Cutting Teeth(17)
He types notes into her daughter’s chart. “I know it’s hard as a parent not to feel anxious over every little thing.”
Darby rubs the spot on her arm, which doesn’t feel little. She’s not one of those parents whose children act as socially acceptable outlets for their varying neuroses. Depending on the day of the week, Darby can either feel proud or negligent for being one of the “laid-back moms,” but always one or the other, as if her brand of mothering is a choice and not mere survival.
She doesn’t agree with Griff, but that doesn’t mean she automatically agrees with Dr. Meckler either.
“I think I’d like to go ahead and order those tests, please.” And she resigns herself to saying goodbye to the rest of her morning.
* * *
“I’m thirsty, Mom.” From the back seat, Lola stares too hard into the rearview mirror through her fringe of bangs. Darby doesn’t like this “Mom” business. None of the other four-year-olds call their mothers Mom. It’s weird.
“Where’s your water bottle?”
“Gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone? The one with the whales on it?”
Lola had not wanted the cute sparkly water bottle that Darby picked out to replace the one that got squished beneath her tires when she accidentally left it on the roof of her car. She also didn’t want the purple unicorn water bottle that matched her backpack.
Lola isn’t prone to suggestion. She doesn’t go with the flow. Darby can’t present Lola with a surprise and expect happiness. Her daughter doesn’t work like that. And so they returned to the store where Lola picked out whales. That was five days ago. And the whales are now gone and Darby thinks she might—probably will—scream.
“It’s stolen.” Lola is defiant for no reason.
Darby beats the heel of her hand—the one that was recently spattered with pee while helping collect her daughter’s urine sample—gently against the steering wheel. “It’s not stolen, Lola. It’s misplaced. There aren’t water bottle burglars. That’s not a thing.”
Lola pouts. “I’m thirsty,” she repeats. “I wish I could bite you.”
The meanness of her little girl’s words pierces Darby. She gave up her whole day to take Lola to the pediatrician. And she feels like a bag lady in her shapeless tan dress that looked sort of chic on the mannequin but not on her. And she can spot pretzel bits and goldfish crumbs in the space between her seat and the console. She’s not even mad at Lola. It’s worse. She’s annoyed. Her daughter is bugging her. For a split second, she can see the appeal of Lola’s tantrums. It would feel so good to throw her sunglasses into the windshield and pull her hair and scream at her daughter to shut up, shut up, shut up.
Instead, she sits very still, growing angrier and more exasperated both with Lola and with herself. She should feel relieved. They’ve dodged at least one potential catastrophe. If it were an emergency, she could call Griff on his office line and speak to the receptionist, but it’s more like the opposite of an emergency. What about that? Does that still warrant a call?
She’d done the thing so many mothers had done before her, put herself on the Mommy Track in her career. She didn’t want to miss her children being little. She wanted to experience childlike wonder through their eyes. Except that’s the problem. It’s their wonder. She thought she was giving up her big, fancy job for something more exciting, but watching kids is pretty mundane stuff.
She tries calling Griff. His voice mail recording picks up immediately. Her husband has turned off his phone.
TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW OF WITNESS, BEATRICE “BEX” FEINSTEIN
APPEARANCES:
Detective Wanda Bright
PROCEEDINGS
DET. BRIGHT: What’s your favorite part of the school day, Bex?
BEX FEINSTEIN: I’m tired of talking. I don’t want to talk about school. I hate talking about school because it’s boring.
DET. BRIGHT: We just started, Bex.
BEX FEINSTEIN: Why do you keep calling me that? Bex Bex Bex.
DET. BRIGHT: That’s your name, isn’t it?
BEX FEINSTEIN: Well, yeah. Okay. How about it’s my turn to choose what we talk about, then?
DET. BRIGHT: I have a few questions I need to—
BEX FEINSTEIN: But that’s not fair because you had a turn already.
DET. BRIGHT: Actually, I didn’t.
BEX FEINSTEIN: Do you have any pets?
DET. BRIGHT: I have one cat.
BEX FEINSTEIN: What’s your cat’s name?
DET. BRIGHT: Stabler. Bex—
BEX FEINSTEIN: You said my name again! That’s kind of weird!
DET. BRIGHT: At the end of the day, when it was almost time to go home, can you remember noticing anything different? Maybe close your eyes. Imagine that you’re back in your classroom. Do you notice anything, anything at all?
BEX FEINSTEIN: There was one thing. I smelled blood.
DET. BRIGHT: Okay, okay, good. How did you know it was blood?
BEX FEINSTEIN: I can always smell blood now.
SEVEN
“I’ve tried everything.” Mary Beth declines to sit on the exam table at the clinic. Not necessary. It’s just her head. Just blinding pain that lights up her entire skull with absolutely no warning or regard for her schedule. Only a silly thing like her brain.