SHEARS. The doctor has to sew her closed, but by then Casey has been tested and placed on her chest. She’s weak and afraid he’ll slide off He has a cap of dark hair, but what impresses Patty most are his fingers, perfect all the way down to the tiny nails. In her Demerol-softened exhaustion, she credits this workmanship not to herself but to God, someone she normally ignores.
They take Casey from her and make her sleep. By the time she wakes up, it’s four in the morning. There are roses on her nightstand, and Eileen’s sleeping on a cot. Patty doesn’t want to wake her, but she needs to know if someone told Tommy.
“Who do you think the roses are from?” Eileen says.
It’s impossible, for a bunch of reasons. They’re probably from the gift shop downstairs; Eileen probably bought them herself, to cheer her up. Patty doesn’t question it, just leans over, bends one to her nose and breathes in the clean scent.
A RESPECTABLE FAMILY
CASEY MAKES VISITING EASIER. THE GUARDS TREAT HER DIFFERENTLY, suddenly sentimental. Tommy’s allowed to hold him at the beginning and the end. In between she props the carrier on the table and they try to read his mind. His eyes never settle on anything long, as if he’s searching for a way out.
“He’s thinking, No way,” Tommy says, “I just did nine months.”
The silences that used to separate them are filled with making faces and baby talk. They can’t resist being ventriloquists.
“‘Daddy thinks Mommy should tell Aunt Shannon to go fly a kite.’”
“‘Mommy thinks Daddy should take a look at the checkbook, yes she does.’”
For minutes at a time they’re happy here, the three of them together. That’s what’s real, she thinks, not these bars and walls.
And she’s busy now. For the first time in her life, her mother’s advice is actually helpful. She shows Patty how to bathe Casey in the sink, how to wrap him snug in a cocoon so he can’t scratch his face. He takes to her breast immediately, and she feels supremely useful. There’s a satisfaction she takes in watching him sleep. It’s like a crush—she can’t get enough of him.
She trails him into sleep and wakes to his demands. Cy’s fitted the window with cardboard so no light from outside disturbs them. When Patty pads to the bathroom, she’s not surprised to
find her mother making lunch for herself, or Eileen and Cy getting high. It’s like she’s a dreamy visitor in their lives, a bleary, badbreathed ghost. Time only takes on a shape when Tommy calls, or the lawyer.
He’s finished drafting the motion and submitted it. The next step is the hearing itself After that, the judge has two weeks to rule.
“You definitely want to be at the hearing,” he says. “You and the baby and whoever else you can get. From now on we need to show what kind of support he’s got. How many people can you bring?”
“I don’t know,” Patty says.
“That’s okay, the baby’s the important thing. And wear your Sunday best. This guy likes to see a respectable family. Pretend you’re going to church.”
She spends the week before the hearing trying to find something to wear. She’s flabby and slack, in between sizes. Eileen’s too small, and doesn’t wear those kinds of clothes. Her mother wants to lend her an old Easter outfit, navy with cookie-sized white buttons and piping. Patty can’t say it’s horrible, but manages through her silence to communicate that fact.
“Well I’m sorry,” her mother says. “I thought I was trying to help but obviously not.”
There’s only one person in their family who would have what she’s looking for. A couple of diplomatic phone calls and Shannon drives up for the day, bringing a cream pantsuit and a blouse with ruffled cuffs. The unspoken rules of her visit are as rigid as the county lockup’s. Eileen’s at work and out of the house, but Patty still has to take Casey over to their mother’s.
She recognizes the suit from an old Christmas card,
They take Casey from her and make her sleep. By the time she wakes up, it’s four in the morning. There are roses on her nightstand, and Eileen’s sleeping on a cot. Patty doesn’t want to wake her, but she needs to know if someone told Tommy.
“Who do you think the roses are from?” Eileen says.
It’s impossible, for a bunch of reasons. They’re probably from the gift shop downstairs; Eileen probably bought them herself, to cheer her up. Patty doesn’t question it, just leans over, bends one to her nose and breathes in the clean scent.
A RESPECTABLE FAMILY
CASEY MAKES VISITING EASIER. THE GUARDS TREAT HER DIFFERENTLY, suddenly sentimental. Tommy’s allowed to hold him at the beginning and the end. In between she props the carrier on the table and they try to read his mind. His eyes never settle on anything long, as if he’s searching for a way out.
“He’s thinking, No way,” Tommy says, “I just did nine months.”
The silences that used to separate them are filled with making faces and baby talk. They can’t resist being ventriloquists.
“‘Daddy thinks Mommy should tell Aunt Shannon to go fly a kite.’”
“‘Mommy thinks Daddy should take a look at the checkbook, yes she does.’”
For minutes at a time they’re happy here, the three of them together. That’s what’s real, she thinks, not these bars and walls.
And she’s busy now. For the first time in her life, her mother’s advice is actually helpful. She shows Patty how to bathe Casey in the sink, how to wrap him snug in a cocoon so he can’t scratch his face. He takes to her breast immediately, and she feels supremely useful. There’s a satisfaction she takes in watching him sleep. It’s like a crush—she can’t get enough of him.
She trails him into sleep and wakes to his demands. Cy’s fitted the window with cardboard so no light from outside disturbs them. When Patty pads to the bathroom, she’s not surprised to
find her mother making lunch for herself, or Eileen and Cy getting high. It’s like she’s a dreamy visitor in their lives, a bleary, badbreathed ghost. Time only takes on a shape when Tommy calls, or the lawyer.
He’s finished drafting the motion and submitted it. The next step is the hearing itself After that, the judge has two weeks to rule.
“You definitely want to be at the hearing,” he says. “You and the baby and whoever else you can get. From now on we need to show what kind of support he’s got. How many people can you bring?”
“I don’t know,” Patty says.
“That’s okay, the baby’s the important thing. And wear your Sunday best. This guy likes to see a respectable family. Pretend you’re going to church.”
She spends the week before the hearing trying to find something to wear. She’s flabby and slack, in between sizes. Eileen’s too small, and doesn’t wear those kinds of clothes. Her mother wants to lend her an old Easter outfit, navy with cookie-sized white buttons and piping. Patty can’t say it’s horrible, but manages through her silence to communicate that fact.
“Well I’m sorry,” her mother says. “I thought I was trying to help but obviously not.”
There’s only one person in their family who would have what she’s looking for. A couple of diplomatic phone calls and Shannon drives up for the day, bringing a cream pantsuit and a blouse with ruffled cuffs. The unspoken rules of her visit are as rigid as the county lockup’s. Eileen’s at work and out of the house, but Patty still has to take Casey over to their mother’s.
She recognizes the suit from an old Christmas card,
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