Lying With Strangers by James Grippando Page A

Peyton didn’t want to pick another fight, but she had lain awake last night thinking, juxtaposing the things she and her mother had said against the remarks the NICU nurses had made in the bathroom yesterday. It was bothering her too much to let it go.
    “Do you think I would make a good mother?” asked Peyton.
    Finally, Valerie lowered the newspaper. “I think you’ll make a fine mother.”
    Peyton took a bite of her toast, which was indeed cold. “Have you ever wondered why I went into pediatrics?”
    “I assume you love children. Which is all the more reason you’ll make a great mother.”
    “Have you ever wondered if it had something to do with us? Subconsciously.”
    Her mother sighed and said, “I don’t want to rehash last night. I came here to help you, not to argue. All I want is to be here for you when you need me. I just wish you would let me.”
    She turned her attention back to the newspaper, but Peyton didn’t look away. She wondered if her mother appreciated the irony of her complaining about being shut out. Stoicism in the face of personal tragedy was a family tradition she had learned from her mother. The first hard lesson for Peyton had come at age fifteen. The family had just moved to Florida. It was a temporary relocation that lasted only one school year, just long enough for her mother to carry the baby to term. The pregnancy had been unexpected, and the reasons for the sudden move to Florida weren’t fully explained to Peyton at the time, except for vague allusions to the medicalbenefits of a warmer climate. Peyton wasn’t happy about leaving her high school friends behind, but the excitement of having a sibling soon eased that loss. She was fascinated by the changes in her mother’s body, the growth of the fetus, and the eventual prospect of her mother actually giving birth. She read books about the subject and researched it. She even accompanied her mother to the obstetrician for her office visits, until the sixth month, when her mother apparently decided that Peyton was becoming a pest. During the third trimester, her mother visited the doctor alone. As the delivery date neared, Peyton lobbied hard for a spot in the delivery room, but her mother refused an audience. Not even her father would be allowed to watch. As it turned out, when the actual day came, Peyton wasn’t even allowed in the hospital. Her mother made her stay home. It finally came clear that Peyton was much more excited about this baby than her mother was.
    Throughout the day, her father called with periodic updates from the hospital. He had no specifics for her. Finally, more than twenty-four hours after her parents had left the house, Peyton got a phone call from her mother.
    “I have some bad news,” she said.
    “What?”
    “The baby didn’t live.”
    Peyton could hardly speak. “What went wrong?”
    “There’s no one to blame. These things happen.”
    Peyton wanted details but got none. She, too, was grief stricken and wanted to plan a memorial service. She wanted to select the grave site. She wanted to take care of those heartrending things so that her mother wouldn’t have to. The more supportive she tried to be, the more furious her mother became.
    “But I want to help,” said Peyton.
    “You can’t. This isn’t about you. It’s between me and your father.”
    That was twelve years ago, but the memory was vivid. It was horrible, the way her mother had made her feel like an outsider. Under normal circumstances, Peyton probably would have forgiven her. Surely, the death of a newborn was a traumatic event that elicited sympathy. A person couldn’t be blamed for acting a little irrationally.
    The problem was, Peyton had long ago deciphered the obvious unstated truth.
    “Are you going into work today?” her mother asked.
    Peyton shook off her memories. “What? Oh, yeah. I was planning on going in for a little while. Don’t want to forget everything they’ve taught me.”
    “Don’t be silly. You