If I Tell

bedroom door behind himself. My mom cried hysterically, but eventually she quieted down, and I heard the low murmur of their voices talking.
    I focused on my brother, willing his tiny chest to keep moving up and down while he was blissfully unaware of the drama going on around him. I stood and took him to the playpen, where I placed his little sleeping body back inside and covered him with a blanket. My heart ached for him.
    Simon finally slipped out of the bedroom and dragged himself down the stairs. I waited, my hand on my throat.
    He plunked heavily on the couch beside me. “She’s been acting weird all week. Your grandma thinks she’s just being dramatic. I think she’s in trouble.”
    I nodded. “Me too.”
    “God. I want my mom,” he said, and then he leaned over and grabbed the phone book from the magazine rack beside the couch. “I’m calling the hospital. Screw your grandma.”
    I hid my shocked expression behind my hand and then listened while he spoke with a nurse and explained Mom’s increasingly irrational behavior. Reality hit hard. There was something really wrong with her. Concern echoed in his voice, but I also heard his commitment to helping my mom with her mental well-being. He wasn’t running away. He was dealing.
    He sighed when he hung up, leaned back against the sofa, and breathed deeply in and out. I needed to hear what they’d said, but I dreaded hearing his voice telling me the facts.
    “They think it’s postpartum depression,” he finally said, his chin dropping to his chest. “They want me to take her to the ER. They said she needs to see a psychiatrist, and that’s the quickest way to get one.”
    My heart thumped. The room spun, but I focused on his face. “She’s not crazy, is she?”
    Simon scratched his head. “I don’t know.” His eyes welled up. “She’s been talking about dying, and the baby and I being better off without her.” He closed his eyes. His face crumpled as he tried to fight off tears. “I don’t know what else to do.”
    “Go,” I told him. “Take her. I’ll stay. I’ll look after the baby.” I tried not to ignore the overwhelming fact that I knew nothing about babies. I’d never even baby-sat in my life.
    He rubbed at the short hair on his head. “It’ll probably take hours at the ER.”
    “Go. I’ll be fine.”
    “You sure you’ll be okay?” He massaged his forehead, his expression uncertain.
    “I can handle it. You have to take her. She needs to go. ”
    Upstairs Mom’s bedroom door opened. Simon leaped to his feet as Mom shuffled down the hallway, peeked down the stairs, and then took a step toward us. Her hair was still dirty and messy, and she had on no makeup, but she’d put on an old pair of sweatpants and one of Simon’s big T-shirts. Her face looked calmer, accepting of her fate.
    “Jaz is great with the baby,” she called out softly to Simon. “Better than I am.”
    “Mom,” I said. “That’s not true.”
    She took another step down. “I love him.”
    “I know,” Simon said.
    “No. I was talking to Jaz,” she said softly.
    “I know you love him,” I said.
    Her eyes watered. She wrapped her arms around herself. “You were right. I’m the worst mother in the world.”
    I remembered what I’d said to her at the restaurant. “Oh, Mom. You’re not. I never meant that. I was just being awful, trying to hurt you. You’re a good mom.” I blushed. “You’re sick. Go with Simon. I’ll take care of the baby. It’s okay. You need to get looked after too.”
    She grabbed the railing on the stairs and whimpered. “Everyone else always has to take care of my babies.”
    Simon bounded up the stairs, and when he reached her, she folded against him for support. He helped her down the stairs. Her pale, makeup-free face bothered me almost as much as her behavior. When they reached the bottom, she let go of Simon and tiptoed to the playpen.
    “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, stroking their son’s fingers. “I love you. I do.”
    She wiped away her tears and struggled to gain control, and then she turned to me. “Joe,” she said.
    She glanced at Simon. He nodded.
    “His name. Joseph Simon Peacock. Joe for Grandpa.”
    I wiped under my eyes as she gave me instructions on the proper way to change diapers and how often to feed him. Simon wrapped a coat over her shoulders and moved her toward the front door.
    “Look after Joe,” he told me.
    “I will.”
    My mom shivered, and he led her away and left