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“You’re kidding me!”
“Nope. Congrats, dad. Look here,” She walks over to the screen and points out two distinct formations, “One, two. Congratulations. It looks like you’re right around ten weeks. Dr. Wilson told me you were experiencing some nausea. Is that correct?”
I nod, but I can barely focus on what she’s saying. I’m still processing the fact that I have more than one baby.
“Yeah,” I mumble, getting up onto my elbows to get a better look at the screen. I rub my eyes with my hands, but there’s no denying it. The distinct forms remain.
“That should go away within the next couple of weeks. It tends to ease up once you’re out of your first trimester. In the meantime, try to eat whatever you can keep down and make sure to stay hydrated.”
“Now, Dad, you’re looking a little pale. Would you like some water or some juice, maybe?”
“Sure,” Joseph mumbles. He’s white as a sheet. The tech leads him by the elbow to one of the chairs. He sits down and places his head in his hands.
“Twins!” he repeats.
Our shock is drowned out by the sound of two distinct heartbeats whooshing through the room, one right after the other. My breath catches in my throat. I’m awestruck. I didn’t feel connected to the idea of motherhood before this. I wanted kids but in an abstract way. Now, I know that I will do anything to protect our children.
After we hear the heartbeats and Joseph confirms that he can stand without fainting from shock, I dismount from the table and slip my clothes back on. Dr. Wilson hands me a thick stack of informational pamphlets and tells me to make another appointment for a month from now.
Joseph and I walk back into the parking lot, watching the leaves fall around us.
“Twins!” he repeats for the millionth time, still reduced to monosyllables.
“I know, it’s wild. Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so crappy.” Logically, it still doesn’t explain my constant hankering for carnage, but it feels like a more passable excuse.
“Yeah. How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Do you want a decaf coffee?” Joseph asks.
“I’m okay. I need to get back to the attic. There’s a fresh box of letters with my name on them. Well, technically, it’s the library’s name, but you know what I mean,” I say as I slide into the passenger seat.
“You want to work? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I feel pretty good today, and you’re going back to work after this, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one growing two babies at once.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work while still feeling good. Dr. Wilson gave me the all-clear!”
Joseph sighs as he pulls out of the parking lot, “The attic still freaks me out, and with what we know about …” he glances over at me, hesitating even to say her name.
“I doubt she’d try anything at 2 P.M. on a weekday,” I say.
“Maybe that’s what she wants us to think. Maybe she’s lulling us into a sense of false complacency,” he replies.
“I thought you didn’t even believe in …” I pause. “… her. You called it a ‘collective delusion’ like half an hour ago!”
Joseph pulls into the driveway and parks in the garage. “But you heard the tech, the veil is thin.”
“Okay, now you’re the one who sounds like you’ve been watching too many horror movies.”
I eat a vat of tomato soup and a grilled cheese for lunch and leave to the attic while my stomach grumbles.
The floors are fully restored now, and I intend to take advantage of the full space. I hike up the ladder slowly. It creaks as I make my way up to the top. The afternoon light floods the decorative window. Dust particles dance in the stained glass. It’s pretty up here now that there’s no gaping hole in the floor. I tested the weight of the new floorboards carefully. They’re firm beneath my feet.
I spy a fresh box behind a moth-eaten dress form. I kick the dress form to the side, noting the label on the wooden stump masquerading as a neck.
“Adelaide’s wedding dress. 1835.” I whip my phone out and take a photo, then walk over to my box of supplies and grab a plastic sleeve. I untie the label carefully and slip it into the bag. Evan’s going to love this.
We still can’t find the diary. We’ve checked every inch of the library’s three floors: our lockers, the book returns, the hold desk, and the play kitchen in the children’s section. It’s as if it vanished out of thin air.
