by L. G. McCary
“I’m glad you like your job,” I say. Renee likes to argue, so I’m not giving her any reason to convince me to work. I’m still wary of her dinner parties after she made it her mission to get me to like fish and served salmon burgers. David always asks me if I have a granola bar stashed in my purse when it’s their turn to host the monthly fellowship night.
“I told Charlie she should start painting again,” David says from behind the kitchen counter.
“You paint?” Casey cocks his head in confusion.
“Yes, I did a lot of painting in college. Mostly oils and acrylic.”
“I thought you were an accountant,” Casey says.
David laughs a little too hard. I’m no accountant.
“No, I’m a graphic designer. I don’t talk about my job much,” I say. “It’s boring, and my boss makes it miserable.”
“Where do you work?”
“A small web design company. I basically design logos for a living.”
“And she’s criminally underutilized,” David interrupts. “Charlie is amazing. Let me find her Enterprise painting.”
“Ugh, David, don’t. That thing is so old!”
“And amazing!”
Renee gives me quizzical looks, but our husbands are grinning.
“As in the Enterprise?” Casey asks.
“From the original series,” David says with pride.
“My family watched a lot of Star Trek,” I explain to the ladies.
“I’ve never seen that show,” Renee says.
I would have been shocked if she had. David disappears into the garage and returns with my old painting. I know he’s proud, but I hate showing it to people.
“Why isn’t that on the wall?” Casey says.
“Wow, Charlotte,” Morgan says, admiring the nebula behind the ship. “You’re amazing.”
“It’s a really old painting,” I sigh. The vivid colors are beautiful, but my more experienced eye can only see the clumsiness of the brush strokes and the flaws in the composition. “I should redo it. I didn’t mix the colors properly. I could do so much better now.”
“You should!” David says. “I could hang it at work!”
I laugh at him. “I don’t know.”
“That’s your assignment after the baby comes: paint me a new spaceship!” he declares with a huge smile.
I blush and follow Renee through the curtain of orange and black streamers from our kitchen to the living room. Bodies crowd together on the couch and fireplace, and the room is a little warm. It’s a bigger group than we expected, and I feel terrible that I don’t know everyone’s name. Our class has exploded with new married couples moving up from the “nearly-wed” class. I should probably introduce myself. I usually wait for Renee to help me meet new people.
Our teacher, Larry, is dressed as Martin Luther, complete with a brown cap and puffy pillow stomach. His wife, Grace, dressed as Luther’s wife, rounds everyone up from our front room and the kitchen for charades.
“Couple of quick announcements before we get to more fun stuff!” Larry says. “We will have more people joining. Two more couples, from what I heard.”
“We also have to say thank you to David and Charlotte for opening their home,” says Grace. “And congratulations on the little one! More babies!”
My stomach knots, but I try to enjoy all the shouts of excitement and happy hugs from these ladies I don’t know very well. It’s the same questions over and over about my due date and baby showers and nurseries until Grace coughs and announces it’s time to play charades.
The game becomes a comedy routine with Luther pretending to ride a roller coaster, a bumblebee tap dancing, and an ’80s aerobics instructor failing miserably at making a milkshake. Before we know it, it’s late. I’m exhausted from laughing. Or maybe it’s the baby.
“I can’t wait for Tori to move up to our class!” Renee says as she walks to the entryway.
“Who is she again?”
“She works nursery with me a lot,” Renee answers. She picks up her purse from the side table behind our couch. “We’re getting so big in this class. They better not try to split us.”
“We’ll stage a coup if they do,” Casey says, raising a fist in mock rebellion.
“Come on, I’m sleepy,” Renee whines.
The rest of our class trickles out the door. Larry and Grace help us with the trash and packaging the leftover food.
“I’m so excited for you,” Grace says as they walk out to their car. “I love hosting baby showers.”
“Thank you, Grace.”
“Once you know if it’s a boy or girl, we’ll get planning.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“I can’t wait!” She squeezes me in a big hug and wipes away a tear. “I’ve been praying for you. Every morning. God is good.”
I try to blink away the tears. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Just can’t wait. We are going to celebrate this big, Charlotte. And you’re going to let me. When God works a miracle, you celebrate!” she says with a decisive nod. I watch them pull away into the darkness and shiver. The cold October sky sparkles with stars. For a moment, I enjoy the beauty of the constellations and the cool wind on my cheeks.
“Get back in this house, woman! It’s freezing!” David teases from the door.
“I’m just admiring your discoveries, Galileo,” I say.
“I’m admiring my discovery, too,” he says with a wink. I snort and plant a kiss on his lips.
“I need a shower,” I tell him as I shut the door.
“Me too,” he answers. “Let’s share.” I turn the lights out in the kitchen and living room and follow him to our room. He turns the shower on hot.
“Not too hot.” I point to my belly. “Baby.”
“I’m just getting it warmed up. You can set it when you get in.”
“I think people had fun.”
“Of course! Everyone had a blast. Larry is hoarse.”
“Renee’s Elvis was amazing. Please tell me someone got a video.”
“I think everyone got a video.”
We remove the planets and stars pinned to my shirt and leggings. David helps me pull off the turtleneck, so I’m left in black leggings and a tank top. He pats my belly and gives it a kiss.
“Can you put everything in the laundry for me?” I ask.
“Okay.”
The bathroom fills with steam as the water heats up. I scrub away at my mascara and glittery eyeshadow while David gets undressed on the bed. The makeup remover sends the black and green melting down my cheeks until I look ghoulish and bruised.
Something catches my eye as I turn to look at David.
A dark place in the steam drifts. I watch the spot for a moment. It must be the old lights in the overhead heater casting shadows in the steam. I really need to get a new bulb.
It moves. No, the dark place walks past the shower to the toilet.
I fall back against the counter and yell. The shadow moves to the other side of the bathroom. My hands feel cold, and I clench them into fists.
“Charlie, are you okay?” David rushes in.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“That!” The wisps of steam tumbles toward me like someone is moving through them. I run out of the bathroom and plow David over. “It moved. It moved!”
“Charlie, calm down. What are you talking about?”
“It looked like someone was walking through it!”
“What?”
“Like someone not me was walking through it!”
“Whoa, come here,” he pulls me to his chest. “There’s nothing there. It’s okay.”
“I’m telling you, it looked like someone was there.”
David looks around the room with a frown. Then he grins and squeezes my shoulders.
“The heater.”
“The what?”
“The heater. It has a little fan, remember?” He points to the heater coils on the ceiling.
“I just turned it on.”
“The fan?”
“Yeah, the fan is blowing it. Look, you can tell right there.”
I watch the heating fan blow coils and puffs of mist out from the shower toward the mirror. Is that what I saw? My heart rate slows down as I watch the curls of steam. It makes sense.
“Here, look,” David says, and blows a huge puff of air into the steam. It sends billows tumbling after each other. My cheeks are turning warm with embarrassment.
“It looked so creepy.”
“My jumpy wife seeing things. Next time, I’ll warn you before I turn the fan on.”
“Yes, do that,” I mutter into his shoulder. “It’s all the hormones.”
“So, what was your excuse in college?”
I poke him in the ribs where I know he’s ticklish, and he hollers.
“You were mean,” I say.
“Yes, I was very mean. And you were easy to prank. The spider was hilarious,” he laughs. He leans in and kisses me to stop me from replying. I let him. “I love you, Charlie. You’re beautiful. You know that?”
“Ha! Let me get this junk off of my eyes.”
“Yeah, that’s not so beautiful,” he says. “That’s downright terrifying.”
“I’m a goblin. Boo!” I say, sticking out my tongue. “Go get that gray washed out of your hair. You look ridiculous, Galileo.”
“As long as you’re coming too.”
My heart is still pounding a little, but I grin as he turns around and winks at me. I’ve got to stop watching creepy movies. I gaze at him in the mirror as he tosses his clothes in the hamper, avoiding looking at the place where the shadow used to be.
Three
The clock reads 2 a.m. David is breathing steadily next to me. I’m not sure what has woken me up this time. I’m so tired of waking up to go to the bathroom. I spent the day finishing the last touches on the nursery and went to bed exhausted. At least it’s finished. All the shower gifts are washed and put away.
I’m glad that the shower is over with. Having to open gifts in front of all the women in our class should be against the Geneva Convention. I wouldn’t have minded just Renee and our teacher Grace, but I had to sit in front of a punch-sipping, chocolate-strawberry-eating panel of judges and wait for them to rate my reactions to each dress, bow, and burp rag. The worst part was all the questions. I’m still not sure why a wipe warmer is such a controversial registry item, but I know better than to ever bring it up again. When someone asked me if we were going to tell people the name we’d chosen, I thought this would be a fun surprise for everyone.
“We thought we’d wait until the baby shower, so today!” I said, grinning. “We’re going to name her Rylie.”
“Rylie? Isn’t that a boy’s name?” Renee said, her mouth full of quiche. I can’t say I didn’t expect that response from her. She always has opinions on names.
“It’s for both, Renee,” Morgan answered, giving me a look that said, “Ignore her.”
“We chose it when we first got married. It means courageous or valiant,” I said. “We played the newlywed game for a group date, and we got ‘What would you name our first kid?’ We both said Rylie for a girl.”
“Wow, you knew just like that?” Morgan asked.
“When the ultrasound tech told us she was a girl, we both said, ‘Rylie!’”
“Casey and I argued about Liana’s name for months,” Renee said. “He likes boring names like Anna and David.”
I roll my eyes in the dark at the memory. David’s name isn’t boring. It’s classic. I know Renee didn’t mean to be insulting. She more than made up for it with her gift: a housecleaning service I can schedule any time I choose. I have most of what I need as well as special gifts I will cherish. Grace crocheted a baby blanket, and it seemed like everyone made bows for Rylie to wear. Our class also does a sign-up to bring dinner every other night for two weeks. I brought Renee lasagna when she had Liana. As long as Renee doesn’t try to bring me fish, I’ll be happy. Morgan said something about pulled pork, and Grace promised homemade enchiladas.
“I always come ready to hold the baby so Mama can shower before dinner,” Grace said, bouncing an almost sleeping baby Liana from side to side. “So don’t you dare do anything special before I get there.”
“Grace is the baby whisperer,” Renee said with a deep sigh. “Thank you for rocking her. I can hardly put her down at home.”
“All babies know a grandma when they see one,” Grace said with a wink. “Are her eyes closed?”
“Not quite.”
“Goodness, she sure fights it, doesn’t she?”
“She fights everything. Tummy time. Bottles. Sleep.” Renee looked at me and wrinkled her nose. “You’ll probably get an easy baby. Seems like everyone else does.”
I shift from my right side back to my left. I doubt Rylie will be easy. She seems to enjoy kicking me in the ribs at inopportune times.
My legs are sticky with sweat. I push the covers back and waddle to the bathroom. A bubbling sensation in my stomach makes me unsteady. I suppose that must be what woke me. I shut the bathroom door and turn on the light.
Red. My legs are dripping with it. I’m sick to my stomach and lean over the sink as the panic strangles me. I can’t think. I’m only 35 weeks.
“David!” My voice is thick with sleep. “David, help me!”
He’s in the bathroom in moments, arms wrapping around me and looking at the floor.
“Honey, what happened?”
“I’m bleeding. The baby!” My heart pounds in my ears. I clutch my belly and breathe a prayer. It’s one word over and over: Please. Please. Please.
“Are you hurting?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” My hands are shaking, and nausea rises in my throat. “I don’t know!”
“Do you need to sit down? What should I do?”
“I don’t know!” Tears roll down my cheeks and hit the bathroom counter. The bright light hurts my eyes. David gently guides me to sit on the toilet seat. He disappears into the bedroom and comes back with his cell phone.
“I’m calling 911. Hold on, honey. Just hold on.” He holds my hand as he gives our information. The dispatcher is asking him questions about how much blood and how far along I am and if I’m in pain, and that’s when I realize I can’t feel the baby moving.
“David, she’s not moving.”
“What?”
“Rylie. She’s not moving!”
“They’ll be here in a minute, honey. It’s going to be okay.” David’s face is ashen. He grips my hand with white knuckles and grits his teeth. “I’m going to unlock the front door for them. I’ll be right back.”
He runs out of the room, still talking to the dispatcher on the phone. I’m left alone in our little bathroom, staring at the blood soaking my nightgown and my swollen stomach still and quiet. I hold onto the towel rack for dear life. The tears course down my cheeks in stinging streaks.
Then David is back, standing next to me and hugging my shoulder.
“Talk to me, Charlie.”
“I feel so sick.”
“They’ll be here in a minute. They’ll take care of you.”
“She’s not moving!” I whisper.
I feel like I’m strangling.
David holds me tight and listens to the operator again, answering questions I can’t hear. My belly has not been this still in months.
I pray aloud this time. “Please. Please. Please.”
I have no other words. My heart is going to rip into a thousand pieces. My little girl cannot die. She can’t. And all I can do is beg God to protect her.
A blond-haired man wearing a paramedic uniform rushes into the bathroom followed by a red-headed man carrying a medical kit. They help me to the floor and work with quick motions, checking me and telling each other different things as they work. The flurry of medical terms makes my head spin.
“Ma’am, we’re going to trans
port you to the hospital,” the blond man says. “I’m going to give you some fluids and oxygen on the way there. Your husband can ride with us.” He pulls a stretcher toward the bathroom door from the bedroom, and they help me onto it.
David squeezes my hand. “Honey, I’m going to call the doctor and then your folks.”
He dials a number and steps away. He walks past a woman with dark-brown hair standing in the bedroom. She isn’t dressed like the others, and her face reminds me of my mother’s. She looks terrified.
“I found the baby’s heartbeat,” the red-headed paramedic says. “Hold on...it’s a hundred.” He looks worried, but I have a small piece of relief.
“She’s alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. The heartbeat is a little slow, but it’s strong.”
“But she’s not moving. She’s not doing anything.”
“You know you’re having a girl?” the redhead asks. I nod as I wipe the tears from my eyes, and he smiles. “I have two girls myself. We’re going to get you to the hospital right away. We’re going to help you both.”
I hear David on the phone with my mother as they roll me into the ambulance. The IV makes me shiver. I start to ask where the female paramedic went when pain stabs through my belly. My breath comes out in a wail, and David shuts his phone, diving into the ambulance with me.
“It hurts!” I scream.
Oh, it hurts. It hurts like fireworks exploding in my stomach, like knives carving me up. It came out of nowhere, and it won’t stop.
“Where is the pain, Charlotte?”
I gesture to my stomach. I can’t breathe.
The paramedics ask David more questions as the doors shut and the ambulance takes off. Pain tears through my stomach over and over. It sears across my back, refusing to let up. The blond man places a mask over my mouth and nose. I try to breathe, but it hurts.
“Charlotte, this oxygen will help you and the baby. I need you to breathe.”
“Please help me,” I beg.
I don’t know who I’m talking to anymore. I gulp air in a brief moment of relief. The air from the mask is cold and smells sterile. The redhead says something, but I can’t process his words. Everything blurs into a whirlwind of panic and pain. I can’t think of anything except my baby.
