I scooped generous portions of steaming chow mein onto each plate. George looked around for somewhere to set Laurie. I indicated the bassinet with my fork and proceeded to shovel a sweet-and-sour prawn into my mouth.
George was able to easily extract himself from Laurie. Sitting down to eat, he said, “Babies don’t seem so hard. I don’t know what everyone makes such a big deal about.”
I refrained from letting my eyes roll into the back of my head and continued to devour the food on my plate. I managed to mumble, “Just wait.”
We ate in silence for a moment before I asked, “George, before we saw you at the pier yesterday, where were you?”
He eyed me suspiciously as he slurped up a noodle. “Why?”
“Svetlana Avery was found murdered. Same gun that killed Brad.”
George’s fork clattered onto our hardwood floor. He stood, then sat back down. “Oh my God. How do you know?”
“Jim’s still in jail. Homicide has been questioning him about you. They told him about Svetlana. They have a witness who saw a man leaving her apartment.”
George’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He stood. “I gotta go.”
I grabbed his arm. “No, you don’t! Where do you think you’re going? You have to get to the police station! Jim’s still in jail because of you!”
He pulled his arm free. “Sorry. Things are really getting screwed up. I gotta go . . . I gotta try and fix . . .” He bolted toward the front door and pulled it open.
“Wait, George! Where were you yesterday? Was it you at Svetlana’s? Is that why—”
George bounded down the steps. “I’ll call you later. Don’t worry about Jim. I’m gonna fix everything.”
My heart plummeted to new depths.
Laurie let out a distressed wail as though sensing my panic. I rushed toward the front window.
Where could he be going? I wanted to follow him, grab him by his ear, and drag him to the police station. I should have never settled for talking to him.
Why hadn’t I called Mr. Crane after George called me? I could phone him now, but what good would that do? George was already gone.
I picked Laurie up and nestled her into my shoulder. I paced, willing an idea, any idea, to come into my mind.
Hopelessness and exhaustion bore down on me.
I was fighting back tears when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone, praying it would be Jim.
I was greeted by a far too chipper voice. “Hi, Kate? This is Rachel from Dr. Greene’s office. You haven’t made your six-week appointment yet and I was calling to see if I could schedule that for you.”
I took a breath. “Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Uh . . . yeah,” I said, trying to match her cheerfulness.
“How are you feeling, Kate?” Her voice suddenly carried more weight.
“I’m fine,” I said, nearly choking on the lump that was rapidly forming in my throat.
“Are you feeling overwhelmed?”
What an understatement. One infant, three murders, a jailed husband, and a new career. No. I wasn’t overwhelmed !
“I guess you can call it that,” I managed.
“Do you have the baby blues?” she asked.
“Baby blues?” I repeated.
“You’re not . . .” Her voice changed to a whisper. “Depressed , are you?”
“No, no, no,” I repeated a little too gregariously, jarring Laurie from her sleeping position on my shoulder.
“It’s very common, Kate. You don’t need to feel ashamed. Should I have one of our specialists call you?”
“No. I’m fine. Really, just fine.”
“Let me just make a note here.”
“What? A note? A note where?”
“In your file. I’ll have someone call you.”
“What are you writing in my file? That I’m depressed? Don’t write that. I’m not depressed. I’m fine.”
“It looks like Clara has an opening this afternoon. She’ll call you around three, okay?”
Rachel hung up, leaving me with a dial tone in one ear and Laurie wailing in the other.
A note in my file?
Another thing to live down. Like the poor rating Laurie and I had gotten on breastfeeding. Only this felt worse. I was in this one all on my own.
I fell into an exhausted catnap on the sofa, with Laurie cuddled beside me. When the phone rang again, it interrupted a dream I was having about being stuck in the desert, dying of thirst.
I clucked my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth. No wonder. When was the last time I’d had anything to drink?
I stretched for the cordless phone, trying not to disrupt Laurie.
My voice cracked as I squeezed out a greeting.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Mom asked.