The Perfect Child(62)

She quieted immediately. I held my breath. The crying didn’t start back up. I’d never yelled at her before. All the times she’d pushed me and frustrated me, I’d never raised my voice no matter how much I’d wanted to. I should’ve felt bad. But all I felt was relieved that she’d stopped. It took another thirty minutes before I got Cole quiet too. I strapped him into his swing and wound it up, grateful for a few moments of peace.

I headed back down the hallway and into Janie’s room, hoping she’d cried herself to sleep. I opened the door slowly so I wouldn’t wake her in case she had. She was sitting on her rug in a puddle of puke.

“Oh my God, you threw up,” I said, waves of guilt crashing over me.

She glared at me through bloodshot eyes.

“I’m so sorry that I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I said. Any relief from the quiet was gone and replaced with shame.

“You’re mean,” she said.

I crouched next to her. I went to hug her, but she jerked away. “You’re right. I said something very mean to you. I should not have done that, and I’m sorry.” I rubbed her back. She flinched like I was hurting her. “Come on. Let’s go into the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

She walked ahead of me into the bathroom. I peeked into the family room to make sure Cole was asleep before joining her. She was struggling to get her shirt off.

“Here, let me help you.” I straightened it and pulled it over her head. “How about we just give you a bath?”

“In the day?”

“Sure. It’s not a regular day.” I bit my cheek to keep from crying. It was a day I’d never forget. The one where I had crossed the line, made my child so upset she’d thrown up. What kind of a mother did that?

I filled the tub and squirted her with the bath toys. She wouldn’t laugh like she usually did, but she finally smiled. It didn’t make me feel any better.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, Janie. Mommy should not have done that,” I said.

“It’s okay, Mommy.” She picked up one of the green toys and handed it to me. “Mommies always yell.”

I froze. She’d never said anything about her mother. Never. Not once. What did I do? Was I supposed to say something? Ask more questions? I frantically looked around like Christopher would pop out of one of the walls and tell me what to do. My armpits dripped with sweat. I had to do something.

“Really? They do?”

I didn’t want to push her. That much I remembered from the early days. Her team always said not to pressure her to talk about her past, and Piper had said to never ask leading questions. We were supposed to leave it up to her to talk. Did that still apply now?

Cole squawked from the living room. Of course he decided to wake up now. It was only a few seconds before he moved into a full-fledged wail.

“What else do mommies do?” I asked. It wasn’t an open-ended question, but I didn’t have time.

She shrugged, then squealed, “Poopy pants,” before bursting into giggles perfectly timed with Cole’s piercing cries. I handed her a towel.

“I’ll run and get you clothes while you dry off, honey,” I said.

I hurried to her bedroom and grabbed her an outfit. I laid it on her bed.

“Janie, your clothes are on your bed,” I yelled above Cole’s cries. “I’m going to be in the living room feeding Cole.”

He was so worked up it took him a while to settle on my breast, but he finally did. He hadn’t been settled for long when Janie plodded into the living room wearing only her underwear.

“Can I have some of your milk?” she asked.





THIRTY-NINE

CHRISTOPHER BAUER

The house was dark when I got home. Stillness enveloped it. I opened the door quietly and stepped over the spot on the wooden floor where it creaked. I tiptoed through the living room and into the hallway. Janie was already sleeping. It was too early for her to be asleep. Hopefully she wasn’t sick. Our bedroom door was shut. I put my ear up to the wood, straining to hear anything. I wasn’t going to wake them if they were asleep. I’d sleep on the couch. It was worth a terrible night of sleep if Hannah got a chance to rest. My heart sank when I heard whimpering.

I pushed open the door expecting to find Cole fussing, but he was fast asleep in his quilted bassinet next to the bed. Hannah lay curled up in the fetal position with a box of tissues next to her. I rushed over to her bedside and placed my hand on her forehead to check for fever. She wasn’t hot.

“What happened?” I asked, leaning down to peer into her eyes. She looked depleted, spent.

“I yelled at Janie today—screamed at her to shut up. I didn’t mean to, but she was crying so hard that I couldn’t stand it, and I snapped. I yelled at her. Screamed, really. And she cried so hard afterward that she threw up. She’s never cried so hard she threw up, and it’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “I’m a terrible mother.”

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close to me. Her body was damp with sweat. “It’s okay. I mean, obviously, it’s not okay that you yelled at her, but everyone screws up. Parents yell at their kids all the time.”

An involuntary sob escaped, sending a shudder down the length of her body. “Yes, but not kids like Janie.”