by L. G. McCary
“Hi, guys.” I wave them in, wishing for the third time tonight that David had been able to paint the entryway last weekend. The test swatches are so obvious next to the mirror.
“Oh, I love your living room!” Tori says with a frozen smile. Greg strides into our kitchen without another word. “Sorry, honey,” Tori whispers to me. “They were out of veggie trays at the store.”
“Ha! Of course, they were.” I throw my hands up and laugh because I worried that exact thing would happen. Fourth of July weekend means the grocery stores run out of everything.
“And...I burned the hash browns,” she says through gritted teeth. “I hope we’ll have enough food. I couldn’t find anything that would work in the deli aisle.”
“Oh no! That’s too bad!” I head toward the kitchen, hoping no one minds steamed mixed vegetables, and try to laugh it off. “I’ve got something. It’s fine, Tori.” Greg is pouring a cup of soda. His tanned skin has obviously spent a lot of time in the sun this summer. He’s wearing a red muscle tee and gray shorts. I edge behind him at the counter and look at them both as I consider what to do. They are a study in contrasts: he with blue eyes and dark hair carefully gelled and shaped, her with brown eyes and blonde, carefree waves.
“I’m so sorry,” Tori says, adjusting the neck of her blue tank top with one hand and her gold hoop earring with the other.
“Should have taken it out sooner,” Greg says over his cup of soda, which foams and drips onto the counter.
“I’ve blown up baked potatoes in the oven before,” I say as I dig in my freezer for the vegetables. “The whole house smelled like french fries for a week!”
“I’m so sorry, Charlotte,” Tori repeats, her tone flat. Greg pours more soda in his cup and walks out to the back yard, a trail of bubbles spilling after him.
“Good thing she had a backup plan, Vix,” he snaps. The door slams behind him. Tori grabs some paper towels and blots at the soda on the carpet with an apologetic frown.
“We’re both grouchy. They scrapped one of his projects.”
I set the microwave for the vegetables and join her in cleaning up the soda.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, it’s not fine! I had the casserole all ready! And then I got distracted.”
“You can bring it next time.” I hate to hear her apologize again. She wads up the paper towels and stuffs them in the trash can.
“I was sad you didn’t drop by the store this week while Rylie was at dance class,” she says. “Is that the new wall color?” She turns on the overhead light in the hallway and stands back with a critical eye. “That’s going to be gorgeous, Charlotte.”
“You think so?”
“With that mirror? Perfect. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”
“I hope it works.”
“You’ll love it so much you won’t want to leave,” Tori teases. I wrinkle my nose at the thought, then laugh at my face in the mirror.
“Why don’t you do this for a living, Tori?” I say.
She winks at me. “Maybe I should.”
“Miss Tori!” Rylie dances into the hallway and pirouettes into Tori, almost knocking her over. Missile is behind her, followed by the new couple’s middle daughter, Hannah.
“Hi, Rylie-Girl! Where are you going?” Tori asks.
“To get more toys!”
“You have to put them away, though,” I say gently.
“We’ll help!” Missile says and runs past us into Rylie’s room. Tori laughs and follows me from the hallway into the front room.
“Have you found a house yet?” she asks.
“A few ideas on the internet, but we still need to get an agent.”
“I knew it! They’re in here talking about the house.” Renee has come in from the patio with Yvonne, who is rubbing lotion on her hands as she walks. She reminds me of a cat, in a way, constantly watching her surroundings with aloof suspicion.
“Sorry,” Tori says with a grin. “I can’t stop myself. Hi, Yvonne! I’m so glad you came.”
“So, are you guys hoping to need a fourth bedroom?” Renee asks me with a raised eyebrow. The question hits me like walking into a wall. “We’re all wondering when the next Madsen baby is going to show up.”
“I don’t know.” I can barely get the words out. I wish I could hide under a chair like Rylie.
“Rylie is five now, so time’s a-wastin’!”
“Remember she had a rough time,” Tori says gently.
“Oh, that’s true,” Renee says, hands over her mouth. “Sorry, Charlotte.”
“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Yvonne asks. Everyone always wants to know. I know it’s normal, but I wish people wouldn’t ask.
“Placental abruption. There was a lot of bleeding.” I still hate talking about it. Darren helped me see it can be helpful to others, but it doesn’t make it fun to relive. “Rylie was 35 weeks. She was fine. I wasn’t, though.”
“When did the abruption start? Were you on bed rest?” Yvonne asks. She puts a hand to her cheek and shakes her head slightly as if she’s irritated with herself. “I’m sorry. Did you know I’m a nurse? Not trying to be nosy.”
“I didn’t.” My cheeks are hot. I need to write down details like this so I don’t feel so awkward. “We had to call an ambulance. I had a blood transfusion after she was born. I passed out for some of it, so I don’t remember a lot of details.”
“No wonder you’re gun-shy,” Yvonne says.
“We’ll see what happens,” I say. Tori gives me a reassuring smile and changes the subject. I’m preoccupied with Renee’s questions, though. I hadn’t thought about more kids in a long time. Our lives are so full with Rylie. She takes up everything. Our time, our emotions, our conversations.
I see a flash of bright blue in the corner of my eye, and instantly my heart rate is sky-high. I carefully step to the side as if I’m adjusting the hall mirror and count to ten. We have got to get out of this house. It’s turning me into a paranoid crazy person!
“Yeah, Charlotte went off and abandoned us,” Renee says. I’ve missed part of the conversation.
“What?”
“We were going to do gymnastics together, but no. Rylie’s doing ballet,” she rolls her eyes. Except I never said Rylie was going to do gymnastics. Why does she say things like this? Renee’s guilt trips are starting to get to me.
“And she loves it,” Tori says. She turns to Yvonne. “Ask her to show you. She dances all the time in children’s church.”
“How sweet,” Yvonne says, wrinkling her nose.
“You could do ballet and gymnastics, you know,” Renee whines. “I don’t know anybody at the gym yet.”
“I think that would stretch the budget a little further than we can manage.”
“I totally forgot: Greg is applying for a new job!” Tori says.
“Wonderful! Where?” Renee asks.
“It’s that firm on Elm. I don’t remember the name. You’ll have to ask him. He thinks they would have better hours, and the pay is about the same.”
“I don’t blame him,” Renee says. “He’s hardly ever at Sunday school.”
“He’s made it to Sunday night service a few times lately.”
“Oh, good!” Renee says, twisting her hair up into a claw clip and fanning her neck. “I never know who is around in the evenings because of children’s choir. You two need to have a kiddo so I see you on Sunday nights, Tori.”
Tori laughs, but I barely manage a smile. Renee really needs to think about what she says.
“Food is done!” David calls as he carries the serving plate full of steaming grilled chicken into the kitchen.
“So, when do the fireworks start?” Greg asks, following David inside.
Casey picks up the rear with a sleeping Gabby in his arms. He passes her off to Renee and stretches his arms. “After dark, so probably an hour or so?” he tells Greg.
“Do we need to send someone to stake a claim at the
park?” Greg asks.
David frowns. “We usually sit in our back yard. We can see the fireworks from here.”
“We don’t want to walk down to the park?” Greg looks frustrated, and Tori gently pats his arm. Her mouth smiles, but her eyes don’t.
“We have the citronella candles and stuff in the back yard,” I say, dishing up chicken and veggies for Rylie. She, Missile, and Hannah have disappeared back into the playhouse outside.
“We don’t want to see the fireworks over the water?” Greg says. “I thought that was the plan.”
“It gets crazy crowded at the park, so we started watching from here,” David tells him.
“And Missile almost got lost that first year,” Renee says, patting a passed-out Gabby on her shoulder. Gabby’s sandy-brown pigtail is bouncing on Renee’s upper lip like a mustache, and it’s too ridiculous to ignore.
“Renee, I mustache you a question,” I say, pointing to my lip. Tori snorts, and Casey raises an eyebrow.
“Wait,” he says, “you get to grow a mustache, but I can’t have a beard? Not fair, wife!”
“Oh hush, Sandpaper Face,” Renee says. “You’ll wake her up.”
“You know, you look good with a mustache,” Casey teases. “Maybe you should grow a beard.”
“Maybe you should sleep on the porch,” Renee says.
“This chicken looks delicious,” Greg says. “I need to get a new grill so I can cook out more often, Tori.”
“You do?” Tori says. She looks confused.
“Yeah, of course. I’ve always wanted to try grilling ribs.”
“Sounds like fun,” she says. She gives me a look that tells me Greg doesn’t cook. I hand her a plate with a knowing smile and head outside to convince Rylie that food is a good idea.
The evening light gives me some peace even though I keep seeing flashes of blue in the middle of playing hostess. When the fireworks finally start, I’m grateful for the distraction. These moving shadows aren’t scary. The bright flashes create wild afterimages in my eyes that remind me of that blue. Maybe that’s all it is in normal circumstances: afterimages. I don’t know a lot about the science of eyesight, but the thought is comforting.
With a bright finale full of silver, red, and blue explosions and loud booms that shake the windows, the fireworks show ends. I breathe a small sigh of relief. My house will be my own again.
“Thank you so much for everything, girl,” Tori says. “We had a blast!”
“Can’t believe Rylie could sleep through the end of the fireworks,” Greg laughs as he walks past me to their car.
“She wore herself out playing.”
“Did you put her in bed?” Tori asks.
“David did. She must have been exhausted to stay asleep through him actually putting her in bed.”
“Well, thank you for everything. We had a wonderful time. Maybe next time I won’t burn the side dish,” Tori says with a sad smile. “You’re still coming over, right?”
“Just let me know when. I’ll have to ask if Nana can watch Rylie.”
“Oh no, please bring her. I miss seeing my Rylie-Girl now that she’s out of my class.” She opens the car door. “Is next Saturday okay? Greg has to work, so it would be us girls. Nothing fancy. Sandwiches or something.”
“I would love to.”
We work out the time, and I convince her to let me bring some salad to go with the sandwiches. The memory of her fake smile as she walked into our house needles me.
“I hope I didn’t make you feel bad earlier.”
“Of course not.” She waves away the apology like an errant fly, but there is hurt in her eyes. “I got distracted and didn’t get it out in time.”
“Hey, I have work in the morning,” Greg says from behind the wheel.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” I say. I wave as they drive away, and an empty feeling settles into my chest. I slowly walk through my dark, messy house to find David in the back yard.
“Can you get the trash out while I finish cleaning the grill?” David asks, scrubbing the grill grate with a wire brush.
“Sure.” The bag in the kitchen is almost overflowing. I tie it up and hoist it over my shoulder like one of the seven dwarves with a knapsack. I wink at David as I come back out onto the patio and whistle, “Hi ho,” like one of the seven dwarves. He laughs.
I grab a red plastic cup marked with Greg’s name on it from behind one of the lawn chairs and march around to the side of the house to the garbage can, still whistling. The night is beautiful. Rylie actually behaved. Tori likes my paint colors. The chicken was a hit. I toss the bag of party refuse into the can and savor the end of a successful evening for a moment. The moon is bright and full over our rooftop, and I hear the neighbor’s hot tub rumbling in their enclosed porch next door.
“Thank you for a lovely night,” I pray aloud. “It was fun.”
Hands, more like claws, reach for me out of the darkness on the side of the house. I stumble against the wood planks of the fence and cover my head with my arms. I keep batting at the air. It’s going to get me. Why is it after me?
Nothing. I slowly put my hands down and look at the wall of our house.
It’s my shadow. The moon is so bright that I have a clear black shadow that is larger than life. The angle of the moon sends my movements snaking over the brick in a creepy caricature. It looks like a monster with claws if I spread my fingers.
My heart thunders in my chest.
I’m such a dork. I wiggle a hand in the moonlight and watch my shadow dance over the brick. It’s so ridiculous that I can’t stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” David asks. I hear him shutting the grill.
“Scared myself half to death.”
“What?”
“Come here and see!” I say as he pokes his head around the side of the house.
“What? Your shadow?”
“I thought it was trying to grab me.” The giggles grip me until I’m practically hysterical. All the fear has to go somewhere. David laughs at my laughing, and the next thing I know, we’re both pretending to be Peter Pan against the house wall.
“Okay, we need sleep!” I say, trying to stop giggling.
He kisses my cheek, still laughing. “Let’s get to bed,” David says. “Should we get Rylie into her pajamas?”
“Let her sleep.” We walk inside the house and flip the lights off. David heads to the bedroom while I turn on the dishwasher and rinse the last dish.
“Mama?”
Rylie is standing in the doorway from the living room, looking confused, her arms wrapped tightly around her worn pink blanket.
“Did you wake up and not know where you were, sweetie?”
“I want my jammies.”
“Let Mama finish washing the dishes. Daddy can help you. He’s in our room.”
“Where is Liana?”
“She went home.”
“Is she going to come play again sometime?”
“You’ll see her at church, baby.”
“Okay.” She sits down in the doorway and wraps the blanket around her shoulders. I can’t help giggling a little. My sweet little girl looks two again instead of five. I turn back to the sink to finish rinsing the dishes.
There is someone in our yard.
A yelp escapes my throat as I run to grab my daughter. I trip over the kitchen chair and fall headlong into Rylie. I’m scrambling and flailing to get off of her as her screams jolt me like an electric shock. I pull her into the kitchen and hold her tight, pressing my back against the half wall between the kitchen and the living room where we can’t be seen from the glass patio door.
“I’m so sorry, baby! Did I hurt you?” I whisper, trying to quiet her screams. I landed on her hand, and she can’t stop crying. My heart feels like it will burst as I try to calm her without showing myself to whoever is in the back yard. David rushes in from the hall.
“Rylie?” he says. “What happened?”
“Can you check the back yard?” I b
eg him, but he’s only looking at Rylie.
“Mama hurt me!” Rylie says, pushing away from me to jump into David’s arms.
“I tripped and fell on her,” I say, my voice thick with fear. “I saw something in the yard. Could you check?”
“Mama hurt me,” Rylie cries into his shoulder. The room seems to press in on me from every side as if to smother me.
“David, please. Just check.”
He gently sets Rylie on my lap and goes to the door to the patio. Rylie doesn’t want me to hug her, and I have to hold her back from running after David.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay. Mama’s so sorry,” I whisper in my little girl’s ear. I cradle her against me, praying she stops crying.
I grit my teeth as the porch floods with light behind us. I can’t look at the kitchen window.
“Shhh,” I say as she struggles against me.
“No, Mama!” she says. “You hurt me!”
The porch light turns back off, and I close my eyes. My stomach feels like I’ve been kicked.
A hand on my shoulder sends me scrambling with Rylie, and I knock over the kitchen chair.
“Charlotte, it’s fine!” David says, grabbing the chair before it hits the tile. “There’s nothing there.” He lifts Rylie out of my arms and carries her to the kitchen sink. “Are you okay?” he says, setting her on the countertop and looking her over.
I follow him, wincing at the pain in my hip where I hit the chair.
“Did Mama hurt your hand?” I ask Rylie.
“You hurt me!” Rylie says, pointing to her fingers. There is a red welt on the side of her hand next to her pinkie finger from where I landed and pinched her hand between my knee and the tile.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I say. My whole body feels shaky. “I fell, sweetie. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Mama didn’t mean to hurt you, Rylie,” David says, kissing her hand. It takes a few minutes to calm her down and convince her I didn’t mean to hurt her.
“I’ll get her to bed,” David says, sending me to our room.
“Are you okay, Charlotte?” His voice is suspicious, almost like when he made me go see Darren the first time. I hate that tone. It’s even worse because it’s deserved. “What happened?”