Page 45 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells
Chapter 36
Jess
They press harder on your belly than you’d like them to. Jess remembers this from the first time. She wants to ask them to be more careful. It’s a new life, she wants to explain. I’ve guarded it so carefully, and now you’re pressing into it like it’s a peach that will never bruise. But she doesn’t say that. She lies back, half propped up on the hospital-style bed, as the nurse rubs the thick, oozy jelly across her belly. It never feels right to keep her boots, leggings, jumper, and jewelry on for these moments. She feels overclothed, overdressed, for the occasion.
“Will you find out?” the sonographer asks as the picture warps into view. “The sex. At the twenty-week scan.”
“No,” Jess says quickly, blinking at the tiny screen. This is the twelve-week scan, the first. She remembers the anticipation of Elodie’s first scan so clearly, how the room was so stuffy, how Tom couldn’t sit still on the blue hospital-issue chair in the corner. “I’d rather have the surprise.”
The image on the screen floats up, as though from some black and gray underwater abyss, and she blinks again, startled at the image. The head, the arms waving, trying to catch something. She imagines eyes, a nose, toenails, and a flickering little chest—
“It’s your second?” the sonographer asks, smiling down at her. “All present and correct. I can’t see anything concerning, but we’ll send the letter through anyway with the statistics. Just so you’re informed. Congratulations.”
Jess bunches her hands into fists, staring at the screen as the sonographer takes a couple of images, talking her through what she can see. But Jess can’t hear her. She can’t hear anything over the static inside her head. She grits her teeth, trying not to cry, forcing her breathing to stay even, unhurried. If only this moment was joy, unbridled, perfect joy. It should be. After all, this is what she wanted. The family, Woodsmoke, the home with a tangle of shoes by the front door.
But Tom isn’t here.
She didn’t tell him. She couldn’t. Not when she peed on the stick alone in the bathroom at that supermarket, nor when the tiredness overtook her over the past two weeks like she’d slammed into a wall. She didn’t explain, and he didn’t complain, when she got rid of everything that smelled funny or musty in the house, including his favorite, worn-out slippers.
She should tell him; she knows this. She’ll have to eventually. But she’s too full of guilt, and she’s also still cross with him for seeing Carrie behind her back. Even if Cora wouldn’t help, and even if Carrie decides to stay, Jess is afraid he will find out what Cora helped with all those years ago, that Carrie’s presence has sparked a series of emotions she can’t stop or control. Mostly she has regrets, deep regrets that she’s built a wall out of, a wall she can’t break through. A baby should be a celebration, but she doesn’t feel ready to share the news yet. She doesn’t much feel like celebrating.
Now her body inhales sharply, as it often does of its own accord, without her volition. Her eyes burn with tears, and she hurriedly searches for a tissue in her pockets.
“It’s always overwhelming,” the sonographer says kindly, handing her a box.
“Yes. It really is.” Jess sniffs, pulling a tissue from the box and pressing it into her eyes until she feels the numb pain in hereye sockets of pushing a little too hard. The sonographer fusses around, handing her more tissues and a length of blue roll to wipe away the jelly, then tells her she’ll give her a moment to get redressed. Jess is left alone, but as she cleans the jelly off her skin, pulls down her jumper, and wipes the stinging tears from her face, she knows there is only one person she wants to share this moment with.
Carrie.
She catches the flash of silver scar on her hand, the ever-present reminder of Carrie and what they meant to each other. It’s a horrible conflict inside her, this wanting and not wanting her friend to return. She gulps, fresh sorrow flooding her, a wound ripped open that startles her with its fangs and claws. More than anything, Jess wishes that Tom had been hers all along, that he hadn’t been Carrie’s for even a moment.
She reaches for her phone and nearly dials the number. But then she pictures Carrie’s face, hears her again saying,Just go. She should have handled that all differently. It doesn’t matter what everyone whispers about Carrie returning, at her book group, at the school gate, in the shops where she still sees the same faces. It matters whatshethinks, and somehow she needs to put it right.
The ultrasound photos are sealed in a small white envelope. She tucks them into her bag after she gets back in her car and then stares without seeing at the car park in front of her. It takes her ten minutes to start up the engine and pull away, blinking furiously to keep herself focused on driving. Instead of on the past.
When she walks through the front door, Tom and Elodie are there, eating cut-up carrot sticks and crisps on the sofa. She stops herself from tutting and passes them a tray, eyeing the crumbsalready littering the cushions and the floor. Tom glances at her and winks, an arm slung around his Elodie, who’s glued to the TV as she mindlessly reaches with a hand into her crisp packet. Jess stands there for a beat, watching them, her world. At Tom, with his tired, older eyes, and at Elodie, with her sudden bursts of giggles at the TV. Elodie snuggles in closer to Tom, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. Watching them, warmth flickers in Jess’s chest.
“Hey, can we talk later?” she says to Tom, sotto voce, and he glances back at her, head tilting as though trying to read her.
“Of course,” he says. “I was going to take El over to see Dad—”
“Not tonight,” Jess interjects, already in the kitchen pulling food from the fridge to cook dinner. “Can we go over and see them at the weekend instead?”
“Okay.” Tom frowns. “Did you... have a good day? Is everything all right?”
“Super, thanks,” Jess replies, pausing for a moment as a wave of nausea engulfs her. She closes her eyes, her hands straying to her belly, and pulls in a breath, waiting for it to subside. It’s the onions. Like before, with Elodie, the scent of them sets her off. “Can you make tea? I might... take a bath.”
“Sure.” Tom looks back at the TV, gets his phone out, and begins scrolling.
“Now?”
He eyes her again, sweeping his gaze over her. “Sure you’re all right?” he says as he gets to his feet. Elodie shuffles into the warm patch he’s left on the sofa as Tom crosses the room to run his hands along Jess’s arms. “I can get us takeout if you prefer?”
“Actually, that would be great.” Jess sighs, moving away from Tom to run the tap. She fills a glass with water and gulps most of it down. “Chinese?”
“I’ll get the menu.” He turns to the lounge. “Hey, Els, fancy some special rice and chicken?”
Jess takes her time, combing out her hair, washing away the feel of the hospital still clinging to her pores. When she hears the doorbell and the scuffle of feet and voices signaling the arrival of their food, she pulls on her pajamas and dressing gown and pads down the stairs in her slippers. Tom makes a show of scooping up everything with chopsticks, and Elodie giggles as she tries to copy him. Jess tries to let go of the tension in her shoulders, to lean in to this moment with them, but she feels like she’s watching them through a screen. Like this is another version of her life and she’s not quite a part of it. All the while, the ultrasound pictures are in that neat little white envelope, burning a hole in her dressing gown pocket.
