Chapter 2 - What Owen Said
That night I told Owen. We were eating reheated pasta while Theo slept in a portable bassinet beside the couch.
"Can you talk to Desmond?"
"About what?"
"The music."
"He's always played music."
"Not like this."
He took another bite. "He's quiet when I get home."
"Because Theo doesn't nap at eight at night."
"What do you want me to say to him?"
"Tell him to stop timing it around Theo's naps."
Owen looked at me. "Timing it?"
"Yes."
"Clara, how would he know when Theo sleeps?"
"I don't know. He hears us. The walls are thin. Maybe he noticed the routine."
Owen sighed. That sigh made me angry instantly. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Do that thing where you decide I'm exaggerating before I even finish."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He put down his fork. "I'm just saying you're exhausted."
"I know I'm exhausted."
"You're barely sleeping."
"I know."
"Stress can make things feel more intense."
"Are you saying I imagined the drums? The bass?"
"No. No."
"Then what am I imagining?"
He hesitated. That was worse than an answer. "Maybe not imagining. Maybe connecting things because you're stressed."
"Connecting what? The exact timing?"
I laughed once. "So I've gone mad. Right?"
"That is not what I said."
"It's what you mean."
"Clara, come on."
Theo shifted in the bassinet. I lowered my voice. "I need you to believe me."
His expression softened. "I believe that you hear him."
"That is not the same thing."
"I don't know what you want from me."
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"I want you to stop acting like I'm crazy and delusional."
For a second he looked ashamed. Then his work phone buzzed. He checked it. The conversation ended. Nothing changed.
