Coffee on the deck after dinner, of course.
“I think I’ll pass,” I said. “Brad, could I talk to you?”
“Let him have his coffee, honey,” Mom said.
“I won’t be long.” Brad smiled.
Yeah, something was definitely off. Brad would never make me wait if I had to talk to him. He and my father were acting too normal.
I nodded and went to check on Jonah. He was gurgling in his portable crib. “Are you hungry, little dove?” I picked him up, carried him to the recliner, and began to nurse him.
“Something’s bothering your daddy, little dove,” I said softly. “They’re all out on the deck, drinking coffee and acting normal, but I know something’s not right. I’ll find out tonight. It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll take care of you no matter what, little dove. Always.”
He tugged urgently at my nipple. He was definitely hungry. After he was done eating, I snapped my bra back in place and held him on my lap, talking to him and watching him smile.
This was happiness.
This was the yellow tulip.
My son made everything all right—even when I knew something wasn’t.
“Brad,” I said, once we’d brought Jonah’s crib up to my room and we were getting ready for bed, “what’s going on between you and my father?”
He wrinkled his forehead. “What do you mean? Nothing’s going on.”
“I know you both better than that. There was tension between you two at dinner.”
He kissed my lips. “I think you’re imagining things.”
“I’m not imagining anything.”
“You are, baby. Everything’s fine. But I do have a question for you.”
I sighed. “Fine. What is it?”
“Did you ever keep a journal?”
I wrinkled my forehead this time. A journal? Had I? It sounded vaguely familiar. “I think I might have…while I was…”
“In the hospital?”
“Yeah. I think I did. Man, I haven’t thought of that in forever.”
“Do you remember what you wrote in it?”
“I’m not even sure I kept one. I sure as heck don’t remember what I might have written in it.”
“Okay.” He brushed my hair out of my face. “You look beautiful.”
“Sleep in here with me. Please.”
He smiled. “Baby, we’ve been over this. I’m a big guy. We can’t both sleep in this twin bed. We’ll be more comfortable with me in the guest room.”
He was right, of course. My tiny bed couldn’t accommodate us both. Plus, this was a strange place for Jonah. He’d probably be up several times during the night, and I didn’t want to wake Brad up by rustling around in that tiny bed.
“Good night, then.” I kissed his lips.
He walked to the crib and patted a sleeping Jonah. “Night, partner.” Then he left and closed the door behind him.
I sighed. I’d already put Puppy away in my bag, but I rooted him out and cuddled him close.
This was the first time in a while I’d needed him. My security blanket.
I wasn’t sure why.
Chapter Thirteen
Brad
After washing up and donning my lounge pants and a T-shirt, I lay down in the twin bed in the guest room. I’d first slept here the night we told Daphne’s parents about our pregnancy and impending marriage.
Also the night Lucy had attempted suicide.
Now, a year later, I sat on the same bed holding Daphne’s journal. I hadn’t opened it yet.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Maybe I should just give it to Dr. Pelletier and let him deal with it.
No.
If I was going to protect Daphne, I needed all the information. I opened it. On the first page, in Daphne’s handwriting, was only one short paragraph. I squinted for a moment, making the words blurry. Then I inhaled and began to read.
I’m supposed to keep a journal. Write something down every day. I don’t know what to write though. I want to go home. I miss Mom and Dad. I miss Sage. The only thing I have from home is Puppy. I sleep with him every night, but it’s not enough. I just want to go home.
The next day:
Last night I woke up screaming. I can’t remember why, but the night nurse came in and gave me some medicine. I went to sleep after that. This morning I’m woozy. I didn’t eat my breakfast. I can’t write anymore.
Meds, of course. Were the nightmares the reason they started giving Daphne meds?
I’d ask Dr. Pelletier about that. In fact, I’d ask to see all of Daphne’s records. He’d give me some foolishness about her not signing a records release, but I knew ways to get around that. And Dr. Pelletier knew I knew.
Next entry:
I feel like there’s something in my brain that I can’t get to. It’s the strangest feeling, like I’m swimming in rough waters trying to get to an island. It’s in sight, but no matter how hard I kick and thrash against the current, I just can’t get there. It’s frustrating. I told my therapist about it today, and she said I should try meditating. She guided me through some relaxation exercises, but they didn’t work for me. She says I’m trying too hard. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. I’ve tried hard my whole life. I try. I was taught always to try my best at everything I do. How can I not try?