In the center three tiny chairs surrounded a circular play table. On the table were a stack of paper, a new box of crayons, three sharpened pencils, a gum eraser, and a piece of shirt cardboard hand-lettered WELCOME DR. DELAWARE. LuvBunnies — more than a dozen of them — sat on the floor, propped against the wall, spaced as precisely as cadets at inspection.
Cindy settled in the rocker with Cassie in her arms. Cassie molded to her like butter on bread. Not a trace of tension in the little body.
Cindy closed her eyes and rocked, stroking Cassie’s back, smoothing sleep-moistened strands of hair. Cassie took a deep breath, let it out, nestled her head under Cindy’s chin, and made high-pitched contented sounds.
I lowered myself to the floor and sat cross-legged — shrink’s analytical lotus — watching, thinking, suspecting, imagining worst-cases and beyond.
After a few minutes my joints began to ache and I got up and stretched. Cindy’s eyes followed me. We traded smiles. She pressed her cheek to Cassie’s head and shrugged.
I whispered, “Take your time,” and began walking around the room. Running my hands along the dustless surfaces of furniture, inspecting the contents of the toy case while trying not to look too inquisitive.
Good stuff. The right stuff. Each game and plaything safe, and age-appropriate, and educational.
Something white caught the corner of my eye. The buckteeth of one of the LuvBunnies. In the dim light of the nursery the critter’s grin and those of its mates seemed malevolent — mocking.
I remembered those grins from Cassie’s hospital room and a crazy thought hit me.
Toxic toys. Accidental poisoning.
I’d read about a case in a child health journal — stuffed animals from Korea that turned out to be filled with waste fibers from a chemical plant.
Delaware solves the mystery and everyone goes home happy.
Picking up the nearest bunny — a yellow one — I squeezed its belly, felt the give-and-rebound of firm foam. Raising the toy to my nose, I smelled nothing. The label said MADE IN TAIWAN OF LUV-PURE AND FIREPROOF MATERIALS. Below that was an approval seal from one of the family magazines.
Something along the seam — two snaps. A trapdoor flap that could be undone. I pulled it open. The sound made Cindy turn. Her eyebrows were up.
I poked around, found nothing, fastened the snap, and put the toy back.
“Allergies, right?” she said, talking just above a whisper. “To the stuffing — I thought of that too. But Dr. Eves had her tested and she’s not allergic to anything. For a while, though, I washed the bunnies every day. Washed all her cloth toys and her bedding with Ivory Liquid. It’s the gentlest.”
I nodded.
“We pulled up the carpeting, too, to see if there was mold in the padding or something in the glue. Chip had heard of people getting sick in office buildings — ‘sick buildings,’ they call them. We had a company come out and clean the air-conditioning ducts, and Chip had the paint checked, to see if there was lead or chemicals.”
Her voice had risen and taken on an edge again. Cassie squirmed. Cindy rocked her quiet.
“I’m always looking,” she whispered. “All the time — ever since... the beginning.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. Removed the hand and slapped it down to her knee, pinkening the white skin.
Cassie’s eyes shot open.
Cindy rocked harder, faster. Fighting for composure.
“First one, now the other,” she whispered — loud, almost hissing. “Maybe I’m just not supposed to be a mother!”
I went over and placed my hand on her shoulder. She slid out from under it, shot up out of the rocker, and thrust Cassie at me. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her hands shook.
“Here! Here! I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not meant to be a mother!”
Cassie began whimpering, then gulping air.
Cindy thrust her at me again and, when I took her, ran across the room. My hands were around Cassie’s waist. She was arching her back. Wailing, fighting me.
I tried to comfort her. She wouldn’t let me.
Cindy threw open a door, exposing blue tile. Running into the bathroom, she slammed the door. I heard the sound of retching, followed by a toilet flush.
Cassie squirmed and kicked and screamed louder. I got a firm grasp around her middle and patted her back. “It’s okay, honey. Mommy’s coming right back. It’s okay.”
She coiled more violently, punching at my face, continuing to caterwaul. I tried to contain her while providing comfort. She jerked and turned scarlet, threw her little head back and howled, nearly slipping out of my grasp.
“Mommy’s coming right back, Cass—”
The bathroom door opened and Cindy rushed out, wiping her eyes. I expected her to grab Cassie away but she just held out her hands and said, “Please,” mouthing the word over Cassie’s shrieks and looking as if she expected me to withhold her child.
I handed Cassie back to her.
She hugged the little girl and started to circle the room very fast. Taking large, hard steps that made her thin thighs quiver, and muttering things to Cassie that I couldn’t hear.
Two dozen circuits and Cassie’s cries got softer. Another dozen and she was quiet.
Cindy kept moving, but as she passed me she said, “I’m sorry — I really am. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes and cheeks were wet. I told her it was okay. The sound of my voice made Cassie crank up again.
Cindy began walking faster, saying, “Baby, baby, baby.”
I went over to the play table and sat as best I could on one of the tiny chairs. The welcome cardboard stared up at me like some kind of sick joke.
A few moments later, gasps and sucking sobs took the place of Cassie’s cries. Then she silenced and I saw that her eyes were closed.
Cindy returned to the rocking chair and began to whisper harshly: “I’m really, really, really sorry. I’m so — That was — God, I’m a horrible mother!”
Barely audible, but the anguish in her voice opened Cassie’s eyes. The little girl stared up at her mother and mewled.
“No, no, baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry — it’s okay.”
Mouthing to me: “I’m horrible.”
Cassie started to cry again.
“No, no, it’s okay, honey. I’m good. If you want me to be good, I’m good. I’m a good mommy, yes, I am, yes — yes, honey, everything’s okay. Okay?”
Forcing herself to smile down at Cassie. Cassie reached up and touched one of Cindy’s cheeks.
“Oh, you are so good, little girl,” said Cindy, in a crumbling voice. “You are so good to your mommy. You are so, so good!”
“Ma ma.”
“Mama loves you.”
“Ma ma.”
“You’re so good to your mama. Cassie Brooks Jones is the best girl, the sweetest girl.”
“Ma ma. Mamama.”
“Mama loves you so much. Mama loves you so much.” Cindy looked at me. Looked at the play table.
“Mama loves you,” she said into Cassie’s ear. “And Dr. Delaware’s a very good friend, honey. Here, see?”
She turned Cassie’s head toward me. I tried another smile, hoping it looked better than it felt.
Cassie shook her head violently and said, “Nuh!”
“Remember, he’s our friend, honey? All those pretty drawings he did for you at the hospita—”
“Nuh!”
“The animals—”
“Nuh nuh!”
“C’mon, honey, there’s nothing to be scared of—”
“Nuuuh!”
“Okay, okay. It’s okay, Cass.”
I got up.
“Are you going?” said Cindy. Alarm in her voice.