The Baby Monitor Caught Him, So I Played It at Sunday Dinner novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Channel Two

Martha carries a pie across the back lot to Lena's kitchen, sees Lena's seven-month-old with Jonas's dimple, mentions that her monitor picks up Lena's, and keeps hers on channel two.

I had checked his phone location on Friday night, before he left for work.

The little blue dot sat on the rail yard from 10:52 until after seven the next morning and did not move.

I told myself he had left the phone in his locker.

A man who is going to see his ex at two in the morning doesn't bring his phone.

It was the sort of excuse I would have laughed at if a patient had offered it.

On Saturday I put on lipstick and carried a pie across the back lot to Hickory Street.

Jonas walked beside me with the toolbox and the baby carrier, and the baby watched the bare trees go by.

"You didn't have to come," he said.

"I wanted to see the crib."

"It's a crib," he said.

"Then it won't take long."

He gave me a sideways look but he didn't say anything.

Lena opened the back door before we got to the step.

She was small, with red hair in a clip and freckles and bitten nails, in a gray sweatshirt two sizes too big.

Her eyes went to Jonas, and then right past him to the pie, and she smiled too wide.

"Martha. You didn't have to bring anything."

"It's apple. My oma's recipe," I said.

"Oh, I love apple."

She took the plate and held it in front of her chest with both hands.

"Come in, come in. Jo, it's the back bedroom, same as last time. The side rail won't lock."

Jo.

His mother called him Jonas and I called him Jonas, and Lena had a name for him.

Hickory Street was a small yellow rental with the kitchen on the back, and her kitchen was neat and cold.

Jonas went down the hall with the toolbox.

I set the baby carrier on a chair and looked around, because I wanted to see everything.

There was a blue mug in the dish rack that said ROWE & SONS ROOFING, SINCE 1978.

Every Rowe had one of those mugs, because Hannelore handed them out at Christmas.

So did half the crews who had worked for Papa's company.

On the counter, next to the toaster, sat a white baby monitor with a green light.

It was the same brand as mine.

I felt my pulse in my ears.

On a quilt on the kitchen floor, a baby boy was kicking at the air.

He was seven months old and round-faced, with Lena's red hair and a drool-wet chin.

He looked up at me and grinned.

Down in the left cheek only, a dimple appeared.

My husband has a dimple in his left cheek and nowhere else.

I saw it every morning when he smiled at our daughter.

I stood very still.

My own baby began to fuss in the carrier.

I lifted her out and held her against my shoulder.

I did the arithmetic I had been trying not to do since two in the morning.

Seven months old meant born in April.

April meant he was conceived in July of last year.

In July of last year we had been trying for a baby for eight months.

Jonas had been working doubles at the yard, and I had been proud of him for it.

"He's beautiful," I said.

My voice came out normal, which surprised me.

Lena was at the sink with her back to me, rinsing a bottle that was already clean.

"Thanks. He's a handful."

"Who does he look like?"

Her hands stopped.

"His father," she said. "Sort of. I don't really."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's fine."

It was not fine.

The tap ran and ran, and she didn't turn it off.

I shifted the baby on my shoulder and made myself say it lightly.

"I'm glad we ended up neighbors. Your monitor comes in on ours, did you know? Channel two."

She turned around.

All the color went out of her face at once, from the forehead down.

"What?"

"The two units. They share a channel. I hear you sometimes, humming to him. At night."

I smiled at her, with all my teeth, and my gap showed.

"It's sweet, actually."

"Oh," Lena said. "Oh. I didn't, I'll switch it."

"Don't. I wouldn't know how to change mine back. The manual is in German, I think."

I laughed.

She laughed too, high and wrong.

From the back bedroom came the sound of Jonas's drill, and him swearing at a screw, mildly, in German.

"I'll just turn mine off at night," Lena said. "So it doesn't bother you."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Still."

I looked at her.

She looked at the floor.

I had my answer, and it was almost a relief.

I had wondered if I was making a house out of one bad night's static.

I wasn't.

A woman who has nothing to hide doesn't go white about a baby monitor.

Jonas came out of the hall with his sleeves pushed up and sawdust on his forearm.

"It's done. The track was bent. I'll bring a new one Monday."

"You're an angel, Jo," Lena said.

He shrugged, and wiped his hands on his jeans, and smiled at me.

He had no idea.

He had none, and his face said so, and I didn't believe it.

He took the baby from me and tucked her into his coat, and we went out through the back door onto the cold grass.

Lena came to the step.

"Anytime you want company, Martha," she called after me. "Anytime, I mean it."

I turned around with my pie plate empty in my hand.

"I will," I said.

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