Chapter 13

I had a terrible night’s sleep. I tossed and turned because I couldn’t stop replaying Ned’s words after I told him I thought Nurse Marley had kidnapped Isa. What was I thinking? Was I out of my mind? Certainly, Ned thought so. I’ve never seen him so angry. I thought his head would rocket off his neck. He avoided me the rest of the day. Didn’t call to check up on me—or the baby—and I think he slept on one of the couches in the living room because he never came to bed.

On top of the restlessness, I had another horrible dream. In this one, I gave birth to my baby while sitting on the toilet. The subterranean bathroom cramped, dark, and damp, the smell horrific. She ripped through me as I squeezed and I squeezed until hot tears scorched my cheeks and I could squeeze no more, while the ghostly figure with the white dressing gown and mask watched and kept saying “push.” Push. I cried so hard, the pain so great, and when finally the baby came out, he cackled and flushed her down the toilet bowl. And drowned her.

What are all these nightmares telling me? There’s only one thing: I’m not meant to be a mother. And I’m a danger to my baby.

Thank God I have Nurse Marley. She showed up early yesterday—mid afternoon—because she was concerned about me. Rightfully so. The godsend she is, she said she wasn’t even going to charge us for the extra hours because she felt partially responsible for the debacle with Ned.

With a groan, I reach for my phone on the night table. I squint at the screen. There’s a reminder on it. An appointment with my baby’s pediatrician at 8:30a.m. Her first wellness checkup. Today she’s one week old. I should celebrate that she’s made it through a week with me. Her incompetent, decrepit mother.

Clutching the phone, I force myself to a sitting position when a sudden wave of nausea surges inside me. Bile rises to my chest as I climb out of bed and race to the bathroom as fast as my unsteady legs can carry me. I make it to the toilet just in time and throw up. This is the first time I’ve vomited since I had morning sickness during my first trimester. I feel flushed and feverish. I think I may have come down with some kind of virus. I glimpse myself in the bathroom mirror as I rinse my mouth and face, and look as sick as I feel. My complexion’s ghoulish, my green eyes glazed, and my blonde hair’s like a rat’s nest. Who is this person? I feel tears verging.

Shrugging on my chenille robe, I step into my fuzzy slippers and stagger out of the bathroom. Maybe some tea will help.

When I reach the kitchen, Nurse Marley is seated at the island feeding Isa a bottle, and Ned is seated next to her nursing a cup of coffee. She’s clad in yoga pants and a hoodie, much like the way she was dressed when I first met her. Ned’s dressed in the same suit he wore yesterday, except it’s rumpled and his tie is loose. Plus, his dark hair is mussed. For sure, he slept on the couch.

“Good morning,” I say weakly, interrupting their animated conversation. What have they been talking about?

At the sound of my voice, they look up at the same time at me.

“Ava, are you alright?” asks Nurse Marley, concern in her voice.

I fight back tears. “I think I may have some kind of stomach bug.”

Ned balks. “Sweetheart, please don’t come too close. I can’t afford to get sick.”

I want to die. Or at least curl up into a ball on the kitchen floor.

My voice quivers. “Isa has her first wellness visit with her pediatrician this morning.”

“At what time?” asks Nurse Marley.

“Eight thirty in Beverly Hills. I don’t think I should go with her. I may give her something.” Truth is, I’m physically and emotionally not up for it. I look at my husband imploringly. “Ned, can you take her?”

“I would, but how am I going to get her there? It’s not like any of my cars is designed for infant-travel. Nor is yours.”

He’s right. The Audi convertible he generously bought me when we announced our engagement is not fit for a baby either. Plus, I have no clue where our infant car seat is—yes, it’s somewhere among the mountain of baby gifts stacked in my garage but where? Luckily, a lovely nurse who had given birth to her son a few months earlier gave me a ride home from the hospital.

“Can you move the appointment?” Ned asks after a sip of coffee.

“No, and my doctor said it was important for her to be seen by her pediatrician as soon as possible, especially after her difficult birth.”

I tighten the belt of my bathrobe, nearing tears, when Nurse Marley pipes in.

“Ava, I’d be glad to take her. And my car is equipped with a car seat. I just need the address.”

“Really?” I squeak out.

“Of course! You rest, you poor thing.”

Fifteen minutes later, she’s almost out the door with my baby swaddled in her arms. And my freshly showered husband, in a change of clothing, is accompanying her. His briefcase in one hand, a baby bag in the other.

“Call me after the visit,” I tell them, pleased that my husband is taking an interest in his daughter at last.

Feeling a little stronger and less anxious, I clean up the kitchen, loading coffee cups into the dishwasher and sweeping coffee grinds into the trash. When I pull open the trash compactor, my eyes grow wide. A dozen now-tattered white roses are scattered on top.

My blood runs cold. Where did they come from, and how did they get here?