The School for Good Mothers(103)

Tonight, it’s easy to find street parking. She parks a few steps from Gust and Susanna’s front door. She texts Will and asks him to buzz her in. This might be how Meryl felt when she reached the top of the bell tower. No matter what happens, there will be comfort and pleasure. A moment with her daughter where she makes the rules. A different ending.

As she climbs the stairs to the second floor, Frida thinks of her parents. They can’t wait to see her. They’ve never gone this long without seeing her. Her father still calls her his baby. They’ve prepared her room. They’ve been getting the house ready. She could simply take a look at Harriet and fly home as scheduled. Despite her mistakes, everyone is excited to see her at the family party on Christmas Eve.

Will has left the door ajar. The living room is strewn with Harriet’s toys. There are new pictures of the three of them on the walls, Harriet’s preschool watercolors hung with pink tape, photos of Henry on the refrigerator, a Moses basket in the hallway, stacks of cloth diapers, a pile of onesies on hangers.

Frida has never seen their place messy. She refuses to think about the new baby or his surgery or Gust and Susanna in the hospital. She sits down beside Will and takes his hand. She needs one more favor. She’d like an hour with Harriet alone. There’s a bar a few blocks away. He can wait there. She’ll text him when she’s done.

“I don’t think you should. What if she wakes up?”

“She won’t. Gust said she sleeps well now. They made a big thing about that at my court date. How well she sleeps. She only has trouble sleeping when she’s sick. Please. I need this. It’s only an hour. I’m not asking to stay all night. I’ll never ask this of you again.” She promises to be quiet. She promises not to turn the lights on. She just wants to watch her baby sleep.

“No one will find out.” She tells him about the social worker timing them, making them pose for pictures, being dragged out of the building. Didn’t he say that what happened to her was barbaric? Didn’t he say he wanted them to have more time? They had thirty minutes after a year apart. “You don’t know what they did to us. At that place. If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

They argue for another ten minutes. Frida watches the clock as Will asks her again what happened. To her, to the other mothers. Why can’t she tell him?

“I’ll tell you later. I promise. But I need you to do this for me. Please. You said you’d do anything for me. This is anything. If I have to say goodbye to her, I want some privacy. They didn’t give me any privacy. I just want more time.”

Will relents. “Okay.” He goes to get his jacket.

Frida follows him. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the lips. Gives him the kiss she would have given Tucker. Will is a good man. One day he’ll be a good husband. A good father.

“What was that about?” He tries to kiss her again.

“Nothing.” She pulls away. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you too. Be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything.”

Once he leaves, Frida moves quickly. She finds a duffel bag in the front closet. She finds Harriet’s winter coat, her hat and mittens, her shoes. She goes to the bathroom and grabs Harriet’s toothbrush and toothpaste, a bottle of baby shampoo, one of her hooded towels, some washcloths. She enters the nursery and opens Harriet’s dresser drawers, grabs sweaters and pants and T-shirts, socks and underwear, pajamas, some blankets.

Harriet is sleeping the sleep of the dead. Frida grabs a few stuffed animals from the rocking chair. She hasn’t taken a good look at Harriet yet, knows that if she stops to consider what she’s doing, she’ll unpack the bag and put the room back in order, she’ll think of her parents and Will, Gust and Susanna and Baby Henry, everyone she’s hurting.

In an hour’s time, she’ll be at least sixty miles outside the city. She doesn’t know what happens after that, only that she has to get Harriet out of bed quickly and quietly. She sinks to the floor and bows her head to the carpet. She whispers, “I’m sorry.”

The instructors would be proud. She moves faster tonight than she ever did at the school. She harnesses her fear for strength and speed. She resists the urge to kiss Harriet as she lifts her up. She stuffs Baby Betty into her purse and covers Harriet with her winter coat. She slings the duffel bag over her shoulder.

She still has forty minutes to undo this, to respect the rules of the state, to save herself from the basement, save her parents from losing their daughter, too. But as she descends the stairs, trying not to disturb Harriet, she feels happy and whole. They’re together, as they should be.

No one sees them leave the building. No one sees her strap Harriet into the new car seat or layer blankets up to Harriet’s chin. She turns up the heat, then pulls away from the curb carefully. She’s on the highway heading north when Harriet wakes up.

“Mommy.”

Harriet’s voice startles her. Harriet didn’t used to wake up speaking words. For a second, Frida feels proud, then realizes that Harriet is calling for Susanna.

She pulls over onto the shoulder of the highway, puts on her hazards, and joins Harriet in the back seat. “It’s me,” she says. She gives Harriet her doll. She kisses Harriet’s forehead and speaks in perfect motherese. “Don’t be scared, bub. I’m here. Mommy is here.”

Harriet’s eyes are still half-closed. “Why? Why you here?”