Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,58
overwhelmed?”
What an understatement. One infant, three murders, a jailed husband, and a new career. No. I wasn’t overwhelmed !
“I guess you can call it that,” I managed.
“Do you have the baby blues?” she asked.
“Baby blues?” I repeated.
“You’re not . . .” Her voice changed to a whisper. “Depressed , are you?”
“No, no, no,” I repeated a little too gregariously, jarring Laurie from her sleeping position on my shoulder.
“It’s very common, Kate. You don’t need to feel ashamed. Should I have one of our specialists call you?”
“No. I’m fine. Really, just fine.”
“Let me just make a note here.”
“What? A note? A note where?”
“In your file. I’ll have someone call you.”
“What are you writing in my file? That I’m depressed? Don’t write that. I’m not depressed. I’m fine.”
“It looks like Clara has an opening this afternoon. She’ll call you around three, okay?”
Rachel hung up, leaving me with a dial tone in one ear and Laurie wailing in the other.
A note in my file?
Another thing to live down. Like the poor rating Laurie and I had gotten on breastfeeding. Only this felt worse. I was in this one all on my own.
I fell into an exhausted catnap on the sofa, with Laurie cuddled beside me. When the phone rang again, it interrupted a dream I was having about being stuck in the desert, dying of thirst.
I clucked my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth. No wonder. When was the last time I’d had anything to drink?
I stretched for the cordless phone, trying not to disrupt Laurie.
My voice cracked as I squeezed out a greeting.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Mom asked.
“Mom! How are you? How’s Hank?”
“We’re both fine. Now, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“I can tell by your voice.”
“I just need to get something to drink.”
“No, that’s not it. What’s wrong?”
I sighed. How could she know? Maternal instinct?
“Nothing.” My voice cracked further and tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” I sobbed.
“I’m coming over.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said into an empty receiver.
Mom arrived within ten minutes. She wore a huge hat with feathers on it, as though she had just stepped out of an old Errol Flynn movie.
“What’s with the hat? Were you fencing?” I asked as Mom quickly diapered Laurie.
“Isn’t it fabulous! I got such a deal on it.”
“Clearly.” I giggled.
Mom ignored me and gathered the lunch remnants from the living room. On her insistence, I collapsed onto the couch while she did the dishes and made us tea.
Over tea, I reluctantly filled her in on my new client, my hopes to launch my own PI business and stay out of corporate America, Jim’s arrest, Svetlana’s murder, and George’s sudden departure.
Mother’s eyes remained glued on me as I finished telling her about Rachel’s call and the dreaded note in my file.
Mother chuckled.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Darling, you have enough to worry about without fretting over a note in a chart.”
“I want you guys to be proud of me.”
“I am proud.”
“I know you’re proud of me. I mean, you’re my mom. You’re proud of me the way I’m proud of Laurie. I mean, all she can really do is lie there, but I’m proud of her because she’s mine. I’m sure that’s how you feel about me, but I want you and Jim and Laurie to feel proud of me, proud of my accomplishments. And what am I really accomplishing?”
Mom looked at me, perplexed. “Darling, you just had a baby! You’re starting your own business. You’re accomplishing a lot. You’re going to be very successful. You are successful.”
She leaned across the coffee table and squeezed my hand. “Don’t be upset. Honestly, this is just the hormones. Don’t be so mopey. Have some tea, cheer up. Jim will be home any minute.”
“How do you know?”
“The police couldn’t possibly hold him overnight again. Jim was with you yesterday morning.”
“I’m not considered a credible alibi. I don’t think so anyway. And even if I was, I won’t be now that they put that note in my file.”
“You’re not depressed, are you?”
Was I?
I did feel a heaviness.
I suppressed a yawn. “I feel like I haven’t slept, I mean really slept, since before Laurie was born. And I feel like I won’t sleep until I get to the bottom of these murders, either that or until she’s eighteen.”
Mom smiled and patted my hand. “I’d tell you to sleep right now, but I know you better than that. Go find George. And this time, don’t let him get away. Drag him to the police station, even if he’s kicking and screaming. I’ll