by L. G. McCary
“But skin-tight leotards and short skirts?” Greg says. “How is that modest?”
The sentence is almost a slap to my face. As if my beautiful butterfly of a girl could ever be anything other than elegant and graceful. How can he talk this way when he has been to several of Rylie’s recitals?
“Okay, guys, hold on,” Larry holds up his hands. “Let’s all step back a minute.”
“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s inappropriate,” Greg says in a tone of finality. “We can all agree modesty is in short supply in our world. We’re supposed to be in, not of, right?”
He keeps going, quoting a book I’ve never heard of, but I see a few people nodding, including Yvonne. I’m sure she’s probably read it.
I want to slap half of the class. What is wrong with them? They have all complimented the worship dances Rylie has choreographed and performed. She danced for our Christmas cantata, and the pastor praised her from the stage. Why are they agreeing with Greg?
“I don’t care what random book you found on the Internet to back you up.” David’s voice sounds dangerous.
“Let’s all take a step back, please,” Larry says. “We don’t have to agree on this.”
Tori sits stiff and quiet in her front-row chair. She’s looking at the floor. Crimson waves sweep over her cheeks and ears, and her knuckles are white. Why won’t she say something? Why doesn’t she stop him? She loves to watch Rylie dance.
“I think it goes to the heart of modesty,” Greg says. “And that is extremely important for girls.”
“Last time I checked, Greg, I am her father, and that means she’s under my authority. Especially under your school of thought, right? God put her under my care,” David says. I have never seen him this angry. “And since I’m ultimately under the authority of our pastor who came to see Rylie’s recital last year and is planning to come again this year, I don’t think you have a leg to stand on.” David tosses his full cup of coffee into the trash and draws himself up in front of Greg. Greg sets his coffee cup on the floor and stands up to face David. I feel Morgan put her shaking hand on my shoulder from the row behind me.
“I don’t feel well,” Tori says suddenly. She picks up her purse and stumbles to the door. She won’t look at anyone. Greg gives David a disgusted glare and follows her, and Larry runs after them both.
The room is uncomfortably quiet. Grace clears her throat but doesn’t say anything. I put my head in my hands and bite my tongue.
“Since I have everyone’s attention, Rylie’s dance recital is coming up,” David says. “I know she’d love for any of you to come. She’s doing ballet, tap, and lyrical.”
“I’d love to come,” Morgan says and leans forward to catch my eyes. I muster a passable smile.
“I’ll get you the address,” I say. I’m so embarrassed. What do we do from here?
“Tell the whole class, Charlotte,” Grace says, her voice a little shaky. “I think Ellie Piper is in it, too, right?” I fumble for the recital paper in my purse and let David give everyone the information. I can see Yvonne and Renee writing notes to each other. I’m tempted to throw a paperwad at them since they’re acting like they’re in middle school.
Larry returns and says Tori thinks she’s getting a migraine. David leans forward, elbows on his knees, like an athlete waiting for the coach to call him. I chew my tongue and gently pat his arm.
“I’m going to acknowledge the elephant,” Larry says as everyone quiets down. “As believers in Christ, we have got to give each other grace. And we also have to remember that there are disputable matters in scripture. We have to be careful not to try to bind someone else’s conscience in an area that’s not clear.”
“Amen,” Morgan says quietly.
“I don’t know a good analogy here. Meat sacrificed to idols isn’t quite right.” He stares at a spot above the doorway for a moment and bites his lip. “It comes down to the fact that you are responsible to God for your life and your family. The Holy Spirit is who will bring conviction if necessary.” Larry sighs and holds his hands out, palms up like a prayer. “I feel like I need to say this as clearly as I can. Don’t try to be the Holy Spirit. You’ll do a terrible job.”
There is a murmur of uncomfortable laughter.
“Let’s all take a minute to reset and pray, okay? One minute of silent prayer, and I’ll open us up.”
David says nothing. He glares at the floor, still furious. I’m furious, but it makes me want to shrink and disappear. The lesson is a blur, and no one is in a talking mood. We all want it to end. Larry closes early, and David and I leave to find Rylie in Sunday school. At first, no one follows us down the empty hallway.
“David, can I talk to you a minute?” Larry says, rushing to catch up.
“Guess I’m in trouble?”
“I tried to calm Greg down,” Larry says. “I don’t know why he was so—”
“I’ve had it with him,” David says. “He cannot talk about my daughter like that, Larry.”
Larry raises both hands in defeat and nods. “I definitely understand. I think you were right to confront the legalism, but got a little heated—”
“Heated? Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t agree with him, David,” Larry says, “but this is complicated—”
I leave David to talk it out. I don’t want to hear about it anymore. I want to go home and hide in our bedroom and take a nap. I want to finish Rylie’s costume for the recital and forget any of this ever happened. I wait for him in the car with Rylie, and we ride home in a tense quiet. Even Rylie seems to feel it and says very little at lunch before retreating to her room. At the sound of Rylie’s bedroom door shutting, David can’t contain himself.
“Larry said he was going to talk to the pastor about Greg. If he doesn’t, I will.” He leans against the counter and sighs. “I thought he wanted to switch classes. If he’s going to, he should just do it.”
“I think he wants to lead a class,” I say, putting the last dish in the dishwasher.
David stares at me, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”
“That’s what Tori said last summer,” I say. “Let’s go change.”
“You know, Greg was weird when he worked at RHL,” David says as I pull our bedroom door closed. “I worked with his department several times, but he wouldn’t ever talk to me.” He yanks off his blue polo shirt and sits on the edge of our bed, picking at the pills on the collar. “I tried to get to know him, but it was like he was hiding.”
“Maybe he was.”
“Something bugs me about this whole mess.” David straightens the collar of his shirt and holds his mouth to one side in thought. “He was always working weekends, but no one else on his team ever needed to. What was he doing all day? Watching YouTube?”
“Maybe he wasn’t very good at that job,” I say.
“Maybe,” David says. “But I’ve seen his STEM magic show. He’s smart.”
“Who knows.”
“Just bugs me.” David hangs his shirt in the closet and stands, looking at his shirts. “Remember when we saw Tori that one time at Darren's office before we went in together? Did Greg ever go to counseling with her?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. I sit on the bed and hug myself, ignoring a wispy barely-there Other Charlotte in the bathroom doorway.
David looks at me, chewing on his lower lip. “I’m going to call Larry and make sure he talked to Pastor Ryan.”
Thirty-Two
The tall Bradford pear tree in Tori's front yard is finally blooming. Tori jumps in the passenger seat and squeals with delight. Her long hair is wrapped in a thick bun at the nape of her neck. After the argument at church, I thought she might cancel our girls’ day, but she’s almost giddy as she buckles her seatbelt.
“I needed this shopping trip so much!” she says. “I’ve been so busy painting the house. I need a break.”
“Your mission is to help me find some new clothes.” Even though her clothes are much different than th
ey used to be, Tori still manages to look beautiful. Hopefully her fashionista side will come out to help me today.
“So, where are we going?” she asks, adjusting her sunglasses.
“I thought I’d let you pick.”
“Dangerous to let me pick, hon. Are you sure?”
I follow her directions as we cruise through town. She is bouncing a little in her seat. She jumps out as soon as I park the car in front of the consignment store she’s mentioned so many times.
“You need that dress in the window, Charlotte,” she says. She pushes open the thick wooden door and waves a hand through. The shop has exposed brick walls and an industrial-style ceiling with drop lighting. A long green counter runs along one wall. The shop is quiet, and the woman behind the counter waves to Tori with a grin.
“To the scarf bar!” Tori says. I follow her to another counter at the back of the store. It is covered with dozens of racks, boxes, and piles of scarves. I’m overwhelmed by all the choices, but Tori curates her selection in minutes. As we move through the store, she convinces me to try half a dozen outfits and plants herself outside my dressing room.
“You should wear more green. It’s a great color on you,” she says as I look over the green skirt I’m trying on. I know she’s trying to make me feel good, but being treated like a fashion model makes me self-conscious.
“How is freelance going?” I ask, trying to get the focus off of me.
“It’s fine.”
“Are you getting new clients?”
“A few. Mostly it has helped Greg. It made a big difference to him.”
Greg. I was really hoping to not talk about Greg at all today. “That’s nice.”
“He loves having me home. He usually comes to eat lunch with me, and he can have me bring things from home if he forgets something.”
I shut the dressing room door behind me. I rehang and sort the clothes and frown at my reflection.
“Charlotte, is something wrong?” Tori’s voice echoes off the ceiling. I make a lame excuse, but I’m lost in thought. What is it that worries me? I must be overthinking this. David’s stories about Greg’s weird behavior are making me look for signs of…signs of what? I don’t know. I don’t want to actually think what I’m thinking. I shake my head to clear these anxious thoughts and follow my best friend to another boutique a few doors down. This one isn’t consignment, and we split up to explore the whole store.
“I’ll yell ‘Marco’ if I can’t find you,” she says.
“Polo!” I laugh as I head toward a rack of jeans.
This feels normal. This is how we usually get along, laughing at inside jokes. I haven’t seen Her all morning. I’ve been painting and sewing and trying to do anything that makes Her disappear. I wish I knew what would make Her disappear forever.
“Charlotte, I found the perfect blouse for you!” Tori calls from across the little shop. I push around a clothing rack to find her.
Every muscle and nerve in my body freezes in terror. Tori is holding Her blouse. I recognize every detail of the shirt’s buttons and collar.
“No, no, no, no, no...” The words are choking out of me unbidden. I bite down hard on my tongue and spin away from this nightmare. Tori is saying something, but I can’t respond. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe. I dump the clothes I’d been holding on the closest rack and run for the door. I have to get out of here. I have to get away.
I crash into the door and run to my car. The sunlight is too bright in my eyes, and I can’t find my keys to open the door. I fall to my knees and dig for them, shaking my purse hard to hear the jingle. Where are they? I suck in a breath when my fingers close around them and fumble with the unlock button.
Inside the car, I lean over the steering wheel and try to breathe. I can’t stop shivering despite the heat. I can’t think about anything but the blue blouse. I never thought it was real. It couldn’t be real. All that was missing was tear stains. When I close my eyes, I can still see it.
A knock on the passenger window makes me jolt upright.
“Charlotte, it’s me.” Tori is standing at the door, her hand on the handle. I’m unable to force my mouth to form words. “Can you unlock the door?” she asks.
I nod and claw for the lock button. She opens the door a crack.
“Can I get you a drink?”
A drink? Yes, I want a drink. I nod.
“I’ll be right back. Can you turn on the air conditioner, hon? You’re going to get overheated in there. And breathe into your stomach, real slow. Know what I mean?”
My breath comes in shuddering gasps, but I manage to nod and mouth “thank you” before she disappears into the bright sunlight. I fumble the key into the ignition and turn the air conditioner on. Cool air blasts my face.
My nightmares are coming to life.
“God, help me,” I whisper. The rumble of the engine vibrates through the steering wheel. The passenger door opens, and Tori sits next to me.
“I brought water and crackers.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Take it, hon.” She unscrews the cap on the bottle of water, adds a straw, and hands me the bottle, making sure I have it securely in my hand. “Is there anything else you need? They told me I can have some ice if you want an ice pack on your neck or something.”
“I think I’m having a panic attack.” I wipe away tears from my cheeks and sniff. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“You have wonderful taste. It wasn’t—”
“It wasn’t about the blouse,” she interrupts. “I understand. I promise you didn’t hurt my feelings. Believe me?”
I look up from my lap and try to smile. “Thank you.” It’s all I can muster.
“I’ve never told you about my mom,” she says. She squeezes my hand and swallows. “I keep it to myself because she’s pretty embarrassed about it even now. She had panic attacks all the time when I was little. Still gets them sometimes. Got to be second nature taking care of her. I saw your face, and...” She waves her other hand toward her forehead. “I knew.”
“She has panic attacks on top of her heart and everything else?”
“She jokes her whole body is waging a civil war,” Tori says, her face grim. “Dad didn’t know how to handle it, so I sort of figured out what helped. Here, eat a cracker. It helps her sometimes.”
I crunch the cracker between my teeth. For a moment, I enjoy the buttery crispness and sips of cold water. It almost blocks out the panic that has every nerve on edge. Almost.
“You should ask Darren for a recommendation for a psychiatrist. They might be able to help you figure out your triggers and stuff.”
“I don’t want to take drugs. I usually have them under control.”
“No shame in it, Charlotte. My mom needs them.”
“I don’t like them.” The thought makes my stomach curdle. “There are so many side effects.”
“There’re lots of things a psychiatrist can do to help you besides meds, you know. There are techniques to calm down, relax, knowing your triggers, lots of things. And honey, Darren isn’t qualified for that kind of thing.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I remember the one you had at my house.”
I shudder. The first time She appeared somewhere outside of my house. The first time I knew She was a she and couldn’t escape Her. Tori clasps her hands in her lap and waits until I look her in the eye.
“That was a long time ago. But you’re having them more often, aren’t you?”
“Always seems like you’re around to see them.”
“Hey, better me than anyone else, right?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I love you, and I know what’s what.”
I try to stop the tears, but they are as inevitable as a thunderstorm. Tori wraps an arm around my shoulders and leans her head on mine.
“Girl, I would do anything to take this away from you,” she says. Her voice is thick with tears
. “Anything.”
I think back to that moment where the Other Charlotte stood there weeping in front of the painting. She’s not a ghost, and she’s not a hallucination. If I hadn’t seen that blue blouse in Tori’s hand, I might be able to make myself believe I’m crazy. But I’m not.
“I think David thinks I’m crazy,” I whisper.
“I’m sure he’s worried about you. Has he seen you have one?”
“Not like this.”
“You must be really good at hiding them. You shouldn’t do that, honey.”
“I don’t want him to worry.”
“If you get a doctor to help you, he’ll understand,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “You have a wonderful husband, Charlotte. He’ll support you.”
“I hope so.” Everything is blurred and foggy when I think about David. I don’t know how to talk to him. I’ve been lying to him for so long that everything tangles in my head. How many excuses and lies does he hear from me every day?
“Don’t you say that. He loves you more than Star Trek.”
I can’t help but laugh through my tears. Tori squeezes my shoulder and laughs with me.
“I’m sorry we haven’t gotten to do this in so long,” I say. “With dance class and school and everything, we’re so busy. And then I ruin it by freaking out.”
“When is Rylie’s next recital? I want to go again.”
“Really?” I can’t believe she wants to come. My stomach turns sour as I think of Greg’s rude comments just a few weeks ago. Tori takes a deep breath.
“I don’t think there is anything wrong with ballet, Charlotte.” The sentence spills out of her like it took all of her energy. “I don’t…Greg is…” She can’t seem to get the words to form. She shakes her head slightly and smiles at me. It’s a genuine smile. I feel like I see a glint of defiance in her eyes. “I would really love to see her recital.”
“I think there’s a card in my purse.” I fumble through my bag, vision still a little blurry from tears, but I find one of the cards. Tori carefully places it in her wallet.
“You tell her I’m planning to come. She has a duet this time, right?”
