9. Thea #2
The car pulled away from the curb. The taillights glowed red in the mist. I stood in the doorway and listened until the car turned the corner and the sound was gone.
Declan was still in my living room. I turned. He was standing in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides, water still dripping from his jacket onto my floor. He looked at me for a long second, and then he walked past me, out the door, and pulled it shut behind him.
This was the second time.
I walked to the kitchen. The bottle I'd made that morning was still on the counter, half-full, the formula settled and separating. I picked it up, poured it down the sink, and washed the bottle. I dried it, set it on the rack, and washed the pan from yesterday.
Then I walked to the nursery and stood over the empty crib. The white onesie I dressed her in that morning was folded on the changing table. I picked it up, pressed it against my face, and inhaled until my lungs were full of chamomile.
I sank to the floor. My back against the crib. The onesie pressed to my mouth. I sat there, but I didn't cry. I pressed my palms against my eyes and waited for the ringing to stop.
It didn't stop for a long time.
I went back to work. What else was there to do?
I sat down and opened the top file — Reyna Molina, twenty-eight, two kids, a housing voucher that expired in three weeks. I read the intake notes, started making a plan, called the voucher office, and got a recording. I wrote down the callback number and opened the next file.
Margot appeared in the doorway. Her printed scarf was yellow today, and her reading glasses were on her head. She was holding two mugs of coffee. She set one on my desk and looked at me.
"Good morning," I said and smiled.
Her eyes narrowed. "You're awfully chipper. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just a good day." It was a lie. But maybe if I believed it hard enough, it’d become true.
Margot set her own mug down. She walked around my desk, closed the Molina file with one hand, and sat on the edge of the desk, her legs crossed.
"Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm working."
"What’s going on? Did you see Declan Hale again? Did he finally call?"
I picked at my cuticle. “Something like that.”
“Don’t tell me he showed up on your doorstep.”
I flinched.
“Shut up. He did? When? How?”
“Slow down. It wasn’t like that.” I sighed. “It’s a long story and — ”
“Well, we’re not busy right now. Talk.”
I hesitated for a beat. Afraid of judgment. But I told her because I needed to tell someone. If I didn’t get it out, it would choke me.
"Why didn't you call the police that night?" Margot asked.
I didn't answer right away.
“I couldn't let go." I pressed my palms flat against my desk. "I just… I couldn’t let go."
"Oh, honey." She pulled me into a hug. I didn't know when I started crying. All I knew was that Margot’s shoulder was wet at some point.
She held me for a long time. Then she pulled back and held my face.
"You know how it looks," she said.
I nodded.
"You need to stop carrying everything alone, Thea. It's going to break you."
I nodded again, but I didn't know when that would ever be true.
A week later, and there was still no news about Lena.
I didn't know whether the DNA results came back. I didn't know if Declan had the baby. I didn't know anything because I had no legal standing, and no one was required to tell me a single thing.
Nina called. I watched the phone ring and let it go to voicemail. She called again an hour later. Voicemail again. My mother called that evening, and I could see the notification light blinking from my nightstand. I just ignored it.
Margot texted.
Margot
I'm coming over. You shouldn't be alone.
Thea
Don't worry. I'm fine.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Margot
Call me if you need me.
I put the phone face down on the nightstand. I went to bed. Sleep didn’t come instantly. My mind idled for hours, circling around the last few months.
My life was usually boring. That was why I lived vicariously through trashy reality TV. All of a sudden, I became a literal magnet for drama. And then, if that wasn’t enough…
THUD—THUD—THUD!
I sprang up from the bed. Someone was knocking on my door. I checked the clock. It was 3:07 a.m. I frowned. Who was that at this hour?
I swung my legs out of bed. I pulled my robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around myself. I rushed down the stairs wondering who that could be.
Caleb? But we signed the papers. It was done. What would he want at three in the morning?
I looked through the peephole and froze.
Declan Hale was on my porch. He was in a gray T-shirt and joggers, his hair pushed in every direction, dark circles under his eyes that I could see even through the distortion of the peephole lens.
He looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I saw him. He was holding the baby, and the baby was screaming.
I opened the door.
The loud cries hit me first. Lena's face was red and rigid, her mouth stretched open, her small body arched in his arms.
Declan's eyes met mine. He looked so confused that I almost felt pity for him.
"She hasn't stopped crying since I brought her home. No one can calm her down." He swallowed. "I tried everything money could buy, and none of it worked."
I didn’t say anything. I reached out and took her. "Does she have a name yet?"
"Lena."
My hands stopped moving. I stared at him. Did he know? Was that why? Was this some sort of sick game to him? Was he taunting me? Trying to see how far he could push? Or was it a genuine coincidence?
I decided it was best to focus on the baby.
She was rigid in my arms. Red-faced. Screaming with her whole body. I pulled her against my chest and shifted her so her cheek pressed against my collarbone. I just held her, close and still.
She screamed for ten more seconds. Then she whimpered, shuddered, let out a long, full-body exhale. She pressed her face against my neck and there was silence.
We looked up at the very same time, and our gazes locked.
"Here. You just need to be patient with her.
" I stepped toward him and transferred Lena into his arms. Carefully, gently, guiding his hands to the right position — one arm under her body, one cradling her head, closer to his chest, not at arm's length.
"Hold her here. Against you. She wants to feel your heartbeat. "
He adjusted. Lena stirred. Her face scrunched. Her mouth opened. Declan's face crumbled. “I don’t know what to do. What am I doing so wrong?”
I pitied him then. It must not be easy for him, trying to connect with a baby that didn’t seem to like you. I took her back, and like every other time, she stopped crying.
Declan ran a hand through his hair. Then both hands. He turned in a half-circle on my porch. Then he turned back to me. His eyes were red.
"I need your help."