Cause for Alarm

by Erica Spindler

  Julianna opened her eyes and smiled-Kate's smile. Quick, broad and warm. It transformed Julianna's face, changing it subtly. She did it once more, repeating the motion until it felt natural not forced, never letting go of the images in her head.

  "Hi," Julianna said, "welcome to The Uncommon Bean. What can I get for you?"

  That wasn't right, she realized, frowning. That wasn't the way Kate spoke. Kate had the habit of lifting her voice slightly on the consonants, lending it a musical quality.

  Julianna said the words again. And again. She practiced tirelessly, working to mirror the other woman's speech pattern. As it became more natural to her, she added Kate's smile, her laugh; she tucked her hair behind her ear, as Kate was wont to do, she gestured with her hands, copying the other woman's small, fluid movements.

  The light streaming through the bathroom window changed, becoming harsh with midday, then mellowing as the day began to fade. Still, she practiced. Hunger pulled at her; so did fatigue. Her back ached; her head pounded. She broke for food and drink, but propped a hand mirror up on the kitchen table so she could use the opportunity to imitate how Kate ate, how she took small bites and chewed slowly, how she patted her mouth with a napkin and sipped her water.

  When she had finished her meal, Julianna forced herself to her feet and to the bathroom's big mirror, though her body screamed for rest.

  She switched on the overhead light, then opened the vanity's center drawer. She removed a photograph of Kate, a close-up shot she had stolen from the couple's photo album, and the bag of cosmetics she had purchased the day before-cosmetics in the warm earth tones Kate preferred.

  Julianna taped Kate's photo to the mirror, then gazed at it, noting each shadow and curve of the other woman's face, analyzing the way she wore her makeup-subtly, artistically, in a style that heightened her assets.

  Imitation in mind, Julianna selected the foundation and applied it, smoothing it carefully over her face and neck. From there she applied blush, powder, eye color.

  Each step of the way, she paused to compare her reflection to Kate's image, looking for differences or imperfections and eliminating them.

  She knew she would never be Kate's twin. The shape of their faces was different, their features. Her aim was to create the other woman's look, her style, on her own face.

  Finally, she had it. She had Kate. A facsimile of the woman stared back at Julianna from the mirror. Julianna made a sound of triumph; it came out in a twisted gasp. She doubled over and clutched her middle as a thin, sharp pain speared through her.

  Julianna sank to the floor, to the puddle of liquid pooling around her feet. She looked at it in amazement, realizing her water had broken, realizing what it meant.

  The baby was here.

  18

  After fifteen hours of labor, Julianna gave birth to a baby girl. A week and a half early, she weighed a mere five pounds, two ounces, but what she lacked in size, she made up for in lung capacity.

  Julianna had held her briefly in the delivery room, though not because she wanted to. Without asking, the nurse had laid the howling infant on her chest, beaming ridiculously at Julianna, babbling about how beautiful her daughter was. As far as Julianna had been concerned, the baby looked like a red-faced frog, and she hadn't wanted to have anything to do with her.

  She'd turned her gaze away and asked the nurse to take her. Ellen, who had stayed with her during the entire ordeal, had stepped forward, eager to hold the child. Julianna had watched the woman cradle the baby, tears streaming down her cheeks and had wondered what the big deal was.

  She still did.

  Ellen popped her head into the room. "Hi," she said softly. "How are you?" "Tired." "I'll bet. Can I come in?" "Sure. Is that for me?" Julianna indicated the bud vase containing a single pink rose surrounded by white baby's breath.

  "Of course." Ellen set the vase on her bed table. "Congratulations, Julianna. You did great."

  Just then the nursery attendant entered the room, pushing a bassinet. The woman smiled brightly. "I thought you might like to spend a little time with your daughter."

  She scooped up the sleeping infant, careful Julianna saw, to support her head. She placed the baby in Julianna's arms. "Just ring the nursery when you need us to come get her. Congratulations again. She's just precious."

  "Everyone keeps saying that," Julianna murmured when the nurse was gone.

  "What's that?"

  "Congratulations."

  "That's because the birth of a child is something to celebrate."

  "I suppose." Julianna lowered her gaze to the bundle in her arms, swaddled in a pink receiving blanket, her moon-shaped face overwhelmed by the knit cap covering her head.

  Julianna studied the sleeping child. The infant's chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing; peeking out from above the blanket, her hands were squeezed into fists, her puffy eyes shut tight.

  An unfamiliar ache in her chest, Julianna shifted her gaze to Ellen, hovering at the foot of the bed. "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

  "Yes," Ellen said softly, "she is."

  Julianna returned her gaze to the baby. She traced a finger across the infant's cheek, finding her skin almost unbearably soft. "I did this," she murmured. "I made her. All by myself. And she's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

  "That she is." Ellen cleared her throat. "A tiny miracle."

  "Yes." Julianna smiled and looked at Ellen once more. "I didn't understand that before. I didn't know. But I do now."

  A look of distress crossed the other woman's features, then just as quickly disappeared. "How are you feeling? It was rough going in there."

  Julianna agreed, though after a point in the labor she didn't recall anything. The pain had been unbelievably intense, building, cresting, then retreating. After a time, one crest had led directly to another. The best she had been able to do was suck in a lung full of air before the next contraction had racked her body.

  Even so, she had refused the epidural block and welcomed the pain, finding it almost pleasurable. Cleansing. Affirming. It belonged to her and her alone.

  She hadn't been about to let anyone take it away from her.

  "At one point you passed out. Believe me, you gave us all a scare."

  "Did I?" she murmured, still gazing at the baby. "I don't remember."

  "Julianna?"

  "Yes?"

  "Now that she's been born, how do you feel about giving her up? Are you having second thoughts?"

  "Why would I be?"

  Ellen hesitated a moment, then lifted her shoulders. "The baby's real now. You've held her in your arms. This is when some women realize they can't go through with the surrender."

  "I'm not like that. I know I'm not meant to be her mother." Sudden, sharp emotion welled up inside her, taking her by surprise. She tamped it back. "Kate is."

  "Are you certain? If you have any misgivings, now's the time to acknowledge them. Afterward…after placement, it's hard on everyone. Even the baby."

  She hesitated a moment. "I don't have any misgivings."

  How could she? This moment, Julianna Starr ceased to exist. Her old life was gone, her new one beginning. Starting this moment she became the woman Richard would love.

  "Buzz the nursery and tell them to come get her. Then call Kate and Richard. Tell them their daughter's been born."

  19

  Kate gazed at her new daughter, cradled in her arms for the very first time. A bundle of pink and white, she had been born two days before, on April twenty-ninth.

  Kate and Richard had named her Emma Grace. Emma after his grandmother and Grace at Kate's insistence because she believed it had been only through God's perfect grace that Emma had come to them.

  She moved her gaze over her sleeping daughter's face, taking inventory of every feature: the turned up nose, the tiny rosebud mouth, the eyes, still puffy from birth and squeezed tightly shut, the cap of silky dark hair, skin as fine, soft and white as a gardenia petal.

  Kate trailed a finger across
Emma's cheek. As she did, the infant turned her head slightly, following Kate's finger, instinctively seeking a nipple.

  Kate drew in a shuddering breath, a tidal wave of love and protectiveness rising up in her. Before now, this moment, she hadn't had a clue what a mother's love really meant. Now, she knew. It was an awesome thing, all-encompassing, powerful. She would go to any length to protect her child, she realized. She would face and beat back any who meant her harm, she would give herself, her own life if she had to.

  Kate lifted her swimming gaze to Richard's only to find his on her, damp with his own tears. In that moment she loved him more than she ever had. "She's so beautiful," Kate whispered. "So perfect." "You're perfect. You're beautiful together." Emotion choked her. For long moments she couldn't speak. When she found her voice, all she thought of to say was thank you.

  20

  Kate's first six weeks as a new mother were confusing and exhausting. Caring for Emma consumed her every waking moment-and then some. The infant needed to be fed every few hours; she cried often and it seemed to Kate, for no reason at all.

  Those times, Kate walked the floor with her, bounced her or sang softly as she rocked her in the big chair Richard had bought her. Still Emma cried.

  Frustrated and insecure, Kate wept with her. She wasn't meant to be a mother, she thought. There was something wrong with her, something missing in her womanly makeup that left her unable to nurture a baby. Maybe that's why she had been unable to conceive. Maybe nature had been telling her something.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, Emma's crying stopped. And she smiled. Not just any smile, not just at anything. Or anyone. No, she had gazed into Kate's eyes with total trust and presented her with a beautiful and adoring smile.

  A smile meant only for Kate.

  In that moment, everything changed. Kate had become Emma's mother, for real and forever. In that moment it was all worth it-the sleep deprivation, the hours walking the floors, her haggard appearance and the self-doubt. In that moment, they all melted away.

  Kate gazed down at her sleeping daughter, heart filled to near bursting. She trailed her fingers softly, rhythmically over her silky head. She never got enough of looking at Emma, of holding and touching her. All else in her life slipped away, and she found herself mesmerized by the tiniest changes in the infant's expression.

  From downstairs, came the sound of the front door opening, then snapping shut. Richard was home. Doubting that it could be that time already, Kate checked her watch and saw that it was.

  She eased out of the rocking chair, careful not to disturb Emma. After settling the baby in her crib, she headed downstairs to greet her husband.

  He was in the kitchen, leafing through the day's mail. "Hi, hon," she said, crossing to him.

  "Hey." He stopped what he was doing, bent and kissed her. "How was your day?"

  "Great. How was yours?"

  "Okay. Really busy."

  She poured them both a glass of wine, and set his on the counter beside the mail. "Hungry?"

  "Starved. I missed lunch."

  "That's too bad." She flashed him an apologetic smile. "Hope you don't mind reheated pizza."

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "Sure." She went to the refrigerator, pulled out the remainder of the previous night's supreme. "A tuna fish sandwich. But I think the bread's growing something fuzzy and green."

  Richard said nothing and she went about getting together their meal, meager though it was. "Emma did the most amazing thing today. She laughed out loud." He didn't look up from the mail. "I wish you could have been here. It was so great."

  Kate slid the cookie sheet with the pizza on it into the preheated oven. "It wasn't a gurgle or a coo, but a real honest-to-goodness laugh."

  He still didn't respond and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him rip open an envelope, scan its contents then frowning, cross to the trash and toss it in.

  Kate watched him. "What was that?"

  He met her eyes, then looked away. "From the Alumni Association. About an alumni celebrity event."

  The way he said the word told her who the celebrity was. She asked anyway. "Who's the star?"

  "Who else? The great Luke Dallas. He's giving a lecture and signing copies of his new novel. Pompous prick."

  Luke didn't have a pompous bone in his body. She may not have seen him in ten years, but she knew that anyway. "What's eating you?"

  He looked up, spoiling, she saw, for a fight. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me. Why the attitude?"

  "Leftover pizza."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Sorry, I didn't have time to go to the grocery. I've been a little busy."

  "No joke."

  "Meaning?"

  "That maybe you should make the time."

  "It's not as easy as that."

  "No?" He folded his arms across his chest. "We could have gone out."

  "Not with Emma."

  "They do allow babies in restaurants, you know."

  "I know. But this is her nap time. I don't like to disturb her. She gets cranky." Kate sucked in a deep breath, working to make light of his comments even though they had angered her. "When your nap is interrupted, you get a little cranky, too."

  He made a sound of disgust. "I'll tell you when I get cranky, when I'm fed leftover pizza two days in a row. I get cranky when my wife greets me in the evening in a bathrobe or when the only thing she ever talks about is the baby."

  Kate stared at him, so furious suddenly, she wanted to hit him. "You think I like going around all day like this?" She motioned to the baggy sweats and old shirt she had thrown on that morning. "Maybe if you helped out once in a while, I'd have the time to go to the grocery or get dressed in the morning."

  "The baby's your responsibility. That's what we decided."

  "My responsibility?" She arched her eyebrows. "Oh, I see. What you're saying is, since I'm the primary caregiver, I should never ask you to watch her for a few minutes while I do something else, like take a leisurely shower or run to the market? That I should never hope you'll take one of the 2:00 a.m. feedings so I can get more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep a night?" Her voice cracked. "Or that I should never expect you to want to spend time with her? She's your daughter, too, Richard."

  "Is she?"

  Kate caught her breath. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He ignored the question, crossed to her and caught her hands. "How about a date, Kate? You know, you and me, candlelight and kisses."

  "And sex."

  "Since you brought it up, yeah, a little sex. When's the last time we made love? Two weeks ago? Three?" He lowered his voice. "I've missed you. I've missed us."

  Tears stung her eyes. "I'm just so tired, Richard. So damned tired all the time. It's hard to feel sexy when-"

  The baby monitor crackled as Emma stirred in her crib. Once Emma stirred, Kate knew, she was awake. In a minute she would begin to howl, demanding to be fed.

  "Damn," Kate muttered and crossed to the refrigerator. She took out a bottle of formula, loosened the top and popped it in the microwave to warm it. Sure enough, just as the microwave dinged, Emma began to cry.

  "Great." Richard dragged a hand through his hair. "Just fucking great."

  "What do you want me to do?" she asked, snatching out the bottle and tightening the lid. "Let her cry?"

  "Yeah, maybe I do."

  Kate sucked in a shocked breath. She met his eyes. "I'm going to try to pretend you didn't say that. Excuse me."

  Bottle in hand, she strode from the room.

  "Kate, wait!" He caught her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

  She looked at him. "No?"

  "It's just that I'm…I'm missing you. Missing the way we were. Our life."

  Tears flooded her eyes. "Like I said, if you'd help out a little, maybe I'd have a little more time for us."

  "Hire someone. It's not like we can't afford it."

  She stared at him in disbelief. "I don't want to do that. We've waited
too long to be parents to turn over her care to a stranger. Besides, I want you to help out. To hold and feed her, to play with her. You're missing out, Richard. You need to get to know your daughter, she's pretty great."

  "I don't have time."

  "But you have time for us to go on a date? For us to go out to dinner or away for the weekend?" Upstairs Emma's cries took on a hysterical edge. "Let me go. She needs me."

  "I need you."

  "You're an adult, Richard. You're-"

  Suddenly, she realized the truth. It wasn't just feeding time and diaper duty that Richard didn't participate in. The events of the past weeks ran through her head, like one of the filmstrips they used to show in history class. He'd hardly even held Emma. He didn't go to her when he arrived home from work, didn't inquire about her day or her many firsts.

  Kate brought a hand to her mouth. He hardly ever even looked at her.

  Stunned, hurt beyond words, Kate turned and ran up the stairs to the nursery. She scooped up Emma and cradled her in her arms. The minute she did, the infant's cries lessened and she began rooting for a nipple.

  "Here's Mommy," Kate murmured, carrying her to the rocker and settling into it. "Everything's okay now. Everything's going to be fine." She offered the bottle, and Emma latched on, sucking vigorously, gluttonously, as if she had been deprived of food for days instead of just hours.

  After a moment, Kate looked up. Richard stood in the doorway watching her, his expression so lost it hurt her to look at him.

  "What's going on with you, Richard? Don't you-" Tears choked her and she fought them back, fought to clear her throat. "Do you wish…do you regret us having…"

  She couldn't say the words. She feared the answer.

  He said them for her. "Do I regret us having adopted her?"

  "Yes."

  He looked away, then back. "How could I? It's just that…this is a huge adjustment. It's…" He took a deep breath. "Suddenly you're completely involved with the baby and I'm…I'm just hanging out here. Taking up space."