That Pale Host

by L. G. McCary

  “It has a porch,” David. “We could go look at it tomorrow.”

  “We could, I guess.”

  “What do you mean, ‘I guess?’”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.” I brace for it. “I don’t want to move anymore.”

  “What?” David throws his hands in the air, then drops them at his sides. “Hold on, what happened?”

  “We’re fine here. It’s fine.”

  “But I thought you wanted more space.”

  “I know what I said. But this house is fine. We are fine.”

  “Charlie, what is going on? You’ve talked about moving every single day for months now. This makes no sense.”

  “I don’t want to leave anymore. We’re close to church, and the park, and the lake. We’re close to everything here. And you’re right. We can’t afford it right now.”

  “Honey, I never said—”

  “I would rather stay here, David! That’s all, okay?”

  “No, it’s not! Why on earth have we been painting and changing things and talking to the agent?”

  “I changed my mind. This is our house, and I want to stay.”

  “But what if I want to move?”

  “Well...we aren’t.”

  David looks like I’ve slapped him. His mouth twists into a suspicious frown. “And how I feel doesn’t matter? What about needing the extra bedroom?”

  “We have an extra bedroom. The guest bedroom is right there.”

  “Until we need it for a nursery. Then we’ll need another one.”

  “No. We won’t.”

  “Wait, are you thinking we move Rylie into the guest room?”

  “No!”

  “But I thought...” he sits on the bed, hands limp in his lap. “I don’t understand.”

  “We don’t need another nursery, David. We’re fine.” I go back into the bathroom to brush my teeth and leave him sitting on the bed. He doesn’t say anything until I come out of the bathroom.

  “I thought we wanted three,” he says, hands on his knees.

  “I don’t anymore.”

  “But I still do, honey.”

  “You’re not the one who has to be pregnant.”

  “Slow down for a second,” David says. “This is all coming out of nowhere. Since when do you not want any more kids?”

  “Since I nearly died!”

  I can’t read him. I don’t have any idea what he’s thinking right now, but I don’t really care. My mind is made up.

  He says nothing for a moment that feels like eons, looking at the wall behind me with no expression. A chasm opens between us as he looks me in the eye again, and I see anger.

  “Didn’t your doctor tell you it would be okay?”

  “He said it raises my risk of a second placental abruption. And I won’t risk it.”

  David covers his eyes with his hand, and I see his jaw muscles flex. “But we have always wanted more kids.”

  “Before I almost died!”

  “But you didn’t! You’re fine!” The quiet words slam against me like a brick wall.

  I scream back. “No, I’m not fine! I will never be fine again! Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to go unconscious, believing you will never wake up?”

  “I was right there with you, Charlotte.”

  “But you weren’t bleeding to death!”

  “You didn’t bleed to death! You are right here with me! But you know what? In your mind, you’re still there in that hospital bed. And you’re dragging Rylie and me there with you every single day. Like it’s our fault somehow.”

  “How dare you.” I run away from him into the bathroom. My chest burns until my eyes water, and I sit on the closed toilet as far away from the bedroom doorway as I can get. I can barely breathe through this white-hot anger.

  But he’s not done. He appears in the doorway and glares at me in the mirror.

  “Do you realize what you are saying to me? I have a right to be upset. We’ve said for years we wanted three kids. I thought that was why you wanted to move. You kept talking about needing more space!”

  “You hear what you want to hear.”

  “So, what am I supposed to hear?”

  “That we are staying here. And I’m going to ask the doctor to make things permanent!”

  The silence fills the room until it chokes me. He grips the doorpost and clears his throat.

  “Don’t you think I should have a say in that decision?” His words are crisp but calm. I want to tell him no, that he doesn’t get a say when I’m the one who would have to endure another pregnancy, terrified of dying. But I say nothing.

  “Were you even going to tell me?”

  “Yes!”

  “When?”

  “I’m telling you right now.”

  He rubs his hands through his hair and breathes through his nose.

  “I...” he falters. “I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know.”

  He says nothing else, but the silence is accusation enough.

  “I just made the decision today.” Since seeing a ghost in Tori’s foyer and realizing that I’m losing my mind. Since realizing he doesn’t see how I’m falling apart. Or he does and he doesn’t care.

  He looks at the floor, his fingers interlaced on top of his head.

  “You just decided today.”

  Any desire I had to be diplomatic evaporates at his tone. “Yes, today. Do you have a problem?”

  “Charlotte...” He drops his hands to his sides and looks me in the eye. “I don’t believe you. I don’t think you were going to tell me at all.” His eyes are sharp and accusing, and my stomach writhes. The look on his face stings, like touching a butterfly and discovering it’s an angry wasp.

  “Fine. Don’t believe me. I’ve told you now, so why does it matter?”

  “It matters! It matters a lot! I can’t trust you anymore. How can I trust you with other things if you were making a decision this huge without me!”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “Yes, you were. You are!”

  “David, you are being selfish.”

  “We both wanted three kids from the beginning!”

  “And then I almost died!”

  “But. You. Didn’t.” The words are quiet. Cold. I don’t know this man anymore. I don’t know how he can ignore that I still relive those moments in my nightmares. I don’t know how the man who held me close when I was hurting the two years before we had Rylie can be so determined to have more children, that he would risk my life.

  “I won’t take the chance again,” I say.

  “And you don’t care what I think about it at all.”

  I say nothing. I do not owe a stranger an answer, and that is what he is right now.

  “Well, at least you’re not lying to me,” David says, his face contorting with disgust.

  “Lying? You are—”

  “Stop. Before you say something you regret.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” I want to scream, but it comes out more like a hiss. David picks up his pillow.

  “We are both too upset to be productive in this discussion.”

  “Don’t you dare talk down to me.”

  “I’m not!” He holds a hand up. “This is me calling time out, okay? Time. Out.”

  “Fine. Go ahead, ref,” I say, turning off the bathroom light and hugging myself next to my side of the bed. He has moved to the door to the hallway. “Running away to shoot zombies?”

  “I’m going to the guest room,” David says, his voice dripping acid. “I need space. I need to think.”

  “Fine. Go.” I pull the covers open on my side of the bed and dive under them like a barricade in a war zone.

  “We are going to talk about this again.”

  “Go!” I keep my eyes firmly on my nightstand. I am not looking at him again.

  “We are going to talk about this again. Without yelling.”

  I don’t care if I was yelling. This is something worth yelling about. I hear the door s
hut and turn my light off. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark as I study the outlines of my dresser and nightstand in the dim glow of the alarm clock. The air conditioner shuts off, and the silence makes my ears ring in protest.

  I hear a crying sound and sit up instinctively. Rylie must have heard me shouting. I shrivel into a hunched ball of shame on the edge of the bed. She didn’t need to hear that. I move to the door to comfort her, but I stop with my hand still on the lock. It’s not Rylie. It’s David. David is sniffing and talking to himself in the guest room next to our bedroom.

  “I love her,” he says. “Help me talk to her. I’m so confused.”

  Every ounce of shame evaporates. I hate him. The part of me that should feel sorry is suffocated by the anger building in my chest. How dare he make me choose between what he wants and being there for Rylie? I’m the only mother she has. I don’t care what we wanted when we first got married. I don’t care if he cries all night long. He’s clinging to a version of me that ceased to exist after Rylie was born. He loves the woman I was before, not me right now. He doesn’t even know me. And I don’t know him.

  I’m so sick of this false sympathy. He should be grateful for what we have and stop acting like he deserves more. I jump back in bed and turn the fan to its loudest setting. The minutes on the alarm clock melt into hours.

  I find myself walking down the hallway in a daze. I’m at Rylie’s bedroom door.

  She’s not there. I run from room to room calling for her, but she’s gone. David follows me, saying it will be fine, but I’m panicking more by the minute. My mom is outside on the doorstep, and I rush her inside, begging her to help me find Rylie. She rolls her eyes at me.

  “Honey, I’m sure she’s fine.” She turns away toward the kitchen.

  “She’s not fine! She’s gone!”

  “Is she playing hide-and-seek?” My father asks from behind me.

  “I’m telling you, she’s gone!”

  The room spins, and I run back to her room. I can’t find the light switch to turn it on. I can’t find it. My hand searches, but the wall is empty.

  “I found her, Charlie!” David says behind me. I turn back to see him standing in the hallway, holding a little girl’s hand. But she isn’t Rylie. She isn’t. A scream wells up in my throat.

  “I found her! See? She’s fine!” He smiles and pats the little girl on the head.

  “That’s not Rylie!”

  “She’s fine! See, she’s right here.”

  “That’s not Rylie! How can you say that?” I scream, clawing myself forward to shake him by the shoulders. “You don’t even know your own child!”

  Sixteen

  The words choke out of me as I sit up in bed. I can hear nothing but my heartbeat, and I squeeze my eyes tight.

  It was a dream. A horrible dream. I rub my cheeks and neck with my palms and wait for my heart to slow down before opening my eyes. The sun is peeking through the blinds. Our mattress is lumpier without David’s weight on the other side, and the room is too cold from the fan.

  I roll over to look at my alarm clock, and suddenly I’m wide awake because we’re going to be late for church. I jump out of bed and grab a blouse and pants from the closet. I don’t have time for a shower, so I spray my hair full of dry shampoo and coax it into a messy half-ponytail. I’ll have to do my makeup in the car.

  I run down the hall to wake Rylie, but her room is empty. I hear laughter in the kitchen and follow the noise to find her sitting on David’s lap, eating pancakes.

  “Mommy!” She jumps down and runs to hug me. “Daddy and me made pancakes!”

  “I see that!” I scoop her up in a bear hug and spin around next to the kitchen table. “Oh, you’re sticky! Don’t get it in Mommy’s hair, sweetie. We need to hurry! We have to get ready for church.”

  “I made this one,” she says, running back to David’s lap to hold up a deformed blob of a pancake. She takes a bite and grins. “All by myself!”

  “Daddy just had to flip it, right?” David says. He sets Rylie in his chair and moves behind the counter to the griddle.

  “I was waiting until you woke up to make the rest.”

  “We’re going to be late,” I say, looking in the cabinet for cereal. I don’t want him doing anything for me today. I refuse to owe him anything.

  “Go sit with Rylie.”

  I glare at him.

  “I want to wear my purple dress to church,” Rylie says, kicking her feet back and forth beneath her at the table.

  “Silly girl, you wore it last week,” I say.

  Sometimes her chatter wears on me, but today I’m grateful she is here to fill the silence with talk of pancakes, ballet, and Bible verses. The pancakes hiss on the griddle. David checks the color and flips one over.

  “We’re going to be late,” I say.

  “Here,” he says, handing me my plate. I jerk it from him and dump the plate on the table in disgust.

  “We’d better hurry and get ready for church, kiddo,” David says, tickling Rylie and scooping her up over his shoulder. “Let’s let your mama eat her pancakes in peace.”

  “I didn’t get her dress out yet,” I say.

  “I can handle picking it out,” he says. “There’s butter on the counter if you want it.”

  I want to say something mean. Something that will cut him to ribbons and make sure he never speaks to me again. I hate him. But he’s gone to Rylie’s room before I can think of anything. The pancakes smell like cinnamon and vanilla, and they are perfectly cooked. Better than I have ever managed to cook them. Another way he’s so superior to me. Another way to show me he’s the better parent.

  I carve the pancake with my fork and stab a piece of oozing butter and syrup. The pillowy cake tastes like my grandmother made it, but my tongue takes to it like glue. I wash it down with a swig of milk and push down the rest before I can talk myself into eating cereal instead. No sense in wasting them, and I have to finish getting ready. David comes back to the kitchen wearing a clean polo. Rylie follows him in her purple dress.

  “David, she wore that dress last week!” I say, sighing. “And her hair is a mess.”

  “Blame me for the fashion faux pas,” he says, grabbing his Bible. “I’ll get the car ready.”

  I bite my tongue and squeeze my hands into fists. There is no time for Rylie to change. I rush her to the bathroom and brush her hair into a quick ballerina bun, hiding the messy bobby pins with a purple bow. Hopefully it will hold through Sunday school.

  The drive to church is as silent as the grave. Rylie must have picked up on the tension. I barely finish my makeup before we pull into the parking lot. We rush inside and find a seat before the end of the first worship song.

  The music is too loud and grates on my ears. I can’t focus on the sermon because I’m trying to keep from touching David. I wish I had stayed home. I wish the earth would open up and swallow me off this pew. I want to scream or cry, but I have to pretend to be happy. My Bible feels like a lead weight on my lap.

  The service ends, and we drop off Rylie in Sunday school and walk to our own class. David finds us seats in the back, and we keep to ourselves, an island of misery in a class full of laughter.

  Tori and Greg come in late and wave to us, taking their usual front seat. I force myself to smile and act normal, but my stomach writhes.

  How am I going to survive this at home? I have to drive home with this man and sleep in the same bed with him. My nausea grows as class drags on. I keep my face buried in my Bible or my purse. Every muscle is stiff and sore. Then the class is over, and I can finally run home to hide.

  “I was worried about you yesterday, Charlotte,” Greg says a little too loudly as he walks up from the front row. Tori gives me an apologetic look and whispers in his ear.

  “Oh, sorry,” he says with a grimace and lowers his voice. “I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re okay this morning. Did you get some rest?”

  I nod and mutter that I have to go. Tori seems to want to talk, but
I can’t face her. I turn and follow David at a distance into the hall.

  I don’t know what really happened yesterday. Maybe I panicked like I used to when Rylie was a baby, and my mind filled in something to be scared of. Or maybe it was the spots of a migraine aura.

  We finally escape to the parking lot with Rylie.

  No matter what I come up with, the memory is stubborn. It defies being anything other than the foggy outline of a woman. The clammy feeling in my stomach seems to be on its way to being permanent.

  “What was Greg talking about?” David demands as I stomp to our car.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Excuse me?” David says.

  I whirl around to face him. Rylie wiggles her hand out of my grasp and opens her car door.

  “So now you care about me and how I’m doing?” I say, my voice rising to a shriek.

  “Lower your voice,” David says, waves his hands in front of his face like I’m a fussy toddler.

  “Excuse me, you suddenly care about how I feel because Greg does? Is that it?”

  “Charlotte, that is not fair. Stop it.”

  I tilt my head to one side and smile bitterly. I don’t care if it’s fair.

  “What was he talking about?” David asks, each word crisp.

  “Greg was there when I left their house yesterday,” I say, every inch of my skin bristling. “I rushed home because I forgot something, and he must have thought I was upset.”

  “And that’s all?” David says.

  I turn to help Rylie with her seat belt and glare daggers at him. David chews on his lower lip. He looks up at the sky.

  “No lightning bolts. I guess you’re not lying,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me. “This time, anyway.”

  Seventeen

  My six-year-old vanishes underneath a small mountain of blue tulle and sequins. Her head pops through the top of the costume after a lot of wiggling and giggling. The student recital is in November, so we have a month to make sure this costume fits perfectly.