Page 23 of The Delivery

Hustling, she eases Maddy from her car seat, careful not to brush against the gauze bandaging. Maddy lolls in her arms, head thrown back, throat exposed.

Rebecca’s back aches. Maddy is too old to be carried, and yet she must be carried.

As she fumbles at the door to the kitchen, it suddenly opens and there is Mr. Man, light from the window above the sink streaming over his shoulders.

Effortlessly, he lifts Maddy from her arms. A folder on the kitchen counter bears the logo of the solar repair company. Another small blessing: Mr. Man must have overseen the appointment while Rebecca was at the nurse’s, one thing to cross off the ever-replenishing checklist.

As they move down the hall, they stay hushed, despite the impossibility of waking Maddy in this state. Mr. Man follows Rebecca’s direction, lowering Maddy into bed.

Rebecca taps the sound soother on, hoping the white noise rush will allow Maddy to slumber.

They file mutely back into the kitchen, and Rebecca plops down heavily at the nicely set table, Mr. Man sitting across from her. She lowers her face into her hands.

Mr. Man’s flat yet pleasing voice breaks the sound of her heavy breathing: “Would you like me to get you anything?”

If she speaks, she will break down, so she just shakes her head.

The doorbell rings.

She starts at the sound. The chime, like a violation.

Mr. Man cocks his head inquisitively.

She shakes her head.

It rings again.

Then there comes an angry pounding at the door.

“Open up, Rebecca! I know you’re in there! I just saw you get home!”

The pounding intensifies, turns menacing, the violence of fist slamming wood. She prays the noise won’t rouse Maddy.

“Get out here and look at what I just swept off my fucking roof!”

Mr. Man is still looking at Rebecca solicitously.

She says, “Will you just . . . sit here with me?”

More hammering.

Rebecca’s blouse, smeared with sweat and Maddy’s tears, clings to her. She closes her eyes, covers her ears.

Please stop, she thinks. Please just stop.

Finally the pounding ceases.

After a few seconds of silence, she lowers her hands from her ears.

Mr. Man reaches across the table, rests a cool, comforting hand on her forearm. “ It’s okay,” he says, “ Beccs .”

Chapter 18

As Rebecca re-dresses Maddy’s wound, Mr. Man finishes the pasta she started and makes a salad as directed. The house is spotless, every chore complete before Rebecca can think of it. The relief she feels upon entering the kitchen borders on ecstatic.

Sitting with them, Mr. Man is motionless, but his presence doesn’t feel eerie, just peaceful. He is wearing one of Mark’s T-shirts and the same pair of jeans, and he looks almost normal.

Rebecca has been nursing her resentment at Mark for the past hour, but when his text arrives, she hastens to read it.