Mother of All Secrets(75)

I fumbled in the dark for sweatpants that I knew would be on the floor and pulled them on, walking over to Clara’s bassinet to check on her. She was fast asleep, as was Tim in the bed a few feet away. I couldn’t touch her. I felt like there was still blood on my hands, even though I’d probably never been cleaner, physically.

I crawled into bed, but as bone tired as I was, I doubted I’d be able to sleep without knowing what had happened with Louise and Vanessa. And police could be discovering Connor’s body at that very moment. A neighbor could have heard something and called it in. I was sure that any minute, I’d hear pounding at our door and it would be the police, knowing exactly what I’d taken part in, ready to cuff me and take me away from my family and to jail forever. And Clara would grow up with a mom who was in prison. But perhaps Clara would be better off without me. Tim would be a great dad to her. He’d probably get remarried to someone sweet and fun, someone normal. They’d have another baby, or two, and his new wife would handle early motherhood with ease, laughing off the exhaustion and enjoying the long days of sweet cuddles. And she’d be the kind of woman to make sure to treat Clara like her own daughter. This was the kind of wife Tim should be with. Uncomplicated and good. He shouldn’t have been saddled with a woman like me, an absolute mess who’d kept the truth from him and was now entangled in a murder. Whatever consequences awaited me, I deserved them.

Tim stirred as I tried to get settled in bed and shake away these thoughts. “Did you just shower?” he mumbled.

“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. Thought it might help.”

“Clara doing okay?” He really was dead to the world, including our daughter, when he slept. I was so grateful that my absence hadn’t even been discovered—one less lie I’d have to tell. It was too long a list, at this point. Thank you, Clara, for not making me have to lie again, I thought.

“Yeah. She’s good.” At that exact moment she let out a desolate, desperate-sounding wail. We both sighed. “Can you please give her a bottle?” I asked Tim. “I’m too tired.” Really, I couldn’t face her; I didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and sweet. I might ruin her.

“Okay.” He sounded surprised but completely willing. “We’ll do it in the living room so that you can sleep.” He got back out of bed, walked over to her bassinet. “Hi, baby girl. Hungry?”

I closed my eyes and thought I would never fall asleep, but when I opened them again, light was filtering through our window. Clara was asleep on the DockATot beside me, grunting blissfully, occasionally pursing her lips in a sucking motion as she slept, one hand out of her swaddle with her finger pointing at me as if accusing me of something.

I got up quietly to dress. I knew Clara would likely be awake in a minute or two, stirred by my movements and noises, and ready to eat. My plan was to feed her quickly and get out the door right away to walk over to Isabel’s and see what was going on. I had no idea what to expect—police cars and ambulances, probably—but I needed to see for myself. I knew that returning to the scene of the crime was never advisable, but I lived only a couple of blocks away, after all, so my presence shouldn’t have been that suspicious.

Clara woke and I fed her, grateful for the physical relief of draining my breasts and the emotional unburdening of actually doing something good for someone else. I put Clara’s fleece suit on over her pajamas and poked my head back into the bedroom to tell Tim we were going out for a walk. I asked him if he wanted us to get him a coffee, to make it seem like that was the purpose of the outing. He was sitting up in bed scrolling through his phone and said he was impressed that we were getting out so early. I put Clara in the stroller, covering her with a thick blanket to protect her from the morning chill.

The walk to Isabel’s was so short that I saw the police lights less than a minute after leaving my apartment. Her street was lined with squad cars. Isabel was standing at the top of the stairs of her town house holding Naomi, while her mom was being escorted into a police car. My heart leaped into my throat—Louise was under arrest. Please, no.

Then I noticed that she wasn’t cuffed, which I thought—hoped, prayed—was a good sign. I didn’t think I could handle seeing Louise in handcuffs, knowing the truth, what she’d done for us. Her face was stoic. She didn’t see me and was in the back of the police car within seconds of me and Clara arriving.

Isabel did see me, though, and locked eyes with me from her stairs. I could tell she was crying. She nodded at me, ever so slightly. Then she turned her gaze across the street. There were Kira and Selena, looking solemn, each with their babies in carriers on their chests, standing about thirty feet apart from each other. Kira started to walk away, and then Selena followed at a distance. I could see her turn the opposite direction from Kira when they got to the corner.

I, too, turned around, and walked home slowly, never taking my eyes off Clara, terrified of the reckoning that I was sure was coming my way.





Epilogue


One year later


“Come back here, baby girl!” I call. Clara is clomping around the apartment like a maniac—her signature (and brand-new) Frankenstein walk. I wriggle into black jeans and a silky white top while simultaneously attempting to chase her down the hall. I know full well that the white top will end up covered in avocado and hummus at some point today, but I don’t care. It’s my favorite shirt, and it’s a special day. Strange, yes, but special.