by L. G. McCary
Something moves by the closet.
It is made of shadows, almost like smoke or the afterimage on your retina after seeing a bright light. I close my eyes and keep rocking. I know there is nothing there. I must be more exhausted than I thought. I pray my daughter isn’t hearing my thundering heartbeat. Renee warned me I’d be so worn out that I’d hallucinate. I thought she was joking. The ballerina light doesn’t seem so friendly anymore.
As I lay Rylie in her bed, I might as well have consumed fifteen espressos. The room is still and quiet, but I keep looking at the corner of the closet where the shadows from the window seemed to move. There’s a tree outside. Maybe it was the wind? It had to be wind moving the tree branches.
I pull the door closed but leave a crack so I don’t have to fight the squeaky knob to check on Rylie later. My heart thunders in my chest as I walk down the hall and find David on the couch, watching a reality show I don’t recognize.
“I’m so tired I’m seeing things,” I say. “But now I’m wide awake.”
He mutes the television and grabs my hand.
“Go to bed, Charlie. I’ll tuck you in.”
I nod. I know I won’t sleep. I’ll lie there on the bed, trying not to think about how I’m seeing things that can’t be there. David doesn’t seem to be concerned, but I’m terrified. He guides me down the hall to our bedroom and watches me while I brush my teeth.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” he says.
“No!” I sputter around a mouthful of toothpaste foam. “I do not believe in ghosts. Ghosts do not exist, David.”
“Good grief, calm down! I was kidding! You just look freaked out. What’s the matter?”
I’ve been afraid to look in the mirror, but I can’t avoid it now. This is like the one time I pulled an all-nighter in college, and all my professors thought I had the flu the next day. My hair is in a messy bun. I don’t remember putting it up. The blue shirt I’m wearing has multiple stains on it that I didn’t notice when I picked it out of the laundry. Did I pick this one out of the dirty pile instead of the clean, or did I manage to get that messy in one day? The deep circles under my eyes are almost like bruises. My shoulders hunch like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I bite my cheeks hard so I won’t cry, but it does no good. David looks heartbroken behind me in the mirror.
“Sweetheart...” he trails off and seems to decide that hugging me is better than words. I can’t slow the tears. I’m exhausted. Why can’t I sleep?
“So tired,” I say with hitching breaths.
“I know, honey. I know you’re tired,” he whispers in my ears. He rubs my neck and back with both hands, kneading the knots that have been there since Rylie was born.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind, David.” It takes forever to get the sentence out, and he makes me rinse my mouth and put away the toothbrush.
He helps me into bed and sits next to me, rubbing my shoulders and back. “I’m sorry I can’t feed her for you at night.”
It’s a nice thought to have him give her a bottle, but I don’t want him to. After everything my girl and I have been through, I’m grateful to be able to nurse her. I’m exhausted, but I still want to be the one to hold her all night. Maybe I can make up for whatever went wrong when she was born.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind that. But the house is such a mess today.”
“It is not a mess. It’s fine.”
“The laundry is still in the washer.”
“I’ll get it. Go to sleep, Charlie.” He massages my back for a few more minutes and pats my arm. “I love you. You’re a wonderful mom.”
He walks out, and I’m left alone to watch the shadow of the tree in our back yard illuminated by the sunset. It is still and silent outside. No wind.
My phone buzzes next to me. Renee wants to know if I’ll be coming to fellowship night. She’s hosting this time, and our whole Sunday school class will be there for a meal and games. The screen glares at me in the dark room like a grumpy school teacher. I don’t want to open the floodgates by responding right away. Renee goes a little nuts with events during the summer.
I leave the phone on my bedside table and try to ignore the second accusing alert. She’s been hounding me for a playdate for weeks. I’m not sure how a playdate is supposed to work with a four-month-old and seven-month-old. Liana can army crawl, and Rylie can barely roll over. I suppose she’s trying to get me to leave the house more. It is so much work to get Rylie into the car, and it’s hot by early morning.
When was the last time I went somewhere besides the grocery store and church? Or Nana Tanya’s house. My mother-in-law loves her granddaughter. We’ve been to her house several Saturdays for dinner. It’s easy since she has a crib set up in the guest room and even keeps diapers for us. But going to a party? I don’t know if I can do that.
My phone buzzes again.
Don’t leave me hanging, Charlotte! You can bring the drinks. I just want to see my bestie.
Bestie. Are we besties? I don’t know.
Why isn’t there wind? I wish there was.
Six
“Welcome, Miss Liana!” I say to the curly-headed girl streaking like lightning through our front door.
Liana runs past me to Rylie and the basket of toys behind the couch. Renee laughs and shuts our front door behind her.
“Mommy time! Tell me you have coffee, woman,” Renee says. “Liana, ask first!”
“She’s fine,” I say. “I have bubbles we can play with outside later.”
“Fabulous. Missile loves bubbles.”
I laugh at Liana’s nickname. It fits. She streaks from toy to toy in our living room. Rylie watches Liana for a moment before running to her book basket next to the fireplace.
“So we need to do Fourth of July at your house this year, lady,” Renee says, adjusting her sandy brown messy bun. “We can just walk down from your back gate to the park for the fireworks.”
“Yeah, I guess.” We put Rylie to bed early, and I’m not sure she’d like fireworks. But honestly, I don’t want to deal with cleaning up after everyone. Or having a gazillion people in my little house.
“You have the perfect back yard for the kids to play. I’d totally help you plan,” Renee says.
She totally wouldn’t, so I change the subject. “Are you officially done with school?”
“Yep! No more teaching for me!” Renee laughs and pats her belly. “This one is going to be a boy. I can feel it.”
“I was really surprised that you decided to quit.”
“Oh, I love being home with Missile. She hated daycare anyway.”
I can’t help but snort. I doubt Renee remembers how she tried to convince me to go back to work part-time and use that same daycare. I cover my laugh with a cough and smile.
“Well, Morgan and I didn’t expect you to quit.” I can’t help but poke her a little after all the comments she made when I left my graphic design job. That feels like a lifetime ago. How have two years flown by so quickly?
“I came home one day from class so tired that I couldn’t remember what day it was,” Renee is saying. How long was I not paying attention? I don’t think I missed much. I’m so spacey lately. I keep forgetting stuff at the grocery store, and I find so many unsent messages on my phone. Maybe I need stronger coffee.
“Missile had a bad day at daycare,” Renee continues, “and I ordered pizza for dinner. Casey walks in and tells me he got the promotion, and I told him I was done working.”
“Oh wow. How did he take that pronouncement?” I say. I can already guess it wasn’t pleasant.
“He was mad, but he got over it,” Renee says, her voice thick with sarcasm. “He knows when he won’t win the argument.”
I keep my face the neutrally pleasant mask I have carefully crafted for conversations with Renee and nod. I’m sure Casey definitely knows when he won’t win an argument. I think anyone who spends a lot of time with Renee figures out it isn’t worth it with her. I wonder if Casey’s version
of the story will be similar. It’s not like he and David talk about their marriages while they play video games, but I’ve heard some complaining on Casey’s end.
I jerk out of my thoughts at the sound of wood hitting Liana’s skull.
“Rylie, no hitting!” I say. Liana runs crying to Renee. Rylie frowns defiantly at her, wooden block in hand. Then she takes off into the kitchen and hides behind the counter. Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Renee. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Missile, you’re okay, aren’t you?”
Missile sniffs and nods. She goes back to playing with the blocks. I try to convince Rylie to apologize, but she says no. I feel nausea creeping through my insides. Renee must think I’m such a pushover not making Rylie obey, but I’m trying. I just don’t want a tantrum on top of everything else.
“So, are you going to tell me why you flaked on fellowship night at our house?” Renee says, drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch.
“I wanted to come,” I falter. Why does she have to bug me about this every time we talk? This is why I didn’t want to have her over, but she wouldn’t let it go and I caved.
“You’re missing a lot of stuff, girl.”
“I go to Sunday school and worship every week,” I say.
“Not every week.” Renee gives me a look.
“Almost every week,” I answer with an embarrassed shrug. “But if David is out of town, it’s so stressful getting everything ready by myself.”
“Well, you need to stay for Sunday school every week, not just when he’s home. Morgan and I miss sitting with you,” Renee says. “I’m going to keep calling you out on this, girl. You can’t escape me!”
I laugh. As if anyone could escape Renee. She smiles and winks.
“See, there’s the Charlotte I know. You need to laugh more,” she says. Her eyes soften, and she picks at the handle on her coffee mug. “Mom life is weird, you know? I feel so lost sometimes. I wonder if I’ll wake up some morning and wish I was still working.”
I nod, unsure how to answer her.
“Do you ever wish you were working?” she asks, her voice quieter than I’ve ever heard before.
“No,” I answer. “Definitely not. Rylie is my job now.”
Renee shakes her head as if clearing cobwebs and raises an eyebrow. “Of course, you love it. You’re Supermom.”
The sentence is tinged with sarcasm, but I don’t have time to think about it because I have to break up another toddler fight. It is clear the girls will play better together outside, so Renee takes them to the back yard while I go to the garage for bubbles.
The overhead light is flickering again. David keeps forgetting to change the bulb. I step into the shadows next to the car to rummage in the outside toy box. Digging tools, water play buckets, and bubble wands abound, but the bottle of David’s special bubble solution has vanished. I finally notice it on the cement next to the door. I must have forgotten to put it away last time.
There’s a shadow on the floor as I walk into the kitchen.
“Renee?”
I round the corner to find an empty dining room. Renee is outside watching the girls from our patio. I shake myself a little and walk back out. I’m seriously seeing things. Rylie has got to start sleeping better at night.
“Did you ever get so sleep-deprived you saw things?” I ask as I set the bubble mixture on our outdoor table. Renee swallows her sip of coffee.
“I totally did. I thought I’d done the laundry one time. I zoned out on the couch and had this weird half-awake dream where I put it all in the washer and dryer. And then I cried when Casey came home and it was all still sitting there on the floor in the laundry room. He made fun of me for weeks!” She rolls her eyes. “He did the laundry that night. And he slept on the couch.”
“I keep thinking I’m seeing something out of the corner of my eye, and when I look, it’s nothing.” I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“Like something moves and freaks you out, but it’s nothing? Totally normal,” Renee says, waving a hand carelessly. “I had spit up on my glasses for two hours once. Thought I was getting cataracts!”
“How did you not notice that when it happened?” I laugh.
“No idea!” Renee says. “I’m all freaking out that I might be going blind, and then I got to look in the mirror. Would have got me right in the eye if I wasn’t wearing glasses.”
“Gross!”
“Motherhood makes you lose your mind, Charlotte,” she says, tapping the side of her forehead with one finger. “Seriously does.”
Seven
The muggy, cloudy afternoon drags on as I snuggle Rylie in the window seat in our front room. Relaxation is impossible. Every corner of my house is laughing at me. The dust, dirt, smudges, and stains mock my pile of clean laundry. Rylie has knocked three of the five yellow and blue pillows on the floor. She flips through the picture book on my lap and points at the bunny on each page. Her cheek is still red from where she napped on her hand. The pile of laundry on the seat next to us is nearly as tall as she.
“Mama, bunny!”
“Yes, bunny. Can you find it on the next page?”
“Issa brown bunny.” Her hair is a halo of messy blonde curls. She wiggles higher onto my lap and raises the book up to my nose. “See? Brown!”
“Yes, brown. What is he doing?”
“He eating.”
“What is he eating?”
“Salad.”
I nod at the bunny munching lettuce. “Yes, that’s basically a salad.”
She turns the page and shoves it into my face again. “Bunny!”
“Lots of bunnies! Can you let Mama fold some clothes while you show them to me?”
She solemnly nods. I listen to her narrate each picture as I sort the washcloths from the bigger towels and stack them in a neatly folded tower. If I can get this done, I’ll have two chores off my list. Grocery shopping this morning was miserable, but at least I got what I needed. If only Rylie hadn’t seen that little pink pony toy when we walked in. My stomach churns as the memory replays for the thousandth time.
The older woman had dyed black hair and thickly drawn eyebrows, and the thick-rimmed glasses on her hooked nose made her look like a vulture. “My girls never behaved like that.”
“She’s been a little grumpy this morning,” I answered as I tried to maneuver around the rice pilaf display next to me without letting tantruming Rylie close enough to a shelf to knock something off. She still managed to kick a box of rice off the display and nearly kicked me in the face as I bent to pick it up.
“You need to give her a good spanking,” the vulture lady said with a sniff and walked away, perfectly manicured nails clicking impatiently on the cart handle. Why did the stupid store have to put a toy display on the end of the aisle right where Rylie could see them?
My mother told me to ignore the old lady when I called her from the car. “If she’s old, she probably doesn’t remember how naughty her kids were, honey,” she said.
I sobbed that I would never go to that grocery store again, and my mom laughed.
“Don’t be silly. Just don’t go if Rylie is having a bad day.”
“But she’s always having a bad day!” I wailed.
It seems like Mom has to talk me down from crying every week lately. Rylie wrote the book on stubbornness. I’m so tired that my days seem to be blurring together. I don’t know how Renee handles two kids.
“Mama, bunny! See black bunny!” Rylie hollers, shoving the book into my face again.
“I see. With a red hat!” If she can stay distracted with the book for a little longer, I’ll be done with the towels. The garage door creaks, and Rylie throws the book.
“Daddy home!” She stands up on my lap, slamming her head into my jaw.
I see stars and reach for the towers of washcloths and towels as they topple to the floor. She runs to the kitchen, leaving me sitting in a mess of formerly folded laundry, biting back tears from my
bruised jaw. Her tiny hands are noisily fiddling with the garage door, but I know she’s not tall enough to open it yet.
“Daddy home! Daddy!” The door creaks, and Rylie squeals.
I rub my smarting jaw and stare at the mess of towels.
“Where’s Mama, Rylie?” David says from the kitchen.
“In the front room,” I call.
He comes in from the kitchen carrying Rylie like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. Something in me cracks like thin ice on a pond at the beginning of winter.
“Honey, what happened? Are you okay?” He puts Rylie down and sits down next to me on the laundry, knocking the last folded towel onto the floor.
The tears come unbidden. “I just folded those.”
“Oh no! I’m sorry.” David throws his hands in the air and looks crestfallen. “I’ll help you.”
“Owie, Mama!” Rylie pats my arm with all the gentleness of a bulldozer. “You have owie!”
“Mama has an owie?” David asks.
I can’t stop crying, so I point to my rapidly swelling chin.
“What happened?”
I nod toward Rylie and keep crying. Rylie’s eyes well up with tears, and she pats my knee with her chubby little hand.
“I sowwy, Mama.”
“Oh dear, did you bonk Mama?”
“I sowwy!” Rylies cries and buries her face in David’s work shirt.
The thought of yet more laundry to wash and dry and fold sends me into a fresh shower of tears.
“Charlie, what’s wrong?”
“It was a bad day.” I leave the ruins of my clean laundry to find a cold pack for my chin as Rylie follows me, crying and saying she’s sorry.
“It’s ok, baby,” I hitch between sobs. “You didn’t mean to.”
I know I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t stop crying. My little girl pulls on my jeans, still apologizing. David picks her up and helps her give me a kiss on my sore jaw.
“Got to be more careful, silly girl,” David says and blows a raspberry on Rylie’s cheek. “Be gentle! Like Daddy!”