Hidden by Catherine McKenzie Read Free Book Online

open my eyes in the early light of morning. Seth’s face is inches from mine. He’s also awake. He looks so like Jeff in this moment, same chocolatey-brown eyes, same dark, unruly hair. I stop myself just in time from using his name.
    “Were you having a bad dream, baby?”
    Usually this term of endearment is met with an eye roll and a reminder to
never
call him that in public, but today all he says is “Yeah.”
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “Nah.”
    “Maybe if you told me, it wouldn’t seem so bad?”
    “Don’t think so.”
    “How do you know if you don’t try?”
    A tear rolls down his face. “Because when I woke up the dream was still true.”
    Whatever pieces of my heart that are still intact break in this instant. I can’t make things better for my son. I can’t take away his nightmares because life is a nightmare now.
    Jeff, Jeff. How could you leave us like this?
    “I’m sorry, baby.”
    He buries his head in my neck. We lie there like this for a while, the room brightening around us, the day marching on, even if we’re frozen.
    Around seven, Seth sits up abruptly. “I want to go to school.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet.”
    “But there are so many people here, all the time.”
    “Won’t school be full of people?”
    “I’m used to that.”
    “Things might be different now.”
    “I think I’ll feel … better there than here. Can I? Please, Mom?”
    I nod. “Don’t feel like you have to stay if things are hard, okay?”
    “Okay. Are you going to be all right?”
    “Beth’s here.”
    He kisses me on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
    Seth gets up. I stay in bed, wishing he hadn’t wanted to go. I keep imagining what it will be like for him, wondering (because I can’t keep my mind from going to dark places) whether it will be like my first day back at work after we lost the baby.
    About four years ago, we got pregnant again. We’d been trying for years. We never intended such a large gap between Seth and our second. We’d even discussed having three, but we tried and tried and nothing happened. We saw Dr. Mayer. He tested both of us and found no medical reason for my inability to conceive. These things take time, he said, sometimes. We shouldn’t stress about it. In fact stressing about it would be a bad thing. Stressing about it could make it not happen.
    But how do you not stress about something like that? Especially when it’s your body you’re constantly looking for changes in. Do my breasts feel sore today, or is it the usual premenstrual soreness I get sometimes? Do I feel bloated? Is this the way I felt when I was pregnant with Seth?
    These thoughts would turn around and around in my mind every month until I was sick of it. I didn’t want to try anymore, I told Jeff. It was driving me crazy. He was disappointed but supportive. He wouldn’t admit it, but I think the pressure was getting to him too. And it was so nice to have regular sex again. When we wanted, without thinking about timing and body temperature and keeping my legs in the air for minutes afterwards. Just sex. Sometimes good, sometimes great, sometimes rushed in between Seth’s various activities, sometimes languid and slow and tender. Just us, again.
    Then we got pregnant.
    I didn’t believe it at first. In fact, I never really believed it. Not when my period was weeks late. Not when I finally peed on a stick and the second, blue line appeared, or when the doctor confirmed it with a blood test. Jeff was elated, and I pretended I was too, but deep down, I knew there was something wrong. I didn’t feel pregnant. Not like I had withSeth, not even like I had sometimes all those years when we were trying.
    Jeff wanted to tell people right away, too early, but I convinced him to hold off until we passed the third month. That way, if something went wrong, no one would have to know. Nothing was going to go wrong, he said confidently, and in his certainty, I almost found belief. Then