Sometimes I wonder at my younger self, unable to understand why I was so blind. I rarely questioned Press about what he was doing all those hours he was away from home. People told me how helpful he was to them as a lawyer, but to my knowledge he never did pro bono work for the poor, and I know he never presented a case to a jury. Now I think that I didn’t really want to know what he was doing. I lived in a kind of fog, strangely secure in Bliss House. I know now that it’s a world in itself, a world that exists on more than one level. But I could only perceive and understand one level in those early years.
Bliss House kept me from seeing the truth about what was going on around me. What Press was really like. What Terrance is—or was. Olivia showed me the truth about what she had endured. Surely no ill-intentioned spirit would try to make me more sympathetic to her than I already was. But perhaps I’m wrong. I lived for so long under one delusion that I may have been rendered unable to know when I’m living under a different one.
Rachel was still under some kind of sedation when I arrived at the hospital. It was common then, but not nearly as common now. All but the poorest of women were expected to remain in the hospital four days or more after childbirth, recovering. We weren’t really delicate, though we were often plied with drugs to make us feel that way. But is it such a bad thing to put off the demands of children? We carry them for nine months, growing fatter and slower and worrying more and more, hearing nightmare stories from other women about the perils of breastfeeding and colic. How much nicer to have crisp young uniformed women and our own mothers (or friends) spoiling us for a bit. To delay that moment when the nurse puts your baby into your arms and says, “Off you go!” expecting you to understand that you’re responsible for it forever. You can’t give it back to her. It’s yours for the rest of your life, unless death intervenes.
Jack had privileges at both the Lynchburg and Charlottesville hospitals, but Rachel had chosen an obstetrician in Charlottesville because she thought him prestigious. For everyone visiting her, it just meant a longer drive. I didn’t mind being alone in the car for a while, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Michael’s birth, and how Eva had begged and begged to be allowed to come and visit the hospital. But Nonie was adamant that she stay home, and the hospitals had rules against child visitors.
While I felt a strange freedom being away from Bliss House, it remained in the back of my mind like a brooding shadow. Jonathan—if J.C. had ever truly had a brother named Jonathan—hadn’t felt safe there. I didn’t feel safe away from there.
Jack greeted me near the nurse’s desk, his eyes glassy with lack of sleep, his shock of white hair flattened on one side as though he’d been sleeping on it. It was a careless look for someone who was usually so well groomed, but I didn’t comment because he was sensitive to criticism.
“Rachel’s hardly said a word. But she’ll be glad you’re here.” He kissed me on the cheek and I caught a scent of a familiar aftershave and cigarettes. Grandma is in the room with her, but Dr. Daddy is apparently persona non grata. She’s trying to talk Rachel into breastfeeding, but I think we all know that horse has already left the barn.”
“Did everything go all right?”
“As far as I know. She apparently told the OB she’d cut his balls off if he let them give her an episiotomy. But then they knocked her out, so everyone survived.”
I laughed, imagining Rachel threatening her nice old doctor.
“Are you okay?” Jack sounded almost shy. “Last night was strange.”
I thought of how he’d touched Press’s hand. That seemed strange to me, but I knew that wasn’t what he meant. I didn’t know what to think about Jack. I didn’t hate him, but I understood he wasn’t the person I had thought he was for so long. It made sense that Press had—God help us all—seduced him in some way, just as he had me, and J.C., and who knew who else.
One of the two nurses sitting at the nearby desk giggled, but I had no idea if it was directed at us. I had been out of the house so little that I hadn’t thought about people recognizing me as the woman who had been responsible for her own child’s death. Suddenly I was even more self-conscious than usual. I drew my light coat more closely around myself.
“I want to hear about the baby. Does she have a name?”
He smiled and ran a hand through his hair.
“Damn. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He took my arm. “The babies are down here.”
The nursery was a few doors down a nearby corridor. On the other side of its enormous window, bassinets with babies in them were lined up in rows, each one bearing a sign with the baby’s name, mother’s name, and measurements. I found myself hanging a few inches behind Jack as he pointed to a bassinet far at the back. Rachel had been so very sure they’d have a boy. She hadn’t rejected having a girl out of hand, but neither had she really entertained the possibility. Rachel didn’t hide her feelings well, either. What would it be like to grow up having a mother like Rachel? A mother who had very clearly wanted a boy?
“Do you want to go in and hold her?” Jack asked. “I can get you in. You’ll just have to wear a mask.”