Night, Forgotten

Original Edition - Chapter 17: Now

Finally, I jog onto our back lawn, out of the woods. The warm kitchen light beckons me home and I immediately feel safer, farther away from that shed.

As I near our back porch, the chilly autumn air suddenly prickles the skin on the back of my neck.

My steps slow.

Then, reaching the top of the stairs, I stop moving. The kitchen door stands slightly ajar. I can't remember if I pulled it shut behind me when I followed the Dolans outside, but that must have been fifteen minutes ago by now.

Owen would have noticed if the door had been left open for that long. He'd be annoyed at me for letting all the heat escape and running up an enormous electricity bill.

Giving the door a gentle tap, I peek inside. The lights are on in the kitchen, but the room is empty. I step over the threshold as quickly and silently as possible.

Something is not right. The space feels invaded.

A tense energy carves through our home like a hunter who has snuck into a bear's den during hibernation.

When a woman's brash voice reaches my ears through the fireplace, I know who the trespasser is.

"It does sound crazy," Owen's mother is saying to him in the front entryway, "but I'm glad you told me."

Heat creeps up the back of my shoulders and neck. I stop where I am, on the mat just inside the kitchen door that reads in a stern font, "DOGS WELCOME. PEOPLE TOLERATED."

Some people tolerated more than others.

I take a slow, deep breath in. I let it out. It doesn't help.

How could Owen bring his mother into this?

The kitchen door clicks into place behind me, closing me inside the house with the two of them.

Three of them. Thomas is here, too, of course.

I contort myself against the interior kitchen wall so that I'll be able to remain out of view while spying on their conversation in the front entryway. I don't feel up for interacting with Diana right now.

Owen stands with his back to the doorway, blocking my view of his mother. He rests his weight in his heels and rocks side to side almost imperceptibly, a burp cloth draped over his shoulder. Thomas's sleeping face is barely visible over the top of the burp cloth.

Even though Diana is out of sight, her Boston accent ricochets loudly off the walls of our home. The final words of a phrase reach my ears: "...if you've given any more thought to Thomas's test."

What test? She wants the doctors to run some kind of test on Thomas? Is there something wrong with him?

Has she already asked me about this test? I wrack my brain but for the life of me, I can't remember Diana mentioning any specific test that we're supposed to be deciding whether or not to give to Thomas. I've been so absentminded lately; I must have completely forgotten.

I should be grateful to my mother-in-law for managing the medical screenings and procedures that come along with Thomas having been born extremely premature, especially since I'm having so much trouble staying on top of anything. But it stings to be reminded that I can't manage on my own.

I can't ask her about this test without providing her with more evidence that I'm a horrible mother who can't remember the most crucial things about her baby's health.

I'll have to get Owen to remind me what she's talking about. He'll know that I've forgotten, and it will be just one more thing I'm unable to do right. But if we're going to be running tests on Thomas, the decision needs to be up to me, his mother.

Diana's voice goes on, "I think it makes sense to do something..."

"No, it doesn't make sense, not right now." Owen's voice is solid. "DNA isn't enough to prove rape, anyway. It isn't going to fix anything." The meaning of his words causes my heart to boil with rage.

A DNA test. Diana wants to go behind my back to find out the identity of Thomas's biological father. Here I am, feeling guilty for not appreciating her help, while she's plotting to get more information than I want her to know. More information than even I want to know.

"Besides," Owen continues, "I couldn't do that to Julie." My chest cools with relief. Owen would never betray me at his mother's whim.

He knows I've been putting off testing Thomas's DNA because I'm still recovering from the trauma of the emergency C-section. There's no rush at this point and I'm just not ready. When we run a DNA test on Thomas, sometime in the future, it's a decision Owen and I will make together. And we'll make that decision because it's the right time for our family to find out who raped me, not because Diana is nosy.

I head toward the stairwell, moving as quietly as I can. Maybe I can get up to the bedroom without Diana seeing me. I'm not ready to face her quite yet.

On the first step, I clutch my side, noticing a cramp.

I shouldn't have pushed myself so hard when I was jogging back to the house. It's only been a few months since my C- section and I'm still healing.

As I reach the landing, Diana's voice is clearer than ever from the front entryway. "Look," she says to Owen tentatively. "You and I both know that Julie's never going to tell you herself. But maybe she wants you to do something."

Her implication sears me like a splash of acid. Of course I can't tell Owen who raped me. I can't tell anyone who raped me because even I don't know who it was. I don't remember.

But the way she phrased it makes it seem like I know the rapist's identity. Does she really believe that I'm choosing not to share that information with Owen?

Well, Diana can believe whatever she wants. She doesn't even believe our marriage is legitimate because an ordained priest didn't perform it as a Catholic sacrament, after all. It doesn't matter that much to me what Diana believes.

What matters to me is what Owen believes.

Now would be a good time for me to speak up for myself, to confirm that I, too, am in the dark about who raped me, that I'm not ready to run a DNA test on Thomas to find out, and that Diana should mind her own business.

I open my mouth.

"Don't try to guess what Julie wants," Owen snaps at Diana.

Thank god. As long as she's not successfully convincing him that I'm an unfaithful liar, I'm more than willing to let Owen handle his mother this time. I stay hidden on my side of the stairwell, grateful to my husband for putting an end to Diana's line of speculation and allowing me to avoid interacting with her myself.

Owen continues in a softer tone. "I have some work to finish up after dinner. Do you want me to order a pizza?"

When his mother responds, the determination in her voice has given way to exhaustion, or maybe pity. "No, I'll make us something simple," she says. "You go put the baby down." Her heels click across the front entryway away from me, toward the kitchen doorway.

"Thanks, Mom," he says.

"And Owen?" The clicking of her heels stops. "Yeah, Mom."

"I'll stay as long as you need me."