What she won’t tell the midwife is that, while this is her second child, this is the first time she has ever had doctor appointments, ever tracked the pregnancy on neat little apps, ever took supplements and worried about what she ate. A printout of the first ultrasound is tucked in Bren’s wallet. She even takes photos of herself naked before the mirror, tracking the way her body distends like she has swallowed the fabled watermelon seed and it has taken root.
This time, she is doing all the right things.
This time, everything will be perfect.
A low groan makes her head snap up, her pulse rabbiting into her mouth even though she knows it’s the old house settling. It’s easy to feel untethered being alone, easy to imagine a footstep, a sigh, the clack of teeth. Still, she shuts off the faucet and listens.
Again, the sound. This time it’s an exhalation, audible in a way that makes her skin crawl. In the back of her mind, Jude’s haunting little whisper sinks hooks into her throat.I can hear you breathing in there.
Except, she’s being ridiculous and she didn’t hear anything. Paint solvent stings the air and the fumes must be messing with her head. It can’t be good for the baby.
The only reason she helps is to impress Bren, to absorb his interests so they can fuse ever closer together, teeth roots grown inside one another and jawbones knit together. She needs to be wanted by him so deeply that nothing else matters. Although, sometimes, as she watcheshim fixate on his renovation plans with hyperexcitement, she feels as if she is competing with the house for his affections.
Elodie lays the paintbrush on the edge of the sink to dry and then wipes her wet hands on her jeans as she marches back into the living room. She pretends this isn’t to reassure herself she’s still alone. Wood shavings dust the floor, and the kitchen cabinet doors she’s been working on glisten under their fresh coat. Across from her, a huge section of the wall has been punched open, wooden posts peeking out like rib bones from the ragged plaster. She and Bren are butchers, merciless as they tear and drill and saw at this house and rend mottled, bloodied flesh from bone in an effort to turn it into something beautiful.
Elodie gives an unamused huff as she glances at the ragged hole. Wind humming through the gap is probably the cause of the “breathing,” but she can’t help running her hand across the wall, her senses on taut alert, as if she’s waiting for it to exhale. Ridiculous. But she’s realized all the windows are closed and the air is still and lifeless.
Her fingers touch something wet inside the wall.
Slick and fresh and warm.
She yanks her hand back with a sharp gasp.
Her first thought is rational: a leak in the upstairs bathroom. It takes effort to ignore her runaway pulse and force herself to take a better look. She wedges her head and shoulders through the hole in the plaster, uneasy about how much space there is inside these walls, as if a whole person could easily fit in here. She searches for dampness or mold, careful of the splintered wood, but all she feels is stagnant breath on her neck. A draft? She leans in further as she tries to see, all the while admonishing herself for being unreasonable.No rot, no leak. And it’s definitely not the walls breathing, Elodie. Get a grip—
She looks down at her hand.
It’s smeared red.
“Shit.” Elodie jerks backward and smacks her head on the harsh edge of the hole. Pain splices her vision for a second and she grits her teeth as she hurries to snatch a rag and put pressure on the cut. She doesn’t know why she didn’t feel it. Or smell it. The stench of copper pennies is everywhere now, turning her stomach inside out.
In the kitchen, she wrenches on the faucet to wash off the blood, but when she unwraps the paint rag, her hand looks clean. No gaping flesh, no wound.
Yet red still stains the rag. Paint, then.
Her phone buzzes in her back pocket and she jolts in surprise before giving her head an annoyed shake. She is way too jumpy today. She tosses the rag in the trash as she answers.
“Heyyy.” The honeyed drawl of Bren’s voice feels like a hug. “So you know that little café we like on Main Street?”
Relief at the sound of his voice makes her melt. She tucks a sweaty curl behind her ear, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe.”
Meet me there, she wants him to say.I want to be with you at the midwife appointment.
“So, Ava will be there at three, and you should totally join her! I was talking to her today, and she wants to get to know you better. Timing fits, right? Your appointment isn’t until late?”
What exactly is he telling his sister? It better not be about Jude. Elodie picks at a scab of paint on the rucked-up sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t know…”
“She’s got newborn clothes for you! C’mon, babe. I worry you’re lonely.”
“I’m not lonely.” She keeps her voice light even though she wants to snap. “I have so much to keep me busy.”
Now if she mentions the blood in the wall that wasn’t in the wall,she’ll sound needy, a lonesome person who is losing it after a few hours in a silent house. She’ll forget about it. It clearly wasn’t anything. But her heart is still beating too fast, her breathing slightly unsteady.
“Avaadoresyou.” Bren says it with such heartfelt confidence. “You can ask her stuff about, you know… how she copes with it all. So, around three is good, right?”
“Around three,” she repeats flatly, but he takes it as agreement.
“Okay, cool. I’ll be home late because my life is paperwork. I love you so much my heart explodes every time I think of you.”
