True, there isn’t much else I can do.
I’ve already dismantled the bed in the room across from mine. I dragged down the one crib from the attic, because even as infants, both refused to be separated.
From birth to death.
I suppose there’s some comfort in that they are together.
The clang and clatter of Lenora dropping her spade startles me out of my thoughts. I turn my head away from the mirror I’ve been trying to fasten to the wooden paneling joining greenhouse to the main house.
“Leave it,” I tell her, lowering the ornate antique to the floor and propping it against the wall.
Lenora peers up at me with dry amusement, pink cheek streaked with dirt.
“I can still bend to pick things up.”
She really can’t. Not without risking a tumble backwards and I’m not taking that chance. She’s already so delicate. Her body going through impossible changes far too quickly.
Unnaturally too fast.
Not that I would tell her as much. She already stresses that something is wrong and I know there is.
Pregnancies don’t work like this.
Women don’t expand to seven months overnight. Their bodies can’t adapt that quickly. But I won’t tell her that. All I can do is stay close and watch. Monitor and be ready if she needs me.
I scoop up the spade and press it into her dirty hands, along with a thorough kiss to her lips for my efforts.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen her nails caked in soil that it hits like an emotional punch. When she asked me to stay with her while she checked her plants, I didn’t argue. When she found several mirrors in the attic while we were digging for baby furniture and asked me to bring them down, I only mildly protested.
I knew what they were for and I don’t think he needs to be in every room with her. His presence irritates me.
“I was thinking, we should get some baby clothes,” she says as I return to my given task. “Neutral colors since we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
She chatters on with the same enthusiasm she used to have. That overabundance of words that I never realized how much I missed until it’s filling the musty space.
I listen while I check the nail in the post and tug on the copper wire looped across the mirror’s back. I’m definitely not confident it won’t break, but I still lift the glass and hook it in place.
“We should tell Mrs. Pym. She’s going to be very cross that I let this happen. She’s been so dedicated to preventing us from getting pregnant, but I think she’ll be happy. Where do you think Mrs. Pym is? I haven’t seen her or Mr. Pym in … how long has it been?” She’s turned to face me, expression contemplating. “I hope Mr. Pym is all right. We should call them.”
I agree.
It’s not like either of them to go this long without some word. Both had been kind enough to stay in the guestroom after the funeral to watch over Lenora and help me with the preparations. I assumed they’d gone back to their house at some point when they were no longer here and were giving us privacy to mourn, but it has been much too long.
“I’ll call,” I promise her.
The deep lines between her brows remain firmly notched in place, but she gives a slight nod and turns back to her planters.
I move to drag the oblong mirror off the doorframe and into the corner. It’s unclear how many mirrors she thinks the demon is going to need, but I do as I’m told and slide the back stand open and prop it into place.
“We should put a mirror in your office.”
“No.” The refusal comes out of my mouth before I can fully register the suggestion. Still, I repeat myself for good measure. “No.”
Lenora stops and faces me. “It’s not fair to keep him out. He’s part of our family.”
“He’s a demon,” I correct, refusing to indulge her this lunacy. “He can’t be trusted.”
“Can you please—?”
