Chương 3
“You did.”
The driver knocked.
Nathan opened the door.
Eleanor looked at her son.
“You’ll regret humiliating me like this.”
Nathan’s face was tired now.
“I didn’t humiliate you.”
A pause.
“You did that yourself.”
Rachel expected the line to feel satisfying.
It did not.
Eleanor’s eyes hardened.
There would be no apology.
Not tonight.
She walked out.
Nathan shut the door.
The house became enormous.
The dining table remained covered in half-eaten food. A piece of asparagus had fallen onto the linen runner. Someone had abandoned a champagne glass beside a brass candleholder. The chandelier still glowed over twelve place settings as if the evening were waiting to resume.
Rachel stood in the entryway with Sophie.
Nathan leaned his forehead briefly against the door.
Neither spoke.
Finally Rachel said, “Your cake is melting.”
He turned.
“What?”
“The frosting.”
He looked toward the kitchen.
“Right.”
It was absurd.
Rachel laughed once.
The sound surprised her so much she covered her mouth.
Nathan almost smiled.
Then neither of them did.
He walked into the kitchen and put the cake into the refrigerator.
Rachel watched him.
“Nathan.”
He closed the refrigerator.
“What happened Tuesday?”
She sat in one of the counter stools.
Sophie had fallen asleep.
Rachel shifted her carefully.
“At the pediatrician’s office, I had a panic attack.”
Nathan came around the island.
“A panic attack?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
He pulled out the stool beside hers but did not sit.
“What happened?”
Rachel looked down at Sophie.
“She wouldn’t stop crying in the waiting room. It had been maybe forty minutes. There was another baby crying, and somebody’s phone kept ringing, and I hadn’t eaten.”
Nathan said nothing.
“I started feeling like I couldn’t breathe.”
“Did you pass out?”
“No.”
“Did you drop her?”
Rachel’s head snapped up.
“No.”
“I’m not accusing you. I’m asking.”
“No. I handed her to the nurse because my hands were shaking.”
Nathan sat.
Rachel could see him trying to decide what expression he was allowed to have.
That irritated her.
“You can look concerned.”
“I am concerned.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“Because you were presenting to the Bennett group.”
He stared.
“Rachel.”
“You worked on that presentation for three months.”
“I would have left.”
“I know.”
“Apparently you didn’t.”
She flinched.
Nathan saw it.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re right.”
“I’m not trying to be right.”
“That’s kind of the problem tonight. Everybody is.”
Sophie made a soft snorting sound in her sleep.
They both looked at her.
Rachel adjusted the blanket around the baby’s legs.
Nathan lowered his voice.
“How does my mother know?”
Rachel said nothing.
His eyes narrowed.
“Rachel.”
“She was there.”
“At the pediatrician?”
“She followed me.”
“What?”
“She said she wanted to help.”
“You didn’t tell me she was going.”
“I didn’t know she was going.”
Nathan leaned back.
Rachel rubbed her eyes with the heel of one hand.
“She texted that morning asking if I wanted company. I said no. She showed up anyway.”
“And the office just let her—”
“She’s Sophie’s grandmother. I was standing in the waiting room having trouble breathing. I wasn’t exactly conducting security.”
Nathan looked toward the dark window over the sink.
“What did she do?”
“At first? Helped.”
That seemed to bother him more.
Rachel continued.
“She took my coat. She got me water. When the nurse came out, your mother told her I was exhausted and she was worried about me.”
“Were you?”
“What?”
“Exhausted.”
Rachel looked at him.
“Yes, Nathan. I have a five-month-old baby.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I hate this conversation.”
“So do I.”
“Did the doctor say anything?”
“He said I should call my OB. He asked about sleep. He asked whether I’d been feeling anxious. I said yes.”
Nathan looked at her.
“How anxious?”
“There isn’t a number.”
“Okay.”
“I told him sometimes I wake up even when Sophie is asleep because I think she stopped breathing. Sometimes I check her three or four times.”
Nathan’s face did not change.
She hated him for the effort that required.
“I know that’s not normal.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Rachel.”
She looked away.
The kitchen seemed too bright.
Nathan got up and dimmed the pendant lights.
It was such an irritatingly thoughtful thing that tears suddenly came.
Rachel wiped them away before they reached her jaw.
“I’m tired of everybody watching me to see if I’m a good mother.”
“No one—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Your mother watches me. Your aunt watches me because your mother tells her things. The nanny watched me for a week after Eleanor told her I was having trouble. You watch me when I walk down the stairs holding Sophie.”
“I watch everybody on those stairs. They’re slippery.”
“Nathan.”
He closed his mouth.
Rachel looked at the scattered diaper-bag contents still on the floor.
“We left that there.”
“I’ll get it.”
“No.”
She slid off the stool.
“Rachel, sit down.”
“Please don’t tell me to sit down.”
“Okay.”
She crouched carefully, Sophie still against her chest, then immediately realized the angle was impossible.
Nathan knelt without speaking.
He collected the diapers and wipes.
A spare onesie had fallen behind the stool.
He shook it once and folded it badly.
Rachel took it from him.
“You fold everything like a sandwich.”
“That’s how folding works.”
“No, it isn’t.”
For half a second the old rhythm returned.
Then she found something near Eleanor’s chair.
A printed photograph.
Rachel picked it up.
It showed Sophie asleep in the nursery.
The image had been taken from the doorway.
Rachel turned it over.
Nothing was written on the back.
“Nathan.”
He saw it.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
He took it.
“When was this taken?”
Rachel studied the picture.
The fitted sheet had tiny yellow stars.
They had changed it two weeks earlier.
“That blanket.”
May you like
“What?”
“The blue one on the chair. I washed it last Thursday.”
