Chapter 47
After a virtual visit and mobile blood work appointment, Clementine’s pediatrician suggests further increasing her vitamin D intake. He agrees it’s the most likely culprit. We add another two drops to her water glass at dinnertime, and within a few days her nightmares, and night visions, cease.
I’m grateful for such a simple fix and think it’s all behind us. I’ve become adept at compartmentalizing, my ability to mentally “lock the door” on recent inexplicable and disturbing events robust. Until Clementine comes downstairs one morning before school, a photograph in hand.
I’m busy packing up her lunch, behind as per usual despite having been up for a couple of hours already.
But I took advantage of my early wake-up and the quiet of the house to get back to the treatment.
With Clementine’s nightmares and my lack of sleep, I haven’t trusted myself to work on the piece for the past couple of days—there’s no room for a sloppy, exhaustion-driven mistake.
This morning I uncovered the subject’s full chin and bottom lip. The hum of focus, the thrill of getting closer to completing the cleaning, flows through me. Only a handful more weeks until I’m finished, which is good, as the baby won’t be far behind.
“Who’s this?” Clementine asks, holding the photograph out to me.
“Hmm?” I ask, zipping up her lunch bag. I would love another cup of coffee. But with Ana visiting soon, I can’t risk more caffeine in my bloodstream.
Clementine sets the photo down on the countertop in front of me so I can’t avoid it.
She’s irritable I’m not paying enough attention.
I look at the photo and take in a sharp breath. “Where did you get that?”
“It was inside this book,” Clementine replies, and I see a Nancy Drew hardcover—from my collection—in her other hand. “I wanted to bring it to school for reading time, and this fell out when I took it off the shelf.”
“You know you can’t bring these books to school.” I’m only getting little sips of air. My mind races.
“Since when?” she asks.
“Since I said so!”
Clementine’s face falls, and I instantly regret my harsh tone.
“I’m sorry, baby. You know these books are precious to me. School isn’t a great place to take them, okay?”
She nods, setting the book down beside the photograph. “But who is this person? Do you know her?”
“I do. That’s my mother.” Pause. Catch your breath, Tilly. “Your grandmother Margot. Don’t you remember?”
Clementine goes pale.
“Are you feeling okay, sweets?”
She nods, but I’m not convinced. Worry crests inside me. Maybe this is something worse than low vitamin D. My watch buzzes, my heart rate elevated.
“I’ve seen her,” she says.
“I know,” I reply, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I’ve shown you photos before.”
“No, I mean, I’ve seen her. Not like this.” She frowns, and her worried expression worries me further.
I hold one of her hands, squeezing her fingers so she looks at me. “What do you mean, Clem?”
She points at my mother in the photograph, dressed in the navy lab coat and fitted gray trousers she preferred to wear for work.
She’s seated in front of a series of painted canvases, stacked up against a white wall.
Her hands cup her crossed knees, and she has an easy smile on her face.
It was taken to accompany an article about her career as a conservator.
I remember she was embarrassed by the fuss, but she did it hoping to educate people about conservation work.
To drive more visitors to the museum, and to art appreciation in general.
“She was in my room the other night, Momma. Remember? You couldn’t see her, though.”
My throat constricts, and it’s hard to swallow. “You must have been dreaming, Clem.”
She purses her lips, considers this. “It didn’t feel like a dream.”
I’m filled with dread, and it bursts out in a snippy tone. “Well, I assure you that your grandmother was not in your bedroom. You were dreaming. That’s the only explanation, Clementine.”
I tuck the photograph into the pocket of my work apron. Out of sight, out of mind—hopefully for both of us. “Let’s not worry about this anymore. You need to get ready for school.”
My words are measured, my tone controlled and firm. However, my body buzzes with the panic of our exchange, and a moment later it revolts. Saliva pools in my mouth and I know I’m about to be sick. I turn from Clementine and lose my morning coffee into the sink.
“Are you okay, Momma?” Clementine asks. Her hand rests on my lower back, giving quick little pats. I’ve scared her. But before I can tell her I’m okay, I heave again. This time nothing comes up.
Pull yourself together. I take a couple of deep breaths. The nausea abates.
“I’m fine,” I manage, turning on the water to rinse out the sink, and my mouth. “Sometimes the baby doesn’t like early mornings. It’s nothing to worry about, honey.”
Wyatt walks into the kitchen then. From his expression I know he senses a shift in energy. Luckily he’s arrived a few moments too late to know exactly what’s transpired. He raises an eyebrow, looks between us. “Everyone good?”
Clementine glances at me, her eyes full of concern. I nod at her, then smile at Wyatt. “All good.”
“Come here, kiddo,” Wyatt says, and Clementine obliges. He hugs her, then kisses her atop the head. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
She says she’s ready to go.
“Have you brushed your teeth?” He pours himself a coffee.
“Not yet.” Clementine looks chastised.
“Well, guess that means you’re not ready,” Wyatt says. “Hop to it, bunny.”
Clementine smiles at the pet name, then picks up the Nancy Drew book to take back upstairs.
“You know what, Clem?” I say. “You can take that book to school. I know you’ll be careful.”
“I will, I promise.” She smiles wider, and I hold out my hand to slide the book into her school bag. She takes off up the stairs to brush her teeth, and Wyatt and I are left alone.
“You sure everything’s okay?” he asks. “Seems I walked into something there.”
He sips his coffee, staring at me over the lip of the mug.
“A small issue with the book. She wanted to take it to school for reading time, and I didn’t think it was a good idea. But I changed my mind. So yes, everything is okay.” I reach for my mug to refill it with coffee, out of habit.
“Haven’t you already had one?” Wyatt asks, glancing at the coffee maker. The number on the display reads “6.” Our machine makes eight cups every morning. He’s had one and knows I’m a “the minute my eyes open” coffee drinker.
“No. I had an herbal tea. Your mom had a coffee, though.” The lie is easy. Wyatt will be gone in ten minutes, and Shelby is in the shower getting ready for her day.
“Herbal tea, huh? That might explain the tension.” Wyatt laughs easily. He pours coffee into my mug until its half-full. Like, precisely half-full. The machine’s display switches to “5.5.”
I take the mug, thanking him. Inwardly, though, I curse his controlling behavior.
He smiles, oblivious. “You’re welcome, darlin’.”
—
For a time, nothing unusual happens and the unsettling moments further lose their sharp edges.
My blood pressure, zinc levels, and stress hormones remain stable. I have gained the appropriate amount of weight, according to MotherWise. My watch spits out gold stars, and Dr. Rice and Ana, still on twice-daily visits, are pleased.
“Well done, Mathilde,” Ana declares, after a full week of consistently excellent results. “Your body seems strong, and all systems are singing beautifully. How are you feeling?”
“Great,” I say, and it’s true. My arm has fully healed, the scar patch making it less noticeable every day. I’m also more clearheaded than I’ve been in weeks; productive too. No signs of apparitions, no hallucinations, no “bumps in the night” that steal my sleep.
I suspect I’m only a handful of sessions away from completing the cleaning.
So close, which means I’ll soon be able to finish the treatment and collect my fee.
Not to mention, get a reprieve from the work.
I long to be free of the painting, even as I’m increasingly drawn to it. Soon, Tilly. We’re almost there.
I daydream about squeezing in a mini vacation before the baby comes. Ana said if things continue as they are, we can reduce her visits. A couple of times a week, maybe, with only daily virtual check-ins.
“What do you think about Disney World?” I ask Wyatt as we snuggle in bed. Clementine has visited the theme park in VR but not yet in person. “We could rent a car? It’s only a few hours’ drive. Shelby and Stanley can join us.”
“Let’s see how things shake out,” Wyatt replies, with a gentle smile meant to placate me. My enthusiasm doused, I bristle at his tepid response. But it’s late, and I don’t want to fight before bed. “Sure,” I say, to appease him.
I’m thirty-two weeks pregnant, and the window for out-of-state travel is closing.
According to MotherWise rules, I can travel up until thirty-seven weeks.
As long as both baby and I are healthy and I’m visiting a destination with an affiliated maternity center.
That gives me about three weeks to finish the treatment.
At breakfast the next day I tell Clementine we’re going to Disney World when I’m finished with the project.
She squeals in delight. “The actual place? Not in VR?”
“The actual place.”
“This is all I’ve ever wanted!” She throws her arms around me as best she can, because of my bulging stomach. I smile and squeeze her tightly, imagining Clementine hugging her little sister. Barely able to contain my own excitement, for I’m close (so close) to getting exactly what I want too.
“What’s all the commotion about?” Wyatt asks, coming to the kitchen to rinse his coffee mug. He has an off-site meeting this morning so is taking Clementine to school on his way.
“Momma said we’re going to Disney World!” Clementine is bursting at the seams. There’s nothing better than seeing your child happy.
Wyatt’s eyes shift to mine. “Did she, now?”
His tone is mild but his expression anything but. “I thought we were going to wait to talk about that.”
I shrug, Clementine’s excitement overshadowing Wyatt’s displeasure. “Not everything needs to be a discussion,” I murmur. He says nothing in return.