“I don’t feel so good,” she muttered, and knew she should have eaten lunch after all.
A faint shift in the air almost took her breath away, then the pressure in the room began to expand. Even though she knew she was standing still, it felt as if she’d started to turn. Around…and around…and around…the chairs and the tables, the dusty pictures on the wall began to move backward, like a carousel in reverse. Everything in the room began to turn, taking Mary with it. She wanted to close her eyes, but she was afraid if she did she’d fall off the world. The old man’s image began to waver before her eyes, as if he’d suddenly lost substance. A sudden chill filled the air, and panic struck Mary dumb as the old man disappeared. She stared in disbelief at the place where he had been standing.
The scent of dust and camphor was thick around her as was another, less potent, but still definable scent: the scent of lavender and dried rose petals. She heard crying and laughing, then a single, thin high-pitched wail and knew it was her own. Something within her snapped and she felt herself falling.
When she came to, she was standing at her kitchen sink. The smell of baby formula was thick in her nose and she could hear her baby crying in the next room.
Oh God…not this. Not again.
Gritting her teeth, she felt herself turn, knowing that Daniel would be standing in the doorway as he’d been before—looking at her as if she was a stranger and not the woman he’d made a child with—not the woman he’d taken as his wife. She heard herself saying the same words and wanted to scream. She knew what she would say because she’d heard it every night for the past six years. Was this her punishment for still being alive when everyone she loved was dead? Was she doomed to replay her last moments with Daniel and Hope forever? Would this nightmare never stop?
“Isn’t her bottle ready yet?” Daniel asked.
Mary turned toward the sink where the bottle was warming in a pan of hot water. She yanked it out, shook a few drops on her wrist to test for temperature and started past him when he stepped in her way.
“I’ll do it,” he said, and took the bottle out of her hands.
Mary felt his rejection as plainly as if he’d slapped her in the face. She turned and stared back at the room. The sink was full of dirty dishes, and there was a pile of laundry in the floor just inside the laundry room in need of washing. The scent of burned bacon from breakfast was still strong in the air, and she needed to mop the floor. In the next room, she heard the low rumble of Daniel’s voice as he soothed their baby girl, then heard Hope’s satisfied gurgle as she began feeding from her bottle. Her shoulders slumped. She was a failure. Everything she tried to do went wrong.
From their first date, she’d known he was the man she wanted to marry. His Irish charm had worked magic on her too-tender heart and their first kiss had turned her knees to jelly. She’d loved him without caution and gotten pregnant for her abandon. She had to admit that he’d never wavered when she’d told him she was carrying his child. He had seemed elated and had quickly asked her to marry him that very same night. But his family, which had kept her at arm’s length from the start, was furious. As they were certain that she’d gotten pregnant just to trap their only child into marriage, their cool behavior toward her had changed to an underlying hate. And they were so good at it—never maligning her or making snide remarks when Daniel was in earshot, always waiting until she was on her own. The sheer force of their will was eating away at her sanity and causing friction between Daniel and her. He didn’t understand, and she didn’t know how to tell him without sounding like a tattle tale, so she kept her pain inside and let the infection of it spill out into their personal lives.
In the other room, Daniel looked down at his daughter’s face, marveling at the perfection in such tiny features and felt his heart twist into a deep abiding ache. He’d had no idea that love such as this even existed. He had been certain that the love he felt for his Mary Faith was perfect and all-consuming and then he’d seen Hope being born. The bond had been instantaneous and he had expected their child to cement their love even more. To his surprise, Mary had begun to pull away—keeping her emotions to herself in a way he didn’t understand. She rarely left the house and when she did, seemed to scuttle through the errands like a crab seeking shelter, relaxing only after they were home again.
As for his parents, she had completely withdrawn from them and he didn’t understand why. It seemed the only time she was even slightly comfortable was when it was just the three of them, alone at home. She had to understand that his parents needed to be a part of Hope’s life, too. After all, they were her grandparents. He knew that Mary had grown up without any family of her own, and would have thought she’d be elated to share his. But it was just the reverse. Daniel wanted to believe that her reluctance to be with his family was nothing more than needing to recover from giving birth. But Hope was three months old now and things weren’t getting better. They were getting worse. He went to bed with a knot in his belly and woke up the same way. Without knowing why, he was losing his wife, and it scared the hell out of him. And because he was so afraid, his fear often came out in anger.
He heard Mary banging pots in the kitchen and sighed. He wasn’t fooled. She did that to cover up the sound of her tears. He looked down at their baby, his heart full to breaking and felt like crying himself. They’d made this baby with so much love—where had it gone?
Mary squirted a dollop of dishwashing liquid into the sink, filled it with hot water and put the dishes in it to soak for a few minutes as she went to start the laundry. Her back ached. Her head throbbed. But it was her heart that hurt the most. Last night she had turned to Daniel in her sleep and awakened as he rolled over and shrugged out of her grasp. She knew it was only a matter of time before he told her he wanted a divorce. She couldn’t really blame him. He didn’t know what was going on between her and his family and she didn’t know how to separate his love for her from his love for them. It was all a horrible mess.
She shoved a load of Hope’s baby clothes into the washer, added laundry detergent and started the machine, then went back to the dishes in the sink. Without thinking, she plunged her hand in the water and at once, felt a sharp, piercing pain.
“Ooh!!” she cried, and yanked her hand back. It was dripping blood.
“Mary! What’s wrong?” Daniel called.
“Nothing,” she said, then grabbed a hand towel and quickly wrapped it around her slashed finger before dashing toward the bathroom.
Daniel looked up from feeding Hope in time to see Mary bolt through the living room and then down the hall. Hope was almost through with her feeding and already half-asleep. Concerned, he laid her down in her bassinet and then went to see what was going on. He walked into the bathroom just as Mary started pouring alcohol over the wound.
“My God!” he cried. “Honey…are you all right? What happened?”
“Obviously, I cut my hand,” Mary snapped.
Her anger sideswiped him, leaving him frustrated and hurting. And because he hurt, he lashed back.
“I can’t win with you, can I?” he muttered, yanked the alcohol bottle out of her hand and began ministering to her himself. “No matter what I say, it’s wrong.” Then he peered a bit closer, assessing the cut. “I don’t think it needs stitches, but maybe we should go to the emergency room…just in case.”
“We can’t afford a trip to the emergency room,” she said. “Just give me some Band-Aids. They’ll do just fine.”
Daniel froze.
Mary felt sick. Daniel looked as if she’d just slapped him. But if she went, Phyllis O’Rourke would find out and she would find a way to say something hateful about the money an emergency