by Megan Hart
“Briella, I’m leaving. Stay here.”
This roused the girl, who got up to run and hug her mother. At least she didn’t smell bad anymore, Marian thought a little wildly. She didn’t have to be embarrassed in front of Amy, whose own child would never go more than a day without a thorough scrubbing. Marian kissed the top of Briella’s head and caught a small whiff of sourness, but it wasn’t anything nearly as bad as it had been.
Briella had muttered something that Marian didn’t catch. The girl was staring at Amy with a concerned expression. Wary.
“What?”
“When will you be home?”
Marian grimaced, breathing through another long contraction. “I don’t know. Soon, before you know it, with a new baby brother or sister. So be good, okay?”
“Are you going to have an epidural?” Amy asked. “I didn’t have one with Toby. I was natural all the way.”
Of course she’d been. Marian had decided that the moment they could put the needle in her, she’d be getting as much painkiller as she was allowed. She didn’t say that now. Amy watched her all the way across the street, but Marian didn’t turn back. By the time she got inside her own front door, the pad she’d put into her panties had gotten wet enough to be uncomfortable.
Dean would be there any minute. She took her time getting cleaned up. Packed a few extras in her bag. She was thirsty but didn’t know if she ought to drink anything. Her stomach had stopped rumbling when the contractions began.
“Babe! Where are you!”
She went into the hallway to see Dean almost running toward the kitchen. It would have been funny if he weren’t so seriously freaked out. He caught sight of her watching and turned, spinning so hard he twisted the throw rug and almost wiped out.
“Careful,” Marian said. “We don’t need you to end up needing a hospital stay, too.”
She was in his arms a minute after that. Pressed to his chest. She let him hold her, even though another contraction was beginning its rippling agony all through her, and the last thing in the world she wanted was any kind of additional pressure on her body. She let him hold her because the sight of Dean’s panicked face had shown Marian something she hadn’t guessed before. Dean, for all his usual calm demeanor, was distressed by all of this, more than she was, and she had to remind herself that he hadn’t been through it before.
“It’s going to be okay,” she told him, stroking his back.
That was the last thing she remembered.
Chapter Forty
“Follow me.” The ebony bird doesn’t caw or squawk. It speaks in Briella’s voice, but sounds much older. The way her daughter will sound when she is a woman, all grown up. “Follow me, come on.”
“I don’t want to go with you.”
Marian wears a white nightgown, flowing. Her feet are bare. Her hair falls around her shoulders. The hem of her gown is soaked with mud and splashes of crimson that creep down the fabric from someplace in the center of her body. She is bleeding, and that blood is what mixed with the earth and made the mud.
“If you don’t follow me, how will you know where to go?” Onyx tilts its head to her, that bright gaze burning.
Its mouth moves with every word. That’s how Marian knows this is a dream. In reality, the bird mimics from deep in its throat. It doesn’t speak, it mocks.
“I’m not going with you.” Marian says this three or four times, or she tries to, but her mouth is suddenly full of something chewy and sticky like bubblegum.
She cannot speak.
Her feet are moving toward the raven, which is flying so slowly that its wings don’t even flap. It hovers, moving inch by inch, with Marian so close behind she could reach out and grab it. She tries, her fingertips skimming the black feathers. The bird explodes in a cluster of darkness.
Marian screams, “I’m not going with you!”
The ground beneath her falls away, and she tumbles into nothing.
* * *
“Marian? Marian, can you hear me? It’s time to wake up, hon.”
The warm female voice was not her mother’s, but it felt familiar enough that Marian wanted to answer it. She mumbled words that were meant to be agreement, but her mouth was sticky. Gummed shut. She was so thirsty it felt like she’d been sucking sand.
“Marian. Babe. Can you wake up?”
That was Dean’s voice, and she struggled again, upward out of the darkness of sleep. Her eyes opened, then shut against the bright light. She tried again.
Everything hurt.
“Where am I?” Then, after a moment, she gave a panicked shriek. “The baby? Where’s the baby?”
Dean gripped her arm. A woman in a pair of maroon scrubs took the other. Marian tried to fight both of them, but the pain was too much. Marian fell back into the hospital bed. She remembered Dean bringing her to the hospital and nothing much after that.
“The baby’s fine. You had a healthy baby boy,” the nurse said. Her strong fingers squeezed Marian’s upper arm, keeping it still. “You need to relax.”
That was a good thing, because now that she was fully awake, she could see the needle probing the back of her hand. She calmed herself as best she could, but wasn’t able to stop the shaking. She wasn’t even cold.
“You’re having a reaction to the meds,” the nurse said. “If you feel like you’re going to be sick, there’s an emesis basin right here. Okay? And if you need me, you can push this button. Otherwise, you’ve got some nice pain meds on a drip. You can push this button as often as you want, but it will only dispense more meds when it turns green.”
“What happened to me?” The nurse gave her another squeeze, but Marian was looking at Dean. He looked as though he’d lost weight. Haggard, face drawn, several days’ growth of beard. Days? “Dean?”
“You hemorrhaged. Your blood pressure dropped. We almost lost you.” Dean’s voice cracked and broke.
The nurse left them, and Marian waited until she’d gone before she spoke again. “I almost died?”
“Yes.” Dean bent over her, and she stroked his hair. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.”
“You didn’t. I’m here. I’m okay. Right? I’m okay?” She shifted in the bed, wincing at the pain between her legs. Part of her wanted to reach down to feel what had happened, but she was afraid to find out she’d been torn in half or something equally horrible. It sure as hell felt like it. No C-section scar, though.
“You’re going to be fine. The baby’s fine.” Dean’s breath half sobbed out of him.
Marian stroked his head again. “What about Briella?”
Beneath her touch, Dean tensed. He looked up at her. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.
“What about Briella?” Marian repeated. Her voice sounded very far away. She was fading out again. She’d pushed the button in her hand without knowing it, she thought. She was sending herself down the rabbit hole of pain meds.
Or she was trying to pass out so she didn’t have to hear something bad.
“There’s been some problems,” Dean said, “with Briella.”
Chapter Forty-One
There could never be enough apologies, but Marian was determined to try. Three weeks passed before she could convince Dean to head back to work. He was still on nights but hoped to switch permanently before the end of the month. She’d healed enough that she could walk across the street with the infant boy, Michael Dean Blake, strapped across her chest as he slept. She kept Briella tight by the hand.
“I don’t want to go,” Briella muttered as Marian rang the bell.
Marian did not look at her. When Amy opened the door, her wary look hurt Marian’s heart. “Amy. Can we come in?”
“I don’t think so.” Amy gave a small shake of her head.
“Fair enough.” Marian drew in a long, deep breath. She tugged Briella a step closer. “We have something
to say.”
Her nails dug into Briella’s wrist until the kid spoke. “I’m sorry, Miss Amy.”
Amy did not smile. If anything, her expression twisted into more distress. From behind her, Marian heard Toby’s babble, but quick as a striking snake, Amy turned and pushed him out of sight.
“Better than that, Briella,” Marian said.
Briella huffed and scuffed at the porch with the toe of her sandal. Marian gave her wrist another squeeze. She muttered an “ouch” but looked up at Amy. “I’m sorry I gave Toby peanuts for a snack and made him sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Marian said when Amy didn’t reply. “Amy, I am so, so sorry.”
“He’s fine,” Amy said. “He could have died, but he didn’t. He’s fine.”
“Maybe we can play again sometime,” Briella said.
Amy’s gaze never left Marian’s. “I don’t think so.”
Then she closed the door in their faces. Marian sagged. Against her chest, the baby stirred, rooting. It was time to feed him again.
As they turned to cross the street for home, Hank’s white truck came down the street at its usual careless speed. She caught sight of his face through the windshield. His brakes came on. The truck slowed, crawling past them. He stared as it did, but although Marian raised a hand, he didn’t return her wave.
In the house, she nursed the baby in the rocker next to his crib, then put him down for a nap. Sleep when the baby sleeps. That was the advice everyone had given her when Briella was born, but Marian was strangely not tired. Mikey had been sleeping four and five hours at a stretch since birth. She wasn’t getting as much sleep as she needed, but she was getting enough.
She stopped in Briella’s room before she went downstairs. The girl was sitting on the window seat, looking through the glass. The overhead fan swirled, sending lazy heat through the room. Marian swiped her tongue over her upper lip and tasted salt.
“School starts next week,” she said. “I bet you’re excited.”
Briella turned toward her. Tears had slid in tracks down her cheeks. Marian went to her, sitting on the window seat and taking her small hands.
“Miss Amy hates me for what happened to Toby,” she said. “She’ll never forgive me.”
Marian had already gone over this with her. Did Briella know Toby wasn’t allowed to have peanuts? Yes, but she’d forgotten. Had she tried to hurt him? No, she would never hurt Toby. No, never.
The weeks before the night of Mikey’s birth had gone blurry for Marian. She remembered the months of being so sick, death might have been a better option. She remembered the anxiety, suspicions, fears, but all of that had faded. The postpregnancy rush of hormones that could lead to postpartum depression had done the opposite for her, or perhaps it had more to do with the passing of time and the easing of her grief about her father, her ability to eat and keep down food, her return to rationality.
Briella had been nothing but sweet about the baby. Helping Marian change his diapers, bringing the burp cloths, even singing him to sleep so Marian could toss in some laundry or mop the floor. The girl had been the epitome of doting big sister.
“Miss Amy was very scared about losing Toby. If she’s angry with you, Briella, we have to understand and respect that. You’re right. She may never forgive you. You have to look inside yourself and know that you didn’t mean to hurt him. But you can’t make anyone forgive you.”
Briella leaned against Marian, the girl’s cheek against her mother’s breasts. The pressure was a little too much. Marian’s breast pads were already damp from milk. She shifted to ease the pressure and used one hand to stroke over Briella’s hair. She slipped her fingers along the back of the girl’s neck, but the cut there had long ago healed.
“If something bad like that happened to me, would you forgive the person who did it?” Briella asked.
“I might try,” Marian said. “But I’m not sure I could.”
“If something bad happened to baby Mikey, you would never forgive that person, either?”
Marian pushed the girl to look at her face, into her pale eyes. Her tone was firm. “No. I don’t think I could ever forgive someone who hurt baby Mikey, even if I tried.”
Her phone hummed from her pocket and she pulled it out to speak to her brother. They weren’t close and had never been, but since losing Dad, they’d both been making more of an effort to reach out to each other. Keep in touch. Make amends for the silence and distance both had harbored without real reason.
Marian kept her voice pitched low as she got up and paced along Briella’s worn rag rug. Moving continued to be an effort. She still had pain, and a lot of the baby bulk had not yet come off. They spoke briefly about the details for the baptism and small party after, about Desmond and his wife Theresa standing as godparents. When she got off the phone, Briella was staring.
“Who was that?”
“Uncle Desmond.”
“Who’s getting baptized?” Briella asked with a frown.
Marian slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Baby Mikey. Two Sundays from now.”
“He is? Why?” Briella looked stunned.
Marian crossed to her so she could look out the window. Trees in the distance. A shingle or two off the roof. A single black feather caught in the corner of the eaves, or maybe only a shadow.
“Because my father and mother would have wanted that, and I lost them both, so I want to respect them,” Marian said.
Briella’s jaw dropped. “You don’t even believe!”
Marian shook her head. “No. I don’t. But it feels like the right thing to do anyway.”
“He can’t choose,” Briella said, agitated. “That doesn’t seem fair. Baby Mikey can’t decide what he believes.”
“I’m his mother. I decide for him, the way I decided for you,” Marian said.
Briella crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window for a moment, sullen. Then she smiled and turned to her mother. “Two Sundays from now?”
Marian nodded.
“That’s enough time,” Briella said.
Marian studied her. “For what?”
“To get ready.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“Wish I didn’t have to go in to work. I want to stay all cozy here in bed with you.” Dean yawned and rolled to put a hand on the back of Mikey’s head as he nursed.
Marian settled a bit against the pillows. “Wish you could too.”
“Ahh, just another couple weeks and I’ll be on permanent days.” Dean cracked another long yawn and kissed the baby’s head, then Marian’s lips. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. Dinner should be almost ready. As soon as this little guy’s done with his, we can eat. Can you tell Briella to wash up?”
“Of course.” Dean leaned to kiss her again, lingering a little this time.
When he tried to pull away, Marian grabbed for his arm to stop him. The baby, rustled from his place on the nipple, squeaked out a protest. Marian tipped her face for another kiss. They had not yet made love since the baby’s birth, but she was starting to consider it a very valid option.
“Well now,” Dean said with a pleased grin. “That’s nice.”
Marian kissed him again. “Love you.”
He shifted on the bed to sit upright, close to her. “Baby, is everything okay? I mean, are you doing all right?”
He had every right to worry about her. She’d gone through a bit of a crazy time. Stress and trauma. Marian couldn’t blame him for having concerns.
“Yes. We’re all—”
“Going to be fine. I know.”
She blinked against a small surge of tears, but smiled for him. “It’s something my dad said, and it stuck with me.”
“Your dad was a smart man. And he was right. We are all going to be fine. More than fine. We’re going to be fantastic.” Dean kissed
her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, then her lips again. “Holler if you need me.”
The baby nursed. Marian dozed. The looming presence of a figure woke her, startled, enough to jerk and wake the baby, who began to wail.
“Sorry, Mama,” Briella said and took a step back.
Marian soothed the baby, hushing him until he fell quiet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Dean said it’s time for dinner.”
“We’ll be right there.” With a yawn, Marian roused herself to head for the kitchen.
She loved her little family. Briella in her chair, regaling Dean with stories about her new project at Parkhaven. The baby in his bouncy seat, alert and watching everything that went on. Dean, being a father. And Marian, a mother.
Her father was right, she thought, and for the first time in years, sent up a prayer of gratitude for her blessings.
* * *
Dean had left for work an hour ago. The baby was sleeping in his crib. She would wake him in another couple hours to nurse and change him before putting him back down, hopefully to make it at least six hours. Briella was supposed to be reading quietly in her room and going to sleep so she could keep to her school schedule, but Marian found her in the kitchen.
“What are you doing up?” Marian had come in for a mug of hot tea – not peppermint. God, no. Probably never again. But she did like chamomile and had been getting back into the habit of a mug with a book before bed.
“I was afraid of the lightning and thunder.” Briella gestured to the electric kettle. “I wanted to try some of your tea. Sit down, Mom. I’ll make you some.”
Mom, not Mama. Well, at least it wasn’t Mother. Marian took a seat and watched the girl prepare the mugs with the loose tea, filling the mesh strainers and adding hot water.
She’d grown again. Still lean, with petite features. Briella would always be small. But she looked different. More grown up. She would be eleven soon, Marian thought with a sense of shock, a fact she had of course not forgotten but one that had nevertheless sneaked up on her.