“Those things can be faked. You know that from the fiasco with the baby in Chicago.”

“It wasn’t like Mia’s ultrasound. This one had the hospital information on it. It looked legit.”

“Do you have it? I want to see it.”

“Freya kept it,” I said. And then, “She’s your best friend. Do you really think she’d lie to us?”

My wife’s brow furrowed as she considered her answer. “I think anyone is capable of lying under the right circumstances.”

“And she lied about you wanting to sleep with Max,” I said, a hopeful lilt in my voice.

“I think she just misread our conversation.” Jamie’s eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “I don’t think she’s a blatant liar.”

“Right. Well, that’s it, then,” I retorted. “We can close the door on this. Forget that night ever happened.”

Jamie’s smile was weak. “Happy to.”

But we couldn’t, of course. What happened that night would haunt us forever.

Winter 2020

winter 2020

Chapter 32

32

low

One day in late January, just as my mother had promised, Eckhart abruptly stopped screaming. He was really quite cute when his face wasn’t beet red and covered in tears and snot. I began to warm to him. In contrast to his first weeks as a malcontent, he was now extremely chill and docile. And, as if to make up for his months of endless rage, he slept long and hard. I decided to photograph him.

It was bright and crisp that day, the sun high in a deep-blue cloudless sky. After Eckhart had his breastmilk breakfast, I bundled him up, put him in the sling, and walked down a path to the beach-access road. By the time I hit the shoreline, Eckhart was sound asleep. I removed the comatose little parcel and positioned him on the sand as the tide nipped around him. I took a number of shots of my snoozing sibling, and I liked what I saw. It became our routine. After nursing, my mom would hand over my brother. I’d walk him to the beach or into the forest and then photograph him as he slept on a piece of driftwood, a bed of polished pebbles, or a nest of cedar boughs.

The photos were reminiscent of the ones taken by Anne Geddes, but without the silly costumes and flowers. Eckhart was wrapped in a thick, natural wool blanket and wore a simple knitted hat. He wasn’t a tiny newborn, either, but four months old now. He was small for his age, though; his incessant wailing had burned a lot of calories. The images were natural, rustic, and appealing. I’d used Lightroom, a photo-editing program to make them crisp and luminous, the colors deep and saturated. I was proud of them. I decided to print and frame a couple for my parents. I sent the files to the only drugstore in town, and twenty-four hours later, went to retrieve them.