Here She Lies

“We’re ready now.”
    I stood up, chewing my single bite of muffin, a blueberry bursting tartly on my tongue — delicious. I smiled. Now they all glanced at me, just for one quick moment, but there was no satisfaction in this meager attention, just a flush of humiliation as I followed Detective Lazare out of the room.
    Down a bright, clean hall. Up a narrow, painted-cinder-block staircase. Directly into a white, white room where three other Annie-and-Julie-sort-of-look-alikes were lined up shoulder to shoulder against a bare wall. The fifth and final one, the detective from downstairs, now joined us at the end, right next to me. It was even colder in here and I hugged my forearms over my middle until Lazare, turning to shut the door, said, “Arms down, please.” I dropped my arms and smoldered. The chilliest thing right now was the brevity of his words, the crispness of his tone. I hated being here.
    White women, white room, gray linoleum floor buffed to a high polish, fluorescent lighting that hid nothing and a large panel of one-way glass in which I saw my own reflection multiplied by these strangers who resembled me only on the barest terms. Who were these women? I wondered (other than the detective, fifth on the right).
    We stood there for about five minutes before a disembodied voice filtered commands into the room.
    “Number two, please step forward. Thank you.”
    “Number one, please. Thank you.”
    “Number four.” That was me. “Turn to the right. Thank you. To the left. All right. Thank you.”
    And then, a minute later, it was over. Detective Lazare opened the door, thanking each of us in exactly the same tone as we filed past him. I couldn’t look at him. The women seemed to scatter as we made our way down the stairs, then along a hall that branched in two places. By the time I reached the front lobby, there were only three of us left, and in the parking lot I was alone.
    It was still early and there was time to get back to our new, temporary home at a local inn (how could I ever set foot in Julie’s house again?). My appointment at the clinic was at noon, which meant I could do Lexy’s midmorning feeding at my breast and Bobby could give her some cereal and a bottle at around one o’clock, before her afternoon nap. I hadn’t realized just how tense I’d been about the lineup until now, when it was over, and I found myself sitting in the driver’s seat (my replaced license snug in my wallet) of my new silver-gray rental car, the old rental car having been impounded by the police. Still parked in the lot, I wept into the steering wheel. It took ten long minutes to cry myself out, and then, finally, I headed to the inn.
    A few miles outside of town, the Weathervane Inn was the only establishment that would have us, as noneof the others took children under twelve, especially noise-making smell-issuing babies. It was perfect — big enough to have some privacy, small enough to feel comfortable. They served a full, filling breakfast and, for lunch and dinner, pointed you in the direction of the many excellent local restaurants, which I had never really noticed, as we’d done our eating mainly at Julie’s house. The innkeepers, Mr. and Mrs. Boardman — a long-married couple who had raised a family in this very inn — allowed guests use of the two living rooms, one of which was kind of a family-den-cum-kids’- game-room, which made it a perfect place for us to hang out. All the weekenders had fled the night before or early this morning and when I returned from the police station I found Bobby alone in the den with Lexy on her play mat on the floor.
    On a side table next to the couch was a bouquet of lilacs. The fragrant and vaguely purple clusters relaxed over the lip of a glass cocktail shaker filled with water and I couldn’t resist leaning over and taking a deep whiff of the tiny blossoms. The lush smell filled me, warmed me, replacing the chill of the police station, and I took another breath of it. Then I kissed Bobby and snuggled next to him on the couch. Together we watched Lexy.
    Even after two days, it still felt like a miracle to have her back. I didn’t know if I’d ever trust anyone with her again — except Bobby, of course. Maybe I would be one of those mothers who never used a babysitter and never let her kids out of her sight. Bobby and I had already decided to return to Kentucky together when Detective Lazare was through with mehere and when Liz had sorted out the