Chapter 24
The court date was set for June 13, 2024. Amanda watched the date approach on her calendar as her anxiety spiked and her baby grew a nice and healthy belly and a funny little personality. Amanda’s moods were all over the place, but she tried never to show them to Genevieve. There was no telling what a little baby could remember; no telling how your actions shifted into their view of the world. One of her newer recurring nightmares involved an adult Genevieve telling her future partner, “My mother was always so angry.”
Two nights before the court date—to be held at Nantucket Courthouse—Amanda was in the living room with Sam, sharing a bottle of wine and unwinding after a long day of preparation. Sam told her that the historians were pretty sure they were “close to cracking the case of what happened to Martha,” and Amanda was fascinated. Martha was the ex-slave who’d kept the diary. Apparently, she’d learned to read and write from the women she’d worked for in Georgia. Throughout the diary, she championed the fact that her daughter would know how to read and write from childhood. She would have a completely different sort of life than the people Martha had grown up around. And didn’t every mother want their babies to have more than they had?
“We have to assume that Matthew was the second baby’s father, right?” Amanda said, sitting cross-legged on the couch.
“I don’t know. Peering that far back through history is like trying to see to the bottom of the ocean,” Sam said.
Amanda rubbed her temples. She imagined Martha’s romantic life on the island during the few years after the war. Perhaps she’d met someone at a market, a handsome fisherman or a farmer. Maybe there had been other Black people on Martha’s Vineyard—ex-slaves or otherwise. Perhaps they had a community that Amanda knew nothing about.
When she said this to Sam, Sam shrugged.
“If she really met someone else, maybe she went away with him,” Sam suggested. “She took her first baby and left the Sheridans behind.”
Amanda decided she liked this storyline the best. “I’m just so happy she got out of that basement,” she said, shivering.
Sam had told her that the only reason Martha had been able to breathe down there was because Matthew Sheridan had built a vent system that allowed air inside. But that meant the basement room had probably been awfully frigid during the winter.
The baby monitor blared with Genevieve’s anger. Sam hopped up to go tend to her, assuring Amanda it was all right and he would take care of it. Amanda topped off her wine and listened intently, waiting for Genevieve to calm down. She wasn’t as accustomed to her father, but he normally did the trick. Amanda’s mother had told her that Richard had never been so keen to help out with their babies. That he’d left Susan to weather the chaos alone.
But Sam and Richard were practically night and day.
But Genevieve wasn’t calming down this time. After two full minutes of continuous howling, Amanda hopped to her feet to save poor Sam.
Sam was in the rocking chair with Genevieve in his arms. Genevieve’s face was bright red, and she kicked her legs and punched her fists angrily. She had the strength of a boxer.
“I think there’s something wrong,” Sam said.
Amanda dropped to her knees to take Genevieve. The baby’s skin was scalding hot. Amanda nearly screeched with surprise. “Oh, baby,” she breathed, bringing Genevieve to her chest. “Can you get the thermometer, Sam?”
Sam stalled for a moment, gaping at them. Amanda glared at him—something she would regret later, and he jumped up to get the thermometer and come back. She didn’t want to be the sort of woman who showed anger in stressful situations. She had to be calm and forward-thinking, like Susan.
Genevieve hadn’t been sick since birth. She was nearly two months old, a portrait of baby happiness and health. Where on earth had she picked up this germ? The grocery store? Audrey? Max? Amanda’s thoughts twisted into knots as she searched for someone or something to blame. When Sam appeared, she nearly wept along with Genevieve.
The thermometer read 102.5 Fahrenheit.
“We have to go to the hospital,” Amanda said. She sounded exactly like her mother. Authoritative. The sort of woman who knew what needed to be done.
Sam flew around the nursery to prepare. Amanda carried Genevieve downstairs and told herself to remain calm. If she panicked, Genevieve would sense it and probably get frightened. She needed to operate this as though it were any other day.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of Amanda’s mind, she was fully freaking out. She would deal with that later. She would cry when she was alone.
Sam nearly hit Amanda’s car when he backed out of the driveway. Amanda yelped just in the nick of time, then got in the back seat to put Genevieve in her car seat. All the way to the hospital, Sam and Amanda spoke in circles and never really said anything at all. They talked about their health insurance, about the doctors they knew up at the hospital, and about other babies they’d known who’d had fevers. But they felt on the brink of disaster.
Amanda thought to herself, terrible things happen all the time. But please, don’t let them happen now. Not here. Not to my baby.
For whatever reason, as Amanda unbuckled the car seat and carried Genevieve into the hospital, she thought back to that long-ago day when Chris had left her at the altar. She’d thought to herself, then, this is the worst day of my life. But she’d been so naive.
It was a slow night at the emergency room. A nurse brought them to their own room down the hall in the children’s wing and told them to relax because a doctor was on his way. It was nine thirty at night, and out the window, they could see the lighthouse beaming in the distance. Amanda had read that none of the lighthouses in America required any human involvement at all anymore. It saddened her. It seemed like there should have always been someone to keep watch.
Doctors and nurses buzzed in and out of their hospital room for several hours. Genevieve looked so tiny and helpless in her little white crib. They put a hospital bracelet around her little wrist and spoke to one another in soft yet authoritative voices, moving Amanda and Sam to the side when they needed to check on her. Not long after they arrived, they decided she was too dehydrated and inserted a tube that would help both with that and with sleep. Amanda’s face was wet with tears. It felt like a horror film. Amanda kept thinking she would wake up in bed, the sheets twisted between her legs. But the night just kept going.
Genevieve’s fever dipped to 101.4 at three that morning. This was still remarkably high for such a young baby but more manageable. Sam promptly sat on a plastic chair and fell asleep, his head lolling to the side. But Amanda felt as though her skin didn’t fit her body. She remained at Genevieve’s bedside and watched her sleep, making small deals with herself as a way to ensure Genevieve got well again. I’ll never curse. I’ll never do anything wrong. I’ll represent only the kindest criminals. I’ll switch careers. It was a never-ending stream of nonsensical thoughts.
Sam woke up with a start at seven when the doctor arrived to check on Genevieve again. Her fever remained high—101.2. Amanda’s legs were like quivering reeds. Sam excused himself for the bathroom and returned with two cups of coffee. He rubbed his eyes and hugged Amanda from behind, kissing the back of her neck as they gazed at their baby. When Max spent many weeks in the NICU, Amanda couldn’t have comprehended Audrey’s terror. She was getting closer to understanding.
Amanda didn’t think to call her mother to let her know she couldn’t make their meeting. When she checked her phone at ten thirty, she had eleven missed calls and seven text messages. Susan was petrified. Nobody knew where Amanda was, and nobody had heard from Sam. It had turned into a Sheridan-wide hunt.
Amanda stepped into the hall to call Susan. She couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty. She’d run out of emotional strength.
Susan answered on the first ring. “Are you all right?” She sounded frantic.
“We’re at the hospital,” Amanda warbled. “Genevieve has a horrible fever. It went down a little, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Oh, Amanda.” Susan was on the edge of tears. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Amanda leaned against the cool wall of the hospital hallway and listened to the rest of the building’s thwacks and beeps and heavy footsteps. The hospital felt like a mighty beast that had swallowed them up into this nightmare. It was a relief to know that Susan was on her way. She’d probably bring snacks. She’d make them drink water and force them to take a break. The world around Amanda looked blurry and strange. She’d walked through the looking glass.
Susan burst into the hospital room with a big backpack of Gatorade and water and sandwiches and sweets. Genevieve was crying, and Amanda and Sam were trying to calm her down while ensuring that her IV remained in. Susan touched Amanda’s shoulder. Her eyes were bloodshot, as though she’d wept through the entire drive. There was nothing to say.
Genevieve finally went back to sleep twenty minutes later. Amanda, Sam, and Susan sat in the corner and spoke quietly as they ate their sandwiches. Susan knew to handle them with care and nod along as they explained more of the story. Sam and Amanda kept repeating the same parts, going in circles, but Susan never told them to stop. Amanda was so grateful. She tore open a package of Oreos and ate two at once.
Midway through her third Oreo, Amanda gasped and bolted to her feet. “What about the Arnouts?” she whispered.
Susan shook her head. “It doesn’t matter right now.”
Amanda turned to look at her infant daughter. She’d grown this baby in her womb for nearly ten months and loved her more than she’d ever loved anything. That included her career. It even included Sam.
Hardly loud enough for anyone else to hear, Amanda said, “I’ll be there if her fever breaks.” If and only if. And even then, she wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to face the Arnouts after sleepless nights of terror. She couldn’t imagine she would say only nice and considerate things. She couldn’t imagine she’d behave.