Get up, she thinks.Get dressed. Act normal.But she lies listless in bed while her lungs catch on the edge of her ribs and tear.
Her eyes must have closed, she doesn’t know if she drifted back to sleep for a minute, because the next thing she knows, he’s leaning overher, his cologne vibrant and jaw freshly shaven, the back of his hand warm as he lays it on her clammy forehead. He sets a plate of toast piled with slivered canned pear and honey on her bedside table along with a mug of steaming coffee. He must have left and come back and she heard nothing.
He kisses her then, on the tip of her nose.
“Sleep as much as you want, okay? You need to rest.”
“I have to get Jude ready for school,” she says, groggy.
“Nah, I’ve got it. Relax today.” He has reset, affable and nonchalant, as if yesterday never happened. “I’ll ask Oliver when he can fit you in, and we’ll go to the appointment together. Ava will look after Jude; she won’t mind. I was thinking that from now on, she can pick up Jude from school in the afternoons, and then I’ll get him from her house on my way home from work. That gives you all day to rest and prepare for the baby. Sound good?”
She wants to claw out his eyes. He is separating her from her son, depriving her, starving her,killing her.
“Oh.” She keeps her voice light. “Let’s not inconvenience Ava. I can get Jude—”
“I think this will work out better.” Bren heads for the door. “Love you.”
He’s gone, the door shutting quietly.
She rips off the blankets and snatches a massive sweater off the floor, ignoring the chill pimpling her long bare legs as she hurries after him. The weight of what needs to be done presses on her chest and keeps her short of breath, but she has to wait till he leaves first.
First, Jude.
She is always thinking of Jude.
He’s in the entryway, ready for school in jeans and a bright striped sweater. His backpack lies upside down on the floor and he’s makinghis rabbit spin into the air with a whooshing sound—mimicking the rocket ship game Bren played with him last night. A simple game, one meant for amusement. Not designed to make Jude do something, be something, settle down, tidy up, go to sleep,obey obey obey.
She feels young and childish, a teen sneaking through quiet halls, as she hurries to her son, glancing furtively around for Bren, who sounds like he’s still in the kitchen filling his travel mug with coffee.
Jude looks up in surprise as she grabs his arms and draws him to her for a quick hug.
“Baby. Are you okay?” She kisses his forehead while he frowns. “Mama missed you last night.”
You know, after I smashed your dinner and squeezed you tight enough to bruise.
He grunts, leaning backward so, if she lets him go, he’ll topple straight to the floor. She struggles to hold on to him, too shaky for one of their meaningless battles of wills.
“Listen to me.” She speaks low and earnest. “I’m going to find the bad things in the walls and make them stop. Nothing will hurt you anymore, okay?” She flicks a glance down the hall toward the kitchen. No sign of Bren yet.
Jude is still tilting backward, and she has to readjust her grip as he starts to melt toward the floor.
“Jude.” She is desperate, scared, she is so close to tears. “Does someone go in your room at night? Is someone… coming to get you?”
He gives a mewl, more mad than anything else. “Lemmego.”
“In a minute. I just need… I need you to focus.” She sounds hoarse as she whispers, “Simon says tell Mama who is hurting you.”
He is forever a puppet on a string for her games, and the irresistible urge to play has him pointing toward the kitchen.
At the wall?
Or Bren.
“You need to say it out loud,” she says, teeth clenched. “So Mama knows exactly what you mean.”
But then Bren is in the entryway, travel mug in one hand, briefcase in the other, and the way he looks at her is pitying.
“Let go of him,” he says, low and calm.
