right now.
“I’d like to do something, though,” he says. “I can start organizing meals. Oh, and I can put together a visiting schedule, since she probably can’t have a ton of people converging all at once.”
“There can only be two people at the bedside at a time. Katrina really only wants me there right now.”
“Really? Just you?” At my nod, he adds, “Doesn’t she prefer to be called Kat?”
Everyone loves Brandon, thinks he’s so kind and good-hearted, and I used to think that, too. But after what went on with my husband . . . We all knew the rules. They were right there on the spreadsheet in black and white.
I ignore his question. “Her in-laws are there, too. Doug’s parents. I don’t think she has family of her own.” In fact, I know she doesn’t.
“I’ll work on the meals, then,” Brandon says, with just the slightest touch of obstinacy.
“She doesn’t want anything from anyone.”
“Does Doug want anything?” So he’s setting his sights on Doug now?
I shrug. Take it up with them. Oh wait, I just told you that you can’t. I want to smile at the handcuffs I’ve placed on Brandon, kind of like the ones he once placed on my husband.
“So they really want nothing from us?” He looks distressed. “This is what community is for! This is why you move to the AV. We band together for support. Everyone’s stronger with the Village behind them. What are they thinking?”
“She’s thinking about Sadie. She’s going to what she knows.”
“Which is?”
“Handling things on her own.”
He shakes his head. “So sad. But I guess people do return to what they know in times of crisis.” His tone isn’t barbed, but I feel a chill anyway. I’ve always wondered what my husband told him. What you discover is that the scariest part of openness isn’t the sex; it’s the pillow talk. You can never be entirely sure what other people know. What slips out after they’ve slipped it in.
“I should go,” I say, moving to shut the door.
“Let me know if anything changes.”
“You’ll be the first.” Really, he’s the only one who needs to know. He’s better than a megaphone. Our entire block will be feeling the sting of Katrina’s rejection within the hour.
“Sorry,” I say. I’m in my gown and mask, having vigorously scrubbed up to my elbows, but I don’t recognize the two senior citizens in the cordoned-off area behind the yellow-and-black tape. I start to withdraw, but then I see that Sadie’s inhabiting the raised dais.
Oh, Sadie. The air in here smells residually noxious, like she had another recent bout of diarrhea. She appears as lifeless as she did yesterday, and her skin still has the tinge of urine. It hurts to look at her.
“Are you here for Doug and Katrina?” the man says. There’s something military about him, though he’s dressed casually in khakis and a polo shirt.
“Yes. I’m a friend. Well, a new neighbor.”
“Oh, that’s so lovely!” the woman exclaims. I dislike her immediately. There’s just something false about her. Like mother, like son.
“I’m Scott, and this is Melody,” the man says.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise!” Melody beams. “Doug and Katrina are in the cafeteria. They’ll be back soon. The waiting room is right down the hall.”
“OK. Thanks.” It’s interesting that Scott and Melody are calling Katrina by her full name. I guess they’re not Kat people, either.
“Who should I say stopped by?” Melody pesters.
“I’ll go find them. Thanks.”
The cafeteria is spacious and purple, like Barney exploded. There’s plenty of noise and bustle, but Katrina is sitting alone, picking at a croissant, her eyes glazed. Seeing her there brings me back to a place I never go, when I was in elementary school and she was the new girl who nobody really wanted to talk to or sit with. I took her under my wing and looked after her. We were so close.
But she betrayed me. It took me so many years to recover, and the AV was a big part of that. So I can’t have those kinds of memories or any twinges of conscience. I have to remember she brought this on herself.
I take the seat across from her. “Hey,” I say. I’m a little nervous, since I’ve removed my mask and the lighting is nearly fluorescent. Much starker than daylight, and a hell of a lot brighter than Hound. We’re looking at each other more intensely than we ever have before. I don’t want her to notice the slant of my eyes or the curve of my jawline. “I met Scott and Melody. They told me where to find you.”
Fortunately, she just keeps playing with the croissant. “Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Her temperature spiked, and she had more diarrhea. They say it’s ‘back under control’ now.” Tears fill her eyes. “But for how long?”
“They�
�re taking good care of her. It just takes some time for the antibiotics to work.”
“They’ll only work if it’s bacterial. The nurses and the doctors are supposed to be more attentive on the PICU than on the regular floors, but even so, they left the leads on her chest for two whole shifts. There were red marks!” The table next to us looks over briefly, then turns away, realizing that you can’t judge here. “They’re supposed to change those every shift. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her. I just have to depend on these people. I just have to hope . . .” She puts her head in her hands, and I think she’s going to start sobbing.
I remind myself that no matter what, I will not feel for her. I can’t. It would be so much easier if I were some kind of monster. But she fucked up my family; I have every right to fuck up hers.
Besides, Sadie’s going to get better. I can’t miss my opportunity; I might not get another this good. Katrina cannot stay in my neighborhood. I wouldn’t be able to survive.
This is my moment. I have to seize it, monstrous as it might seem.
She looks up, and her eyes are dry. That helps me a little. “Why are you here?” she asks, none too friendly. That helps, too.
“I’ve been through this before,” I say. “I’ve had a sick child, too.”
“In this hospital?”
I nod. “I remember being in this very cafeteria.”
It’s a gamble, what I’m about to do. I read this book once about going undercover, and it said you should always use your real name and lie as little as possible. That way, you won’t have so much to remember, and you’re less likely to trip yourself up.
The book also said that you should find something to like in even the vilest people. Find an area of common ground. See if they love their families like you love yours, if you’re into the same sports team, even. You want to like them, at least a little, in order to make them like you.
Fat chance of that.
So lying isn’t recommended when you’re undercover, but I need to build trust quickly. Besides, it doubles as kindness. She wants to know about another child who went through this and survived.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Same thing. Some weird virus at maybe six or seven months old. Eight days in the hospital and then a full recovery. The staff here is amazing. They know what they’re doing.”
“Some seem to care. Others just seem so rushed.”
“That’s because they have to be everywhere at once. It’s because they’re working so hard. And how could anyone not care about Sadie? They’d have to be total monsters.”
“Sometimes,” she whispers, “I think this wasn’t an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“That someone tried to hurt her. Is that crazy?”
If she’s telling me this, then she doesn’t think I’m the one who did it. Unless she’s telling me because she thinks I’m the one who did it. She could be baiting me.
I keep my face as composed and empathetic as I can. “When your child is sick, you have all kinds of crazy thoughts. Believe me, I know. I remember.”
She’s got her fingers back in the croissant in a manner that’s oddly proctologic. “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”
“Tell whom?” She doesn’t answer. “What happens in the hospital stays in the hospital. I’m the one who wanted to be here with you.” She stares at me. “I mean, a bunch of the neighbors wanted to be here. We thought I’d be the best choice because I’ve been through it.”
I see from her face that she’s not quite ready to buy what I’m selling.
Speaking of buying and selling, I wonder if before all this happened, she was going to opt in or out, which way she was leaning. I was the one who pushed the hardest to make her a regular so quickly. Sure, the others liked her, and sure, the spreadsheet could use some new possibilities, but I thought a proposition like that, so soon, would send her running for the hills. Instead, she was supposedly still thinking about it, and then we all got invitations to a barbecue. Maybe Katrina really has changed. Or maybe I’m just really bad at this.
“You’ve got enough to worry about,” I tell her. “Don’t stress at all about my repeating anything we say. Everything is off the record.”
Eyes down again. “You met Scott and Melody?”
“Yes.”
“What were your initial impressions?”
It’s clearly a test. If I say they seemed great but she hates them, or if I say they seem like pieces of work and she adores them, or if I give some milquetoast answer . . . With abuse survivors, you might not get that many chances. You can lose credibility in an instant, and the relationship will never recover.
So I’ve got to go with my gut. “Scott seemed OK, but I’d watch out for her.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s what I think, too! Doug says I’m totally off base.”
“I’m into people who are kind, not nice. You can’t trust nice. And she’s got nice written all over her.”
Katrina smiles. “You hit the nail on the head.” Then the smile dissolves. “Doug and I can’t even talk about her right now. That’s why he’s not here. He stormed off after I said something neutral. He thought I was insulting her. I wouldn’t do that. Not now.”
Huh. Not now. That means something happened recently. So it wasn’t just generic or stress-related tension I observed; there was an inciting event and a history underpinning it.
“That’s rough,” I say. “Marriages can be minefields.” Kind of like these conversations.
“I get scared sometimes, since Doug and his mom are so close.”
“Scared of what?”
She hesitates, but just for a second. She’s dying to tell someone. “I was so stupid. I trusted them, and now they’ve got all the power.”
“In what way?”
“My credit’s bad, so Scott, Melody, and Doug are the only names on the deed.”
I’ll have to file away that little nugget, see if it could be useful. It certainly won’t hurt to feed her paranoia and get her to dig her own grave with the in-laws. It also gives me a backup angle: maybe I can get Doug to kick her out, if that’s his house, not hers. Or let something slip to the in-laws . . . ?
“Just watch your back,” I say, “that’s all.”
If she’s busy watching her back, she won’t even see me coming.
CHAPTER 25
KAT
I’m alone the next time she shows up. I’m alone a lot. Doug has made it very clear he doesn’t want to be with me right now. What’s unclear is why. Did he see that photo before I deleted it? Did he hear a rumor? Is this still about what I said to Sadie about Melody while I was in the shower? Or is it that he thinks another mother would have taken better care of Sadie? All of the above?
I’m afraid to ask. I don’t even want to know.
But it means I’m left with my own terrified thoughts. I don’t sleep. I can barely think. And I know I should stop telling her things, but a part of me feels like I’m already in so deep, and I can’t just be in my head all the time. And for some reason I can’t put my finger on, I trust her. Layton made it hard for me to trust myself, but Dr. Morrison always said I’m supposed to go with my instincts. My instincts say that this woman in front of me is a good person who wants to be here for me. Just because she happens to live in the AV, alongside a certain nasty note writer, shouldn’t automatically disqualify her.
Sadie’s still attached to all her machines, but I’m cradling her.
“I didn’t know you were allowed to take her out,” she says.
“Didn’t you hold your baby sometimes?”
“The rules must have changed.”
“Wow, that would be awful, to never be able to pick her up.” But even so, I don’t take Sadie out much. I don’t want to disturb her. She needs her sleep so she can fight the infection, whatever it is.
She looks like she’s sleeping right now. I don’t know if it’s sleep or some other loss of consciousness. I just
know that I’m desperate for her to come back, for good. She doesn’t have the energy to be her feisty self.
There’s been no diarrhea today, but her iron count is even lower. It’s like one thing gets better and something else gets worse. They still don’t know what’s wrong. And she won’t drink my milk; it’s still all intravenous fluids. I pump out rivers, and the nurses label the bottles and put them away for me like we might need them later.
She’ll never catch up with all that milk. I should just dump it, but I can’t. It would be like saying she’s not going to get better.
“Sadie’s going to get better,” she says. It’s jarring, as if she could read my thoughts. Maybe it’s that they’re such obvious thoughts. Any mother would have them.
“In the night, she had chills along with her fever. It was so terrible. She was just lying there, vibrating, and it took a while for the medicine to work. All I could do was watch. I was afraid to touch her, afraid I’d make it worse.” I pull Sadie closer to me, but gently. “She’ll be here a few more days at least.” I carefully put Sadie back inside the cube, realizing she hasn’t stirred during this entire conversation. Would someone tell me if she were comatose? Would a mother know? Maybe not this mother.
I let my hands hang, limp and useless, at my sides. “I smell! I haven’t changed my clothes! I’ve been pretending we’re going home any hour now, any day. Doug’s gone home to shower.”
“Is he bringing you some clothes back? They probably have a shower you can use here at the hospital—”
“I don’t care! I don’t care how I look or how I smell! I deserve to stink!”
Before Doug, I didn’t think I had what it took to be a mother. Maybe I was right. Another mother would have gotten her help sooner. Another mother wouldn’t have engendered such bad will in her new neighborhood that . . .
I wanted so much to have a community, and look what happened.
I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.