Stacy wiggles the pen between her thumb and index finger. It hits the edge of the dining table over and over, in perfect rhythm like a grandfather clock. The kitchen window's view is of the photosynthesizing backyard field going off into forever before the earth curbs away where the trees appear the size of ants.
The newborn cries in the living room crib rattling, kicking and having a hissy fit, but Stacy’s too busy lost in her thoughts to do anything about it. She’s puzzle solving the anxiety riddled plain flight she’ll soon embark on. Flight fear overwhelms her and puts Stacy in a catatonic state of rapid contemplation.
The family wants to meet the newborn and Stacy’s agreed to fly to Arizona to introduce her lovely new daughter to them, but as the date of the flight approached the anxiety built up, the regret for agreeing settled in. Now, she must make a choice.
In Stacy’s mind a film replays the solution for the same problem the last time it came up, ten years ago. She drowned little baby Liz with the excuse that she got into the tub and filled it on her own. The police always sides with the mother putting a charge of neglect on the father and arresting him for life for the death. Stacy then canceled on her family with tragic news encouraging them to meet the baby during the funeral. Now, she questions whether or not to proceed the same way. She did get away with it the first time. All she’d need is a second, different, more believable excuse and she’ll be set. But it’s been two weeks and she’s learned to love her new daughter, but her phobia is much stronger and she’s still weighing the scale.
The baby on one side, the phobia starts to look a lot heavier.