Chapter 54
“Your pressure continues to be elevated.” Ana is analyzing my biometric data. She looks up from her tablet with a frown. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Good,” I reply, with enough confidence that I hope it rings true.
The bizarre syringe incident was two days ago, and I’m relieved Shelby seems to have stuck to her promise.
Wyatt’s none the wiser, nor is MotherWise.
However, I won’t relax until I get the syringe out of the house.
I’ve been sleeping poorly again, having nightmares, and it all seems to be affecting my blood pressure.
“No complaints,” I add. “Except for this beach ball I seem to have swallowed. I haven’t seen my toes in about a week.” I laugh, but it fades quickly when Ana doesn’t join me.
“Hmm. Well, we need to see this trending in the other direction, pronto. Have you been doing your breath work? Three times a day?”
I nod. Again, a lie because I’ve maybe done it once a day, if that.
And I skipped last night’s breath work class with Maeve and Kat, citing mom homework-helper duties (another lie).
I’m afraid to be alone with Maeve, if I’m being honest. She has always been able to read me and I’m holding a lot inside.
One small push and it might spill out. Plus, Kat’s a direct line to Wyatt these days and I can’t risk further meddling, no matter how well-intentioned.
Not at this stage. I have to get this conservation finished.
I need to get this painting out of my house.
Ana waits for me to say more; I resist buckling under her gaze.
“I need you to log the sessions, Mathilde. It doesn’t look like you’ve been doing that.” She’s pointing to the analysis—the breath work box showing “0.” Shit.
“Yes, sorry. There have been a lot of distractions, and sometimes I forget that step.”
“You and I both know you can log it with your watch.” Ana raises a brow, and I nod sheepishly. I should have logged sessions, even if I didn’t do them. But honestly, breath work has been the last thing on my mind. “Easy-peasy, Mathilde. So let’s make sure we do that.”
Yes, let’s make sure we do that.
“I forgot about my watch,” I reply, desperate to get off this topic. The more Ana digs in, the more likely it is I’ll screw up. “I don’t always wear it when I work.”
Damn. Wrong answer. I am supposed to be wearing my watch twenty-four seven.
Ana sets her tablet down. “I can’t help you if you don’t follow the protocol. What’s really going on?”
I shrug, trying to compose myself. Everything feels precarious. I need to tread more carefully or risk Ana further limiting my work hours. I read the amended MotherWise contract when I was put on home rest; I know how this works.
“It’s been a tough week, that’s all. Our neighbor had a seizure and is in the hospital. She’ll be okay, but it was traumatic for everyone. We’ve been running a meal train, so extra cooking and shopping. And I’ve had a couple of, uh, challenging setbacks with my work project.”
Ana sets clasped hands on the tabletop. Her face softens. “Listen, Mathilde, I know your work is important to you. I get it—I worked through all my pregnancies, and while raising my four kids. Now, times were different back then…better in some ways, worse in others.”
She doesn’t elaborate, and I try to imagine what it would be like to have four kids and a career. That’s highly unusual.
“But my job is to make sure you’re looking after yourself, and I’m good at my job.”
“I know,” I say. Do I sound appropriately regretful? “I’ll do better this week. Thrice-daily breath work sessions, for starters. And I’ll wear my—”
I pause, hearing something I can’t place. Wait to hear it again. Yes, there it is. First, the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh sounds, but faint…and overtop of that, someone crying.
“Mathilde?”
“Do you hear that?” I ask Ana, glancing toward Shelby’s room. I can’t tell where the sounds are coming from. But then I remember Shelby isn’t home. She and Stanley are at the park. No one else is in the house.
“I don’t hear anything,” Ana replies, after listening for a moment.
It’s getting louder, the weeping. Distracting me, so I can’t focus on anything else. I can tell it’s a woman, the tone higher in pitch.
Maybe Clementine left her tablet on? But what could she have been watching that sounds like this? There are device controls to keep children from consuming upsetting content of any kind. Clem only watches Clara the Cloud and other similar shows deemed appropriate for her age.
The wails increase in intensity, soon filling the kitchen. I can’t even pick out the swish, swoosh sound anymore.
“So, as I was saying, I think—”
“Shh!” I turn on Ana, setting a firm finger to my lips. My tone is rude, my actions aggressive. “You can’t hear that?”
It’s so loud now that there’s a reverberation inside me, like how the bass at a live music concert vibrates through you. I use my fingers to plug my ears, which unfortunately does little to stem the noise.
As I squeeze my eyes shut, Ana’s hand goes to my shoulder. She’s shaking me. A moment later the wailing stops. I remove my fingers cautiously, afraid it will start up again. It’s blissfully quiet.
Ana shakes me again, harder this time. She repeats my name when I don’t respond. Her brows knit together in concern when I finally look her way.
“It’s gone,” I say. “That’s a relief!”
I smile. Ana frowns.
—
I’ve earned a temporary leave from GIA and the Leclerc conservation.
“Two weeks.” Ana turns her tablet around for my fingerprint signature. “Then we’ll reevaluate.”
“But I’ll be almost thirty-six weeks pregnant by then.” I’m panicking, doing the math.
These next two weeks are critical, I tell her. I’m so close to completing the project. I make no move to sign Ana’s form.
She pushes the tablet closer to me. I still don’t move. “What if I don’t sign it?”
Ana gives me a look one would give a misbehaving toddler.
“Mathilde, you are almost there! The most important thing is a healthy pregnancy and delivery. You can get back to work once you’re through this and the mandatory postpartum period.
” MotherWise requires twelve weeks of complete focus on bonding with the infant.
“What if I have to dip into work during that bonding time?” I ask. “Like I said, this is such a critical—”
Ana gives a pointed look, interrupting me. “You’ll void your contract. And all of this would have been for nothing, honey.”
“Well, I can’t take two weeks off, Ana.” I’m up now, pacing the kitchen floor.
My hands rub circles around my stomach. “I know it seems like art conservation isn’t a time-sensitive line of work, but I assure you, that could not be further from the truth.
Especially in this case. Because there are things about—”
“Mathilde, stop. Stop.”
I finally stop, and press my lips together. I’m close to tears.
“Fine, one week,” Ana says. “Think of it as a vacation, except without a change in location. A staycation, I think they call it?”
More mental calculations on my part. “One week…like, five business days, or seven days total, including the weekend?”
“The second one. Seven total.” Ana holds out her tablet, conversation over. “No more wiggle room, Mathilde. This is the best I can do.”
I press my finger to the box and sign the form.
—
Wyatt tells me Disney World can wait. “Clem will understand. She’s more excited about a new sibling than she is about seeing Mickey Mouse, babe.”
Clementine does seem unbothered, particularly when she learns the trip isn’t canceled—only postponed. “Then we can take the baby with us!” she exclaims.
“See?” Wyatt says over Clementine’s head. He tousles her hair, which she has recently come to dislike as it messes up her French braids, her new favorite hairstyle. She ducks, says, “Daddy!” in a disgruntled tone.
The sound of weeping starts again, the swoosh, swish, swoosh coming in softly underneath it.
This time I endure it, saying nothing. I smile at Clementine and Wyatt, as though my ears aren’t suffering this assault. The baby elbows me, and I inhale sharply. I wonder if she can hear it too. If maybe the crying is coming from inside me.
Clementine chases Wyatt around the kitchen island, a tea towel in hand, trying to snap it at him. She giggles, misses, chases him more. No one notices my strained look, my distraction.
The loneliness lands on me then, heavy and sickening. A sense of loss blindsides me; I know that soon enough (god willing) two little girls will be chasing Wyatt, giggling and snapping tea towels. I also know that there should have been three.