I have been able to laugh and see the funny side of things.
I have blamed myself unnecessarily when things went wrong.
I have been anxious or worried for no good reason.
I have felt sad or miserable.
I have felt happy.
Brynn sat in the hallway waiting area outside the pediatrician’s office and stared at the sticky iPad screen with the questionnaire on it. Her hand wavered above the possible answers for each: No, not at all. Hardly ever. Yes, sometimes. Yes, all the time.
As crazy as it now felt, Brynn had decided to keep Lucas’s pediatrician appointment that day. After the police had left and taken Ross away, she stood outside with Lucas and Loretta in a silent state of disbelief until Margaux and Sawyer both showed up a few minutes later.
“I don’t understand,” Margaux kept saying, despondent. “I just don’t understand.”
Neither did Brynn. Whatever had just happened felt like a cruel joke, a sick and elaborate prank, and yet it was actually happening.
Henry and Margaux had called their longtime local lawyer, who’d referred them to a Boston lawyer specializing in high-profile criminal defense cases. They waited for the lawyer to call them back, and when she did, they told her that there was no way Ross could have done this.
“Okay” was all the lawyer had said in response, her voice unrevealing. She told them she would catch the last flight to the island that night. Margaux got to work securing her a room at the Harbor View Hotel.
“What do we do now?” Brynn asked, once the plans for the lawyer had been arranged. “We can’t just sit here.”
“Well, we wait to see if he’ll be granted bail,” Henry said.
“I highly doubt he’ll be granted bail,” Sawyer said. “Sorry, but not when he’s being charged with…” He couldn’t even say it. None of them could.
“We need to find Mauricio, is what we need to do,” Margaux said. “Henry, we have to do something.”
“I don’t know what else we can do, Margaux,” he said. “The entire board is trying to find him. And we live on an island, for God’s sake—there’s only so many places he can be. But obviously there’s some reason why they think Ross is…” Henry put his head in his hands. He couldn’t finish the sentence. “There’s some reason why they’re not pursuing Mauricio.”
Margaux wiped her eyes with a tissue. Brynn had never seen her cry before. Margaux was elegant and always put-together—she was unflappable. It seemed to Brynn that Margaux had rarely ever been in a situation that she couldn’t control or make better. Brynn understood why Ross relied on his mother so much, and why his first instinct was always to call her for help or advice if Lucas was ever sick or if they needed help. She was a natural caregiver. And a natural problem solver. But in this case, she was just as helpless as Brynn felt every single day.
“I just don’t see why Pete can’t do something about this,” Margaux said. “He knows us. He knows Ross. This is ridiculous.”
Henry shook his head in agreement.
“This is all a massive misunderstanding,” Margaux continued, her voice leveling as she regained her composure. “They’re going to clear it up. And then we’ll sue them. They can’t just accuse someone of murder out of thin air!”
Brynn and Sawyer shared a look. They both knew that these kinds of accusations didn’t just happen out of thin air. They happened for a reason. Even if the police were wrong, they had something compelling enough to believe that Ross could be guilty. The Nelsons just didn’t know yet what that was.
Brynn told them she was going to cancel Lucas’s appointment, but both Margaux and Henry had told her to keep it. They knew, as islanders, how nearly impossible it was to get a doctor’s appointment on the books. Margaux offered to go with her, but Brynn said no. Margaux needed to be available for the lawyer.
But now, sitting there in the hospital hallway, she wished that she had said yes. If everyone on the island didn’t know about Ross’s arrest yet, they’d know soon. Any minute now. And once they did, Brynn wouldn’t want to show her face anywhere, even if this was just a big misunderstanding.
Her hands shook, but she rushed to finish the questionnaire. It was the same test she took every time Lucas had an appointment. The questions never changed, nor did her answers. The Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale, its formal name, was meant to gauge potential postpartum depression in new mothers. But for a test that diagnosed something so serious, the process of it always felt simplistic and flippant to Brynn. It was her fifth time completing it, only one of those times having been at an appointment for herself rather than for Lucas.
As always, Brynn selected all the answers that she knew would deflect attention away from herself:
I have felt happy: Yes, all of the time.
I have felt sad or miserable: No, not at all.
Sometimes, when Brynn took the test, she wondered about the people who had invented it. She’d Googled it once and learned that it hadn’t been updated since it was first developed almost half a century ago. She wondered if they knew that mothers would be asked these questions at their children’s doctor’s appointments, not at their own, or if many pediatricians wouldn’t administer the test at all. (The mothers weren’t their patients; the kids were. Why should the pediatricians be the doctors screening the mothers for postpartum depression?) She wondered if the creators of the test could ever understand Brynn’s fear of anyone—especially Lucas’s pediatrician—knowing the dark truth that sometimes she wished she’d never had Lucas at all. That since he was born, she’d been drowning in her own sadness and anxiety. That she desperately missed the days when she wasn’t a mother. And that she felt suffocated by the permanence of becoming one.
Still, she always marked her answers to indicate that she was happy. That she was thriving. What was the alternative? Would they take Lucas away from her if she told them the truth about how she really felt? Would they call Ross and tell him that his wife was a bad mother? Would they tell her that she just wasn’t meant to be a mom?
This time, in particular, Brynn made sure to make her answers as benign as possible.
She handed the iPad back to the receptionist when she was done, and searched her face for any indication that she knew who Brynn was, and what her husband had supposedly done. But the receptionist was busy; she was distracted. Brynn was just another mom coming through with a newborn.
“This way,” a nurse told her, and she led Brynn and Lucas to a room.
After a few minutes, there was a knock at the door.
“Queen Bee,” he said. “How are you?”
Dr. Smith had been Brynn’s pediatrician when she was a child, too. He gave her the nickname Queen Bee before she could even talk. He was going to retire sometime in the next few years, he had told her, but he agreed to take on Lucas as a new patient just for her. He smelled of cherry lollipops—the thin, flat kind with clear cellophane wrappers. His pockets were always filled with them to give to the kids as a reward after each appointment.
Hearing Dr. Smith ask her how she was almost made Brynn burst into tears again. She considered telling him the truth—the entire truth. But in just a split second, she envisioned what might happen if she did. The stakes were even higher, now. If she showed herself to be an unfit mother and had Lucas taken away from her, then he might not have anyone. Clearly, Dr. Smith hadn’t heard the news about Ross yet; and Brynn wanted to keep it that way. Here in this room with him, Brynn was in another world, where the past few hours had never occurred.
“We’re good,” Brynn said.
“I didn’t ask how anyone else is,” he said. “I asked how you are.”
Again, she felt the familiar tingle of oncoming tears. She fought them back.
“Really, I’m good.” She cast her gaze down. “I mean, exhausted, but okay.”
“Tough as nails, kiddo,” he said. “Always have been.” He typed into the computer and pulled up Lucas’s file.
“Now this little guy,” he said, “looks very healthy.”
Brynn hoisted Lucas out of the car seat and got him onto the table for Dr. Smith to examine him. She relaxed for a moment, knowing that even just for a few seconds, Lucas was in the care of someone she trusted more than she trusted herself.
Lucas didn’t object as Dr. Smith skillfully checked his ears, his heartbeat, his lungs, felt around his throat and his belly. He measured his height and his head, he checked his testicles, he checked for diaper rash, and then he placed him on the scale and took his weight. Brynn didn’t want it to end. She felt so safe and free just sitting there, arms empty and weightless. She imagined what it might feel like to run.
“Yes, you are,” Dr. Smith cooed to Lucas when he was done, and he held him up. “You are a healthy boy. And a happy boy. Look at that face!” He handed him back to Brynn and she rocked him in her arms, certain that Lucas would feel her anxiety and launch into a screamfest at any moment.
“Yes,” Brynn said. “We’re lucky.”
“How about sleep? How’s he sleeping?”
“Uh, he’s waking at night to feed a few times. But that’s normal, right? At this age?”
“Yes,” Dr. Smith said. “But by the next visit, he should weigh enough to cut the night feeds entirely. You could even try now.”
Brynn nodded. As if it were going to be that easy.
Dr. Smith typed into the computer, and they sat in silence for minute. Then he turned to her.
“And you and Dad? Everything happy on the home front?”
She wondered again if she should tell him the truth now. If she didn’t, it would look incredibly strange to Dr. Smith when he inevitably found out later. But if she told him now, she’d break down and she might not ever be able to put herself back together.
“We’re good,” she said. “Busy, but good.”
“The perfect couple,” Dr. Smith said. Brynn had heard this many times before from other people.
“And when is the next book coming out?” he asked. “I told Susan that I’d find out. You know she’s your biggest fan.”
“Soon,” Brynn said, mustering a smile. She was starting to sweat as she realized what an insane idea it had been to come to the appointment. She should be hiding at home. She should be helping Henry and Margaux try to get Ross out of jail. She should be doing something. But then again, she wondered, who else could do this for her? No one.
Brynn sniffed the air and detected the distinct scent of Lucas’s poop. She had hoped that she wouldn’t have to change him there, in front of Dr. Smith or a nurse. Even the simple task of a quick diaper change made Brynn feel like she was being put on the stand, tested. She’d changed hundreds of diapers at this point, and yet she still didn’t know what she was doing. She fumbled with the diaper bag, finding the wipes and a diaper, trying to stay calm, though her hands were still shaking, now even more violently.
“There ya go,” she murmured to Lucas as she hastily cleaned him. Her voice came out in a grainy whisper. She was grateful that he didn’t put up too much of a fight this time, which he usually did. Dr. Smith only glanced over; Brynn knew deep down that he wasn’t judging her. And yet she worried that at any moment, he might look at her and say, You’re doing it all wrong. You can’t do this.
“And are you taking any time for yourself? You know, alone time?” Dr. Smith asked. “Exercise? Naps?”
“When I can,” Brynn said. “Ross’s mom has been really helpful. She gives me some time a few days a week.”
“Well, that’s a nice bonus,” Dr. Smith said. “A helpful mother-in-law. That doesn’t always happen, you know.”
And it was true. Margaux had been incredibly helpful to Brynn over the past few months. Brynn wasn’t sure what she’d do without her. At first, Brynn had wished that her own mother was there to help, but her parents had moved off-island years ago, having sold their Lobsterville house for an offer they couldn’t refuse. They had moved just a ferry ride away to Falmouth, where her father still worked full-time as an electrician and her mother as a librarian at the West Falmouth Public Library. Even if they did still live on-island, though, Brynn knew that she wouldn’t see them that often. She had stopped relying on them a long time ago, and now she never asked for their help. Her parents led their own lives. They always had. Even when she was little, her mother and father made it clear to her that her first line of defense should always come from within.
When Brynn was eleven, she was at the beach with her parents when she got a fishhook stuck in her thumb. At first, she felt nothing, and she examined the way the hook bent into the fleshy mound of her thumb so easily, as if she were made of clay. But seconds later, blood began pouring out of her, and she ran to her parents, screaming for help.
“Brynn,” her father said, “take a deep breath. You know what to do.”
“You’re going to have to learn what to do when you’re alone,” her mother said. Brynn was crying. The hook had latched into her; she couldn’t see a way out unless she dragged its spiky head back through her skin the way it had gone in.
“Here,” her father said, handing her his fishing pliers. “You’ve got to cut the tip of the hook off.”
With her small, uncertain hand, Brynn cut the fishhook tip and pulled the smooth half of it out.
“See?” her mother said. “You didn’t even need our help.”
What Brynn wanted to tell them, but she didn’t know how, was that she might not have needed their help, but she desperately wanted it. She always had.
Margaux, on the other hand, had offered her help from the start. She was always available and happy to devote her time to Lucas if Brynn needed her. She loved her grandson, and she loved her own boys more than anything in the world.
Almost every other day, Margaux came over and forced Brynn into the shower, or out for a walk, or into the bedroom for a nap.
“Why don’t you treat yourself to a manicure at Spa L’eau?” Margaux would ask. “Or, even better, I’ll treat you. It’s important to do things that make us feel good about ourselves, Brynn.” Despite Margaux’s kindness, sometimes Brynn wondered if her mother-in-law was covertly encouraging her to take care of her appearance, not her well-being. For Ross’s sake, not Brynn’s.
Initially, Brynn resisted the help. She wasn’t comfortable breastfeeding in front of Margaux, especially since the breastfeeding wasn’t going well (Dr. Smith had called Lucas a grazer, meaning that he ate in little increments all the time). But after a while, Brynn gave in and just let Margaux be around as much as she could be. She was helpful, and Brynn needed the help. She started relying on Margaux for guidance whenever she wasn’t sure what to do.
Do you think he’s ready for the next nipple speed? Brynn would ask her. Can you show me how you take his temperature, uh, rectally? I can’t seem to do it. Margaux was a pro, and nothing seemed to faze her. She held Lucas with a sense of warmth and calm, the kind of confidence that comes not just from experience but from a genuine love of motherhood. The kind of confidence that Brynn wasn’t sure she’d ever have.
As Dr. Smith typed up a few final notes on the computer, Brynn thought about what Ross had told her to find: the orange sun. The most famous sunset-watching spot on the island was at Menemsha, but what clue could possibly be hiding there on that public beach? There was no store, no restaurant, no hotel or inn, no landmark on the island that had anything to do with an orange sun. She was stumped. She felt entirely useless.
“Okay then,” Dr. Smith said, bringing Brynn back to the present. “Nurse Diana will be in to give this fellow his shots, and then you’re free to go. He looks perfect, Brynn.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and looked at her. “You’re doing a great job.”
“Thanks,” Brynn said, again trying to hold back her tears. “And please tell Susan I say hi.”
“Hang in there, Brynn,” he added, before closing the door. “I know it’s hard. But this will all pass.”
If only he knew, she thought. Brynn had already felt like she was in a nightmare before. Now, she was in something she didn’t even have the words to describe. She felt the tears welling up the moment he left. The hardest part of the appointment—the shots—hadn’t even happened yet. She took a deep breath.
Diana knocked and entered a few moments later. Out of all the terrifying moments of early motherhood, holding Lucas while he received shots were some of the worst, and today was a bad one, with three vaccines. Brynn knew that it was necessary and good for him and that the pain was temporary, but her fear was that she wouldn’t be able to soothe him, even though that was her one job. There was so much pressure on her to be everything to Lucas, all at once. But how could she be the one to hold him while he experienced the pain of the shots and be the one to comfort him, too? Sometimes she felt like it was just too much all on her and her alone.
“Here we go,” Diana said, poking Lucas’s thigh with the first shot. Diana was a pro—she was always the nurse for Lucas’s appointments, and Brynn was grateful. But she never wanted Diana to leave when they were done. Diana possessed that distinct quality of maternal warmth that Brynn longed for. Brynn wasn’t even sure whether Diana had kids or not, but she was so good with Lucas that Brynn always wanted to ask her how she did it, what the secret was, where she learned how to understand babies so well. Lucas wailed immediately once Diana gave him the first shot, and he wiggled his body, kicking his legs and flailing his arms. Brynn had to hold him tight.
“Almost done, sweetie,” Brynn whispered to him. It felt so unnatural to hold him down the way she was, but she knew she had to.
Diana finished the last two quickly and then stuck a Bluey Band-Aid on Lucas’s leg. He continued wailing.
Brynn opened her shirt for him to nurse right away, a trick she’d learned to get him to calm down soon after the shots. She tried to get him to latch, but he only cried harder. The chair Brynn sat on felt sticky against the backs of her thighs and she regretted wearing shorts. His screams got louder. He cried into her chest not just with pain but with anger—and anger toward her. Brynn could feel her body tensing, her temperature rising, and this seemed to only aggravate Lucas more. Her fear was coming true: that she—his own mother—was incapable of comforting him. Brynn was incapable of doing the one thing she was meant to be able to do.
Finally, Lucas’s mouth clamped onto her nipple, and his cries melted into shortened breaths as he sucked away. But even then, it didn’t feel like a true relief. It felt as though she and Lucas had simply struck a peace treaty with each other: he tolerated her, and she tolerated him. She exhaled, but she couldn’t relax. She was already bracing herself for the next meltdown, the next obstacle, the relentless cycle of frustration.
“Take your time,” Diana said before leaving. “We don’t have an appointment in here till later.” She gave Brynn a smile—one of sympathy—and shut the door.
Brynn finally released her tears when the nurse left. She wondered how many other mothers had cried in that same room and never told anyone. She switched Lucas to her other breast, hoping that he would nurse more, but after a few sucks, he rejected her and groaned. Many times, Brynn had been told by other moms that newborn babies feel the energy that their mothers feel. If she was anxious, Lucas would feel anxious, too. Usually, Brynn rolled her eyes at this. After all, there was only so much she could control in the way she felt. She couldn’t help but feel exhausted and overwhelmed—that was just her reality. But now, she was certain that she’d been putting all her negativity onto Lucas, and he’d been suffering as a result. She’d shared with him her fear, stress, depression, and her sense that everything was falling apart. She was unable to bring her focus back to Lucas, and for that, she felt awful. None of this had anything to do with him.
Her neglected breast ached, and Brynn considered her options of waiting to pump when she got home or expressing out some milk now into the portable rubber flange that she brought with her. She decided to express the milk now, even though it would take a good ten minutes. She didn’t want to go home just yet; there was somewhere she needed to go first. But she continued to cry, unable to stop herself and not really wanting to try.
Her phone had been vibrating throughout the entire appointment, but she’d ignored it. She finally looked once she had Lucas tucked back into his car seat. She had too many missed calls and texts to even process. Shit, she thought. The word is out now. She knew she’d have to hightail it to her car. She packed everything up as fast as she could and slipped out the door, waving goodbye to the receptionist and quickly saying that she’d schedule the next appointment online.
Another woman was entering the building just as Brynn was leaving. She had a newborn baby strapped to her chest, and a toddler ran in front of her. The woman held the door for Brynn, who was struggling to carry everything with just one child.
“Slow down, Nico,” the woman said to her toddler. She gave Brynn a knowing smile as Brynn brushed past her.
The smile was one of commiseration, and yet it wasn’t. There was nothing relatable about that woman to Brynn. That woman seemed effortless. Breezy. She wasn’t lugging a giant diaper bag bursting with all kinds of emergency supplies. She wasn’t sweating. She didn’t have oily hair. She looked happy.
Brynn envied that woman and how easy her life seemed. How suited to motherhood she was, how happy her children were to have a mom like her.