Mother May I(34)

“Because I believed you,” she said. The flash of anger was gone. Now she sounded tired. “That’s not a thing a girl who grew up with money would ever think of. Not a thing a rich girl would guess. You and your mama, you said. Where was your daddy?”

Her interest in me felt so real. “Prison. I never knew him. He was a dangerous person. Angry. He’d lose control and hurt my mom. He hurt her a lot. He killed his next wife.”

“Well now, that’s hard,” she said. “My husband, he was a more thoughtful type. He liked things his way, like most men, but I will say he never once lifted an angry hand.”

We were falling back into that intimate rhythm we’d had earlier, almost whispering to each other. “Did he ever lift a hand when he was calm?”

She chuckled, and I felt our connection spark and strengthen. I’d understood her.

“He liked things how he liked them,” she repeated. Then she added, “He was faithful, though. Never left us for some other woman.” That wasn’t exactly how it happened, but I let her assume. I liked the way she was aligning our histories, matching up her life with my own mother’s. “Never would have either. He liked having me about. He had a good job working construction. Good benefits, so I got to stay home with our daughter for a couple years, though it made things tight. He didn’t even want to be away from us while he was working. I’d make him a lunch every day and take it to his job sites. He liked me to sit with him while he ate. He’d play with the baby, tell me about his work. But then he died on me.”

Marshall scribbled more words onto his notepad, his eyebrows raised. I think they were both surprised at how easily we were talking. Gabrielle had her hand over her mouth again, a gesture I was coming to recognize as characteristic. She covered her mouth when she had a strong feeling, as if otherwise it might get out.

I asked, “Did Robert keep you up? You sound tired.” I wanted to say my son’s name. Make him a person for her. Keep him a person. Keep him alive.

“Naw. He slept through pretty good. Needed a bottle at around four.”

I felt my breath catch, and silent tears spilled down my face. He always wanted a bottle then. The fact that she had his early-morning feeding time right made me believe he’d been there to eat it. And then I heard him. Very close. A burbling baby noise, unmistakably my son.

“Robert!” My legs gave out, and I found myself rocking back onto my hips.

“He’s here in the sling, tied to me,” she said. “Like I told you.”

I managed to lean toward the phone again. “But that’s not what you planned.” I said it flat. Resigned. Not an accusation or a challenge. Just the truth.

“Naw,” she agreed. “That wasn’t the plan.”

I made myself be still. I made myself not scream. Marshall had said to keep her talking, and I clung to this idea. “What was supposed to happen?”

“I meant to drown him.” It was so calm. The way I might say, I meant to go to Publix or I meant to call Mom, on a day when time had gotten away from me. “I was going to do it as soon as I knew that Spencer Shaw was dead. I was going to dope him so he’d sleep through it, though. He wouldn’t have ever known.”

My body rocked itself back and forth. Words spilled out of my mouth, breathy and urgent. “But you didn’t. I hear him. I’m so glad. I’m so grateful. You didn’t, and I hope you won’t. I love him so much, and you don’t have any reason to hate me. Please, please don’t.”

“Ch-ch-ch.” It was the noise she’d made to soothe Robert. She was making it for me now. She swallowed and started to speak, then paused. I waited. She started again. She was full of a strange need. I could feel her wanting to talk. I could feel her wanting to talk to me particularly.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, and then stopped again. I waited. When she finally spoke, her words came very fast. She was almost defensive. “I read, like in my mystery novels and such, that it gets easier. I like suspense-type movies, too, and I’ve heard the same thing there. They all say it. You kill a person and it’s hard, but then, you know, you get a callus. It builds up. Easier every time, they say.” I heard Robert sighing as she shifted him. “I’m not finding that to be true.”

I was nodding. As if she could see me. I understood her, and an awful, cold acceptance descended upon me. I made myself be so calm. She wasn’t talking about killing Spence. He hardly counted. That hadn’t been hands-on. That wasn’t even mostly her. I’d done the dirty parts, and then I’d watched him die while she was far away, holding my son.

She meant she’d killed someone else.

“Was it a baby?” I sounded so flat and nonjudgmental that it shocked me. I wasn’t sure what kind of character I was playing now. Not Betsy. Maybe a priest, behind a screen, hearing confession. Or a machine, heartless and hollow, taking data. “That might make a difference.”

Marshall and Gabrielle understood her now as well. Gabrielle’s whole face had disappeared behind her splayed hands. “He was older, but I’d still say a baby. He had a little blue backpack in his stroller when I took him. It said ‘Gee-Off’ on it in these fat bubble-cloth letters. Isn’t that the dumbest thing you ever heard of? A backpack for a baby. But they had stupid amounts of money, so they spent it stupid.”