“That's it?” I ask.
“Breast pumps and accessories?” she offers. “I suddenly have the need for them. I know I'm going to be breastfeeding. But what happens if I get sick? What if I'm stuck in traffic somewhere? What if I get called into the Bureau to consult on an important case and lose track of time and Eric needs to be able to feed the baby? Or, what if I am a super-producer?”
“A what?” I ask.
“An extreme lactator?”
“Please don't ever say those words again,” I say.
“Emma, what I am doing right now and what I am about to do are miracles. I am currently growing another human being inside me, and in less than two months I will be sustaining that human being with nothing more than my own body. The milk I produce will be precious, and I can't waste a single drop," she says. Her voice gets a little higher and thinner with every word as emotion builds in it. She finishes and reaches for a tissue. "I also need a wipe warmer and Moses basket. And baby detergent."
"Are you nesting?" I ask. "Is that what this is?"
She wipes her eyes and sniffles. "I think so."
"You okay now?"
"I still need a breast pump. They're on sale and other women are going to get all of them before we get there if you keep stalling," she says. "Go, go, go!"
I pull out of the driveway and toss her a look.
"Being pregnant is not for pansies, is it?" I ask.
"Sure as shit isn't."
I laugh. There she is.
We get to the baby store and as I pretty much expected, there is a distinct lack of swarms of pregnant women battling each other over suction cups and diaper bags. We're able to breeze right in and get everything Bellamy wanted, plus about thirty thousand other things she had no idea she needed until the second she saw them.
I have to admit, though, these itty-bitty socks are adorable. I have the compulsion to buy a few pairs to have around the house just because they're cute. I could find something to keep in them. I brought a pair inside with me when we stopped for lunch and I'm playing with them when Bellamy taps on the table to get my attention.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“I was doing some reading last night and…” I stop myself, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “No. I'm not going to get into it. This is girl time and all about the baby. We don't need to talk about this stuff.”
“It's okay,” she says. “The baby's full of vanilla milkshake and sleeping right now. Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I don't have to talk about it. You can tell me all about all those unrecognizable things that we just bought and what they do and how they're going to make it easier for you to raise your child.”
“Seriously, I'm sure. Emma, the next, like, five years of my life are gonna be all baby, all the time. I’ll need to talk to adults too. Go ahead,” she says.
“Well, when you guys left to home go the other day, I had talked to Sam about the crimes that happened at that campground. I was curious about why the Ghostbust—I mean, paranormal investigation team, would even care about going up there. So, he told me about all the different disappearances and murders over the years. It was really a lot. Pretty unsettling. But, I wanted to know more about it.”
“Of course, you did. Because you can't resist stuff like this,” she says.
“Are we going to do that again?” I asked. “Are we going to have this conversation again when you tell me I look for murder in everything?”
“No,” she says, waving her hands in front of her as an invitation to continue.
“Alright. I started doing some research last night while I was at the hotel. I started reading about Violet Montgomery, the little girl who died sixteen years ago. That turned into my reading about various theories and about the other people who died. But the thing that's still sticking in my head is I went on a true crime forum where people discuss cold cases and things.”
“Like Lydia's web sleuthing?” Bellamy asks.
I shake my head. “Not exactly. These people aren't trying to make themselves look like experts or even solve anything. They're just talking about the crimes and what happened. Some of them offer theories, but they're not getting involved with anything. Anyway, I was reading a thread about the disappearance of the first two teenagers after Violet, and at the end of the comment section was a guy who just put 'Arrow Lake is cursed'."
"Cursed?" she asks.
"Yeah. Nothing else. No elaboration. No references. Nothing. Just that it was cursed, and that's it. Now, here's the thing, I am still not going to jump on the supernatural bandwagon. I am not going into watching this investigation with any expectation of seeing or hearing, or otherwise witnessing, anything that will change my mind or make me think anything different about it. I'm fully anticipating watching a group of grown men wander around jumping at the sound of owls and making their own shadows into spirits," I say.
"One of them is a girl," Bellamy says. "Elsie."
"Alright. OK, a group of grown men and a woman. The point is, I don't think I'm going to have any sort of earth-shattering personal experience. I am interested to see if there's anything else about the history of the area and the ‘curse’ this person was talking about," I say.
"So, you offhand dismiss the possibility that ghosts could exist, but you have no problem with the idea of curses, just because some rando on the internet said it?" Bellamy raises an eyebrow.
"Yes. But, before you start getting all slippery slope on me, hear me out. Curses are a
