something urgent and insistent compelled me to rise from the bed to close it.
After I shut it tight, I flicked the locks and noticed a thick layer of dust on the sill. Moving to my dresser, I pulled a tissue out of the box and wiped the sill clean. Then I threw the tissue into the wastebasket. I noticed it was full, and picked it up.
What’s this wrapper from? Feeling suddenly agitated, I reached into the basket and withdrew a colorful plastic candy bar wrapper. “Were you in here eating chocolate?” I asked Sylvie with a frown. “Were you snooping around or something?”
“No,” she replied defensively. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t eat this. I hate this kind of chocolate. It has nuts in it.”
With growing apprehension, my sister shook her head at me. “I never came in here to eat chocolate.”
Just like you never broke my honeymoon picture?
“Please come back and sit down,” Sylvie pleaded while patting the bed. “I want to finish talking about this.”
“About what?”
She blinked at me a few times. “About what happened. You didn’t answer my question. Do you still have no idea when you lost the baby?”
“Lost the baby…?”
This confused me. What was she talking about? Then my stomach dropped sickeningly as I recalled sitting on the examination table in the clinic that morning. I remembered the static on the monitor, the doctor’s concerned expression, my mother fumbling in a panic to shut off the camera…
Overcome with a sudden wave of grief and a terrifying burst of fear in my veins— what was happening to me? —I set the wastepaper basket down on the floor. “No.”
As I returned to the bed and climbed onto it, I couldn’t help shivering at the troubled expression on my sister’s face—as if I were sprouting horns.
“Jenn…” she cautiously said, “do you think it’s possible you might be suffering from some memory loss?”
I couldn’t deny that there had been many instances over the past few weeks where I’d felt confused and disoriented, easily distracted. Like just now, when I heard the dog barking…
Sylvie inched a little closer. “Remember the day when I came home from school and you accused me of smashing your photograph?”
I nodded.
“You looked really bad that day. You were white as a sheet and you’d called in sick that morning. Do you remember making the actual phone call or why you made it?”
I struggled to think. “Yes. I felt sick, like I always did in the mornings, and too tired to get out of bed.”
“Do you recall anything before that? Why you were so tired? Is it possible you might have had the miscarriage during the night?”
I fought hard to remember. “I slept all morning. It was noon when I got up. But if I miscarried, there would have been blood.”
Sylvie nodded. “Yes, there would have been, unless you cleaned it up, or it happened in the shower or something. But the spotting can go on for days. Surely you would have noticed.” She paused when I cupped my forehead in a hand. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
I labored to locate details in my mind, but it was like trying to make sense of images from an illogical dream that comes to you later, hours or even days after you wake up. “There might have been some bleeding…but I thought I’d dreamed it. I remember not thinking anything of it. I just told myself, ‘That’s weird. I must be having a period.’”
Sylvie touched my knee. “When was this?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe the day I called in sick. Or maybe not.”
“But why wouldn’t you take it seriously, Jenn? You were pregnant.”
My heart began to race with anxiety. “I don’t know. I just wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess. My brain feels like cotton lately.”
“Have there been any other instances where you’ve felt that way? Or have there been missing blocks of time?”
I thought about an afternoon the previous week when I noticed a bad smell in the car. Eventually I found three grocery
After I shut it tight, I flicked the locks and noticed a thick layer of dust on the sill. Moving to my dresser, I pulled a tissue out of the box and wiped the sill clean. Then I threw the tissue into the wastebasket. I noticed it was full, and picked it up.
What’s this wrapper from? Feeling suddenly agitated, I reached into the basket and withdrew a colorful plastic candy bar wrapper. “Were you in here eating chocolate?” I asked Sylvie with a frown. “Were you snooping around or something?”
“No,” she replied defensively. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t eat this. I hate this kind of chocolate. It has nuts in it.”
With growing apprehension, my sister shook her head at me. “I never came in here to eat chocolate.”
Just like you never broke my honeymoon picture?
“Please come back and sit down,” Sylvie pleaded while patting the bed. “I want to finish talking about this.”
“About what?”
She blinked at me a few times. “About what happened. You didn’t answer my question. Do you still have no idea when you lost the baby?”
“Lost the baby…?”
This confused me. What was she talking about? Then my stomach dropped sickeningly as I recalled sitting on the examination table in the clinic that morning. I remembered the static on the monitor, the doctor’s concerned expression, my mother fumbling in a panic to shut off the camera…
Overcome with a sudden wave of grief and a terrifying burst of fear in my veins— what was happening to me? —I set the wastepaper basket down on the floor. “No.”
As I returned to the bed and climbed onto it, I couldn’t help shivering at the troubled expression on my sister’s face—as if I were sprouting horns.
“Jenn…” she cautiously said, “do you think it’s possible you might be suffering from some memory loss?”
I couldn’t deny that there had been many instances over the past few weeks where I’d felt confused and disoriented, easily distracted. Like just now, when I heard the dog barking…
Sylvie inched a little closer. “Remember the day when I came home from school and you accused me of smashing your photograph?”
I nodded.
“You looked really bad that day. You were white as a sheet and you’d called in sick that morning. Do you remember making the actual phone call or why you made it?”
I struggled to think. “Yes. I felt sick, like I always did in the mornings, and too tired to get out of bed.”
“Do you recall anything before that? Why you were so tired? Is it possible you might have had the miscarriage during the night?”
I fought hard to remember. “I slept all morning. It was noon when I got up. But if I miscarried, there would have been blood.”
Sylvie nodded. “Yes, there would have been, unless you cleaned it up, or it happened in the shower or something. But the spotting can go on for days. Surely you would have noticed.” She paused when I cupped my forehead in a hand. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
I labored to locate details in my mind, but it was like trying to make sense of images from an illogical dream that comes to you later, hours or even days after you wake up. “There might have been some bleeding…but I thought I’d dreamed it. I remember not thinking anything of it. I just told myself, ‘That’s weird. I must be having a period.’”
Sylvie touched my knee. “When was this?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe the day I called in sick. Or maybe not.”
“But why wouldn’t you take it seriously, Jenn? You were pregnant.”
My heart began to race with anxiety. “I don’t know. I just wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess. My brain feels like cotton lately.”
“Have there been any other instances where you’ve felt that way? Or have there been missing blocks of time?”
I thought about an afternoon the previous week when I noticed a bad smell in the car. Eventually I found three grocery
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