Chương 3
“I was angry.”
“Had you been drinking?”
“No.”
“Medication that would affect driving?”
“No.”
“Sleep deprivation?”
“I have a three-month-old.”
Hall nodded as though that answer did not surprise him.
“So you told her you wanted to leave.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She told me not to make a scene.”
“What did you do?”
“I went toward the garage.”
“And she grabbed you?”
Emily’s fingertips stopped moving on Eli’s back.
“From behind at first. Then she got in front of me and grabbed here.”
She touched the bruise.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A few seconds.”
“Did you tell her to let go?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Emily looked toward the office door.
“She said, ‘Stop acting like a victim.’”
Hall did not react dramatically.
That steadiness helped.
“What happened next?”
“I pulled away. Eli started crying. People came into the hall. Diane told everyone I was having a postpartum episode.”
Hall’s pen stopped.
“Those were her words?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been diagnosed with anything related to postpartum mental health?”
Emily’s face went hot.
It took her a moment to answer.
“I had anxiety after he was born.”
“Were you a danger to yourself or your child?”
“No.”
“Did any medical professional say you were?”
“No.”
“Are you currently receiving care?”
“Yes.”
“Does that affect what happened tonight?”
Emily stared at him.
“No.”
“All right.”
The simple answer loosened something inside her chest.
Hall went on.
“How did you end up at the sink?”
“Diane told people everything was fine. Everyone went back to dinner except a few people. I wanted my keys. She said if I was going to stay under her roof, I could at least help clean up. I thought if I did it for five minutes, Noah would get here and we could leave.”
The sentence sounded pathetic.
Emily hated it.
“So you complied because you were waiting for your husband.”
“Yes.”
“And then she slammed the tray.”
“Yes.”
“And told you to put the baby down and clean or you would both sleep outside.”
“Yes.”
Hall closed the folder.
“Do you know where your keys are now?”
“No.”
“Your purse?”
“In the kitchen, unless she moved that too.”
“All right.”
He stood.
“I’m going to speak with your husband and with Ms. Mercer.”
“Diane Mercer.”
“You share the last name?”
Emily nodded.
Hall gave the smallest sympathetic grimace.
“Family calls get confusing fast.”
It was such an ordinary remark that Emily nearly laughed.
Instead, tears rose into her eyes.
She turned her face away.
Hall pretended not to notice until she had control again.
Before he left, he said, “For now, stay in here. Keep the door unlocked. If you need anything, call out.”
Emily looked at the black folder in his hand.
“Am I supposed to know what I want to happen?”
He considered that.
“No.”
It was the first useful thing anyone had said to her all night.
Noah came in after Hall left.
For several seconds he stayed near the door.
Emily looked at the empty chair beside her.
He sat there.
“I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“I should’ve—”
“Please don’t tell me what you should have done.”
He stopped.
Eli yawned.
They both watched him.
It had always been strange to Emily how a baby could interrupt disaster simply by being a baby. He had no respect for timing. He stretched one foot against the fabric of his onesie and made a face that would have been funny under almost any other circumstance.
Noah whispered, “He needs a diaper.”
“I know.”
“I can change him.”
She handed Eli over.
Noah took him carefully, one hand beneath the back of his head, the other under his body. His movements were practiced but still slower than Emily’s. On the desk sat a decorative leather pad Diane never used. Noah looked at it, looked at Emily, and gave a tired breath.
“My mother would have a stroke.”
Emily stared at him.
Then, against every intention she had, she laughed once.
It came out sharp and ugly.
Noah almost smiled.
The smile disappeared before it properly arrived.
He changed Eli on Diane’s spotless desk.
When he finished, Emily said, “She took my keys.”
“I know.”
“No. You know because I texted you. I need you to understand she physically took them because she decided I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
“I understand.”
“You didn’t before.”
Noah folded the used diaper inward and stuck the tabs across it with more concentration than the task required.
“No.”
“You kept saying she was helping.”
“I know.”
“She’d walk into our room without knocking.”
“I know.”
“She took him out of my arms yesterday.”
“I know.”
“You told me she was excited.”
His hand stopped.
Emily’s voice remained quiet.
“You always had another word for it.”
He put the diaper on the desk.
“I did.”
“Why?”
Noah sat back down with Eli against his shoulder.
From the hallway came Diane’s voice, sharp but muffled, then Officer Hall’s lower response.
Noah looked toward the door.
“I thought if I called it what it was, I’d have to do something about it.”
Emily said nothing.
His eyes dropped to their son.
“When Dad was alive, he absorbed most of her. That sounds awful.”
“It sounds true.”
“After he died, Leah and I started getting more calls. More opinions. More emergencies that weren’t emergencies. But she was alone. And I kept thinking… there are worse things than having a mother who cares too much.”
Emily looked at the bruise on her arm.
Noah followed her gaze.
“There are.”
A knock came at the door.
Leah entered without waiting.
She stopped when she saw them.
Unlike Diane, Leah had dark hair, cut bluntly at her shoulders, and the nervous habit of rubbing the side of her thumb with one fingernail. Emily had always liked her, though liking Leah required accepting that every conversation eventually became a referendum on Diane’s feelings.
“Mom’s losing it,” Leah said.
Noah’s expression hardened.
May you like
“Not my problem.”
Leah flinched.
