Chương 16
At seven months, Brittany moved back into the townhouse.
Harrison did not.
He returned her clothes to the closet, removed Patricia’s access from the household staff system, and finished painting the nursery wall himself. The color dried unevenly. Brittany noticed immediately.
“You did not use primer,” she said.
“The paint included primer.”
“That is a lie told by paint companies.”
“I followed the instructions.”
“You follow instructions only when they support what you already want to do.”
He looked at the patchy wall. “Should I redo it?”
“No.”
“It looks bad.”
“It looks like you painted it.”
He could not tell whether that was affection.
She allowed him to stay three nights a week in the guest room. By the third week, he had moved to their bedroom, though neither announced the change.
Some evenings they spoke easily. Others ended with Brittany remembering the clinic and turning away from him in bed. Harrison learned not to demand resolution at midnight. He would lie beside her listening to the radiator click and wait until morning.
Once, at three a.m., she said, “I still see your face when the doctor said it.”
Harrison stared into the dark. “I still see yours after I said good.”
“I hated you.”
“I hated me too.”
“That does not help.”
“I know.”
She kicked his ankle beneath the blanket.
“Stop saying that.”
He turned toward her. “I am trying.”
“That is better.”
Patricia asked to visit when Brittany was thirty-two weeks pregnant.
Brittany said no.
Two weeks later, Patricia asked again.
Brittany said she could come for thirty minutes if Harrison remained present and if no gifts arrived in advance.
Patricia came carrying nothing.
The absence looked unnatural on her.
She stood in the foyer, glanced at the replaced lock, and removed her gloves.
“The bolt no longer scrapes,” she said.
“Harrison had it changed,” Brittany replied.
“Yes.”
They walked into the sitting room. Patricia sat upright on the sofa. Harrison took the chair opposite. Brittany remained standing until the baby shifted low enough to make standing uncomfortable.
For several minutes, they discussed traffic.
Then Patricia looked at Brittany’s stomach. “Do you know whether it is a boy or a girl?”
“Yes.”
Harrison glanced at Brittany. They had agreed not to tell anyone.
Patricia waited.
Brittany said, “A girl.”
Something moved across Patricia’s face. Not disappointment. Grief, perhaps, though Brittany could not place why.
“A granddaughter,” Patricia said.
“Yes.”
“Have you chosen a name?”
“We have a list.”
“Is Patricia on it?”
Harrison coughed.
Brittany looked at her. “No.”
Patricia nodded. “Good. It is a difficult name for a child.”
The answer was so unexpected that Harrison laughed.
Patricia looked at him. “You were nearly named Prescott.”
“Why?”
“Your grandfather insisted. I refused.”
“Thank you.”
“I have not always harmed you.”
The room quieted.
Patricia folded her gloves in her lap. “I am not asking you to forgive what happened at the clinic.”
Brittany waited.
“I believed I was exposing a deception before it became irreversible. I also wanted to punish you for making me feel foolish.”
Harrison looked at his mother.
She kept her eyes on Brittany. “Those motives existed together. The second one was uglier.”
“Yes,” Brittany said.
Patricia’s fingers tightened around the gloves. “I am sorry.”
The apology did not transform the room. No music rose. Brittany did not reach for her. Harrison did not feel the past rearrange itself into something gentler.
Brittany said, “Thank you for saying it.”
Patricia nodded.
After a moment, she asked, “May I see the nursery?”
Brittany looked at Harrison, then stood.
The three of them walked upstairs.
Patricia entered the green room and studied the uneven wall. A wooden crib stood near the window. The yellow ceramic bowl from the entry table held folded washcloths on a shelf. Harrison had tried to object that ceramic should not be near a changing table and lost the argument.
Patricia touched the back of the rocking chair.
“This belonged to your father,” she told Harrison.
“I thought it was new.”
“I had it restored.”
“You said the furniture company delivered it.”
“I did not want you to think it came from the old house.”
“Why?”
“Your grandfather threw it at a wall when Luke would not stop crying.”
No one spoke.
Patricia looked at the chair as if seeing the damaged wood beneath the new finish. “Richard repaired it himself. Badly. There is a screw underneath that does not match.”
Harrison crouched and found the screw.
It was silver. The others were brass.
Patricia adjusted one of the folded blankets. “Objects survive families in strange condition.”
Brittany watched her. “You can come after the baby is born.”
Patricia’s hand stopped.
“For a short visit,” Brittany added.
“Yes,” Patricia said. “Of course.”
She left after twenty-eight minutes.
The baby arrived nine days early during a spring rainstorm.
Brittany’s contractions began at four in the morning. She woke Harrison by pressing two fingers into his shoulder.
“I think this is happening.”
He sat up immediately. “Now?”
“No, Harrison. In October.”
He looked at the clock, then at her, unable to determine whether she was joking.
Another contraction answered.
The hospital bag was already packed. Harrison had created a checklist. Brittany had removed half the items, including a portable speaker, three charging cables, a cash envelope, and printed copies of their medical records.
He put them back when she was not looking.
At the hospital, a nurse removed most of them again.
Labor lasted nineteen hours.
Harrison discovered there were forms of helplessness money could not shorten. He held water cups, counted breaths badly, adjusted pillows, called the nurse too soon, waited too long, and once suggested a breathing technique he had learned from a video.
Brittany told him she would divorce him before marrying him.
May you like
The nurse said, “That is common at eight centimeters.”
Nora arrived with sandwiches no one ate. Richard sat in the waiting room reading the same newspaper for three hours. Clara, Emma, and Luke argued quietly about whether Patricia should be told the baby was coming.
