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An hour later, after Willa fell into a deep sleep in the dense shadows of Susan’s guest room, Christine, Susan, Lola, and Amanda sat around the kitchen nook table to decompress the night's events. Here, in Susan’s newly-designed kitchen, with its glorious view of the rocky coastline beyond and the waves that flipped and flirted against the rocks, clambering high to catch the glow of the earnest moon, they fell into stunned silence. It had very much felt as though Anna Sheridan sat within the Prius alongside them.
Willa seemed almost a direct message from a woman they hadn’t seen in more than twenty-five years.
Susan lifted a shaking arm to pour three glasses of wine while Christine sat once again with a mug of steaming tea. Pregnancy was one of the greatest privileges of her life, a joy immeasurable in nearly every way. Even still, her tongue ached for just a single drop of wine.
As though she could read her mind, Lola interjected with, “Soon, Christine. We promise you that.” She then lifted her glass of wine and nodded toward Christine’s stomach with excitement. “Guess we’ll get two new family members this winter. Not just one.”
“Gosh.” Susan collapsed at the kitchen table and rubbed her temple. “When she said that stuff about me as a baby...”
“It’s just crazy to me...” Amanda breathed.
“We should check the diaries,” Lola suggested suddenly.
“I don’t even know if my heart can take it,” Susan murmured, looking down at her hands.
“I think we need to know as much as we can,” Christine countered. “It’s obvious there’s something wrong with this woman— something that we can’t possibly understand right now. Maybe a bit more insight into Mom and Willa’s life together will help us put the pieces of this puzzle together.”
Amanda leaped up and tip-toed up the staircase. Everyone knew that Susan had moved Anna’s diaries to her new house, to be kept in a fireproof box on her antique bookshelf on the second floor. Amanda reappeared with the box and its thousands of perfectly drawn-out words, glorious poetry that told the story of a mystery woman’s life.
“Maybe around the time Susan was born?” Christine suggested to her niece.
Amanda leafed through the diaries to find the appropriate year. Lola grabbed another and hunted, as well.
“This one seems to be from her teenage years.” Lola glazed a finger over the words, tracing the lines. “It’s just all about how obsessed with Dad she is... Oh! And something about a beautiful dress that Grandma Marilyn made for her for Christmas.”
“Isn’t that so sweet?” Susan muttered as she tried to wipe away her tear-stained cheeks.
“But nothing about her parents? Her sister?” Christine asked, her head cocked to the side, waiting for a response.
“Hmm. I mean, it stands to reason that she wouldn’t write about something that was hurting her so much,” Lola tried.
“Good point,” Amanda returned. “She would have wanted to focus on the future she was building with Grandpa.” But at that moment, her eyes grew wide as she cried, “Ah! I found something.”
Amanda flipped the book around to trace a very small portion of the little diary so they could read it.
Mom tried to see Susan again, but it was pretty damn clear she’d drank a half-bottle of vodka before she drove herself to Wes and I’s new home. I could smell it on her breath and I could see it in the way she wavered to and fro in the driveway before she got up the energy to come in. I told her there was no way she could meet Susan, not like this. She accused me of keeping her away from her granddaughter and accused me of excommunicating from our family.
The truth is, of course, that I haven’t felt a part of that family in many years.
But she got nasty with me when I tried to close the door. She told me that there was no way I’d see Willa again if I didn’t allow her to see Susan.
My heart aches for poor Willa, alone in that house. I haven’t a clue what to do about it, especially with all the sleepless nights and the anxiety around new motherhood.
I can’t imagine building a life for my children the way my mother has built ours. It was a miracle that I met Wes in the first place— a miracle that he loved me. I don’t plan to mess that up.
“Oh my god,” Lola breathed.
Susan placed her hands against her eyes as a wail escaped her. Amanda jumped up and wrapped her arms around her mother, holding her tightly as emotion rolled through her.
“It just makes me think of all my dark nights as a new mother,” Susan explained as she tried to calm herself down. “Always thinking that you’re doing everything wrong. Always wanting to build a better world. I can’t think of a single night during those early days that I didn’t really wish my mother was there beside me to help. And now, to hear that actually, our mother didn’t have her mother, either.” Susan then shifted her eyes toward her daughter’s as her body shook. “I’m just so damn grateful right now that I made it through my bout of cancer.”
“Mom...” Amanda seemed both alarmed and unsure about the sudden storm of emotions. She rubbed Susan’s back as silence welled around them.
“We’re pretty damn glad, too,” Christine finally mustered.
Susan hiccupped and then burst into strange laughter. She tossed her head back so that her newly-grown locks cascaded down her shoulders.
“I just haven’t thought about those dark nights of early motherhood in ages,” Susan said.
Christine sighed longingly as she rubbed her stomach. Fear welled within her. Those nights were headed straight toward her.
“But you’ll have us. Remember that,” Lola pointed out, as though she could read Christine’s mind.
“I think we should all get some serious sleep tonight,” Amanda advised then, taking the reins just like her mother before her. “There are more diary entries to read and more conversations to be had with Willa. But right now? Right now, I think our bodies deserve to sleep.” She then gave Lola a vibrant smile as she added, “And just a few days before Audrey’s big return. I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I,” Lola agreed. “I know she’s studying hard for her finals. I hope she isn’t driving herself crazy.”
“I’m sure she’s at-least half crazy,” Amanda affirmed. “But that’s all part of it. Probably, it’s part of why she went back, to get swept up in it all again. To feel like a normal twenty-year-old again.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lola murmured.
Christine longed to interject that there was no going back to being a “normal twenty-year-old” after giving birth. But she kept her lips pressed tightly closed in support of Amanda’s suggestion. Sleep was a necessity. Perhaps tomorrow would allow greater understanding. She knew it always did.
**
CHRISTINE WOKE AT THE Sheridan house the following morning to a buzzing text message from Susan. When she twisted around to grab her phone, she caught sight of an old Alanis Morrissett poster, which she herself had hung on that very wall back in the nineties. It forced her mind through flashbacks of hundreds of other mornings— mornings when her limbs hadn’t been so heavy, her stomach filled with so much ache. The baby pumped its foot against her stomach once more as Christine cooed, “Yeah, yeah. I know. You miss your daddy.” Christine had all but hobbled through the thicket of trees last night between the Sheridan house and Susan’s new place before ultimately falling into bed with her feet swelled and aching.
It was just like Susan to text before six in the morning.
SUSAN: Willa woke up around five-thirty. She seems confused. She’s asking me more questions about where Anna is.
SUSAN: I think I want to take her to the emergency room. I have time before my afternoon appointments.
Christine groaned. Slowly, she shifted her heavy frame upright, so that her tip-toes danced across the upper part of the woven rug.
CHRISTINE: Just give me a few minutes to get dressed. Pick me up in the driveway?
Susan returned with a “thumbs up.”
Christine donned a turtleneck, a thick dark blue sweater, a pair of maternity pants, and a puffy light green coat and blinked at herself in the downstairs hall mirror. If she had seen herself like this two years previously, when she’d been something of a fashion icon in New York City, she would have scoffed. “It’s just you and me against that Martha’s Vineyard winter cold,” she whispered now, mostly to her baby but also to her reflection. “Nothing else matters, now.”
Susan’s Prius lights swelled through the morning haze. Christine waddled toward the backseat and then entered to hear a muttering, confused Willa, whom Susan had apparently lassoed up front. Susan had Lola on the phone, in which she was going to update her on their plans.
“I know you have Max,” Susan said primly. “I just wanted to inform you of our plans. Maybe you could meet us back at the house in a few hours when we know more.”
Lola seemed to respond groggily. Although Max was a relatively good all-night sleeper, it was possible that he’d picked the previous night to be finicky. Babies sensed the tension in the air. It could be said that they acted reasonably toward that tension. Christine often wanted to toss her head back and scream when panic set in.
Up at the hospital, Christine and Susan stood on either side of Willa and led her through the double-wide doors. The emergency waiting room was extremely illuminated, the sort of light that reminded Christine of cheap clothing stores’ dressing rooms. You could see every flaw. The emergency room itself wasn’t that busy, but the five people who sat within the waiting room were perhaps the most fatigued creatures on earth. The half-moon circles beneath their eyes told a story of having been awake all night long.
Susan checked Willa in as Christine and Willa found two plastic seats near the window. It was now six-fifteen, and the dim grey light of a winter’s morning had begun to swell over the top of the glittering island snow.
“I just need to speak to her,” Willa muttered under her breath as her eyes cut left and right. “I need her to know...”
As the emergency room wasn’t entirely busy, a nurse named Camilla stepped out ten minutes later to take Willa back through the overly-bright halls. Susan and Christine followed behind but were left out of the examination room, as Camilla reported that she needed space with the patient alone to get a better read on her psychiatric health. Outside the door, Christine and Susan were wordless.
It was here, during Willa’s check-up, at six-forty-five in the morning, that Christine felt the first tremendous jolt of pain. Her muscles tightened over her stomach as her knees buckled beneath her. She gasped and leaned back against the wall as Susan’s eyes widened.
“What’s wrong, Chris?” Susan demanded. “Are you having a contraction?”
“No, it’s nothing,” Christine told her as the pain subsided just as quickly as it had started.
“Are you sure?” Susan asked again, trying to read Christine’s facial expression.
Christine blew the air out of her lips as she blinked herself back to full consciousness. “Yes, of course.”
Just then, Camilla pushed open the door to reveal the emergency doctor and Willa, who still looked strange and ghastly white.
“I’d like to speak with Willa’s family,” the doctor announced.
“We’re her family,” Christine said hurriedly.
Camilla nodded and stepped back to allow the doctor to enter the hallway. She then shut the door closed between them to allow Christine, Susan, and the doctor privacy.
“What is your relation to the patient?” the doctor asked.
“She’s our aunt,” Susan offered, her voice high-pitched with disbelief.
“But we never knew her before yesterday,” Christine admitted. “She appeared on the island, already just as confused as she is right now.”
“My current diagnosis is that she’s in a state of psychosis,” the doctor informed them.
“Psychosis?” Christine formed the word timidly.
“She has created a world in her mind that doesn’t quite exist,” the doctor continued. “But psychoses come in many different sorts and are caused by many different things. You said that you didn’t know her prior to this episode, which means that this very well could be a frequent event in this woman’s life. That said, psychoses also can be brought on by stress or certain types of trauma.”
Christine and Susan exchanged worried glances. This was above Christine’s comprehension. Depression, anxiety, even dementia... she understood the many facets of these diseases and disorders, but psychosis? This was another ballgame.
“I’m going to recommend a really wonderful psychiatrist here on the Vineyard,” he informed them. “I’ll have Camilla make the call for you and arrange for an appointment this week. I’ve prescribed her lurasidone to calm her down a bit— but not enough for a full treatment plan. That will have to come through the psychiatrist herself.”
Susan thanked the doctor before he marked something on Willa’s clipboard and passed it back through the door to give to Camilla.
“It’s a good thing you brought her in when you did,” the doctor said. “I’ve seen similar episodes go south very quickly.”
As though he’d just remarked on the weather, rather than their aunt’s mental state, the doctor then turned around on his white tennis shoes and squeaked back down the hallway to yet another waiting emergency.
Susan slapped her hands across her thighs distractedly. “I guess that means we don’t know a whole lot more than what we did before.”
Christine stepped through the doorway to greet Willa, who gave them a sleepy smile.
“I can feel it right now,” Willa said as she pointed to her forehead. “Feel the intrusive thoughts. I can feel how wrong they are.”
Christine searched Nurse Camilla’s eyes, hunting for some sign of what to do next. The mind was a strange thing. But all Camilla could do was say, “I’ll call you first thing when I have an appointment set up for Willa.”
They drove back to Susan’s place in stunned silence. Even Willa seemed to know better than to speak, as though she suspected that anything she said wouldn’t actually exist in the real world. Christine tried to put herself in Willa’s shoes. Without a doubt, it was a terrifying thing to be unable to trust the inner workings of your mind.
Lola arrived with baby Max as Christine stepped out of the back of Susan’s Prius. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep; perhaps it was the stress. Something within her felt out of balance. She pressed a hand across her stomach and admitted to her sisters that she needed to lie down for a little bit back at the Sheridan house. Lola looked at her with a look of exasperation, which was immediately replaced with tenderness.
“Yes, of course. You must be exhausted,” she commented. “We’ll just be here. Come on by when you can.”
Aunt Kerry and Grandpa Wes sat in the living room of the Sheridan house, as Amanda had already left for her job up at the Law Offices of Sheridan and Sheridan. Christine walked past them as Aunt Kerry asked Wes, “She must have been no more than nine when she left the island?”
“A few years older, but not by much,” Wes affirmed contemplatively. “It really broke Anna up inside when her parents took Willa away.”
“Christine! Did you just take Willa to the hospital?” Aunt Kerry demanded, her eyes cat-like.
“We did,” Christine replied as she placed her hand timidly on the staircase railing. “She doesn’t know quite what year it is.”
“Welcome to the club,” Wes joked. Kerry swatted him and said, “Stop that.”
“I have to lie down for a while,” Christine told them. “But I’m sure Susan will cook up a big breakfast over there if you’re interested. You know our Susie. She’ll cook something up for everyone, even at the end of the world.”
Christine forced herself back to her childhood bedroom, where she again collapsed as her stomach shifted into another strange cramp. She had read endlessly about labor across countless message boards on the internet. She’d typed silly questions into the search engine, demanding things like, “Is it normal to want to murder your partner at five months?” and, “When will the swelling in my ankles and feet subside?” and, “What does childbirth feel like?” Normally, she didn’t remember the answers to her questions and she knew it was all a normal part of the nesting phase, but she wanted to be completely prepared, although Christine knew that would never happen.
Now that her strange cramps had kicked up in the midst of the Willa disaster, Christine again lifted her phone to type:
“Is it real labor, or is it stress?”
A number of options popped up, including one site that said, “Although it’s not totally clear what the connection between stress and labor is, it’s clear that women who experience a great deal of stress often go into labor earlier.”
Christine’s heartbeat quickened to the speed of a rabbit’s. She pressed her hand over her mouth, realizing that even her reading this had elevated her stress levels. She tossed her phone to the far end of the bed and stared at the sultry nineties face of Alanis Morrissett.
“Tell me I’m not going to have the baby early, Alanis,” Christine whispered. “Tell me I still have time.”
Unfortunately, Christine’s stomach seized with another jolt of pain, even as Alanis’s glazed expression seemed to translate the truth: neither Alanis nor Christine had a say in when this baby was coming. This baby planned to do whatever it wanted.