If I Tell

a few hours.” She hung up the phone without saying good-bye.
    I shook my head, angry with both of them now. “Welcome to our world, little brother,” I whispered to the sleeping baby.
    I carried him back up the stairs and peeked inside the baby’s bedroom door.
    “Mom?”
    Her face looked pale and drained. She hadn’t stopped rocking.
    “Why don’t you try and have a nap? I’ll look after the baby for awhile, okay?”
    Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t sleep. I can’t. I’ve tried. But I can’t.” Her voice buzzed with desperation.
    “Well, you need to rest at least. Go lie down. I’ll take care of him.”
    Mom nodded, looking relieved, like a little girl afraid of getting in trouble. “There’s formula downstairs,” she whispered. “Could you feed him?”
    “I thought you were breast-feeding?” I asked.
    “I can’t.” Mom wailed, her eyes wide with panic. “I’ve tried and tried. I’m a terrible mother. I can’t do it.” Her voice went up, and she started to cry again. “Everybody says I should be able to do it, but I can’t.”
    “Mom, Mom, it’s okay. I just thought you were. It’s no big deal. It’s all good.”
    She sniffled and tried to calm herself.
    “It’s okay. What do I need to do?”
    “There’s sterilized bottles and nipples in the sink. And pre-made formula in the pantry. Give him seven ounces. Don’t forget to burp him.” Her voice sounded methodical but almost normal.
    “Okay, Mom. Go lie down. I can handle it.”
    I waited as she shuffled out of the nursery looking older than Grandma and moving slowly down the hallway. She disappeared into her bedroom.
    “Thanks,” she whispered before closing the door behind her.
    I stared at the door until the baby spit out his pacifier, and a low-grade wail started.
    I studied the little unhappy face. “You’re hungry?”
    We went downstairs to the kitchen, and I fixed up a bottle. I took him to the couch and started to feed my baby brother for the first time. Gradually, with his lips still on the bottle, he fell asleep in my arms. I stared at his sleeping face. I tasted my love for him. And bitter fear.
    I got up and placed him down in his playpen crib, like I’d seen Grandma do, and tiptoed up the stairs. I opened the door to Mom’s room, hoping she was sleeping.
    She lay on her back, her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
    “Mom?”
    “I should never have had this baby,” she said without looking at me. “Who did I think I was? He’d be better off without me.” She crumpled her body up in a fetal position, squeezing her eyes shut.
    I stepped inside her room, my heartbeat speeding up. “Mom, that’s crazy. Come on.”
    She didn’t answer.
    I walked to the side of the bed, leaned down, and touched her forehead. It was clammy and sweaty.
    “Mom? You okay?”
    “No,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”
    I patted her shoulder but knew how she felt. I didn’t think I could handle it either. “I’m going to call Simon.”
    She didn’t protest so I left the bedroom and hurried downstairs to the kitchen phone. I dialed Simon’s cell number, but voice mail picked up.
    “Simon, when you get this message, call home. Mom’s acting really, um, weird. I’m here, but I’m worried. Really worried.” I hung up and went to check on the baby.
    I picked him up, toting him with me to the couch. I sat holding him in my arms and wishing I could protect him from whatever was happening.
    “I’ll look after you,” I whispered. “I promise.”
    Probably half an hour later, a key clicked in the door. It opened, and Simon barreled down the hallway into the living room.
    His eyes immediately went to the baby, and the tension in his face relaxed a little. “I was on my way home when you called,” he said. “What happened? Is he okay?”
    “He’s fine.”
    He sat beside me on the couch. Worry lines were etched into his features. He looked older. “Where’s your mom?”
    I nodded toward the stairs. Simon bent down to kiss his baby on the forehead and then stared at me as if he wanted me to tell him what to do.
    “Go.” I ordered. I declared a silent truce with him. My mom needed him, and right now, so did I.
    He broke out of his trance and got to his feet and slid off his shoes. “You think she’s going to be okay?”
    What the heck did I know? I was a seventeen-year-old kid. I nodded. “She’ll be fine,” I said to convince both of us.
    He bolted up the stairs two by two and closed the