“I can understand that you’re having trouble . . . coping. But, sweetheart, you’ve got to start making an effort.”
“I am. Really I am.” Susan fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose. “How are you holding up?”
“Terrible,” Richard said. But Susan thought there was something in his voice. He didn’t sound terrible.
“What have you been doing?” she asked.
Richard lifted both hands as if in supplication. “Nothing. Hoping. Praying, I guess.” He dropped his hands and took a step back. “Maybe you should take one of your pills. Go upstairs and crawl into bed, try to get some more rest. Just . . . zonk out.” He managed a smile. “Doesn’t that sound better than lying around down here?”
She wanted to scream at Richard and tell him that getting Elizabeth Ann back was what sounded better to her. Instead, she said, “I suppose.” After all, he was just trying to be helpful. She sighed. Men were never emotionally supportive in a crisis. Of course, she wasn’t exactly a model of female courage either.
“Want some help?” Richard offered a hand.
She stood up and gave a shaky smile. “No, I can manage.”
“Atta girl.”
Susan wobbled down the hallway and into the kitchen. She needed a sip of juice or water to soothe the rawness in her throat. But a fresh onslaught of grief came flooding over her when she opened the refrigerator. Lined up on the middle shelf were four bottles of baby formula. Just sitting there. Waiting for her baby to return.
Susan slammed the door. She couldn’t even recall mixing them. She must have simply been acting on autopilot, fixing a bottle every few hours.
For a baby that isn’t even here.
Susan stared at the refrigerator for a long ten seconds, then pulled it open again and grabbed a bottle of mineral water. She unscrewed the top and pitched it aside—she didn’t care where—and carried the bottle back to talk to Richard.
He folded the newspaper down as she came into the room. “Feeling a little better?”
She made a broad gesture. “We have, what . . . five thousand square feet of house? Four bathrooms? A sewing room even though I’ve never managed to sew a stitch? A pool table even though you’ve never shot a round of eight ball? Guest rooms even though we’ve never seen an overnight guest? What’s it all for?”
Richard stared at her, pain flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean, what’s it all for?” He was suddenly on his feet, ready to confront her. “I don’t remember you having a problem when we picked out this house. You loved the Kenwood address, said it would impress all of your friends. And you were perfectly enthralled with hiring decorators and wall mural painters, and scouring art galleries for the perfect paintings and antiques. You even ordered monogrammed guest towels, for Christ’s sake. Seems to me you were completely on board at the time. Am I right about that?”
Susan nodded slowly. “Yes, I was. I’ll admit that, I wanted the dream lifestyle, the perfect home. But now our bubble has been completely burst. I mean, what good is all this if we don’t have Elizabeth Ann?”
“Susan, I hear you,” Richard pleaded. “And my heart aches just as much as yours does. But what do you want me to do? Go outside and drive around? Look for her like she’s some kind of lost puppy?”
“I just want . . .” Susan flapped an arm and said, “I don’t know what I want.” Then her face tightened and she said, “No, I do know. I want our baby back.”
“And so do I,” Richard said, firmness in his voice. “And I believe, deep down in my heart, that we will get her back. I have to believe that. It’s the only thing that keeps me moving forward, the only thing that keeps me from going absolutely freaking insane.”
“Richard,” Susan said. She touched a hand to his cheek and stepped in close. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a shrew, a crazy lady. We have to stick together, we have to get through this together.”
Richard put both arms around her and pulled here close. “Then let’s forget these last ten minutes ever happened, okay?” He kissed her gently on the nose. “Just go upstairs, take your bottle of water with you, and swallow one of your pills. Hop into bed and try to get some rest. God knows you need it.”
“What are you going to do?” Susan asked, yawning. She really did feel completely exhausted.
“I’m going to wait right here. Keep watch. Keep the home fires burning.”
“Bless you,” Susan said. She turned and trudged over to the staircase. As she climbed each step, she felt like she were moving through molasses. She could even see faint traces of black powder—latent powder, they’d called it—the stuff police used to obtain fingerprints. To gather evidence.