Caul Baby by Morgan Jerkins (read any book .TXT) 📕

that greeted her with every turn frayed her nerves. How much more repairing could one family do? Maman asked herself. When did one give up? What if the brownstone was just dead and there was nothing else to put inside of it to make it better? What if it was dead and anyone who wanted a chance at a real life had to leave to make it happen?

When Maman returned to her bedroom, something in the air did not feel quite right. It didn’t take long for her to find the aberrations. The photo of Alexandre had been turned facedown, and her blunt and lighter were lying too close to the corner of the sheet that hung over the bed. Her mind wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, but she was almost certain that she had not moved the photograph or placed her blunt and lighter that close to her sheet. The blunt was not ignited, but that did nothing to mitigate Maman’s distrust of herself and her own space.

After staring at the photo, blunt, and lighter for a while, Maman looked beyond those items to find that there were shadows on the walls, shadows much larger than her body or any piece of furniture in the room. When Maman followed their amorphous shapes, all leaned toward Scuff, whose claws were so large now that she dropped her cane at the sight of them. She couldn’t repair that. The hands were too deep. The damage too wicked.

As she leaned against the hinge of the door, Maman sniffled and wiped the last tears from her eyes. Then she said, “All right now, Scuff. You win.”

19

Amara’s conversation with Landon about Hallow’s whereabouts weighed heavily on her spirit, and she found it hard to concentrate on her responsibilities. With permission from Virgil, she was able to work from home again, where she took frequent breaks to lounge about in bed or on the sofa in the living room. When she wasn’t distracted by thoughts of her daughter and the stress of her work life, she could not stop sleeping. Sometimes she’d go to bed before dusk and wake up in the middle of the night to gorge on snacks from the kitchen. Ethan was concerned with her behavior and made a commitment to be more present so that she would not fail.

One morning, Amara awakened to the sounds of Ethan moving around in the kitchen. She dragged herself from the bedroom and saw him placing avocado slices with a sunny-side-up egg on wheat toast. The rest of the plate was full of olive-oil-drizzled arugula with a few cranberries and almonds sprinkled on top. His sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and two buttons loosened from his shirt. Amara leaned against the threshold of the kitchen, flattered by his meticulousness. When Ethan saw that he was being watched, he winked at Amara and said, “Mornin’. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I am.”

“Come sit down.”

Ethan placed the plate of avocado toast and greens in front of her, along with a yellow drink in a stemless wineglass.

“Bon appétit,” Ethan said.

“Thank you.” Amara sipped from her glass and scrunched up her face. “Oh man. What is that?”

“A lemon turmeric flush drink,” he said proudly. “It’s got ginger, cayenne, and cinnamon. I added a teaspoon of honey in there so it wouldn’t be too strong of a kick.”

“Oof. I don’t know why I thought it was pineapple juice or something.”

“Too much acidity, especially in the morning. Studies show that turmeric can help with anxiety, and I know you’ve been feeling on edge for a while.” She hated how clinical Ethan was with everything. Some days, she missed a bit of the loose attitude that he had when they were in law school. Still, she had to admit that he knew her more than she’d like to admit, and he was just trying to help.

“I have been. I wish I would’ve had more time with this campaign preparation, no thanks to that Daily Beast leak.”

“Hey, it worked out, didn’t it? You’ve become a media darling, and besides, I thought the writers did a good job.”

His comment left an uncomfortable feeling in Amara’s chest. It was the second time that a man had irked her nerves in her own damn kitchen. She would’ve asked him to leave had she not worked up an appetite in her sleep. And if she was being honest, she loved his cooking for her in spite of his pettiness, that no matter how upset he was with her, he always made sure he nourished her body. Whether out of love or habit, she wouldn’t stand in the way of his generosity.

“Why do you think they did a good job? I thought it was a bit premature. I wish I had gotten a tip that it was going to be published and jumped ahead of the story.”

“Well, it got people talking, and it drummed up buzz. You should be excited, not worried. Dan did a good job editing it.”

“How did you know who edited the piece?”

Ethan smiled. “He’s the politics editor on the masthead. Process of elimination. Plus I know a couple of people over there. You’re liked. It’s fine.”

“Huh.”

“And I might have made a phone call.”

Amara slammed her fork on the table and said, “Ethan!”

“What? The story was written in a way that spoke highly of you.”

“That’s not the point. Why would you go behind my back and do something like that?”

“I didn’t go behind your back; that would imply betrayal. I did this for you. You needed that extra kick in the ass. This is all good news, Mar.”

“I don’t need you deciding what’s best for me. Just like I didn’t need you deciding what kind of drink I need for my ‘anxiety’ or how fried chicken will mess up my cholesterol.”

“What?” His mouth contorted with confusion, and Amara realized that he hadn’t remembered the snide remarks he made to her and her mother about their eating habits. She was surprised