Diana Orgain - Bundle of Trouble

“How are you feeling, Kate?” Her voice suddenly carried more weight.

“I’m fine,” I said, nearly choking on the lump that was rapidly forming in my throat.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed ?”

What an understatement. One infant, three murders, a jailed husband, and a new career. No. I wasn’t overwhelmed !

“I guess you can call it that,” I managed.

“Do you have the baby blues?” she asked.

“Baby blues?” I repeated.

“You’re not. .” Her voice changed to a whisper. “ Depressed , are you?”

“No, no, no,” I repeated a little too gregariously, jarring Laurie from her sleeping position on my shoulder.

“It’s very common, Kate. You don’t need to feel ashamed. Should I have one of our specialists call you?”

“No. I’m fine. Really, just fine.”

“Let me just make a note here.”

“What? A note? A note where?”

“In your file. I’ll have someone call you.”

“What are you writing in my file? That I’m depressed? Don’t write that. I’m not depressed. I’m fine.”

“It looks like Clara has an opening this afternoon. She’ll call you around three, okay?”

Rachel hung up, leaving me with a dial tone in one ear and Laurie wailing in the other.

A note in my file?

Another thing to live down. Like the poor rating Laurie and I had gotten on breastfeeding. Only this felt worse. I was in this one all on my own.

I fell into an exhausted catnap on the sofa, with Laurie cuddled beside me. When the phone rang again, it interrupted a dream I was having about being stuck in the desert, dying of thirst.

I clucked my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth. No wonder. When was the last time I’d had anything to drink?

I stretched for the cordless phone, trying not to disrupt Laurie.

My voice cracked as I squeezed out a greeting.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Mom asked.

“Mom! How are you? How’s Hank?”

“We’re both fine. Now, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“I can tell by your voice.”

“I just need to get something to drink.”

“No, that’s not it. What’s wrong?”

I sighed. How could she know? Maternal instinct?

“Nothing.” My voice cracked further and tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” I sobbed.

“I’m coming over.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said into an empty receiver.

Mom arrived within ten minutes. She wore a huge hat with feathers on it, as though she had just stepped out of an old Errol Flynn movie.

“What’s with the hat? Were you fencing?” I asked as Mom quickly diapered Laurie.

“Isn’t it fabulous! I got such a deal on it.”

“Clearly.” I giggled.

Mom ignored me and gathered the lunch remnants from the living room. On her insistence, I collapsed onto the couch while she did the dishes and made us tea.

Over tea, I reluctantly filled her in on my new client, my hopes to launch my own PI business and stay out of corporate America, Jim’s arrest, Svetlana’s murder, and George’s sudden departure.

Mother’s eyes remained glued on me as I finished telling her about Rachel’s call and the dreaded note in my file.

Mother chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Darling, you have enough to worry about without fretting over a note in a chart.”

“I want you guys to be proud of me.”

“I am proud.”

“I know you’re proud of me. I mean, you’re my mom. You’re proud of me the way I’m proud of Laurie. I mean, all she can really do is lie there, but I’m proud of her because she’s mine. I’m sure that’s how you feel about me, but I want you and Jim and Laurie to feel proud of me, proud of my accomplishments. And what am I really accomplishing?”

Mom looked at me, perplexed. “Darling, you just had a baby! You’re starting your own business. You’re accomplishing a lot. You’re going to be very successful. You are successful.”

She leaned across the coffee table and squeezed my hand. “Don’t be upset. Honestly, this is just the hormones. Don’t be so mopey. Have some tea, cheer up. Jim will be home any minute.”

“How do you know?”

“The police couldn’t possibly hold him overnight again. Jim was with you yesterday morning.”

“I’m not considered a credible alibi. I don’t think so anyway. And even if I was, I won’t be now that they put that note in my file.”

“You’re not depressed, are you?”

Was I?

I did feel a heaviness.

I suppressed a yawn. “I feel like I haven’t slept, I mean really slept, since before Laurie was born. And I feel like I won’t sleep until I get to the bottom of these murders, either that or until she’s eighteen.”

Mom smiled and patted my hand. “I’d tell you to sleep right now, but I know you better than that. Go find George. And this time, don’t let him get away. Drag him to the police station, even if he’s kicking and screaming. I’ll watch Laurie.”

I tied a bright gold, cranberry, and orange striped scarf around my neck, hoping to give myself a little lift and relieve my washed-out and tired-looking face. The weather was starting to change from balmy Indian summer to chilly fall so I grabbed my leather jacket and put it on. I searched my dresser for car keys. I felt so light, preparing to go out without Laurie, I thought I was forgetting something.

Where were my car keys?

Ah! Diaper bag.

Where was the diaper bag?

I thought back to what seemed like an eternity ago-this morning.

Oh, yes. I had flung the bag across the living room.

It lay curled in a heap by a corner side table. I rummaged through it and located my keys.

Mother eyed me from her position on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find my mind. I know it’s here somewhere.”

Mother smirked. “Give it a few weeks, Kate. You’ll feel like yourself in no time.”

I shoved the keys into my jacket pocket and fingered a slithering piece of metal. I pulled it out. In my hand was the bracelet I had pocketed a couple weeks ago, outside the medical examiner’s office with Michelle.

“What’s that?” Mother asked.

I shrugged. “A bracelet. It fell out of one of George’s bags.”

Laurie woke and wailed, and Mother got up to get her. “I’ll see to her. You go on.”

I studied the bracelet a moment. Silver with the inscription BERRY on it. The clasp was broken. Could it be Kiku’s?

When I arrived at Kiku’s, I was surprised to find the door slightly open.

I knocked and called out, “Kiku!”

No answer.

I knocked again and called louder.

A chill ran down my spine. I reached into my pockets, searching for my cell phone.

Shit.

It was still in the diaper bag on my living room floor.

I pushed the front door open and called again. “Kiku!”

Nothing.

I stepped into the apartment.

Goose bumps shot up my arms. I scanned the living room, half expecting to see Kiku lying facedown on the floor. What I saw instead was an abundance of baby paraphernalia. A swing, a bouncy chair, and a shimmering white bassinet filled the small room.

Maybe she’d had her baby shower? That would explain the apartment door being ajar. Maybe someone was helping her carry up the gifts and she’d be back any second.

I surprised myself by feeling left out. Of course. Kiku didn’t know I was her baby’s aunt. George had probably never told her about his family.