Tropical Depression

My toes curled with pain, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to let out a yell as my baby latched (poorly) to nurse once again. Thunder rumbled in the distance as fat raindrops began to pelt the window. After a few moments I was able to relax my body, eventually the nipple just became a dull ache and throb. 

 “I love you, Lucas,” I whispered into the wispy blond hairs on my baby boy’s head. The rain turned into a sprinkle as tears began to fall down my cheeks. I let out a long slow breath as I watched the salty drops land on my baby’s head. I stared at them thinking about how shitty I was for crying. We wanted this baby. Begged for this baby. We tried for years to get pregnant and eventually had to go the IVF route. We wanted this baby so badly that we got second jobs and took out a loan to pay for everything. In the end the bills added up to over $40,000, but that positive pregnancy test was worth it. I wiped away the tears after staring at them for far too long, and turned on the television to take my mind off of things for the next half hour of my life.

The news was interviewing an expert meteorologist on the strange tropical depression forming in the Gulf of Mexico. On and on they droned about global warming and winds and pressure. I found myself laughing, but only for a split second before letting out a scream. Lucas, disturbed by my abrupt laughter, pulled back on my nipple, extending it beyond what I thought was possible. Lightning flashed nearby and the whole house shook. Lucas began crying, and I gently got him to latch again after a few minutes of soothing. I leaned my head back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. There was a depression, alright, but it wasn’t a tropical depression.

I hadn’t noticed it right away. They say the baby blues are common the first couple of weeks, and I just thought that the endless rain and gray skies was just making it worse. But after the first month, Lucas smiled. It wasn’t on purpose, I’m sure it was a reflex, but it melted my heart. For a few minutes I felt peace and a warmth spread through me. The sun peeked from behind the clouds and the rays through the window highlighted the blue in my baby's eyes. The same blue as my own. It didn’t take me much longer after that to realize that the weather on Galveston was mirroring my emotions.

The only thing you have time for on maternity leave is thinking. Endless hours in your own thoughts as you nurse, walk, and rock. Everything about Lucas was normal. I spent hours looking things up online. He was nothing if not on par. I’d stare into those eyes, so much like my own, and he would stare back and giggle. A few hours of sunlight would spread across the island. Then I would notice the time, and think about how many more hours I was going to be alone with him until my husband came home, and how many more weeks before I went back to work. I couldn’t go back early. People would talk. They would know I was depressed. They would know sometimes I thought about how fragile my little boy was, and how easily I could step on him on his tummy time mat, or drop him down the steps, or push my fingers through the soft spot on his head. 

I had lied at my postpartum appointment. I had a fear she would take my baby away. Sure, I had these thoughts, but I would never do anything. 

I also lied to my husband everyday. He might take my baby away, after all he was my baby. He looked like me. The embryologists could have messed up, mixed the wrong egg and sperm, but I knew he was mine. Besides, if he found out about the weather I would definitely end up in the loony bin.

I stood up and put Lucas over my shoulder and clicked off the television. We began pacing back and forth while I burped him. The lyrics for “You Are My Sunshine” came out of my mouth in a low lullaby.

Knock, knock, knock. Someone pounded on my front door. I ignored it. Too many Amazon drivers had knocked on my door and woke Lucas up early from a nap.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. The pounding was relentless. Who would be at my door in this storm? I opened my security camera footage on my phone. Quickly, I opened the door.

“Dr. Knit?” I stood in the doorway with Lucas over my shoulder staring dumbfounded at my doctor from the fertility clinic. He was soaked, water droplets coating his glasses and dripping from his thick brown beard.

His eyes locked on Lucas in my arms. 

I kept my hand on the door knob, tense. “Can I help you?”

He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Goulden, there is no easy way to say this. There has been a terrible mistake. That is not your baby. Your embryos are still at the clinic. The parents of the baby are demanding him back. I assure you that you will not have to pay for another transfer, and of course Aspen Fertility will compensate you for everything. Millions if we can settle out of court.”

I think my heart actually stopped. I couldn’t breathe. The air became heavy and the rain ceased. There was something about the way he said baby. Like Lucas was something else, an other. 

“Why are you here, Dr. Knit?” My knuckles tightened on the handle.

“I told you, I-”

“No, the truth. Why are you here, and not a lawyer or even the police?”

He made a lunge toward Lucas. I slammed the door shut, catching the doctor’s fingers. I heard the bones crack. 

Lucas was crying as I grabbed my keys and ran to the garage door. My fingers were shaking as I buckled him into his seat. Then I ran to the driver’s seat and pressed the button to open the garage. Dr. Knit appeared in the doorframe just as I turned the key. The tires squealed as I reversed into the street. Dr. Knit ran to his own car. The headlights grew closer in my rearview mirror.

Pure terror ran through my veins, like ice I felt the fear and panic race through me. Hail began pelting the window hard enough that a crack spread like a spider web across the glass. I knew Lucas was mine. Something else, something that enabled this connection I had to the weather, but also mine. The doctor’s headlights continued to follow my every move. The sky grew dark, nearly black, and the funnel came down from the sky right above the doctor’s car. Up into the air it whirled. The tornado tore up The Strand, bricks and glass and cheap t-shirts from the giftshops whirled in my rearview mirror.

A quick turn, and I slammed on the gas to outrun it. I felt the tires rumble and heard the piercing sound of metal ripping before my own car slammed into the bay. The dark water quickly swallowed my car, leaving Lucas and I in the dark. 

The only thing I could think at that moment was that I needed to hold my baby. I unbuckled my belt and twisted into the backseat. Lucas was crying. I could feel his tears wetting my hands as I pulled him from the car seat. I held him close until he stopped crying, whispering how sorry I was. Then he sighed a sound of absolute contentment, and I swear he hugged me back.

 I blinked and sat on my own couch with Lucas in my arms. He was fast asleep, the rising and falling of his chest a soothing sensation on my hand. The wind howled through the open garage and front door.