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I call Jake after the sun sets. It’s the first time we’ve talked since Natalie and I flew into Seattle last night.
“Hey.” I hate the way my voice sounds so tired. I hate that I’m not even trying to make my husband feel like I’m happy to be on the phone with him.
“What’s going on?” His voice is funny. Like I called him right in the middle of something important. Like he wasn’t expecting to hear from me.
“I just thought I’d give you a ring.”
“Yeah? How’s it going?” He’s distracted. What could he possibly be doing? Is he playing that stupid candy game and trying to have a conversation with me at the same time?
“It’s pretty good,” I tell him. “They’ve got her oxygen levels to stay in the nineties most of the day. They’ve been giving her steroids. I think it’s helping.”
“Steroids? Isn’t that bad?”
I roll my eyes, certain he’s thinking about athletes and bodybuilders and sports scandals. “Not that kind. These are different. They put them in through the nebulizer. It’s supposed to be good for her lungs.”
“Put it in the nebu-what?” I hear dishes clatter in the background.
“What’s going on over there?” I seriously doubt that Jake is emptying the dishwasher when he’s got the trailer completely to himself. I’d be surprised if he runs a single load this whole week, especially after he’s been trained to think that his mother ...
His mother? Nobody could be that stupid. Not even my husband.
“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just dropped a plate, that’s all.” He lowers his voice. Like he’s got something to hide. Like he’s trying to keep somebody from listening in.
“Your mom’s not over there, is she?” No. I refuse to believe my husband, the man I agreed to marry, the man whose child is the most important thing in my world, could be that big of an idiot.
“What? No, she just ...”
“Jake, what happened to the serving bowl? The big white one I use for the rice?” Patricia’s voice on the other line is as obvious as that zit on Jake’s chin from his online profile pic. I could laugh if I wasn’t so disgusted.
“Listen.” He’s whispering. I can just picture him crouching low and trying to sneak down the hall so he can have a private conversation in the bedroom. “She’s really sorry about what she said. She came and apologized. She’s old-school, you know. Back when we were kids, that word meant something else ...”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Please, don’t be mad at me. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll ask her to leave before you get back. I just ...”
I hang up before I can hear any more of his pathetic excuses. It’s not that I’m surprised he invited Frankenmother back to the trailer. It’s not that I even blame him. You can’t expect that boy to stand up to his mom twice in the same calendar year.
I didn’t hang up on Jake because I was mad at him. I hung up because my daughter is acting weird. I’ve already pushed the alert button. Why is it taking the nurse so long to get here?
Half a minute later, she bustles through the door. “Everything ok?” It’s a stupid question. Why would I have called her if everything was ok?
“She’s doing something funny.” I’m standing over Natalie’s crib, watching her pump her legs like she’s trying to ride a bicycle and lie on her back at the same time. Her head’s moving rhythmically from one side to the other. I would have never guessed she had that much muscle strength.
The nurse is shining a flashlight into my daughter’s eyes. “She’s never done anything like this before?”
“No. I’ve never seen her move her legs at all.”
“I’m going to call the doctor in.”
“What’s going on?”
“Looks like she’s having a seizure.”