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POLLY

This is all Tegan’s fault.

If she had just let me take the damn boot off in the first place, I could have cleaned up the wound and disinfected it. Then she wouldn’t have gotten that infection. But instead, she stubbornly wouldn’t let me see it—like a child . And this girl thinks she is responsible enough to be a mother? What a joke. That baby wouldn’t last a week.

Of course, this leaves me with a dilemma. Tegan is sick. I should have figured it out when I saw her covered in a layer of sweat last night, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at that moment. She’s got an active infection in her foot at the very least. I’m also concerned she may have developed a blood clot in that leg from the lack of movement coupled with the fracture. I have no doubt that if I don’t do something, she will die. And if she dies, our baby will die too. I could try to perform some sort of C-section to save the baby, but that’s a last resort.

I’ve got to get her medication. Soon.

Hank is barely speaking to me at breakfast. I make him a plate of eggs and bacon like I often do, and he eats it without saying a word. He just keeps looking up at me with an unreadable expression on his face. It isn’t until he’s nearly cleaned his plate that he says, “Aren’t you bringing food down to Tegan?”

“I already gave her a plate,” I say.

He starts to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but then he stops himself, picks up his napkin, and uses that instead. He’s good at not getting food in his beard at least. People look at Hank and think he’s some uncouth ogre, but that’s not what he’s like at all. “Is she okay?”

I can’t tell Hank that Tegan has an infection. If I do that, he’ll insist she go to the hospital. It’s like he doesn’t even care anymore that the two of us could go to jail for this for a very long time. The only thing keeping him from calling right now is my threat about killing myself.

“She’s fine,” I say. “Happy as a clam.”

He grunts like he doesn’t quite believe me, but he also doesn’t know the extent of what is going on. He knows Tegan doesn’t want to be in our basement, but he doesn’t know how sick she is. But I’m going to make it right. I’m not going to let my baby die.

Hanks scrapes his chair back against the floor as he stands up. He stomps into the living room, yanking his coat from the coatrack. I follow him to the front door, just to make sure he’s gone before I do what I need to do next.

“Have a good day at work,” I say to him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He looks up at my words. He stares at me for a long time, as if struggling to figure out what to say.

“I love you, Polly,” he says.

I don’t know why he said that to me. He seemed furious with me all morning. It makes me a little uneasy, but I push the feeling away. “Well, I love you too.” I lick my lips. “You know, I’m doing all this for you. For us.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

And then he turns and leaves the house without another word. Maybe he finally gets it. But I still don’t quite trust him.

I walk over to the window and watch him climb into his truck and drive off. I stand there, still watching, as his truck disappears into the distance. I need to make sure he’s gone. Because he can’t be here to witness what I’m about to do next.