Miss Me When I'm Gone

chapter 28



The hospital elevator was crowded with distressed men clutching pillows to their chests, and pregnant women trying not to bump bellies in the tight space. We’d just finished our second childbirth preparation class on the fourth floor, and everyone was reeling from a relatively graphic birth video, complete with a naked and delirious woman screaming and grunting on her hands and knees. After the video, people seemed to have lots of questions about epidurals. But the nurse teaching the class waved off most of those questions, saying she’d talk about “that stuff” in a week or two.

We’d all brought our own pillows on which to practice labor positions. Now someone put out a shaky hand and hit the ground-floor button. Just as the elevator door closed, a young man in a baseball cap, the youngest in the class—he was about twenty, his pretty pregnant partner probably even younger—smiled broadly and whispered, “Pillow fight!”

A few people giggled, including me. No one moved, of course, but I could feel the tension leave me as I pictured hospital security cameras capturing an elevator full of expectant parents swatting each other with pillows, feathers flying. It seemed to me a pillow fight might have been more therapeutic for us all than the class we’d just experienced.

Sam, however, didn’t seem to derive any relief from the young guy’s little joke. He was silent as we filed out of the elevator, walked to the car, and started out of the hospital lot.

“Well, that was intense,” he said, after a couple of minutes of driving.

“Yeah,” I answered. I didn’t particularly want to discuss what we’d just seen—not at the moment, anyway. I turned on our CD player and played his favorite Radiohead.

As he pulled into the driveway, I said, “If it’s any comfort to you, I’m probably going to take full advantage of the drugs available.”

“It’s not my comfort I’m worried about,” Sam said as we got out of the car. “So whatever you decide will be okay with me. Really.”

“Best not to overthink it,” I said. “It’s just one day, and then we’ll have Charlie here. What’s going to happen is going to happen, and worrying won’t change how it happens.”

This was something I’d been telling myself for a while. I wasn’t sure I believed it.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, unlocking our front door. I noticed he didn’t remark on my use of the name “Charlie” for the baby—my favorite name so far, though I knew Sam was lukewarm about it. He headed into the living room ahead of me while I hung up my jacket.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he called from the living room.

“What?” I called back.

“Jamie, come in here,” he yelled, his voice sounding more frantic now.

I rushed in behind him, and found our television cabinet open, our DVD player and his Wii gone, leaving neat, clean rectangles in the dust.

“Did you move the DVD player?” he asked me.

“No,” I answered. “Why would I?”

“Oh my God,” he said, glancing around. “Has someone . . . ?”

He ran into the kitchen. “Someone’s broken in!”

“Why wouldn’t they take the TV?” I called to him.

“Looks okay in there,” he said, taking my arm. “But we’re gonna go into each room together, and check. In case . . .”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but led me into our office. Drawers were open, both of our desks in disarray.

“F*ck,” he whispered. “My laptop. Where’s yours?”

I indicated the bag still on my arm. Lately I’d been hauling it around almost everywhere I went, reading Gretchen’s stuff whenever I had a free moment.

“Isn’t that the one you got from Gretchen’s brother? Where’s yours?”

“Um . . . last time I used it, I think I was in bed.”

He nodded and led me to the bedroom.

“I can’t remember if I put it on the bureau or left it on the bed.”

Sam pulled the duvet off the bed.

“I don’t think it’s here,” he said.

“But that’s weird,” I said. “Why didn’t they take the TV?”

“Who cares why they didn’t take the TV, Jamie?” Sam bellowed, then slapped his hands over his face. “They took everything else!”

I glanced around the room, then let my eyes come to rest on my bedside table. There I had left two notebooks of Gretchen’s—but now they were gone.

“Uh-oh,” I whispered.

“ ‘Uh-oh’ is right,” Sam muttered, picking up the phone. “I’m calling the police right now.”

I headed out the bedroom door, ignoring Sam as he called, “Stay in here with me!”

“I’m sure they’re long gone,” I yelled back.

“Now, how the f*ck did they get in?” Sam bellowed, kicking something, then lowered his voice. “Um, hello. I need to report a break-in . . .”

I tiptoed back down the stairs and headed straight for the coat closet, where I still stored Gretchen’s crates. I peered in and found them still there, piled high with Gretchen’s notebooks. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

When I rejoined Sam in the bedroom, he asked if I noticed anything else missing. I glanced at my nightstand and wondered if I’d been mistaken about where I’d left the two notebooks. I told him no.