EMMA AWAKES ON the floor in a pool of something. Something wet. She’s wet herself. Her first response is shame. Then she remembers who she is, what she is, where she is. Ben’s rehearsal space.
Her water has broken. She’s going into labor. Ben’s on the phone with her doctor.
Ben puts on his coat.
“Don’t leave me,” Emma says.
“I’m going to get the car,” he says. “Avery and Rebecca will help you down in the elevator.”
Emma has a million questions, but the contractions are coming faster than they should. They’re supposed to start slow. You’re supposed to be able to time them. A certain number of minutes apart, and it’s time to go to the hospital. She can’t remember the numbers. The intervals. These are coming quickly.
Is she—or the baby—in danger? She will do anything she has to to save the baby. She will only think good thoughts. She will stay brave and positive. She will wonder—just once—why Ben and Lindsay went to all that trouble, forging that journal, involving Sally.
Sally’s dead.
The girl in the field and the old photos—was that part of it? Was JD in on it too?
Emma asks herself these questions, just once, and then for the baby’s sake she stops.
She will deal with all that later. None of that matters now.
Ben’s got the heat in the car turned up all the way, and it feels good when Emma gets in the Volvo. He reaches across the console and takes her hand. It’s painful to think that he used to do that all the time. He did it that first day they came up to look at the house. Maybe that was the last time he held her hand so tenderly. And now he’s doing it again.
It makes everything simpler. Here they are, the two of them, the baby on its way.
A forged journal. An affair. An elaborate deception aimed at hurting her. She still wants to think it’s possible that, once the baby is born, everything will get sorted out. She and Ben will leave that complicated, twisted world and enter a new one together. She’s afraid it’s too late. But despite everything, she desperately wants to believe that something positive can still happen. She thinks, You can believe anything if you want to, badly enough.
Another contraction peaks and fades and disappears. She squeezes Ben’s hand, which is now clutching the wheel.
Against all odds, she dozes off between contractions.
THE NEXT THING she knows, it’s crowded and bright. She hears noises, voices. People are lifting her, pulling and pushing her, asking how she’s feeling. She’s fine, except that she’s being pushed and pulled. Then comes another contraction.
A wheelchair, a cold room, lots of machines, a worried nurse coming and going.
“There’s nothing we can give you at this stage,” the nurse says.
“That’s okay.” There’s nothing they have that Emma wants. She wants something they can’t give her, though she can’t remember what it is.
She wants to do everything differently. To start over. She wants to be another person. More like Lindsay. She sees that now. Too late.
DR. SNYDER APPEARS in scrubs. Her knight in shining armor. How happy she is to see his kindly familiar face! He won’t let anything bad happen to her and the baby. He consults a beeping machine that’s attached to her somehow. He presses a button and a ticker tape rolls out; it’s like checking out at a supermarket with a very large order.
He frowns.
Then more hands lift her onto a gurney, and they’re flying out of the room. Levitating, it feels like, but that can’t be true. Her view is the ceiling, lights streaming past. Then they slam through a door and the light is blindingly bright.
Someone is holding her hand. All she can see are the eyes. It’s a man. It’s Ben!
Ben’s wearing a mask and green hospital scrubs. He looks scared but also embarrassed, as if he’s been made to dress up for Halloween in a silly costume. Costume… costume… the word scares her. Pain builds and crests and ebbs like a wave that picks you up and slams you farther down the shore.
A voice says, “Emma, push. It’s almost here.”
She hears a baby crying.
Her baby.
Someone says, “It’s a girl.”
They put the baby on Emma’s stomach. Emma’s weeping. Sobbing with love and joy and relief.
SHE WAKES UP and falls asleep again, until she’s awoken again by a friendly nurse who asks if she wants to meet her baby. Emma can’t read the nurse’s tone. “Is she okay?”
The nurse says, “She’s beautiful.”
Another voice says, “She’s perfect.”
It’s Ben. He’s sitting in a chair.
For a moment she doesn’t recognize him. Then for a moment she doesn’t care. Then for a moment… what? She doesn’t know.
All she cares about is her child. The baby fits snugly into her arms. Her arms know what to do. She puts her hand under the baby’s perfect downy head, and the baby’s perfect pink lips nuzzle at Emma’s breast.
“See if she’ll eat,” says the nurse.
The baby’s already latched on. The baby gulps like a little fish.
Emma feels overwhelming happiness, love, and joy. She has never in her life felt love like this, never in her life loved anyone like this, never…
Over the baby’s head she sees Ben, smiling guiltily. The smile of someone who’s done something wrong and wants to make it up to her.
That’s when the truth comes rushing back. If the truth ever left.
“Iris,” she says. “Baby Iris.”
Ben will agree to the name. He owes her.
“We’ll talk about it,” he says. “Before we make it official.”
“Iris,” Emma says with all the strength she has.
“Okay,” says Ben. “Okay. Hello, Iris.”
His voice sounds hollow and forced.
“Hello, Little Person,” says Emma.
THE NURSES SAY it’s normal to be tired after giving birth. That’s why they call it labor.
Every time Emma’s awake, it’s to hold and nurse the baby. Ben’s always there, and she’s superstitious about letting Iris hear her parents argue during her first days on earth. The baby’s presence is a buffer, a wall over which they can only communicate with expressions and gestures. Every look that Emma gives Ben is a giant WHY? A silent, astonished How could you?
Emma still doesn’t understand. She knows about Lindsay and the journal. She knows Sally is dead. But the rest is still a mystery. There must be a simple explanation. It can’t be as complicated—as wicked—as it seems. Why would anyone go to all that trouble? The journal. The photos. Sally.
She spends two nights in the hospital. There’s some problem about how much their health insurance will cover, but Ben says he’ll pay no matter what. And the nurse says it’ll probably be fine.
Ben says he wants Emma to stay there until she feels strong enough to bring the baby home.
He tells this to several nurses.
“Of course,” each one says. “Of course.”
Ben goes home and is back in the morning by the time Emma wakes up. He sits in the chair. He helps Emma go to the bathroom. He holds Iris, staring into the baby’s eyes. He seems totally enchanted.
One afternoon, while Iris sleeps in Emma’s arms, Ben whispers, “I’m sorry. I made mistakes. I know that now. I love you. I want to be with you and the baby. Iris. I love the name. It’s perfect for her. I want to be with you both. We’ll go back to the apartment. We’ll sort things out. I’ll explain everything. I’ll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me.”
That Ben loves Iris’s name cheers Emma. Or almost. She wants to hear his explanation. His version. But why does she look at him like he’s the detective about to explain the mystery, when the fact is, he caused the mystery. He is the criminal.
Why did he pick Lindsay? She seems like such an airhead. And why does Emma have to ask why? Lindsay’s young, she’s pretty, she’s sexy. She’s free. She’s not pregnant. And for a few seconds, at that nightmarish rehearsal, Emma saw that she wasn’t just a country Realtor. She can sing. Emma watched her become Peter Pan: Ben’s old Twitter handle made flesh.
THE BABY GURGLES at Emma’s breast.
Being patient, giving this time, not accusing Ben, not insisting he explain is the most difficult and strongest thing she’s ever done.
Ben says he wants them home at the apartment. He’ll work from home. He’ll take care of them. He’s found a perfect crib to put next to their bed. He’s stocked the place with diapers and wipes and cloths and anything they might need. All of Emma’s favorite foods. He’ll cook her delicious meals every night. Until she gets her strength back.
Here’s what’s going to happen:
They’ll talk this through. Ben will explain. She’ll either forgive him or not. Lindsay. The journal. Sally. JD. Were they all plotting against her? Are they still?
She has to stay calm. She has to hope for the best. She has to prevent fear, mistrust, and panic from getting into the milk that baby Iris is so greedily, joyously drinking down.
Obviously, it’s too early to tell, but as far as Emma can see, Iris has a sweet, easygoing nature. She’s happy to be held, to be carried, happy to be sung to and rocked. If she cries it means she’s hungry or needs her diaper changed.
EMMA IS READY to go home.
Passing the time until Emma’s discharged, Ben and Emma avoid the painful subjects. But they talk constantly. It’s been a long time since they were this close. They go over the list of things Ben has bought. Diapers, wipes, a changing cloth. Check. Little onesies. Check. A crib with the highest rating from every place that rates child safety, the most expensive infant car seat, even though, as Ben points out, they’ll only be using it to get from the hospital to the apartment and then for six months or so until Iris grows out of it.
Six months.
He’s turned Peter Pan over to Avery and Rebecca.
And to Lindsay, Emma thinks. But neither of them says that.
They’re not ready for that.
They’ll stay in the apartment. They’ll order in and feed and change the baby and take naps and sleep when they can. They’ll take baby Iris out for walks when it warms up a little. They’ll bring Iris to the doctor for well-baby visits. Give her time to get strong. They’ll let JD work on the house. He and Emma and Ben can discuss things on the phone. If there are choices, JD can send them images of the options. From now on, she and Ben will decide everything together.
A stream of social workers and nurses come through Emma’s hospital room, making sure Ben and Emma don’t have any questions about what to do when they get home.
Emma has plenty of questions—but none the social workers can answer. What is she supposed to do about a husband who’s conspired with his lover to forge a journal and gaslight her in every possible way? A husband who’s made her think she might be going out of her mind.
But now… Ben seems different. More like how he used to be. Maybe the baby has changed him already. Another miracle. He couldn’t be more tender or caring. His touch, as he helps her and the baby into the wheelchair that the hospital insists on, is the touch of a man who loves them both.
The baby adores her car seat. She waggles her tiny arms and legs in the straps as Ben fastens them. The nurse watching says how unusual that is. Most babies cry.
“She trusts us,” Ben says.
Emma can’t help thinking: Why should she?
Emma braces herself for Ben to complain when she sits in the back with the baby. He’s always made fun of couples who do that. But Ben is beyond criticizing anything she does, no matter how sensible or (he thinks) neurotic.
It won’t always be this way. This is the first time they’ve taken the baby out, even if it’s just across town to the Upper West Side. Of course she’s going to be cautious.
She stares into the baby’s huge dark eyes. Iris can hardly see her, Emma knows, so why does it seem as if she does? Emma watches every flicker of expression that passes across the baby’s face.
So she’s slow to notice.
Ben should be driving across the park and north along Central Park West. But he’s turned south onto the West Side Highway.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve had a change of heart,” he says. “I want to go upstate.”
“I thought we were going to the apartment. I thought it was all arranged.”
“The country house is just as good. Lindsay and Beth have gotten everything we need.”
“Lindsay and Beth? Lindsay and Beth?” She hears her voice rising to a high, strained pitch. How can she be, at the same time, so furious and so numb?
How could Ben not have consulted Emma? How could he have changed their plans, just like that, without asking her?
Panic washes over her. Adrenaline speeds up her heartbeat. Something’s wrong. Are she and Iris in danger? Or is she panicking for no reason? Her husband has changed his mind. People change their minds all the time.
Even as she tries to reassure herself, she’s fighting the impulse to jump out of the car. She can’t. Of course she can’t. They’re speeding along the highway, and it would mean leaving the baby behind. That’s the last thing Emma wants to do.
It’s impossible to process everything at once. For the moment, just for a little while, she longs to go back to the way things were, before she found out about Lindsay. She tells herself: This is Ben. Her husband, not her kidnapper. He’s had a change of heart. Emma can go with it. She loves the country too. They’ll be on their own, with the new baby. Ben will fall in love with the baby, and with Emma. Again. He’ll regret what happened with Lindsay. He’ll beg Emma to forgive him. They’ll sort the rest out later.
“I got all duplicate stuff up there,” he says. “The crib, the diapers, etcetera. Because, to be honest, I hadn’t made up my mind.”
His mind? His mind? What about her mind? What about what they want?
“I thought we’d decided.” Emma’s voice sounds weak. Well, sorry. She just had a baby!
“Not really,” Ben says.
They’re heading into the Lincoln Tunnel. There’s hardly any traffic. What time is it? The lights on the tile walls strobe past.
Ben says, “If you squint, it’s kind of like the candelabras in the Beast’s house, remember Emma?”
Emma remembers, but she now thinks the lights look like prison-yard beams.
When they emerge on the Jersey side, she searches through her purse for her phone, but she can’t find it. Whom would she call? Her old friends, the ones she’s hardly seen or spoken to since she got pregnant and moved to the country? Her doctor? JD?
And if she called them, what would she say? Still, she wants to know where her phone is. “Where’s my phone? Did I leave it at the hospital? Do you remember taking it?”
“I have it with me,” Ben says. “I took it. You won’t need it for a while. Just try to get some rest.”
There’s something new—something hard—in his tone. She hardly recognizes his voice. It’s like they’ve wandered into one of those science fiction movies in which a familiar person has been taken over by an alien entity.
She and Iris are in trouble. And now Emma is really scared.
“Where are we going?”
“Upstate. Obviously.”
Emma closes her eyes. Somehow that makes it easier to say what she has to say. “Ben, you need to tell me. Why did you and Lindsay do what you did—the journal, the photo at the historical society?
Ben says, “Emma, are you sure you’re okay? I have no idea what you’re talking about. What journal? The one you were looking for in the attic, the one you must have thrown out and forgotten or maybe—”
Unless Ben looks in his rearview mirror, she can’t see his face. He’s concentrating on the road. A safe driver. She’s always loved that.
She remembers that first day they drove to the house. Now she wishes they’d never…
Iris is sleeping peacefully, but Emma can’t let herself doze off. She needs to stay awake and aware. Vigilant.
At last they turn onto their driveway.
“Watch out for the oak,” Emma says.
“I always do,” says Ben.