by L. G. McCary
“She came in while I was finishing the dishes, and then I thought I saw something in the yard.”
“How did you fall on Rylie?”
“I was running to get her, and I tripped on the chair.” I sit on the bed and grip the comforter in both fists with white knuckles. “I couldn’t catch myself. I’m so stupid.”
“It was an accident,” David says. “She forgives you.”
I look him in the eye and feel my lip quiver.
“I could have really hurt her,” I whisper. “Just because I freaked out.”
“Everything is okay though,” David says. “You didn’t hurt her that bad. Just a bruise.”
But I could have. The thought pierces through me like a million needles.
I could have really hurt Rylie.
Fourteen
“Thanks for coming over,” Tori says, ushering us into her newly renovated entryway.
Barely a week after the Fourth of July, and she has already redecorated. The front door is hung with a floral wreath of dogwood flowers and a buffalo plaid bow. Sunlight reflects from the second-floor window onto the stairs. The elegant gray and white rug runner contrasts with the dark refinished wood floors. A farmhouse-style entry table next to the stairs reminds me of something I’ve seen in a magazine.
“You’re sure you don’t mind Rylie? I would have left her with David, but he’s working on a project with Casey.”
“Of course not!” Tori says.
She scoops Rylie into her arms and tickles her until she screams with laughter. The house smells like chocolate.
“I made yummy sandwiches, Rylie-Girl. You like peanut butter and jelly, don’t you?”
“Yes!” Rylie yells and claps.
“Then come with me. We’ll have peanut butter and jelly.”
I linger for a moment as they head to the kitchen and admire her front hall. The textured white walls are covered in framed photos and artwork. The sun shines through the cut-glass windows on either side of the door. Tori is gifted. It looks like I’ve stepped into an elegant bed and breakfast. The last time I saw her house was the Sunday school Christmas party last year. It looks like a different house without the red and gold holiday decorations.
There is a large framed photo of Tori on her wedding day as I walk down the hallway to the kitchen and living room. She looks like a model from a magazine, her blonde hair in perfect beach waves, half pulled back with an orchid pin.
“You were a beautiful bride,” I say as I round the overstuffed couch to the island and set my salad on the bright white countertop.
“Thank you for saying that,” she says. “I was sick that day.”
“You can’t tell at all!”
“I can,” she says. “The photographer made my nose look less red when he edited everything, but I can tell.”
“Tori, you look like a model all the time. Isn’t Aunt Tori beautiful, Rylie?” I ask.
“Beautiful!” Rylie shouts around a bite of peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“You’re so sweet,” she says.
The kitchen table is spread with Rylie’s plate, club-style sandwiches for us, and a pitcher of iced tea, which makes me feel even more like I’m visiting a bed and breakfast. I look out through the wide windows at her back porch, a planter full of bright pink flowers, and the lawn of thick, lush grass.
“Wow, what do you do to the lawn? That is amazing!”
“It’s Greg’s thing. He’s got it down to a science,” she says, waving me to my seat at the table. “Does Rylie drink milk?” she asks, holding up a gallon from the refrigerator.
“Milk, please!” Rylie says.
“Sweetie, don’t talk with your mouth full,” I tell her. I turn back to Tori as she pours the milk. “He’ll have to tell David his secrets. We have bare patches at the back fence. I don’t want it to look bad when we have an open house.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to spill,” Tori says as she pours milk into a small, worn plastic cup covered with bears and hearts. I can’t help wondering when we’re going to talk about what I came to talk about. The subject is there under the conversation, like a crumb under a tablecloth. Tori sips her iced tea.
“Thank you, Aunt Tori,” Rylie says, spewing sandwich crumbs from her mouth.
“You’re welcome,” Tori says. “She’s such a sweetheart,” she says, turning to me.
“Dance has helped her so much. She gets her sillies out so she can listen better, don’t you, Rylie?” I say.
Rylie nods and nearly spills her milk.
“I’d love to see her all dolled up,” Tori says.
“Her class is supposed to participate in the full recital this year, but I don’t know much about it yet.”
“I’m gonna dance!” Rylie says, throwing her hands up in the air.
“Yay! Keep me in the loop when it’s recital time. I want to see this girl shine,” Tori says. “You must have so much fun watching her.”
“I do,” I say quietly, watching my little girl bouncing in her chair. “It’s a lot of fun.”
“Why don’t you and I sit on the couch?” Tori says suddenly. “We’ll be more comfortable. Rylie, if you watch really carefully out that window, I’ll bet you’ll see the squirrel that’s been eating all my birdseed.”
We relocate to the overstuffed olive green couch and set our food on the round marble-topped coffee table. I bite into deli lunchmeat, crunchy bacon, and crisp lettuce, and sigh. Everything Tori makes is so good.
She takes a sip of iced tea, shifts one leg underneath her, and leans her chin on her hand as if she’s finally ready to talk. She glances at Rylie, busy watching the window for squirrels.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “About kids.” Her voice is so low I can barely hear it.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not sure I want them,” she says. Her cheeks are turning red.
“Have you had problems?”
“No, we aren’t trying yet.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I thought she wanted to talk about infertility.
“It’s such a big responsibility. We never seem to have everything ready.”
“I don’t think you can,” I say. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, you know.”
She laughs and takes a bite of her sandwich. “Yes, you do. You’re a great mom. But I’m not sure if we’ll ever be close to ready. Things seem to keep coming up.”
“Maybe if he gets that other job,” I say.
“Maybe. He’s never home, and he hates it,” Tori says, studying her plate. “And I hate it because he’s so miserable and it keeps him from coming to church. You know this is the sixth job he’s applied for this year? It never works out. He puts in so much, and it’s never appreciated.”
“We’re always praying for him.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if it’s God saying to not have kids.”
“I’m done, Mama!” Rylie interrupts us, jumping up from her chair.
Tori stops me from getting up. “Can she have a c-o-o-k-i-e?”
I nod. “I thought I smelled some.”
“Here, Rylie-Girl,” Tori says, walking to the counter with a sneaky look on her face. “Come look inside this owl. There’s a surprise.” She slides a brown, vintage, owl-shaped cookie jar to the edge of the counter.
Rylie clambers up on the stool next to it and opens the jar. “Cookies!” She grabs a large chocolate cookie studded with white chocolate chips.
“You didn’t have to make cookies,” I say. I wish she would have let me bring more than a salad.
“Any excuse for cookies is a good one,” Tori says, waving away my words.
“Tank oo!” Rylie sprays cookie crumbs out of her mouth.
Tori rounds the couch with a cookie for each of us. She watches Rylie dipping her cookie in her milk.
“I know children are a blessing. And we want to be parents,” she says. Her jaw hardens. “But I don’t feel a hundred percent about it. Ever.”
&nb
sp; “I think you’d be a wonderful mother.”
“I hope so,” she says. I have never seen her look so doubtful. “I want our kids to see their dad in church every week. To see both of us.” She looks at her hands and frowns. “My Dad wasn’t a Christian, you know. My brother isn’t either. I think my mom believes, but she has so many health problems. We never went to church except Christmas. And Easter egg hunts.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
An ugly worry nags me. Is Greg a Christian? I assumed so, but now I’m not sure. Surely he is. I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. But Tori’s face makes me wonder.
“Does he want to be there with you?”
“Oh yes! Yes, he does.” She pushes her salad around on her plate. “He got out of the habit of going in college, but he was raised in it. His parents were always there when he was a kid. But they’ve had such a hard time. The church they went to when Greg was growing up split a few years ago.”
“That’s awful,” I say.
“They voted the pastor out! I didn’t even know you could do that.”
Rylie has finished her cookie and decides to bounce through her tap routine in front of the French doors to the porch. She has more tile to tap on here than at home, but the noise makes me cringe.
“I have some coloring pages and crayons,” Tori says. “I’ll get her set up at the kitchen table.”
At first, Rylie doesn’t stop dancing. She has to finish the number. My stomach curdles around my salad and sandwich as I watch her tapping from the cabinet to the window. The bruise on her hand next to her pinkie is starting to fade, but it’s the only thing I can see. I have got to get out of that house.
I sink into the couch after Rylie settles in with the crayons.
“Anyway,” Tori says with a sigh, “it took Greg’s parents several years to find somewhere they were comfortable after that split. They didn’t find a new church until Greg was in college.”
“Wow.”
“I think...” Tori looks away from me for a moment and then whispers, “I think it’s made him reluctant about church, you know? I know work has him busy all the time, but I think sometimes he worries that if he gets really involved, he’ll be disappointed again.”
This is not at all what I was expecting.
“I can see why he might have a hard time,” I say after a moment. “Those kinds of fights can get ugly.”
“I didn’t know it was such a problem. I thought churches were families, and seeing how mean Christians can be to each other—”
I hear the automatic garage door opening, and Tori jumps up.
“He’s home early,” she says, rushing into the kitchen. “Sorry, I thought it would be just us girls. But I guess that’s a good thing. He must be done with his project.”
She pulls sandwich items and a can of soda out of the refrigerator and spreads mustard on a slice of bread. Rylie jumps out of her seat and starts to quietly tap back and forth next to the windows.
The garage door opens, and Greg steps in, humming a song I don’t recognize. He drops his bag on the floor next to the door. “Hi, Charlotte!”
I smile and wave. He turns back to Tori.
“Hello, wife!”
“You’re home early,” she says, handing him the soda.
“Finished quicker than usual,” he says. “You two didn’t leave me any lunch?”
“I’m making yours right now.”
“Please and thank you,” he says and kisses her cheek. He cracks open the soda and says something in engineering-speak that David would probably understand. Tori finishes making his sandwich, and he turns back toward me.
“I see you brought Miss Rylie!” He says. He sets his sandwich on the table, leans over, and pats Rylie’s curls. “Why don’t you come out to the front hallway and show me your tap routine where it won’t be so loud?” She follows him to the doorway of the living room and turns back to look at me.
“I’ll be right here, honey,” I tell her.
She bounces her way to the front of the house, and I hear her tapping her way to the other side of the entryway.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d be home until this afternoon,” Tori says as she puts away the food.
“No biggie.” I bring my food into the kitchen and stand in the other doorway that leads out to the formal dining room. I can lean out a little and see Rylie in the entryway this way.
“Are you coming to the retreat next month?” Tori asks.
“Probably not.”
“You should come! We’ve planned so many fun things.”
“I don’t know if I can leave Rylie that long,” I say, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.
“It’s only overnight.”
I know she’s right. Rylie is five. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I shrug and pick at the last bite of my sandwich.
“I don’t like to leave her.”
“David will be home, right? He seems like a great dad.” She says the words as if she were stepping onto thin ice.
“He’s a wonderful dad,” I say. “She loves her daddy so much.”
“You are so blessed,” she answers. She looks down at the counter and says something I can’t quite hear.
“What?”
“I said, ‘David is such a godly man,’” she says as she looks up into my eyes. I hear my daughter sing “On the Good Ship Lollipop” and lean out of the doorway to watch.
A chill on my spine makes me shudder. I see something in the entryway next to Rylie. Something moves, flickering like a flame in the wind. I make out a blue shirt and dark hair, but the eyes are what terrify me. They are terrifyingly familiar: blue-green and wide in terror. They’re its eyes. It moves toward the stairs, and I realize it’s a woman. The ghost, my ghost, is a woman. In a heartbeat, she vanishes like a candle blown out. My throat tightens, and I grip the countertop and close my eyes. I have to leave. I have to leave right now.
“Charlotte?” Tori’s voice breaks behind me.
“I need to go.” I can barely make myself look at her. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
I run through the kitchen to grab my purse in the living room and stumble into the entryway.
“I’m sorry, Greg, but I need to go home. I forgot something important I need to do.”
“But she didn’t finish her dance yet,” he says.
I hear myself sputtering apologies as I pull Rylie to the front door. Tori is going to think I’m crazy. They’re both going to think I’m crazy. I jerk open the door, but Tori stops me and wraps me in a big hug.
“It’s fine, Charlotte. I will see you on Sunday.” She pulls back and looks me straight in the eye, her face urgent. “Why don’t I help Rylie get buckled in?”
Fear burns on my cheeks as I hurry out to the car. Tori settles Rylie in her car seat despite the beginnings of a tantrum. She wanted to sing the lollipop song to Greg. Tori shuts the door and grips my hand through the open window.
“Text me when you get home, okay? I understand. It’s fine.”
I nod. The car is too warm, and Rylie’s tantrum builds as we drive across town in the Saturday lunchtime traffic. I try to calm my wildly beating heart. She said she understood. How can she understand when I don’t know what is happening myself?
I put Rylie in her room for some quiet time, and in a miracle from God, she goes without a fight. She hasn’t taken a real nap since she turned three. The bathroom needs to be scrubbed, so I grab my tray of cleaner and gloves. Mindless tasks help me think. The bathroom fills with the smells of bleach and glass spray.
It’s a she. My ghost is a she, and She isn’t confined to my house. And she was wearing blue. The thought makes me nauseated. She can follow me. All our discussions about finding a bigger place are a waste of time. She can follow me, and something tells me she will follow me. I can’t escape. This thing is going to stalk me everywhere I go.
I can’t have more children. The thought crashes over me like a wave. What if I’m losing my mind? Rylie is already going to be
warped by these ridiculous fears. How could I bring another child into the world, knowing that? Would I be a danger to them?
The house doesn’t matter. It’s not about the house. It’s about me. I can’t act like moving will fix everything.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Did you get home okay, honey? Tori asks in a text message.
Yes, thank you. I’m so sorry.
What am I sorry about? I’m sorry I saw a ghost in her house and ran out of there like a crazy person?
Or thought I saw a ghost. Maybe it was the curtains. Maybe what I saw was the shadows from the curtains. I’m going to manage this somehow. I’m going to get over it. The tile in our bathroom needs a good scrubbing. I’ll start there.
Don’t apologize, Tori’s text message says. I understand. Want me to help you get Rylie into Sunday school tomorrow?
I’ll be okay, I answer.
I finish cleaning the bathroom and move on to dusting the living room. I need to stay busy. If I’m going to figure this out, I have to keep myself occupied.
I should get out my oil paints. It’s been weeks, but I’ve noticed things seem calmer when I paint. I don’t remember the ghost appearing at all when I have painted. I haven’t seen Her since we got home. Maybe making me look crazy to my best friend was all the fun she needed for the day.
Who is she? Something about her eyes feels so familiar. I’m terrified to get a better look at her, but maybe it would help. Maybe I would know who she is.
This is crazy. I’m not going to think about it anymore. I gather my supplies at the kitchen table and pull out the easiest thing I can think of. In a moment, I’m gliding watercolors onto thick art paper. I haven’t used watercolor in years. I don’t have a plan. I start with flowers and hearts and simple patterns. Things that make me feel calm.
I will beat her. I will paint her away until she never comes back.
Fifteen
“So, I found another house you might like at lunch today,” David says behind me as he changes into his bed T-shirt. “It’s over on Broad by the other park Rylie likes. Four bedrooms.”
I stare at myself in the mirror. I can’t tell him what happened at Tori’s house today. That means he’s going to freak out. He had so much fun with Casey that he barely noticed I was quiet at dinner, and what I have to say will be like a grenade in his lap. The thought makes my stomach hurt.