Trespassing(2)

“Considering this past April . . . that’s even more of a reason for her to create a sort of sister in the meantime, isn’t it?”

He has a point, I suppose, but still . . .

“Imaginary friends don’t last forever. Most disappear by age five or six. I suggest you document this time in her life. It’ll make for an interesting story for your new baby.”

“Nini!” My daughter reaches across the table and grasps a crayon that’s rolled away. “I’m using the red. You have to share!”

“And it’s normal for her to fight with this friend, too?” I ask.

Dr. Russo lets out another chuckle. “A good sign she’s learning right from wrong. She’s a very articulate, very intelligent three-year-old. She’ll be fine.”

Resigned, I stand. “Come on, Ellie-Belle. Time to get you to school.” She’ll be only a few minutes late, if traffic cooperates. This time of day, it could take half an hour to get out of Evanston.

“You’re preparing for the worst,” Russo says, “so subconsciously you feel you’ll be able to handle it, should the worst come to pass. It’s understandable, given all you’ve been through. Your mother, the falling out with your college roommate. Especially considering the miscarriage—”

“Thank you.” I extend a hand, which he shakes, before he can opt to lengthen the list of my trials. Then I wrap an arm around Bella’s waist and pull her, kicking and screaming, from the table.

She fights me all the way to the car, to the point I’m nearly dragging her down the hall, down the stairs, through the parking lot.

“No school! No school!”

“Yes, you’re going.” When I lift her to her car seat, she arches her back and slips from my grasp to a crumpled mass of girl on the floor of the SUV. “Elizabella, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

No sooner said than done, she whacks her shoulder against the console between the passenger and driver seats and lets out an excruciating wail.

But at least it incapacitates her for a moment, and I’m able to wrestle her into her seat and fasten the buckle.

“No school,” she says again.

“Yes, school,” I retort.

Amid her sniffling and whispering blame on Nini, I drive.

At the second set of railroad tracks, when I’m stopped for another commuter train, a wave of nausea washes over me. This is the worst part of fertility treatment . . . feeling pregnant when I’m not. It makes sense. I’m pumping my body full of hormones, and just two and a half days ago, I took a shot of hCG to the ass. It’s a lot to go through for a very real chance that it will get us absolutely nowhere.

I take a sip of lukewarm water and cradle my head. A glance in the rearview mirror shows Bella twirling her chestnut hair around a finger.

“Don’t be scared,” she says. “School isn’t bad.”

“Nini’s going to school with you today?”

“She doesn’t want to.” And then speaking to her coil of hair where Nini lives: “I won’t let them put us in a time-out again. It was the boy in the red shoes. His fault.”

Perfectly normal. Okay, Dr. Russo. I’ll take your word for it.

We arrive at the Westlake School twelve minutes past start time, a big no-no, according to the director, and yes, those are the words she used. Late arrivals disrupt the morning routine, but I might guess that Bella’s late arrival, in particular, will cause an uproar. She’s been having trouble with separation lately.

With Bella’s hand in mine, and her backpack in my other hand, I step quickly toward the door.

The autumn breeze is uncomfortably cool at my back, bordering on biting. Soon, we’ll be trudging through snow. Still, it’s a festive time of year. I hope we’ll have some good baby news to share by Christmas.

“Mommy, wait! Nini’s not out of the car yet.”

“She’s right there, baby.” I play along like Dr. Russo suggested. “Right in your hair. Like usual.”

“We have to go back and get her!” She resists and yanks on my hand. “Mommy, please! She’s all alone! She’s scared!”

I glance down to see Bella in the midst of tantrum number three of the day, stomping and crying and shrieking. My head pounds.

Fatigue. Nausea. And an invisible friend locked in the car.

I don’t need this right now. I have half a mind to load my daughter up and lug her back home. Just for today.

But Dr. Russo also said consistency in regards to preschool was best. If I give in once, she’ll only become more resistant to going in the future.

I take a deep breath. “Okay, if we go back for Nini, you’ll be good once we go into school, right?” I crouch and tuck a tear-soaked tendril of hair behind her ear. “If Nini goes with you, there’s no crying at the door.”

Bella sniffles. Her lower lip trembles. “Mommy? Are you scared?”

I laugh a little. “No, baby. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Yes, there is.” Her little hands grip mine. “Nini says when Daddy went to God Land, he left us all alone.”

Slivers of ice dart through my veins. “Nini said what?”

Fat tears well up in her big, brown eyes. “We’re all alone.”

“Why do you think we’re alone?”