Bloodchild (9 page)

"I just hope she's not going through some kind of a nervous breakdown. I'll feel better when the doctor sees her again, and I'm going along to talk to him," she added with determination. Colleen nodded. She started to clean up. "Just leave it, honey. I need things to do to keep my mind off everything else."

"Sure. Should I call you later?"

Jillian hesitated.

"Yes," she said. "Call. I didn't want to tell you to do so in front of Harlan. He has a lot on his mind without my adding any of my own anxiety. Anyway, you're probably right. It will all pass in time. Can't help worrying, though," she said, and forced a smile. "Wait until you're a mother."

"That's what Dana said."

"Oh?"

"When I asked her if she was nervous about Nikos. Only she got very defensive and said, 'Wait until you're a mother.'"

"What did you say?"

"I said I can wait."

Jillian laughed. It felt good to do so. She took a deep breath and shook her head.

"You're right, sweetheart. Take your time. It all goes so fast as it is. Seems like just yesterday Dana was your age, going to football games, worrying about some boy. No need to speed things up."

She followed Colleen to the front door and then stood there watching her get into her car and drive off. When she turned around to go back to the kitchen, she was struck by how quiet the house was. It was as quiet as a tomb, she thought, and then she thought, Maybe it's only natural for it to be this way. At least until the baby was a bit older and Dana wouldn't get so exhausted feeding and caring for him. It had been so long since she'd been the mother of an infant, and she had had little or no contact with any women who had been since. She had just forgotten what it could be like, she thought. Harlan was probably right—it was ridiculous to be this nervous.

Even so, she couldn't help herself. She had to go upstairs quietly and peek in on Dana. She was so intent on moving silently that she was even aware of the soft squish her footsteps made on the corridor rug. Dana's bedroom door was open slightly. Gently she opened it farther. The room was dismal because the shades were drawn on the windows, so she took a few steps in. She could see her clearly because of the light from the hallway. She was just the way she had been when she and Harlan had first looked in on her yesterday—on her back, her head to one side, her eyes shut tight, her complexion pale. She looked just as exhausted, if not more so.

Jillian retreated from the room quickly and closed the door softly. She stood there for a moment thinking, then decided to go to the baby's room. The shades had been drawn here as well, so she opened the door widely and went to the crib to look down at him more closely. He was dead to the world too.

Jillian thought he did have such a cute face. The features looked even more defined today. Did changes in infants occur this fast? she wondered. She couldn't recall. Anyway, he looked so sweet, so angelic in sleep; and she had to admit he was an amazing baby. She had hardly heard him cry and he seemed so content. Harlan and Dana were lucky to have come upon such a healthy child so quickly. Adoption could be such a gamble, she thought, and shook her head as she reviewed the tragic and strange events that had brought all this about.

She was about to turn away and go back downstairs when she noticed something. She leaned in closer to be sure. Yes, it was what she thought. The baby's carrot-colored hair—it was changing. Black roots were just visible above his scalp. She knew that babies' hair color could undergo changes early on, but for some reason the loss of the carrot tint was frightening to her.

It was as if the baby had had it carrot-colored just so it could endear itself to Harlan and Dana. And now that he was safely here… he could revert to his true color.

What a horrible, foolish thought
, Jillian thought.
Babies are innocent, not evil. I've got to get hold of myself. God forbid I ever voice such an idea in front of Harlan or Dana
.

She looked at the baby once more. It didn't stir. It hardly breathed. In fact, she couldn't see any movement in its chest. Terrified at the prospect of crib death, she couldn't help but reach in and touch the child.

The moment her fingers reached his neck, where she hoped to feel a pulse, the child opened his eyes. She pulled her fingers back quickly, but it was too late. Nikos opened his mouth and wailed like she had never heard him wail before. She reached down to take him in her arms and soothe him, but everything she did seemed to intensify his anger more.

Moments later Dana was at the door. The vibrantly red nightgown she wore made her face and arms look ashen. She was so pale, she looked like a corpse. Her normally bright hazel eyes were dull, even sickly, covered with a gray film. Her lips were as bland as day-old dead worms and her hair was disheveled and stringy.

She became furious when she entered the room and confronted her. Her eyes widened, her lips writhed, and her shoulders lifted. Jillian actually lost her breath for a moment.

"What are you doing, Mother?"

"The baby…"

Nikos wailed harder at the sight of Dana. His little arms jerked spasmodically toward her and his face became blood-red. Dana practically lunged forward to seize the baby from Jillian. The moment he was securely in her arms, his crying stopped.

"What happened?" Dana asked.

"Nothing happened, Dana. I looked in on the child and became a little anxious when it appeared as though he wasn't breathing, so I reached down to touch him and—"

"You woke him!" Dana accused. "Why couldn't you just leave him be?"

"But, Dana, I told you, I was concerned about him, so I—"

"Just leave him. You don't have to be concerned. He's a perfectly healthy child. Perfectly healthy, do you understand?" She clenched her teeth. Jillian simply stared at her for a moment.

She watched Dana put the child back into his crib. The baby remained quiet, and both he and Dana turned toward Jillian. She looked back at them, never feeling more resented. Dana's reaction and present condition confirmed her fears—her daughter was on the verge of some kind of a nervous breakdown. She thought it would be best to calm down.

"All right, Dana. As long as everything's all right. Did you want anything? Can I bring you some coffee?"

"No. We've got to sleep."

"Okay, honey. I'll be right nearby if you need anything," Jillian said. She hesitated a moment to see what Dana would say, but Dana simply stared. She looked from her to the baby. Was it her imagination? The infant seemed to be wearing the exact same expression of disgust and annoyance. "Okay," she repeated, and rushed from the room.

Jillian went directly to her own room and closed the door. It was best she took a little nap now herself, she thought. All this was so unnerving and she was so tired. She sat on her bed a moment and listened. She couldn't make out any words, but Dana was talking to the child, talking to him as though he were old enough to understand her and even reply. Finally she heard Dana go back to her room.

All was quiet again. The house was filled with a funeral stillness, the kind of stillness that was unnerving.

She lay back. What's happening here? she wondered. My God, what's happening here?

She closed her eyes before she could think too much more about it, and in moments she was asleep.

The ringing of the phone woke Jillian. At first it seemed like the remnant of a dream because the sound was muffled. She opened her eyes and lay there looking up at the ceiling, trying to reorient herself. The ringing persisted and she sat up to listen more closely. She looked at her gold Piaget wristwatch and saw that it was nearly twelve-thirty. Then she scrubbed her face vigorously with the palms of her hands, got out of bed, and went to the guest-room door.

The phone continued to ring. She listened, looked around, and stepped into the hallway. First she went to Dana's bedroom, where the closest phone was. Looking in the doorway, she saw Dana in a deep sleep again. The phone on the dark oak night table beside her continued to ring. It amazed Jillian that her daughter could sleep through the sound.

She went downstairs as quickly as she could and picked up the receiver of the antique white replica of an early-twentieth-century dial phone and said hello. It was Colleen.

"What's going on there? I let it ring and ring. At first I thought I dialed the wrong number, so I dialed again," Colleen said breathlessly.

"I was asleep, and Dana… Dana's asleep. Maybe she got up to feed the baby while I was asleep and then went back to bed. I don't know. The phone finally woke me, but how it didn't wake her ringing right beside her is a mystery."

"Is she all right?"

"Not in my opinion. I can't wait for your brother to call. I hope he made that doctor's appointment."

"Should I come home?" Colleen asked.

"No, honey. There's nothing you could do here. I'll keep busy around the house—make some lunch, take out the roast for supper…"

"All right. We're going to have that rally for the football team at the end of the school day, after all. I'll come home right after it ends."

"That's all right. Don't rush home to sit around and hold my hand. Just enjoy the rest of your day." She heard the doorbell ring. "Someone's at the door. See you later."

"See you," Colleen said, her voice small and sad.

Jillian cradled the receiver and went to the front door to greet Trish Lewis. The Lewises lived two houses down. Jillian had met Trish twice before. Trish had been one of Dana's earliest friends in Old Centerville Station, and Jillian knew she and her husband, Barry, occasionally socialized with Dana and Harlan. They had twins, a boy and a girl, in grade school.

"Jillian, hello. It's so good to see you," Trish said in her characteristically flamboyant manner. Usually Jillian enjoyed the thirty-three-year-old diminutive blond woman's histrionics. Both times she had met her before, Trish had behaved like a refugee from a community theater, impressed with her own body language and voice, out of breath, between this appointment and that, overwhelmed by a schedule that included carting her children from dentists to shopping centers to grocery stores and then rushing home to prepare Barry's supper, as though he were the only one in her house who ate an evening meal. Dana said she found her delightful and entertaining, and "always up, always energetic." Jillian thought she was nice enough, but she could be exhausting.

"Hello, Trish," Jillian said, and smiled weakly.

"Is Dana up and about? This is the first chance I've gotten to get over here. Naturally we were so sad about what happened, and then when we heard about the adoption, we were so happy for her and Harlan, but you know me—I waited until the last minute to get a baby gift, and then the twins had this art project to do. Don't ask," she said, her words flowing so fast, Jillian could only smile. "Why these teachers don't realize that the parents are going to end up doing the project, anyway, is beyond me. They expect so much from these kids. Just wait until Dana deals with elementary-school teachers. Where is she?" she asked, finally taking a breath and peering in behind Jillian.

It occurred to Jillian that Trish was speaking so quickly and being even more dramatic because of her own nervousness. She wasn't sure how to handle the situation, a situation that had begun as a tragedy and then quickly turned happy. It was only natural that she didn't know what to expect.

"Oh, come in, Trish. I'm sorry." Jillian stepped back to permit the five-foot four-inch bundle of energy to enter. A gust of air seemed to rush in behind her. "Dana was still asleep last time I looked in on her."

"Still asleep? Oh, you mean she went back to sleep. Naps—what a luxury. When did I do that last? I can't even remember." Trish smiled. "You must be so excited… a grandson."

"Yes," Jillian said. "Although Dana's been really exhausted caring for him."

"Breast feeding, I know." Trish tightened her face and pursed her lips. Then she leaned toward Jillian and lowered her voice to a whisper. "That was practically all she would talk about before she went in to have the baby. It got so I wished I was pregnant just so I could do it too. Imagine Barry's face when I said that," she said, straightening up and returning to a normal tone of voice. "Think I can peek in on him? Harlan told Barry the baby has carrot-colored hair."

Jillian swallowed, instinctively bringing her right hand to the base of her throat. She looked up the stairway and then back at Trish. She was actually terrified to give permission.

"I…"

"Oh, I know. You don't want to risk waking the baby. What, he just went back to sleep? I remember how I had to take advantage of those moments when the twins went back to sleep. They didn't always go back at the same time, so you can imagine what I went through," Trish said, raising her walnut-brown eyes toward the ceiling dramatically. "Anyway," she said, looking down at the baby gift she had brought, "give this to Dana and tell her I'll stop by later. After supper… well after supper." She smiled and squeezed Jillian's arm. "You look too young to be a grandmother."

"Oh, Trish, I don't know about that anymore."

"Really. And Dana's so proud of you. She never shuts up about you. Now, on the other hand, take my mother… still nags me to death and spoils the twins. Oh, Barry could just kill her, but that's what it means to be a grandmother, right? I'd better go," she added before Jillian could reply. "When did you get here?" she asked as she reached for the door. "You weren't here for the delivery, were you?" She bit down on her lower lip, as if she were trying to shut herself up. Her face grew pained-looking.

"No… no, I wasn't," Jillian said.

Irish nodded in understanding. Then she looked up the stairway. "She's been through a lot, poor thing. It's good you're here, Jillian. How is she, really?"

Jillian shook her head and Trish widened her eyes.

"She's not good. Very high-strung."

"Oh. Is there anything I can do to help?" Trish asked weakly.

"No. Harlan's getting her an appointment with the doctor and we'll see."

"She's not going to want to go on any medications. Not while she's nursing. I can tell you that," Trish said. She shook her head. "I see that you're very worried. Not sleeping, huh?"