“I feel like I am watching myself from the ceiling,” she said. “Like I am not even in my own skin.”
I turned toward the dresser to find my car keys, but my hand stopped before it reached the brass tray. The blue nursery camera, which usually sat high on the wooden shelf overlooking the crib, was sitting on the corner of our dresser.
The little blue sphere looked cold and useless.
Its thick white power cord was completely gone.
I picked up the plastic housing, turning it over in my palms. The small black port on the back was empty, a tiny square of darkness.
“Did you unplug this to clean the shelf?” I asked.
Clara shook her head slowly, her chin dropping toward her chest.
“I have not touched it,” she said. “I did not even know it was down.”
I rubbed my left wedding ring with my thumb, the gold cool against my skin. The camera had been our one way to keep an eye on the baby from the kitchen downstairs, and now the wire was simply gone.
