“Okay,” I say, getting to my feet and wiping chocolate crumbs off my pajamas. “Where should we look?”
“In the tower, of course,” she says, plucking the red ribbon on her wrist. “That’s where I left him.”
Edith’s Journal, November 2, 1971
Libby asked me last night if there was anything I wanted to tell her. I didn’t know what she meant. It was so funny the way she said it, like how Mama used to put it when she thought I’d taken something or I had gotten a bad grade at school. Then I was afraid that she knew I’d talked to Nurse Landry about her. I was so ashamed that I blushed hot pink.
“Ah! So there is,” Libby crowed like it made her happy. I was so embarrassed. And then I noticed she was staring at my belly and I turned even pinker. The truth is I have gained weight this semester. The freshman fifteen, they call it, even though I’m a sophomore. It’s the starchy food at the cafeteria and all the candy bars Libby keeps in the room.
“I thought you didn’t mind me sharing your candy bars,” I said.
“I don’t,” Libby said, “I just didn’t know you were eating for two. I thought you said you and Cal were careful.”
I could hardly believe she would say such a thing. I told her I wasn’t pregnant and then she asked me why I hadn’t used any of the tampons I’d brought with me, and I had to explain that my periods had always been irregular.
“So how do you know you’re not pregnant?”
I didn’t have an answer to that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the light of day I see that we’re not far from the house. I can see the top of the tower over the tree line. I’m sorry now that I didn’t come at night and climb to the tower to retrieve Laurel’s will, Peter’s picture, and my ID. I try to suggest to Edith that we come back later but she shakes me off. “We have to get to the baby now. Can’t you hear it crying?”
I sigh, but then I do hear it. Faint at first. It might be a blue jay or a mockingbird, but as I follow Edith toward the house the sound grows louder and it tugs at something inside of me the way Chloe’s cries used to tug at my womb. I can feel that pull now, like the cry is a red thread reeling me in. Even if I could convince Edith to turn back now I couldn’t do it myself.
When we get to the edge of the trees I see we’re only a few yards from the north end of the terrace. The tower is to our right. To our left the terrace wraps around the back of the house. That’s where the sound of the baby is coming from, the area where I ate dinner with Sky and Billie and where Chloe would sit in her bouncy chair or portable crib. But it’s not Chloe; Chloe is in Westchester with Peter. This must be one of Billie’s grandchildren. Instead of going there I should go into the tower and up to the top room where I hid my ID, the picture of Peter, and Laurel’s will.
I lay my hand on Edith’s arm. It’s as rigid as steel, tensed against the sound of the baby crying. As much as she’s drawn to the sound she’s also terrified by it. I wonder what she is reliving. I remember how Chloe’s cries would grate against my skin and imagine a lifetime of hearing that without being able to do anything to comfort that poor baby.
But now I’m going to use that fear. “Edith,” I say, willing my voice firm and steady, “we have to go into the tower before we can go to the baby.” I wait to see if she’ll question my shaky dictum but she turns her tear-stained face to me and nods. Poor Edith, I think as I lead her around the base of the tower, she must have been a very tractable young woman, easy to influence, easy to lead. First some boy got her pregnant, then her upper-class snoot of a roommate convinced her to hide her pregnancy and get rid of the baby when it was born. Now she’s blindly following me. She follows whoever has the strongest voice, the most convincing story—
Just as I fell into Peter’s stories of someday riches and let him bully me. Just as I eagerly copied Laurel’s clothes and carped with her about the indignities of motherhood. What I wouldn’t do to suffer those indignities now. To go back in time—
When we come around the tower I think for a moment I have gone back in time. Parked in the driveway is my Ford Focus, the car I arrived in. Why hasn’t Peter taken it back? Is it too shabby for him now that he’s gotten Laurel’s money? Maybe he sold it to Billie or gave it to Sky in thanks for sheltering his errant wife. Whatever the reason, it’s the first stroke of luck I’ve had, because along with my ID, Laurel’s will, and Peter’s picture, I hid a spare car key in the tower because the fob had my initial on it. All I have to do is get to the top of the tower and reclaim it. Then I can drive home. Find Chloe. Find someone to confirm my identity.
The next stroke of luck is that the door to the tower apartment is unlocked. I’d been afraid that Sky might have hired another archivist, but she must have been too reluctant after her last one turned out to be crazy. Still,
