MIKE’S ABSENCE WAS EVERYWHERE: in his blue toothbrush standing in a cup by the bathroom sink, in the empty running shoes by the front door, in the T-shirt in the basket of still-warm laundry Jamie was folding. She held the shirt against her front and folded down its arms, realizing her movements mimicked a hug.
It was nearly ten o’clock on the second evening after he’d left. As darkness had fallen, her regrets had begun to mount: the anger she’d flung at Mike, the way her effort to save him had led to an even bigger gulf, and her disastrous visit to Ms. Torres. She should have known what had happened would forever be unfixable. She couldn’t get Jose’s mother’s haunted brown eyes out of her mind. She wondered if Mike ever saw them, or if it was only Jose’s face he pictured.
But one emotion had risen above the others swirling within her, like a bright buoy bobbing in dark, turbulent waters. She still loved her husband.
She finished folding the T-shirt, laying it atop the stack in the laundry basket. Maybe she shouldn’t have blamed Mike for withdrawing, because she’d done plenty wrong lately, too. She should have told Mike about the incident at the mall instead of shielding him, and she never should have blown up at Christie. She probably should have pulled Mike back into the family by asking him to help more with the kids, instead of letting him retreat. And she’d known exactly what the strange barking noise she’d heard in the basement had been; she’d just been too scared to acknowledge it, because if Mike was breaking down, where would that leave her?
She stood up, the heavy basket of laundry digging into her hip as she carried it into her bedroom and set it atop the dresser. She went back into the living room, tossing plastic Barbies and metal trucks into toy bins and retrieving a sticky sippy cup of apple juice from beneath a pillow on the couch. She straightened a pile of books on the coffee table and picked up the small, handheld vacuum to get the crumbs off the rug. Every time a car drove past the house, its headlights flashing, her heart leapt, then fell as she realized it wasn’t a taxi bringing Mike back home.
She finished tidying the room, then went into the kitchen with the thought of having another of the Budweisers she’d bought for Mike. She froze, the unopened bottle in her hand, when she heard a sound that could’ve been Mike’s key scraping in the front door’s lock, but the door never opened. She looked at the beer, wondering if she should skip it and go to bed. But she felt wide awake, her nerves tingling, and she knew her bed would feel too empty tonight, even though she was used to sleeping alone by now. She set down the unopened drink and picked up her phone, her finger hovering over the button that would connect her to Mike.
Jamie hesitated, then slid the screen of her phone over to the next page and found the app they’d installed a few months earlier, after they’d—well, actually Christie had—gotten confused about whose turn it was to pick Henry up from baseball practice. It had been Jamie’s turn, but Eloise had had a potty-training accident just as Jamie was about to leave. By the time she’d gotten her daughter cleaned up and changed and made it to the field, it was empty. An hour later, Jamie was in a full-blown panic and Mike was rushing home. Henry wasn’t answering his phone. None of his teammates had seen him leave. She finally reached Christie, who blithely informed her they were at a bowling alley and hadn’t heard their phones ring over all the noise. A few days later Mike had suggested they install the app, which used satellites to track the location of every phone in their family plan.
Which meant Jamie could use it to see Mike’s current whereabouts. She pressed the button to activate the app and watched as it zoomed in on Mike’s location. She recognized the address immediately: Christie’s place.
The room spun as she gulped air. Mike had known how upset she was about the shift in his relationship with Christie. And yet his ex was the one he’d turned to! Jamie wondered if they were having drinks together again, if Christie was leaning forward, her fingernails gently scraping the skin on Mike’s forearm.
She started to call Mike, then hung up before being connected. She couldn’t bear to talk to him, knowing Christie would probably be listening in the background. She began to pace, hot currents roaring through her.
Even though she couldn’t believe Mike would cross the line into cheating with Christie, his presence at her apartment was betrayal enough. He couldn’t be planning to spend the night in Henry’s room, which would be empty since Henry was at overnight camp. Could he?
Whatever was happening between Mike and Christie needed to stop—now. Jamie gripped her head in her hands, trying to think of what to do next. She had to find someone to come watch the kids. Lou was still at the zoo, and it was too late to call a friend. But there was a college kid named Rob who lived around the corner who’d occasionally babysat for them last summer. He was in school somewhere on the West Coast. Maybe he’d come home for the summer and hadn’t yet heard about the shooting. Jamie found his number in her contacts, then texted him, asking if he was around and free to watch the kids for an hour or two while she ran an errand. They’re asleep so it’ll be easy! she typed, hoping her desperation didn’t show.
She waited, wondering if he even had the same number. Maybe he’d joined the Peace Corps, or had decided to stay in California for the summer. Maybe he knew about the shooting and didn’t want to return her message. But a moment later, a reply pinged back: No prob. Be there in 10.
Okay, she thought, feeling the clamp in her chest ease a tiny bit. She went upstairs and changed into a clean shirt, then loosened her hair from its ponytail and brushed it out around her shoulders. Her heart was pounding and her throat felt thick and dry. She cupped water from the sink in her hand and sipped at it greedily despite the metallic taste.
She went back downstairs and waited by the open front door until she saw Rob approaching, his stride loping and his shaggy hair falling into his eyes, whistling a tune she didn’t recognize. She suddenly felt as if she’d never been that young and carefree; Rob existed in a different universe, one Jamie had departed so long ago she couldn’t even remember its contours.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” she said. “You can hang out and watch TV or whatever. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just call me on my cell if one of the kids wakes up, but they should be good.”
“No worries,” he said.
I wish, she thought.
She waited until he shut and locked the door, then she hurried down the front path and got into her minivan and turned on the ignition. She pulled into Christie’s apartment complex fifteen minutes later with no memory of driving there. She parked in a guest spot near the entrance and got out, staring up at the squares of light streaming from windows in the brick structure, wondering which one Mike was behind.
Now that she’d arrived, she felt unsure of her plan. She’d have to be buzzed into the building, unless she waited for a resident to enter and slipped in behind them, which seemed like the better choice. Then she’d knock on the door and wait for one of them to open it . . . and then what?
A feeling of déjà vu washed over her, heavy and foreboding: For the second time this evening, Jamie was standing outside an apartment building, unsure of her welcome, desperate to salvage something vitally important.
She sat down on a decorative rock wall, wondering if there was a chance Mike could sense she was here. She’d always felt as if an invisible current was binding them together. When they were in conversation with other people, she knew without even looking at him the precise moment when he became bored or impatient (the room mother for Sam’s class usually inspired those feelings in him within thirty seconds; if the conversation revolved around football, that moment would never occur). And sometimes, when she was waiting for him to come home from work, she’d be drawn to the window seconds before his car turned into their driveway. She’d always wondered whether there was an extrasensory element that grew in happy marriages over time, similar to the phenomenon that caused longtime couples to resemble each other.
But Mike didn’t come out. Maybe the current had finally snapped.
It was a warm night, and soon her T-shirt grew wilted and damp, and her hair felt sticky against the back of her neck. She was tired now, and more scared than angry. What would she say when she saw Mike? Come home, maybe. But those words might not be enough. He could shut the door in her face, as Ms. Torres had done.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the rock wall before a couple finally approached the building. Jamie blended in behind them as they entered. They were young and wrapped up in each other and barely noticed her as she followed them onto the elevator and pushed the button for Christie’s floor.
She exited and walked down the hallway, treading the familiar path to Christie’s apartment. She’d brought Henry here countless times, but she hadn’t been inside in at least a year.
She stood before the door, staring at it as she gathered her courage and rapped twice. After a moment it opened to reveal Christie wearing a short, silky bathrobe. Jamie felt as if she’d been rammed in the stomach with something sharp and hard.
“Oh,” Christie said in a flat voice. “It’s you.”
“I’d like to see my husband,” Jamie said.
Christie opened the door wider and stepped back. Jamie walked in, her eyes glancing off Mike’s flip-flops by the front door. She couldn’t help picturing him kicking them off, just like he did at home. When did he become so comfortable here?
Christie led Jamie down the hallway toward the bedrooms and hesitated at the one with the closed door. She pushed it open and gave a little wave with her hand that Jamie took to mean she should look inside. Jamie sucked in a breath as she walked across the threshold. The light was dim, but she could see Mike sleeping in Henry’s queen-size bed. For a moment her eyes blurred, which was why she didn’t immediately notice the lump beside him in the bed.
She moved closer and saw a second thatch of dark hair against the light pillowcase. Why was Henry here instead of at camp?
Jamie reached out to shake Mike’s shoulder, but seeing him sleeping so peacefully, his right arm flung over his head, his son by his side, made her hesitate. Instead she pulled the covers higher over them both, then bent down and kissed Mike on the cheek. She straightened up and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
“You’re not going to wake him?” Christie asked.
Jamie shook her head. The anguish had drained out of her at the sight of Mike, and now she felt only a deep exhaustion, her stress and sleepless nights piling up and crashing into her. She took a step forward and stumbled, regaining her balance just before she fell.
“He should rest,” Jamie said. That was what she needed, too. She closed her eyes and rubbed a hand against her forehead as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She hadn’t eaten anything today, and the intense emotions roiling through her had left her feeling gutted. She wasn’t even angry with Christie any longer. Maybe Mike had come to see Henry, not Christie.
“You don’t look so good,” Christie said.
Jamie’s throat felt parched again. “Could I have some water?” she asked, her tongue thick and heavy. “Then I’ll go.”
Christie shrugged and led the way to the kitchen. She filled a glass from the tap and handed it to Jamie.
Jamie started to lift the glass to her mouth, but it slipped through her hand and smashed against the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She crouched down and began to pick up the bigger shards. “Shit!” She’d knelt on a piece of glass, and it had bitten into her skin.
“It’s just a stupid glass,” Christie said, misunderstanding the reason for Jamie’s curse.
Jamie stood up, grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser by the sink, and pressed it against her knee. “Do you have a broom?”
“Forget it,” Christie said.
“No, I can’t let you clean it up,” Jamie said.
“It’s fine,” Christie said. “I’ll— Are you crying?”
“No,” Jamie sobbed.
“Oh, Jesus,” Christie said.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie repeated. She couldn’t stem the tears flowing down her face. She was gulping air and making weird, squeaking sounds. Ugly crying, that’s what it was called. She bent over and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Do you want a Valium?” Christie offered.
Jamie began to laugh through her tears, despite herself. “You mean you’ve had Valium all this time and I’m only now finding out about it?” She gripped the counter and pulled herself to a standing position.
“I need to go,” she said.
Christie squinted at Jamie. “Have you been drinking? I don’t think you should drive. I’ll take you.”
Christie walked to the hall closet and pulled on a trench coat.
“Are you coming?” She was already at the door. “I’m rethinking my offer.”
Jamie looked at Christie and nodded. “I’m coming,” she said.
She forced herself not to look at Mike’s shoes as she left.
•••
It was happening. Lou ran to the fence and watched as Tabby stood motionless except for a slight flicking of her tail. Her sudden stillness was the giveaway.
“Good girl,” Lou said, just loudly enough for Tabby to hear. Her heart pounded but her voice stayed calm.
Tabby’s body began to quiver. Lou shot a warning glare at the videographer, then turned her entire focus back to Tabby.
“It’s okay,” Lou whispered, wishing more than anything that she could be with Tabitha, stroking her and providing comfort. She was tempted to do it, to ignore the rules and scale the fence and leap down onto the soft earth on the other side, but she’d probably lose her job. She was more scared of that than of being accidentally injured by the elephant.
Tabitha didn’t make a sound, but she shifted from side to side a few times and then squatted slightly. Lou held her breath and gripped the fence so tightly her hands ached.
The calf’s rear legs, encased in the milky-looking embryonic sac, appeared first, sliding out of Tabby’s body agonizingly slowly. Lou’s eyes flitted from the emerging baby to Tabby, whose trunk was now curled around a fence post, as if for balance.
Tabby wasn’t looking back at her any longer. She seemed lost in a world of her own. Lou wanted to speak words of encouragement but worried it would distract the elephant. Tabby squatted lower and opened her mouth wide, as if in a silent scream, but she didn’t make a sound.
Suddenly, the baby slid completely out of Tabby, still in its opaque embryonic sac. It crashed to the ground, and the sac burst, releasing a torrent of fluids.
Lou glanced quickly at her watch to mark the time, then looked back at Tabby because she already sensed something was wrong. The calf wasn’t moving. It was curled on its side, looking impossibly small next to its mother. Lou could make out the chunky outlines of the baby’s toenails, and the fuzzy hair on its head. It was perfect.
“It’s not breathing!” a zoo volunteer cried, her voice high and frightened.
Tabby walked in a circle around her baby, her trunk reaching out to explore it. Then she lifted her front leg and kicked it—hard.
Lou heard someone gasp.
Tabby kicked her calf again and again, jerking it along the ground. The baby’s body flopped helplessly with each blow.
“Oh no!” the same volunteer cried.
Tabby reached down with her trunk, scooping up the baby’s head and letting it bang back down. Lou glanced at her watch. Forty-five seconds. The little elephant remained still.
Tabby stepped over her baby—for a moment Lou worried she would step on it—and struck it with her front foot again, this time even harder.
“Lou, shouldn’t you call Tabby over here?” someone asked. “We need to get in there!”
Another kick rocked the calf’s limp body back and forth. One minute.
The volunteer ran over and tugged on Lou’s arm. “Make her stop!” she said. “She’s killing it!”
“No.” Lou shook her head. “She’s saving it.”
Tabby was in great distress now, circling her baby, pawing at it, trying to lift it with her trunk, trumpeting loudly near its ear.
“Come on,” Lou said urgently.
And then the calf’s mouth opened, and it took its first breath.
Tabby’s foot had been poised for another kick, but she stilled the motion and stepped back.
“Oh, Tabs,” Lou said, her voice trembling. “You got your baby to breathe. Good girl. You’re such a good girl. You did it.”
Tabby gently explored her calf with her trunk while it lay on its side, its mouth opening and closing as it gasped in air. Its wide, inky black eyes were finally visible. The volunteer who had been so panicked squeezed Lou’s arm, and she could hear murmurs of relief from the other workers.
After a moment, Tabby reached down with her trunk and encircled her baby’s head again, trying to lift it up. The calf seemed too weak to move, but Tabby was determined. Again and again she used her trunk and foreleg to jab at it, trying to get it on its feet. Lou knew why: In the wild, an animal might be attacked if it looked helpless. Its survival would depend on it being upright. Tabby was still trying to save her baby.
The little elephant protested mightily, releasing a kind of yelp that Lou thought sounded not unlike that of a human kid who didn’t want to wake up for school.
Tabby kept at it, relentlessly, and with her help, the baby finally found its way to its feet. It wobbled a bit, then fell back down when it tried to take a step. But Tabby was there by its side, helping it stand up again, more gently this time, and soon the small elephant found its footing. Lou’s eyes roved over its wrinkly gray body, its gently curved back and fuzzy forehead and wide feet. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Tabby took a step forward, and her calf followed, struggling to move its front and hind legs in synchronicity. With every passing minute, it seemed to grow more confident.
Lou slid back to the ground, her legs as weak as the baby elephant’s had been. Someone pressed a paper cup into her hand, and she took a sip of something dry and fizzy. Champagne. She didn’t usually drink alcohol, but if ever an exception was called for, this was it.
She lifted her cup toward Tabby in a silent salute. “Congratulations, Mama,” she said.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” the young videographer said. “Usually I do weddings.”
His voice was still a bit louder than she would’ve liked, but Lou let it go. “I’ve never seen anything like it, either,” she said.
She rested her head against the fence. Tomorrow—or actually, later today—Lou would open the gate to let the little elephant explore miles of trails with Tabby. She’d hide extra sweet potatoes and greens and apples along the way. She’d give Tabby a thorough examination, then she and the vet would carefully look over the calf, although Lou already knew it was healthy. They’d learn the gender, too. The other elephants were being kept away for now, but elephant herds were famously protective and nurturing of their young. Soon they’d get to meet little Masego—whose name meant blessing in Setswana.
Lou smiled as she watched the baby unfurl his or her trunk, then curl it back up, like a kid with a paper blower at a party. The tiny elephant’s gray coat was saggy, as if he or she was wearing a too-big suit.
I can’t wait to watch you grow up, Lou thought.
She took another sip of champagne as Masego gave a trumpet, testing out its voice. Lou’s limbs felt as loose and heavy as honey and she didn’t think she could get up even if she wanted to.
Tabby walked over to her water supply and took a long drink, but she kept her eyes on her baby the whole time.
“You’re a natural,” Lou told her. “I always knew you would be.”
Lou could see the videographer beginning to pack up, and the volunteers and veterinarian doing the same. She was going to stay straight through for another day or two, to keep watch. She welcomed the sweet solitude, not just so she could enjoy the new elephant but because she was holding close a remembrance that had been buried deeply for decades and had loosened only with Tabby’s pacing. She wanted time to replay it again and again, to imprint every word and inflection on her memory, so she’d never lose it.
On the eve of Lou’s birthday, her mother had always told her the story of her birth. It was their tradition. The story had always begun the same way: Pacing was the only thing that helped . . .
Lou sipped champagne and watched Tabby and her baby make slow progress around the enclosure and felt her cheeks grow wet as she remembered.
I thought I’d have plenty of time to get to the hospital, but I barely made it there before you decided to come out! her mother had said. They had a resident deliver you because my doctor couldn’t get there fast enough—I swear, the resident looked about twelve—but you didn’t make things difficult. Out you came, with just three pushes. And then they put you into my arms and you gave this little bleat, like a sheep, and fell fast asleep. You had Daddy’s eyes and my chin. I held you for hours.
Lou could hear the voice so clearly now, the memory as true as the summer-blue sky of her mother’s eyes.
“Thank you,” Lou whispered to her beloved elephant.
•••
“Isn’t Henry supposed to be at camp?” Jamie asked. She was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Christie’s Mercedes as they drove through darkened streets.
“He got in a fight,” Christie said. “Mike and I had to go pick him up.”
“What?” Jamie didn’t seem as surprised as Christie had expected.
“Yeah, he punched some other kid in the dining hall. Mike talked to him about it. He’s okay now, I think,” Christie said. “Henry, I mean. I hope the other kid has a broken nose.”
Jamie shook her head, then turned to stare out the window. They rode in silence for another few minutes, with Christie sneaking glances at Jamie. Was this how a nervous breakdown began? Jamie seemed completely unaware that blood from her knee was running down her leg, but at least she wasn’t crying any longer. It was unlike her not to ask more questions about the incident at camp, though. Jamie always wanted “open lines of communication”—a reference that Christie used to think sounded annoyingly New Agey. But the absence of Jamie’s chatter made Christie realize she missed it.
“This other kid was being a jerk to a smaller boy,” Christie said. “Henry was trying to protect the littler kid . . . Well, there’s more to it than that.”
Jamie just rubbed her eyes, leaving Christie unsure if she’d even heard. Jamie’s hair was slightly matted and her shirt wrinkled, but that wasn’t what made Christie nervous. She’d glimpsed something when Jamie was kneeling on the kitchen floor, looking small and vulnerable, surrounded by shattered glass. There had been this awful expression in Jamie’s eyes—or maybe it was an absence of expression. Her eyes were so . . . bleak.
“Oh, no,” Jamie said.
“What?” Christie asked, nervous about what Jamie might do next.
“I got a little blood on your car seat,” Jamie said. “It’s leather, though, so it should come right off. Do you have a napkin?”
Christie reached into her purse and gave Jamie a tissue. Yesterday she might’ve been upset at the thought of something marring her Mercedes. But now all she could think about was Henry’s raw, bitten nails, and that emptiness in Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes . . .
“I’m returning the car tomorrow,” Christie said. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to—who ever read the fine print in contracts?—but she was going to try.
“Why?” Jamie frowned. “Because of what I said?”
Christie pulled up to a stoplight and turned to look directly at Jamie. “You mean when you called me a mooch?”
Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said.
“You were right,” Christie said. “Not the part about me being a mooch. But I shouldn’t have bought this car. I don’t really need it. And just so you know, I already told Mike I don’t want any more child support.”
Jamie nodded, and Christie felt a little deflated. A thank you would’ve been nice.
Jamie didn’t say anything else as Christie made a few turns and eventually reached Jamie and Mike’s street. She pulled up in front of their house and waited for Jamie to step out, but Jamie didn’t move.
“Can you, um, tell Mike I stopped by?” Jamie finally asked.
Christie nodded. “Sure,” she said. It felt strange, Jamie asking her to convey a message to Mike.
“I left the minivan there, so if he wants to bring it home when he wakes up tomorrow . . . he can,” Jamie said.
“Okay,” Christie said.
“If you talk to him, could you just let him know . . .” Jamie gulped in some air and her face crumpled. “Would you tell him . . .” Again Jamie’s voice trailed off, then she reached for the door handle and exited the car.
Christie stared after her as Jamie made slow progress to her front door in the darkness. She was limping, and the strap on one of her cheap-looking sandals was broken and flapping with every step. She’d trip if she weren’t careful.
Christie put the Mercedes in drive and made it a few feet away before stopping again and looking back. Jamie still hadn’t reached her front stoop. She was shuffling along like someone who was sick, or very old. Her head was bowed, and every line in her body seemed steeped in misery.
Christie flung open her door and ran after Jamie.
“Listen, Mike’s at the apartment because of Henry,” she said.
Jamie stopped walking and looked up at her. “That’s the only reason,” Christie continued. “Henry really needed him tonight. That stuff I said to you earlier about Mike and I—all we did was go over the case. The private detective I’m working for is trying to help him. That’s why we’ve been talking so much.”
Jamie nodded slowly. “Oh,” she said.
How many times had she communicated with Jamie through the years? Christie wondered. Hundreds. No, thousands. They’d talked about Henry and the other kids, about immunizations and diaper rashes, about music recitals and grades and cyberbullying. Jamie knew Henry intimately, maybe even as well as Christie did.
“But you don’t know me!” Christie blurted. “You’ve never once tried to know me!”
Jamie looked up at Christie, her forehead creasing. Christie hadn’t meant for her private thoughts to spill out, but before she could backpedal, Jamie spoke up.
“Maybe that’s true,” she said.
“Well,” Christie said. She cleared her throat. “It’s probably a little late now. I mean, Henry’s going off to college in a few years, so . . .”
“Yeah,” Jamie said.
“Anyway, maybe I didn’t notice what was going on with Henry, or how upset he was . . . and fine, so I shouldn’t have gotten that car . . . but I’m still a good mother!” The words erupted from Christie with a force that surprised her.
Maybe this was what it came down to, she thought as Jamie blinked up at her. The discomfort that had always underlain her relationship with Jamie could be rooted in the times she’d messed up and Jamie had rushed to cover for her, in the way Henry had asked long ago why Christie never made green trees for dinner like Jamie did (trust Jamie to find a way to turn broccoli into a treat), and in the moment when a waitress had mistaken Christie for just another guest at Henry’s birthday party a few years back. The waitress had caught Christie’s eye and said, “What a beautiful family”—meaning Jamie and Mike and Henry and the other kids. Christie had felt a kind of rage toward Jamie then. She’d watched Jamie rub her big, pregnant belly, Mike’s hand resting possessively on her lower back, and Christie had walked to the bar and ordered a tequila shot and downed it quickly. Only then was she able to rejoin the party. When the balloon had popped a moment later, she’d hung on to Mike’s arm and hadn’t let go until Jamie noticed and glared at her.
Jamie looked confused. “I mean, our styles are different. But you’re a good mother. Of course you are. Anyone can see how much you love Henry.”
Christie felt her throat tighten and she shook her head. She wanted to say that wasn’t what she’d meant, but she was unsure of what she did mean. So she walked back to her car before she did something ridiculous, like burst into tears. There had been far too much crying tonight anyway. She had no idea what had gotten into her; maybe Jamie’s crazy mood was contagious.
She put her Mercedes in drive but waited to pull away from the curb until Jamie made it safely inside her house.
You’re a good mother, Jamie had said, sincerity threading through her voice.
As Christie headed home, back to her son, she knew in her heart it was true.