Page 13 of Thick and Thin

So we fought a while about who Warren’s father might be—which was absolutely ridiculous. Gus had still paid me plenty of attention back in those days, so I wouldn’t have even thought about it.

Finally, I said, “If you’re so convinced you’re not Sinny’s father, do a blood test.”

“SINNY? That’s what you call him?”

“It’s just a nickname—and it’s cute.”

“It’s bad enough that you call me Gus and our oldest Augie. We will not be calling this child Sinny.”

“You don’t call him anything.” And it was true. He’d only held the baby once or twice, like he couldn’t be bothered.

He stormed off after that—but this isn’t done.

* * *

My sandwich finally arrived with a glass of water, but it was only a distraction. I checked my phone to find I didn’t have any other messages and then ate a potato chip, returning to the journal. There were several entries, noting that Constance was feeling physically ill again, but her tone grew darker—so I began to suspect the postpartum depression diagnosis might not have been completely wrong.

What was sweet, though, was how she documented everything about Sinclair—his first pediatrician appointment before he was even a week old; his next at one month; his first smile. It was clear to me that she loved him dearly—and she also wrote about how his older brothers seemed slightly interested but not as much as she’d hoped. She understood Augie’s hesitation somewhat, considering he hadn’t been there for the first month of Sinclair’s life.

But her health matters were beginning to take center stage. She finally broke down to see Dr. Vale again and he ordered a colonoscopy and an x-ray—and she was debating if she wanted to do it. Here go all the tests again, she’d mused.

One of the last entries recorded another fight she had with Gus.

* * *

I am so angry with that man. He’s back to his usual thing, never around. He’d promised to take us all to Seattle for a week so we can enjoy a family vacation before Augie goes back to school. So I asked him about that and it kicked off another argument.

We wound up back to the notion of Xavier and me having an affair and I said it again: “If you really think Sinclair’s not your son, let’s do a test.” But he refused again—which tells me he knows I’m telling the truth—but he can’t be angry with me or stand on higher ground if he finds out I didn’t cheat on him like he did on me.

But that wasn’t all—then he accused me of faking my illness, of “making” myself throw up all the time. And that was the final straw. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sad or lonely in my whole life.

* * *

The entries dwindled to just a few lines here and there. Several times she mentioned that she only got out of bed because the staff had asked her to. She missed the tests scheduled for her and said she didn’t know when she’d bother to get them done because she wasn’t eating—and so she felt better in that regard. One line in particular gave me chills: I don’t feel any pain when I sleep. I’m to the point where I’d like to sleep my life away.

* * *

Had she committed suicide after all?

* * *

But it was the second-to-last entry, short and sweet, that convinced me she hadn’t:

* * *

Poor little Sinny. Edna, his nanny, has had to work overtime to take care of him, but he needs to know his mother loves him—so I’m going to do what I have to. I forced myself to eat a bowl of soup and couldn’t keep it down, so I asked Edna if she would be so kind as to reschedule my missed test appointments.

That woman has been a godsend. She’s been keeping Sinny in her room at night and taking such good care of him. I know I don’t have to worry when she has him.

I also talked with Dr. Pritchett at my follow-up appointment (a week late because I missed the original one) and she referred me to a psychiatrist who can help me with what she thinks is postpartum depression. At first, I was upset because I thought she was beginning to agree with Dr. Vale—that this is all in my head—but she put my mind at ease. “No, Mrs. Whittier. I believe you’re having health problems—but they can affect your mood and if you have postpartum depression on top of that, you’ll need a little extra help.”

She is right.

I’ll do it. I’ll do it all. Because even if Gus has no use for me, my boys need me.

Sinny needs me.

* * *

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