All She Ever Wanted Part 8

"t.i.tillating conversation, discussing the merits of turkey over ham."

"See that? t.i.tillating. That's a word I would never come up with." He put his arm around Chelsea's waist and nuzzled her neck. "Just how much t.i.tillating conversation are you planning to have with that deli guy?"

She closed her eyes, wishing she could communicate how broken she was inside. "I love you," she said quietly. "But I'm so alone in this. So alone and scared."

He stopped teasing her neck and pulled away so that she could see the sadness in his smoky eyes. "I know that. You know I'm worried about you."

She nodded.

"You know I love you. But I don't know what more I can do to help besides getting you to that new doctor."

Stay home! Don't leave me here alone. . . .

She was so scared to let him go, even for a day . . . so scared of what she might do.

But Leo had a job to do. He was their sole provider.

And it was up to her to pull together and take care of Annie for a few days. This was the baby she had always wanted . . . hadn't that bright replica of herself just gushed about it in the video?

This was her dream come true.

But somehow, it had also become her personal nightmare.

All day Sunday Chelsea dreaded tomorrow when Leo had to leave for his business trip. Since Annie's birth he'd been away for a night here and there, but never for a full week.

While Leo was out doing errands with Annie, Chelsea pulled herself off the couch to fold the dry laundry. A week was so long, and this was a bad time. The twisted ma.s.s of socks and T-shirts was overwhelming, especially when she was blinded by tears. She needed help. She needed her mom.

If only Mom were here to help . . . to show Chelsea how to be a mother. But Mom was gone . . . and Chelsea still felt terrible about not having a chance to say good-bye or mourn her.

"It's probably better that you're not here," Melanie had told her when she called from Judith's bedside in those last days. "It would be really hard on you, and Mom is completely out of it. She doesn't recognize any of us."

But she would have known I was there. Chelsea was convinced that a person on the threshold to the next world could still sense the presence of loved ones around them. Torn between the desire to be with her mom in her last hours on earth and the doctor's orders to avoid air travel and stick close to the hospital, she had stayed. Of course, she had to take care of her unborn child. The light of her life!

But sometimes, it still felt wrong. The jumble of anger and loss and blame and regret that surrounded Mom's death was still a tight black lump in Chelsea's chest. People said that time healed all wounds, but this one-this dark stone of anguish-would never melt away.

Later, after Leo disappeared into the bedroom to pack, she knew she had to try one last time to stop him. She carried a pile of his clean T-shirts into the room, setting them on the bed beside his open duffel bag.

"I don't think I can be here alone." There was a tremble in her voice, and she hated herself for having to beg. "Can't you tell your boss that your wife and baby need you?"

"I don't think Mark will buy that anymore." He didn't look up as he stuffed balled-up pairs of socks into the bag.

"But it's true."

Leo shrugged. "I already asked him if someone could sub for me. He kind of laughed it off and told me to have a nice trip."

"That's mean."

"He's got a business to run. And really, he's doing me a favor by sending me to Boston. I made a lot of connections at this gig last year. Leads that turned into lucrative deals. I gotta go, hon."

He told her he'd been talking to Emma, who'd be coming around to help out. He'd worked out some sort of plan with her, but the details faded as Chelsea stared at the duffel bag he was packing.

How easy it would be to tuck Annie inside.

Her little body would fit in the canvas between the stack of boxers and the rolled T-shirts. If she stayed quiet Leo could stow her under the seat and no one would ever know. And if he checked her through with his suitcase . . . She imagined the cold, dark belly of the plane. It was no place for a baby.

I belong there, she thinks. Cold and dark and airless. No more sorrow and guilt. No more.

"Emma is going to stop in every day after work," he was saying when she tuned back in. "And don't forget, you've got that appointment with Dr. Chin on Wednesday. Maybe you should hire a sitter for that afternoon. Mrs. Rosekind is great."

"But she works during the week," she reminded him. "And I'm not going to call Eleni again."

"Eleni isn't a bad sitter," he argued. "I trust her, as long as the skateboard stoner boyfriend doesn't come along."

Chelsea shook her head. She couldn't leave Annie with that girl.

"Maybe Emma can get out of work that day," he said. "That would solve the problem."

Chelsea stretched out beside his duffel bag on the bed, wishing she could be as hopeful as Leo. When he saw solutions, she saw a ma.s.s of twisted socks and shirts with their sleeves tangled in a knot. She thought of the cold mornings ahead and the long, dark nights she would spend pacing with a crying baby in her arms. Right now a week was a lifetime. Leo might as well say he would return in seven years.

From this close she could smell his aftershave, already packed into the bag. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a tiny speck of dust, billowing through the air and swirling, landing and attaching herself on Leo's undershirt.

She would hold on tight and never let go.

Chapter 10.

Cheerios. Bread. Cheese. And two gallons of milk.

Chelsea went down the aisle of the supermarket Monday morning, hoping that Annabelle would stay asleep in the carrier that filled most of the shopping cart. When she'd opened the fridge that morning and found it lacking, she had cursed herself for begging Leo to watch the baby instead of letting him make a grocery run last night. She had imagined a quick daytime shopping trip this morning, and so far, Annabelle had napped under the fluorescent lights of the bread-and-cereal aisle. If she could grab some meat and fresh fruit, they could get home without a scene.

Maybe it was the cool mist in the produce section. As soon as Chelsea edged near the carrots, Annabelle snorted and started to cry.

"Don't do that here . . . please," Chelsea begged under her breath as she shoved a bunch of carrots in a bag and grabbed two onions.

Before she could reach the fruit, Annie's cries had accelerated to shrieks: that wretched wail that seemed to indicate terrible pain. Chelsea could feel other shoppers turning to stare at her.

A woman in a fat down jacket stopped picking out potatoes to give them her full attention. "Is everything all right?"

"Sorry. She cries like that sometimes." Chelsea pushed her cart away, but the woman followed.

"She sounds like she's in distress."

"She'll be okay." Chelsea ripped off a plastic bag for apples, trying to dodge the woman's disapproving stare.

"She's very cute," the woman said sadly, but Chelsea knew that translated to: Shut that baby up!

"Why don't you pick her up?" asked an elderly grandma in a jaunty cheetah-print cap. Her eyes were suspicious dark beads in her face.

"It won't make her stop crying," Chelsea explained, "and it's such an ordeal to unbuckle her and take her out. I just stopped in for a few things."

"But you can't let her cry like that," the older woman said.

I can't make her stop crying! Chelsea bit her lower lip to keep herself from snapping back at the woman. She knew it was annoying and disturbing and disruptive, but she had to listen to it all the time. Could these people just put up with her for ten minutes while Chelsea picked up her groceries?

A man with bushy eyebrows scowled as he blew by her with his cart like an angry motorist pa.s.sing a car with a flat tire.

"Are you going to let the poor thing make herself sick?" Cheetah Woman asked. "Take care of her!"

"I'm trying." And what baby ever died from crying? Really . . . these people pretended to like babies, but in truth none of them had an ounce of compa.s.sion. Chelsea gave up and pushed the cart to the checkout counter. She would have to make do without the other items on her list.

The woman in front of her looked back in annoyance, as Chelsea lined her cart up beside the chewing gum display.

"Can you give that kid a pacifier or something?" the woman asked in a biting tone.

Annabelle never took to a pacifier, but Chelsea reached into the diaper bag, wanting to feel as if she were doing something. The shrieks were angry bleats now, seared by a scalding edge that made it sound as if Annie would lose her voice soon. A sour suspicion tugged at Chelsea as she dug through the diaper bag.

Where was her wallet?

In the car. She had tucked it into the console after she'd loaded Annie into her child safety seat.

d.a.m.n!

With Annie screeching, there was no way the clerk would work with her. And at this point she didn't have the energy to dump the groceries with the manager and carry Annie through the parking lot in her heavy seat.

It was all such an ordeal. . . .

She pulled out of line, pushed her cart to the side of the store, and transferred Annie to an empty one.

"Come on, cranky-pants," she muttered, wheeling Annabelle out of the store.

The drive-through at Taco Bell promised hot food and an opportunity for Annie to wail in the privacy of their car. The line wasn't moving, and while she waited Chelsea shot off a text to Leo about Annie's meltdown. She could never reach him during the day when he was at a convention; that hadn't bothered her before she was stranded with Annabelle. She ordered a burrito, then made it two, deciding to save one for later.

"Something to drink?"

"Do you have milk?"

She thought the muzzled answer was a yes. After she paid and peered in the bag, the small container of milk gave her an idea. She circled around the parking lot and went back to the drive-through to order again.

"Ten milks, please." At least that would tide her over until she made it to the grocery store.

When Chelsea pulled into the driveway, she was surprised to see her neighbor standing at the curb, unpacking a minivan loaded to the gills. Louise Pickler was back from South Carolina already?

Chelsea wasn't thrilled to see Louise, who savagely protected her dingy home from solicitors and stray baseb.a.l.l.s. Louise had stick-thin legs and a belly that made her look slightly pregnant. She seemed to be in her sixties, though it was hard to tell under the makeup that could have been applied with a paint roller. Her long brown hair showed two inches of gray at the roots, and her lips always curved down in a grimace. This time of year, she always wore a black trench coat that made her resemble a fairytale witch.

The bad witch of the south-South Carolina-had returned.

Chelsea would have liked to duck straight into the house, but there was no avoiding Louise. She unloaded the stroller and popped it open. Fortunately, Annie stopped crying as soon as Chelsea removed her from the car. Did she sense that Louise was one of the most intolerant neighbors on the face of the earth and it wouldn't be wise to push her b.u.t.tons, or was it just a response to the cold air? Taking a deep breath, Chelsea wheeled her over.

As she pa.s.sed the van, Louise's little dog, ChiChi, bounced from the front seat to the dashboard, yapping incessantly.

"Louise, you're back early," Chelsea said. "The snow hasn't even melted yet."

Louise eyed her suspiciously. "I missed my home."

"Well, you're back now." Chelsea looked for the larger dog, known around the neighborhood as a biter. She didn't want her bounding up out of nowhere and attacking. "Where's Coco?"

Louise clutched the bright raspberry-colored scarf at her neck. "Gone to doggy heaven, may she rest in peace." She misted over. "I miss her so much."

Chelsea felt a flutter of sympathy for the woman. How sad to be all alone in the world, except for one or two sc.r.a.ppy dogs.

"Yes, I miss my little Coco." Louise's pout hardened to a frown as she pounced on Annabelle, leaning down to put her face frightfully close to the baby. "But I didn't miss hearing you cry."

Sympathy for the older woman drained away, and Chelsea rolled the stroller back, away from Louise's clutches. Louise had been living next door for the first two weeks of Annie's life, before she left for South Carolina, and though it was a dark blur in Chelsea's mind, she did remember Leo dealing with the older woman's complaints on the phone.

Louise straightened, still staring at Annabelle. "How's the colic?" she asked in her husky voice. "Tell me I'm not going to hear her crying outside my window again."

"Not as bad, but she still cries," Chelsea admitted, feeling a.s.saulted by the woman.

"That's not what I want to hear. Why are you such a bad baby?" Louise asked Annabelle in a ridiculous baby voice.

That voice edged under Chelsea's skin. "She's not a bad baby." Her discomfort was galvanized by the yapping dog that had started rocking the van. "And we didn't miss ChiChi's barking."

"Dat's not a bark!" Louise responded in her clownish voice as she opened the door and let the dog out so that it could sniff and snap at Chelsea's ankles. "Dat's ChiChi talking to Mommy!"

This woman is crazier than I am, Chelsea thought. She turned the stroller around as Louise hunkered down to give little ChiChi hugs. She stopped at the car to grab her Taco Bell stash and tucked it into the stroller basket, not wanting the neighbor to see the evidence of her shame and failure. Then she whisked Annabelle into the house, locking the door behind her.

Since Annabelle seemed content in her stroller, Chelsea quickly stashed the milk and second burrito in the fridge and perused the shelves. Nothing but condiments and Leo's microbrew beers.

The cupboard was bare.

Besides the burrito in the fridge, there was nothing besides cereal and oatmeal to eat in the long, dark nights ahead.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she retrieved a message from Leo.

Sorry about the groceries. I should have stocked up. My bad. Get someone to help you. Emma or Eleni?