Page 23 of I Know She Was There

She nodded. “With lemon, please. And you may be right about the problems circulating in your mind, but you’ve had so much to deal with?—”

“Well, we both know I’m not the first woman whose husband left her.” I dragged out two teacups and set them on the counter, my movements jerky.

“Yeah, but I’m thinking aboutallthe things you’ve told me, beginning with Everett...”

This again?Tasha seemed as obsessed with my father as she’d once claimed she was with his unique name. “People die every day.” I pivoted toward the fridge handle, a tremor running through me as I glanced at her.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right.” She tilted her head in that superior way Jane Brockton had when we’d first met. I wondered if, like Jane, Tasha thought herself—her life—just a bit worthier than mine. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I weaved on my feet, placing a hand against the fridge to steady myself. I paused for a beat, breathing deeply before continuing the task of tea making.

I filled the kettle with warm water, set it on a burner, and turned the stovetop knob to high, then glanced at her, knowing why I didn’t like telling people about my father’s accident. They always wanted to ask questions, not understanding how painful it was for me to think about. I pressed my lips together. Was she trying to create a little drama at my expense? Was she one of those people obsessed with death, and the ways people died? Tasha met my gaze, no hint of malice in hers. Only a look of regret, as though it pained her to mention my father.

“What’s done is done. No way to go back.” I reached into the cabinet and rooted around the bottom shelf for the tea bags.

“Do you really feel that way?”

“Of course.” I looked at her. Tasha wasn’t afraid to make eye contact. And she never shied away from what I revealed to her. I looked at the tea bags in my hands, removed the paper wrappers, and set about slicing the lemon I’d snatched off my kitchen windowsill. I should be thankful for her attention.

“What if youdoremember what happened in the boat that day, but your mind is blocking it out like?—”

The teakettle’s harsh shriek drowned out the rest of her sentence. Even though I was expecting it, the noise startled me. I set the teacups on the table and crossed to the stove, grabbing the teakettle handle. Heat infused my skin as I walked back to Tasha, so warm I worried I might drop the damn thing. I switched hands and poured water in our cups, concentrating on keeping my extended arm steady. “I recall being in the boat, but I don’t remember capsizing. One minute we were sitting together, and the next minute we weren’t.”

Tasha reached for her steaming cup. Her nails were sparkly lavender today. “That must have been horrible. Did you know how to swim?”

“I’m not sure. I think so.” I paused, the steaming kettle still in my hand. So close to her beautiful face. My arm quivered. “I have this sense that my dad taught me, but still... when I think of that day, I feel so tense. My body tightens up, preparing me for danger.”

Tasha lifted her cup and blew on the surface, her eyes never leaving mine. “It would be dangerous if?—”

That’s when Emmy’s wail drowned out the rest of her words. “Excuse me, that’s my girl,” I said, crossing back to the stove and replacing the teakettle on the cooling burner. I pivoted and hurried through the kitchen, approaching the table where Tasha sat. She stood swiftly, blocking my way.

“Hold up.”

“But she’s crying.”

“You know, doctors now say it’s healthy to let a baby cry for a bit. Teaches them to self-soothe.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. She’s just a baby, and I’d be remiss...” I tried to walk around her, but she bent forward, invading my personal space.

“Think about this, Caroline: by running to Emmy’s rescue at the first sign of distress, you may be doing more harm than good.” Her voice was firm. “Robbing her of her problems.”

“Robbing her of... she’s ababy, for God’s sake.” I pushed forward, nudging her. “She needs me.”

“And you’re a good mother,” she said, leaning close.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then let her cry.”

I leaned back, silently cursing Tasha and annoyed once again with Tim. If he’d only allowed us to buy a bigger house, with normal-sized rooms. I’d not be caught in the narrow space between the kitchen table and the wall with my misguided friend using her body as a barrier between me and my crying child. “I’m asking you to step aside, Tasha. I need to tend to Emmy.”

“I can’t stay all afternoon, remember,” she called after me as I rushed down the hall to Emmy’s room. I didn’t bother to answer. I should have guessed she was still cross with me for losing track of time when she last visited.

By the time I reached Emmy, she’d worked herself into a fit, her legs pressed upward against her belly and her face a disturbing shade between purple and red. Realizing it would take a long time to settle her, I reached into the crib. Her little body stiffened and thrashed against my hands.

I rocked Emmy for endless minutes, eventually calming her enough to change her diaper, strap on the baby carrier, and tuck her fidgeting body in. When I padded back to the kitchen to prepare a bottle, Tasha was no longer there. I felt a ripple of disappointment mix with my resentment. Although Tasha’s friendship was important to me, making me choose between lavishing my attention on a self-sufficient woman with children of her own and a helpless infant...

I paused, resting a hand on the refrigerator door. My mother had few friends. Perhaps she’d had to make the same tough choices. Or maybe she just hadn’t had the opportunity to bond with other women. She’d worked full-time at Dr. Gleason’s office since graduating from nursing school. Between her responsibilities at the office and her single-parenting duties, she’d had little time for socializing.

I opened the fridge door and peered inside, searching for the baby formula on the top shelf. When it came down to a competition between friends and family, there was no choice to be made. Emmy had to come first. I may not have made the best parenting decisions when I was in the grip of postpartum depression. Tim had to step up then. Tend to our child while I battled my way back to stability. But Tim wasn’t here now. It was just Emmy and me. Like my own mom, I had to be both mother and father to our child.

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