Chapter 49
49
POLLY
While Tegan is wheeling herself around downstairs in the basement, I make her a batch of Midwives Brew.
I still feel shaken about Tegan’s brother showing up this morning, Sadie almost discovering our secret, and, to top it all, Tegan nearly burning the cabin down with her inside. All this underscores the fact that I can’t keep Tegan here forever. It’s too risky. I need to move things along, which means speeding up her labor.
I start out by boiling some water, and then I brew the tea. I let the tea bag sit for ten whole minutes in the ceramic mug, because the directions said that it needs to be “pretty strong.” When the tea has turned a dark-brown color, I pour it into the blender. Then I add two tablespoons of castor oil, two tablespoons of almond butter, and half a cup of apricot juice. And I hit blend.
I watch the liquid morph into a homogeneous mocha color. Admittedly, it does not look appealing. It’s going to be a challenge to get Tegan to drink it.
But maybe she will. She seems to be more cooperative, especially now that I’ve helped her get out of bed. It was a risk to give her more mobility in the basement, but I worry about the possibility of her developing a blood clot from lying in bed all the time. While this isn’t the same as walking, it’s better than nothing.
The wheelchair used to belong to my mother. We bought it when she became too weak to walk, and I used to encourage her to get into it at least once every day. I remember transferring her with the same care that I used with Tegan and her broken ankle. My mother was so fragile near the end that it felt like I could break her bones if I lifted her too roughly. But she always trusted me.
Tegan needs to trust me the same way. She seems to have accepted that she’s stuck here for the foreseeable future at least, and Hank is…well, he doesn’t seem to be actively doing anything to get her to leave. Hopefully, if this drink does what it’s supposed to do, she won’t have to be here much longer.
I pour the mixture back into the mug. I dip a spoon into it and take a sample. It tastes like almond butter. It’s not quite as bad as it looks, but it’s not something I’d drink for enjoyment.
“What’s that?”
I’m so startled I practically drop the mug. Hank is standing at the entrance to the kitchen, that deep groove between his eyebrows. After the last couple of days, he will never, ever get rid of that crease.
“It’s for Tegan,” I say. “It’s to help with nausea.”
“Oh,” Hank says.
“What are you doing home so early?”
“I just wanted to check on things.” He frowns at me. “Is she doing okay?”
“She’s fine,” I assure him. “She’s doing really well. I got her into my mother’s wheelchair, and she’s moving around great. She’s very grateful.”
“I’m sure,” he mumbles.
“She told me she thinks we would give her baby a good home,” I say. “She’s thinking about her options.”
Hank just stares at me.
“Maybe by tomorrow, she’ll have decided,” I add.
Again, Hank is silent. He scratches the back of his neck with his oil-stained fingertips. “I’m going to take a shower.”
He doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t think this is going to work out the way I want it to. I wish he would trust me the way he used to.
As soon as Hank disappears upstairs, I climb down the basement steps with my mug of Midwives Brew. I find Tegan in my mother’s wheelchair, sitting by the bookcase, inspecting the selection.
“Hello,” I say.
She looks up at me. “Hi.”
“Those books were my mother’s.”
She looks like she’s going to say something else, but then her eyes drop to the cup I’m holding in my right hand. “What’s that?”
“Oh.” I swish the concoction around in the mug. “It’s a natural remedy for pain. I looked it up on the internet. I thought it would be better than pain medications.”
“What’s in it?”
“Lemon tea,” I say. “Also, apricot juice and almond butter.” I don’t mention the castor oil. I’m worried that might scare her off drinking it.
She crinkles her nose. “How does that work to relieve pain?”
“The combination of lemon and apricot dulls the nerve fibers,” I explain, making it up as I go along. “And the almond butter keeps it in your digestive system longer, so it works for a longer period of time.”
That sounds like it could be true, doesn’t it?
“Try it,” I urge her.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You drink it first.”
Ah, it seems that she has figured out I’ve been spiking her food with Benadryl. Thankfully, there’s nothing in this concoction that I’d be reluctant to ingest. I obediently take a drink, letting her watch my throat bob as the liquid travels down my esophagus.
“It’s good!” I say.
Tegan gives me a side-eye as she accepts the mug. She sniffs at it like she’s still not sure if it’s been poisoned. But she must really be in agony, because she eventually takes a sip. I can barely suppress the smile on my face.
Soon our family will be complete.
“Wow,” she comments. “I can taste the almond butter.”
“I don’t know if it will work, but it can’t hurt, right?”
“I guess.” She hesitates and then takes another sip. “Actually, it doesn’t taste too bad.”
“I’m glad,” I say. “I hope it works.”
I really, really do.
She takes another long sip. “I want you to know that if I do go to the hospital, I won’t let them give me any pain medications. You’re right—it’s not good for the baby.”
“I don’t think it works that way. They’re not going to be able to set your fractures without medications.”
“Then I’ll wait until I deliver before I let them set the bones.”
I frown. “I thought you were worried about your legs not healing right.”
“I was.” She takes another sip. Almost half the drink is gone. Eighty-five percent chance of labor in the next twenty-four hours. “But you were right. She’s more important. If I can’t walk again, that’s not as important as having a healthy baby.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m glad you agree.”
“So…” She swallows another sip. “Do you think you could call the hospital?”
Ah, so that’s what this is all about. All this stuff about not letting the doctors give her pain medication is a crock of lies. She’s just trying to convince me to take her to the hospital.
“Tegan…”
“Please, Polly.” Her blue eyes beseech me. “I need to go to the hospital. You know I do.”
“Tegan…”
“I know of a women’s shelter.” Her eyes fill with tears. She’s not drinking from the mug anymore. “If you need to get away from Hank, I’ll help you.”
I stare at her.
“I can help you get away from him, Polly,” she says. “You can start a new life. And then you won’t have to worry about him hurting you ever again. You’ll be safe. I promise.”
“I should go,” I mumble.
“Polly, no!” Panic floods her features. “It can’t go on like this. You know that. Sooner or later, somebody is going to figure out you’re keeping me hostage here.”
“Not necessarily. Your brother was searching for you here this morning, and he didn’t know you were here.”
I shouldn’t have told her that. I was trying to make some sort of point, but it seems to infuriate her. Before I know it, she’s hurling her drink straight at me. The brown liquid stains my shirt, and the mug falls to the ground and shatters. And then her hand closes around my arm with surprising strength, dragging me close to her.
“If you move,” she says, “I’ll jam this right into your neck.”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about. Then I see it.
She’s holding a syringe in her right hand with a needle, millimeters away from my neck.