That Pale Host

by L. G. McCary

  Copyright © 2021 by L.G. McCary

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover images and design by Cammie Larsen

  For Caleb, my dance partner in the minefields.

  * * *

  In memory of Dr. Thomas Dowdy, who couldn’t wait to buy my first book, whichever one it turned out to be.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  One

  The back of my neck prickles with goosebumps as I watch the pregnancy test for any hint of a blue line. It is maybe a little too early to be testing, but I have to. I need that line.

  David doesn’t know what I am doing here in the bathroom. I doubt he even knows I’m awake. I left him playing video games with his online friends in the living room, laughing and talking through the headset as he blows away zombies with a shotgun. I don’t want to get his hopes up again, so I have been pretending. Pretending that I haven’t been charting my temperature and watching fertility tests turn darker. Pretending that I haven’t been counting the days until the earliest a baby could be detected. To this day.

  Technically tomorrow. I should test first thing in the morning, not 1 a.m. If the hormone is present, the test will detect it best when you first wake up. I know this, but I can’t help myself. I can’t sleep, and I won’t be able to until I see the results of this test.

  Is that blue? I think I can see the faintest hint of blue at the center of the circle.

  A bottle clatters to the bottom of the tub, sending my heart into my throat. I hate that tiny ridge at the back of the shower. Nothing stays where it’s supposed to. I need to get a hanging shower caddy. In the orange light of the old bulbs over the mirror, the towels cast strange shadows through the frosted glass that look a little like a person. I jerk open the shower door to a tub cluttered with bottles and in need of a good scrubbing. Hard water stains and soap scum coat the cream-colored tiles. Nothing is hiding in here except a hairball on the drain. I have been jumpy all evening, but this is getting ridiculous.

  I need to give this bathroom a makeover. I picture the cream tile and dirty grout replaced with a mosaic of pale green and blue glass squares. I shut the door and make a mental note to clean the bathroom this weekend. The house is not as well-kept as David would like. I know that. He hasn’t said anything, but I’ve seen him doing my chores when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. He knows this is consuming me. It’s consuming him too. I look down at the pregnancy test.

  Blue. The faintest possible hint of a blue line running from top to bottom, down the center of the first window.

  God, please.

  It isn’t disappearing or fading. It’s not my imagination, the creation of months of crushing disappointments. The soft blue tinge grows darker until it is unmistakable. My hands are shaking, and I ball them into fists. I smile at the mirror and try not to cry.

  I have to tell David. But he’s playing games with his friends. Zombies should not be involved when you inform a man he’s going to be a father.

  I’m a little dizzy. I close the toilet lid and sit down. It’s been over two years. I know others who have tried much longer, but it has seemed like an eternity. We’ve been married for four years, and the gap a child is supposed to fill has grown with each passing month. I remember the first time we decided it was time to start our family.

  “So we still want three kids, right?” David said as he did the dishes. I handed him my plate from the table and boxed up the leftovers from the dinner table—Chicken Parmesan with noodles.

  “Three,” I said.

  “We ought to work on that.” He grinned, his dark eyes devilish.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Don’t you think so?” David said. “I got the raise. Do you still want to quit your job?”

  “Every day.”

  “This could be your excuse.”

  “I think you’re right.” I smiled as I put the leftovers in the refrigerator. “My doctor’s appointment is coming up. I’ll talk to him.”

  “When should we start trying?”

  “My prescription runs out the same week as the exam.”

  “Perfect timing.” David tickled my ribcage and pulled me into a damp hug.

  “Perfect.”

  But it wasn’t. It wasn’t the next month or the next. I was disappointed. I wanted to be able to quit my job with grace, and every month seemed longer than the last. David told me to be patient. I’ve never been patient.

  Six months blurred into a year. Every month brought another negative test until David made me promise to talk to my doctor.

  “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you sooner, Charlotte,” Dr. Pressley said. “How are you doing?”

  I burst into tears.

  There’s nothing physically wrong with me. At least, that’s what they tell me. Doctors have poked and prodded for months. I must have given a gallon of blood by now. Every test has said my body is fine. No syndromes or diseases or imbalances. David is fine, too. I’m just not getting pregnant.

  Until today. Until right now.

  I have to tell David. He should stop killing zombies if I ask him to. It’s late.

  The pregnancy test is teetering on the edge of the sink. I hold it up to the light in case my sleep-deprived brain is seeing things. Two blue lines. Positive.

  I set it on the counter again and pad through the darkened bedroom and down the hall to the living room. David is sitting in his gaming chair, laughing and mashing buttons. He’s looking a little scruffy tonight, like he can’t decide if he wants to grow out his five o’clock shadow. A grenade goes off in the surround sound speaker next to me, and I jump. He flips the microphone on his headset up out of the way and smiles between zombie kills.

  “I thought you were in bed.”

  “Are you almost done?” I ask, brushing his short brown hair away from his eyes.

  “Do you want me to be?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I am.” He flips the microphone back down. “Guys, this is my last round.”

  I hear a chorus of disappointed men on the headset and laugh. I sit behind him on the faded floral couch and watch him blast through zombie hordes with ax and shotgun. His friends online trade insults and inside jokes I don’t rec
ognize. The test is burning a hole on the countertop in my mind.

  I find myself staring at him as he plays. His big brown eyes caught my attention from our first meeting. My college roommate knew him from class. He was wandering the cafeteria looking for a table, and crazy Katie told him to sit with us. His tray held a burger, fries, and a glass of milk. This guy liked the basics.

  I always said the wrong things. Especially around men. The more I liked a guy, the worse it was. When he told me he was an engineering major, I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “So you’re a nerd?”

  Katie kicked me under the table. David laughed.

  “But a nerd who will make good money,” he said around a bite of hamburger.

  “Nerd,” Katie said, kicking me again. “Says the girl who paints spaceships for a class assignment.”

  “It was the Starship Enterprise, and it was awesome!”

  David had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting his burger. Those big brown eyes were mesmerizing, and I found myself trying to save face and floundering.

  “What? I love Star Trek!” I said.

  Katie was going to leave bruises on my shins, but David kept laughing.

  “It was the pop culture assignment. I got an A.” I knew my face was turning red. Even my ears were hot.

  “What’s your name again?” David asked when he caught his breath.

  “Charlotte.”

  “Charlie,” Katie chimed in.

  “Either one,” I said with a shrug.

  “Charlotte-slash-Charlie, that is amazing. Picard or Kirk?” he asked over his milk glass.

  “We just met, and you’re picking a fight?”

  The milk shot through his nose. Katie’s face contorted into a horrible what-is-wrong-with-you glare. I wiped the milk off of my tray with a napkin and handed him another.

  “I think I may have found my new best friend,” David said as he wiped his face with the napkin. “We both know the right answer is Picard.”

  I wanted to say something witty, but I laughed and dabbed the rest of the milk from the table. Katie gave me a weird look for the rest of dinner.

  “I don’t know how you managed that, but I think he likes you,” she said as we headed up the stairs to our dorm room.

  “Wait, what?”

  “Seriously! I think you found your soulmate.” She unlocked our door and flung it wide with dramatic flair. “Lucky. He’s hot.”

  My husband dies of a zombie bite. He turns off the gaming system and puts away his headset and controller.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “No, I was awake.”

  “Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  He wraps his strong arms around me and kisses my neck. He smells like dandruff shampoo and the cologne I bought him for Christmas.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I want to show you something.” My heart catches in my throat as I say the words.

  “Oh, really?”

  I punch his shoulder. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. He follows me into our bedroom, turning off the living room lights. I can feel him behind me, ready to pounce.

  “In here.” I pull him into the bathroom. I watch his eyes as he sweeps the room for something new. His gaze lights on the test, and his fingers squeeze mine.

  “Charlie?” He picks up the test and squints at it. He looks at me.

  “We’re going to have a baby.”

  These last months I have cried more tears than I knew I had. David wiped them away with kisses and whispers of “I love you no matter what.” “You are not broken.” “This does not change us.”

  He has held my hand in doctors’ offices as we awaited test results, never letting go until we knew our answers. He has made dinner and cleaned the house on nights when I couldn’t cope. He has sat with me on the couch or laid next to me in our bed, reassuring me that I will be a mother someday. He has held me together in our shattered world without a single tear. I have seen his eyes turn red, but I have never seen my husband shed tears.

  David is crying.

  The room seems bigger and smaller at the same time. My chest shudders, and a sob rushes to my throat. He doesn’t say anything. He wraps me in his arms and kisses my head. His tears mix with mine on the shoulder of my T-shirt, and I realize that for the first time, I am holding him up. We stand in the bathroom, covering each other with tears and kisses. Words would never be able to say what I see in his eyes.

  It feels like a long time before we brush our teeth and get ready for bed. He checks my alarm clock for me while I finish washing my face. As I pat my face dry, I jump, caught off guard again by the weird shadows in the shower. I pull my towel off the rack and hang it on the back of the door instead.

  “You’re jumpy tonight,” David says from the door.

  “Just nervous. Something could happen, you know.”

  “Nope. We’re not going there, okay?” David wraps his arms around my shoulders and kisses my ear. “I’m not letting you think like that.”

  “It’s just where my brain goes,” I say, turning to face him.

  “And I’m telling your brain to hush. Worrying isn’t going to do anything.”

  He flips off the bathroom light, and I follow him into the bedroom. I wonder for the hundredth time why I haven’t painted and decorated. The room still feels like we’re broke college students in an apartment. We really ought to get a headboard and matching nightstands.

  “When do you want to tell the parentals?” David interrupts my thoughts. He pulls back the gray-and-white abstract, patterned comforter and flops onto the bed.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I slide into bed next to him and put my head in the familiar hollow of his neck.

  “Your mom is going to freak out,” he says.

  “So will yours.”

  “Our Sunday school will go nuts after praying for so long.”

  “Can we wait to tell them?” I ask.

  “Of course. Whatever you want to do.”

  I don’t want to think about all the attention I’ll get, even though our church has been so supportive. There’s such a fine line between encouragement and badgering when it’s about having children.

  David turns off the lamp next to the bed and sighs. “First grandchild for both sides. This kid is going to be so spoiled,” he says with a laugh. “Mom will be out at every estate sale looking for toys.”

  “You don’t think she’ll try to take over, do you?” I ask.

  “I’ll reign her in if I need to.” He pulls me tighter against his chest. “You should go with her some so she knows what you like.”

  “Mom and Dad will want to tell everyone they know immediately,” I say. “Did I tell you Mom has been saving her vacation days specifically for me having a baby?”

  “Sounds like your mom. She’s just protective.”

  It’s been so strange to be separated from them. I didn’t really want to move two states away, but at least we’re only thirty minutes from David’s mom.

  “I’m going to build all kinds of crazy stuff for him,” David murmurs. “Or her! All the things I wanted to play with when I was little.”

  “And you’re worried about the grandparents spoiling him or her?” I tease. “You and your projects.”

  “I’ll have to push for that next raise in the spring,” David says, kissing my forehead. “You’ll call Dr. Pressley on Monday?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re three and half weeks along, right?”

  I smile in the dark. Why did I pretend today was just a normal day? Of course he knows. He has been counting the days with me.

  Two

  “Congratulations!” Renee crows and elbows her husband Casey in the ribs. “I told you they’d be next. I’m so happy for you!”

  “Place your bets now: boy or girl!” Morgan says as she hugs me.

  “I say boy!” Rene
e says.

  I smile and whisper thank you. They’ve been praying for me for so long. It feels good to finally be able to tell them now that I’m used to the idea myself.

  Our little home is bursting at the seams with members of our Sunday school class. It’s a little awkward since the old ranch style isn’t exactly open-concept, but we made it work. Renee and Casey brought extra chairs for the living room. It was David’s idea to tell them about the baby at the fall costume party. We puzzled for weeks about what to wear until David thought of Galileo and made me the solar system with my belly as the sun and planets dangling from each arm. He found a black cloak and scholar’s hat and made a fake telescope out of cardboard. I pat the yellow sun decorating my black turtleneck as David kisses my cheek through a ridiculous gray beard made of cotton.

  “How far along are you?” Renee asks, patting her own round belly beneath a fluffy orange pumpkin costume.

  “Thirteen weeks.”

  Renee brushes the green vine dangling in her face over her shoulder. “I should have placed bets on it. I would have made a fortune.”

  “So, are you quitting your job?” another woman asks. I can’t remember her name, but I know that’s always the first question she asks when someone announces a baby.

  “I don’t want to work full-time anymore,” I answer. “I’d rather be home and maybe work for myself some.”

  "Good luck. I'd go crazy at home," Renee groans. She points to her belly. "The school daycare has this kid's spot saved and everything. I'm already bored thinking about this summer."