by L. G. McCary
“Why don’t we? Right now.” David takes my hand and bows his head. “Father...”
I don’t listen. I nod my head once in a while to keep him from noticing. Shutting my eyes helps, though. My head clears. I can pretend to be alone again.
David finishes his prayer, and I mutter an “Amen.”
He tucks the soft throw over my shoulders. “Now, take a nap,” he says. “Rylie knows she can call you to come get her anytime. Can you manage without me?”
“I’ll be okay,” I say, wiping my eyes.
“I’ll be back after midnight Friday night.”
“Okay. I’ll be up. Rylie is going to the lock-in with Ellie.”
“Call me if you need me to come home early, Charlie. Mom can come over tonight if you need her.” I would rather die than let my mother-in-law see me like this.
“I’ll be fine.” If the room stays empty after he leaves, I will have told him the truth. “Love you.”
For a few moments after he leaves, I’m truly alone. I listen to the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway and look over the list of names Morgan sent again. I could clean the kitchen. I could paint. I could vacuum the living room. I want to get up and move, but everything feels pointless. The feeling weighs me down until I wonder if I will smother myself in our mattress.
I finally sit up and watch the blurry figure rummaging in the closet. She’s looking for shoes. I can tell by the way her hands are moving. She fades away as she sits on the end of the bed. The clock tells me I’ve been in bed for hours, but there are still hours left before Rylie gets home.
Maybe if I get out of the house, I can breathe. I felt a little more normal when we dropped Rylie off this morning. But where can I go?
The lake. At least there I should be able to get away from the others. I’ve never seen them there. It looks chilly outside. My black hoodie jacket smells like lavender from the closet sachet.
The drive is so familiar that I’m barely aware of it. The live oak tree near the shore is finally losing the last of its leaves. I used to wonder if the tree was sick, but that’s its natural pattern. When everything else is green and growing, it stands stark and gray in the spring wind with nothing to lose.
The swift breeze off the lake bites my cheeks and ears and whips my hair into my eyes. I sink against the trunk into the hollow space where I usually sit with Rylie.
I don’t know how long I cry into the sleeves of my jacket, but when I look up, a gull is flying overhead. It glides in place on the wind, white wings spread wide to catch the cold gusts.
My phone buzzes with a text message from David.
First flight was fine. Hope you had a good nap.
I follow the path back to my car. It’s the lone one in the lot. The unusual chill in the air has driven all the runners to the gym.
It’s a short drive to the school where I pull into the pickup lane. I see Rylie on the stairs, and wave. She runs to the car, jumps in the back seat, and slams the car door. She usually sits in front with me, but she won’t even look at me now. She throws her backpack on the floor, and I hear her seatbelt click. My heart pounds in my ears as I think about the text message from Morgan. I know why she slammed that door, but she needs to know she can’t do it again.
“Rylie, please don’t slam doors,” I say, turning the car onto the street toward home.
“Leave me alone!” she says, burying her face in the door.
“You’re being very disrespectful. Take a minute and calm down,” I say.
“It’s all your fault! They all hate me because you made this a big thing,” she says, hugging herself low in the seat.
“What are you talking about?”
“Everyone says I set him up because you wanted him fired!” Rylie says, her voice rising.
The words knock me speechless. Morgan didn’t tell me this part. I blow out a slow breath, trying to think straight.
“You made them, didn’t you?”
“They were going to fire him anyway, Rylie.” The words are gravel in my mouth. “Mrs. Lewis—”
“You told her she had to, didn’t you?”
“He needed to be fired!” I say.
“I hate you! I’m quitting that school forever. Forever!”
My insides curdle and shake.
If Greg had screamed at Hannah or one of Hannah’s friends, he would have been the pariah of the whole school. Instead, they’re pouncing on Rylie, using the incident as an excuse.
The sound of Rylie crying in the back seat tears holes through me until I am sure I will throw up. I want to strangle Hannah right now. But I have to be a mom.
“Rylie, I am not the enemy,” I say, looking at her in my rearview mirror. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”
She turns, and the look she gives me cuts my heart into pieces.
“Why didn’t you do it sooner?”
Thirty-Nine
“You’re wearing it!” Rylie says with a huge smile as she gets in the car. The silk of the blue blouse is like sandpaper against my skin, but I’m wearing it. It’s a peace offering after the long argument in the car yesterday that continued into the house and back out to dance class. I hate this shirt, but I need Rylie to know I’m on her side. I am so glad the school week is over.
“Of course I’m wearing it,” I say. “It’s beautiful.” I will wear it even if I would rather wear a shirt made of barbed wire.
“It looks so good with your eyes, Mom.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” I say. The words are sour in my mouth. “You have good taste. Was today any better?”
Her expression wilts, and she sinks into the seat.
“I hate this stupid school,” she says.
“You don’t have much longer. Just a few more weeks. I talked to Mrs. Lewis after I dropped you off, and she’s trying to help.”
“Mom, I’m really sorry,” Rylie says suddenly. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. This whole thing is stupid.”
“I forgive you,” I say. “I need you to know that I’m trying to make it easier for you, sweetie, not harder.”
“I know,” she says. “Nothing will fix it.”
“Maybe not. But he has to have consequences. You get grounded. Adults get fired.”
“Jared said if Mr. Butler didn’t get fired, his mom was going to pull him out of school,” Rylie says, a smug smile creeping into the corners of her mouth.
“Jared? Is he the one with blond curly hair?”
“Yeah. Mr. Butler said his hair was too long like every week, so he hates him, too,” Rylie says. “I like his hair. It’s cool.”
“Me too. He reminds me of a boy I liked when I was your age.”
“Mom…” she groans, and I can see her ears are turning red.
I change the subject so she won’t be too embarrassed. “Are you ready for pointe prep?”
She chatters about ballet the whole way home, grateful for something to talk about that isn’t school or boys. My phone buzzes with a text message.
“That’s probably Ellie,” I say.
Rylie picks up the phone and answers the message. “You know…” she says with a sneaky tone in her voice. “If I had my own phone, I wouldn’t have to borrow yours all the time.”
“Thirteen, punk. One more year.”
“I’m just saying, Mom. It would be convenient!” she says, throwing her hands up with mock innocence.
“Thirteen!” I say with a laugh. I can’t fault her for trying.
We pull into the garage as she finishes texting Ellie about picking her up for the lock-in. “Hey,” I say, grabbing her hand before she can rush out of the car. I wait until she looks me in the eye. “I love you, Rylie.”
“Love you, too.” She leans her head on my shoulder and hugs me awkwardly over the center console. I bite my lower lip so I won’t cry.
My phone buzzes again. It’s David this time.
Headed to the airport. Last interview was easy.
“Are we going to move?” Rylie asks, looking ov
er my shoulder.
“We don’t know yet. We’ll see,” I say, putting my phone away. “Better go get your chores done before Ellie gets here.”
Rylie races into the house, but I can barely trudge. I know as soon as I step inside, I’ll be surrounded. I take a deep breath and step into the laundry room.
Immediately, I see Her in the kitchen. The Other Charlotte is frantic. She paces next to the counter, tears streaming down Her face. I know that look. My heart pounds in my chest. What does She see? I see Her hands frantically moving. I think She is trying to write something. She holds her hands up as if there is something between them, but I see empty air. I look away, only to see another Her standing on the other side of the counter weeping. There are a half dozen in the kitchen. I can’t even count how many are in the living room. They are all solid as I am.
One ghost shoves an invisible something in my face now. I close my eyes to get my bearings and when I open them, She is kneeling on the floor, weeping. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, and for the first time, I can read Her lips.
“Don’t let her go!”
Don’t let who go? And where? I bite back my terror and pray Rylie doesn’t walk in on me looking at something that no one else can see. She has been through so much this last week. Rylie doesn’t need my fears on top of it all.
The Other Charlotte continues begging me. She mouths, “Please! Don’t let her go!” over and over and over.
I finally force myself to mouth, “Who?”
She points to Rylie’s room.
The lock-in. She doesn’t want me to let Rylie go to the lock-in.
The room becomes a whirlwind of screaming ghosts. My stomach turns, and I run to my room. I heave into the toilet and gag again on the taste of bile. The room is spinning. They haven’t followed me yet. I stare at the white porcelain and try to block out the pounding behind my eyes and the nausea that makes my insides churn.
“Mom?” Rylie calls from her room.
I want to reassure her, but I don’t have a voice. I can’t let her see me like this.
“Mom, where are you?”
I can’t move without my stomach wrenching, so I sit paralyzed on the bathroom floor. I wish I hadn’t turned on the bathroom light. I hear Her in my room. She’s going to find me.
“Where’d you go?” She steps into the bathroom and stumbles on the rug. “Mom! Are you okay?”
She leans down but jerks back when she sees the toilet.
“Oh no, Mom! I’ll get a towel.” She raids the bathroom closet and hands me one of my older ragged washcloths. “Should I call Dad?” she asks. Her voice is tiny and afraid.
“No, sweetie. I...I got sick.”
“Do you want some water or something?”
“Yes, please.”
She rushes out of the room. I can’t hold back the tears any longer. It hits me like an avalanche. The room is empty, but somehow that’s even worse. I can’t stop crying. Rylie reappears and hands me a blue plastic cup full of ice water.
“I’m sorry, honey. Sometimes I get vertigo.”
“What’s that?”
“It means I get dizzy and nauseated,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I’ll feel better in a little bit. Go ahead and finish your chores, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t call Dad?”
“He can’t do anything, honey. He’s about to fly home.”
“Oh.” Her brown ponytail bobs as she nods, but her eyes won’t leave mine. “I could call Nana?”
“I’m okay. It’s getting better. Thank you for the water.”
She leaves reluctantly after I promise her half a dozen times that I will be fine. Thank goodness that Ellie is willing to drive her to and from the lock-in. I don’t know if I can move.
I watch the minutes tick by on the bathroom clock. Rylie comes in to check on me several times. Finally she sits on the floor next to me and won’t leave.
“Mom, are you sure I shouldn’t call Nana?”
“I’m feeling better, I promise,” I sit up and sip my ice water.
“When does Dad get home?”
“This evening.”
“Okay.” She gently hugs me. I must look terrible. I avoid the mirror as I stand up. She seems convinced that I’m okay, so I walk back through the house filled with Other Charlottes.
She is everywhere. It’s like walking through one of those mirror mazes in a haunted house, except the reflections have a mind of their own. The laundry room is empty. My head is still spinning, but the slow, methodical chore of moving laundry from dryer to laundry basket, washer to dryer, dirty clothes to washer, grounds me. I will be ok. I will.
“Mom?”
I follow the sound of Rylie’s voice, trying not to pay attention to the Other Mes following me in fits and starts.
“Yes?”
“How does this look?” She wears a bright pink T-shirt with a black tank underneath and black skinny jeans. She holds up a black leather boot and a black tennis shoe. “Should I wear the boots or the Converse?”
“Probably Converse. You’ll be playing games, right?”
“Yeah.” She tosses the boot onto the wild mess on the floor of her closet and laces up the tennis shoes. I freeze in the doorway as the other me sits down on the beanbag next to her.
“Sweetheart, are you sure you want to go tonight?”
Rylie looks up at me, her face a mix of anger and worry.
“You don’t want me to?” It’s not a question about the party. I’m suddenly furious at the other me. This is the last straw. I will not hurt my daughter any more. I will not let her do this to us.
“Of course I do!” How do I explain this to her? “I was just thinking...” She didn’t know I heard about Liana, and I wasn’t going to tell her unless she told me first. Rylie looks me straight in the eye, waiting. “I know you’ll be with Ellie, but Hannah and Liana will be there, too.”
She frowns.
“Stupid Missile.”
Ah. Liana’s old nickname. Rylie only uses it when she wants to embarrass her. I lean against the doorway of her room.
“She’s a big fat liar about everything anyway. I don’t need her. I don’t need any of them. I’ll hang out with Ellie and the other juniors.”
But I can see in my daughter’s eyes that their words wounded deeper than any knife. What those girls said to her has burrowed its way into the deepest part of her heart. She is hurt and angry, but she hates showing weakness. She knows weakness gets you picked on even more. I wish she didn’t have to know that.
“Liana is weak, honey. She’ll regret how she’s treated you someday.”
“She’s stupid.” She laces up the black Converse tennis shoes with a furrowed brow and quick angry movements.
I want to wrap her up in a hug and make those girls vanish in a puff of smoke. The hurt in Rylie’s eyes stirs up a rabid anger in me that scares me. She sits back in her beanbag chair and the Other Charlotte vanishes like a blown-out candle. Suddenly I don’t care about being the mature adult anymore.
“I wish I could hurt them as much as they hurt you, Rylie. Those girls are horrible. Hannah is horrible! It makes me so mad I could scream.” Her eyes go wide, and she turns back to me.
“Mom!”
“I won’t do anything. That’s not what I mean.” My voice is small and tight. “It would be pointless to do anything. But I still wish I could.” There is venom in my words that stings even me. Rylie rubs her temples with her fingers.
“They didn’t like Mr. Greg,” she says. “He was always getting everybody in trouble at school. But now they all hate me!” She grits her teeth against her tears. “You know Hannah makes fun of Mr. Greg at church all the time. All the time, Mom! But I didn’t.”
She cuts herself off and frowns. I know why. Because she loves Aunt Tori and wouldn’t want her to be mad.
“It’s all stupid,” she says. She pulls her knees up and buries her chin in her lap. “
Hannah does all this mean stuff. And no one cares.”
All the answers are things I can’t say. That she’s beautiful and talented and intimidating. That she makes them feel less important even though that’s never been her intention. Rylie is something they can’t categorize because she’s so mature but still so young. Young women yearning for adulthood are afraid of things they can’t categorize. Adults are, too.
“They’re afraid to think for themselves,” I hear myself whisper. I sit next to her on the bed and pat her hand gently. I realize she isn’t pulling away like she usually does. “That’s why. They don’t like themselves.”
“I don’t like them either,” she mutters without a hint of irony.
I snort a laugh and sigh.
“I’m supposed to tell you that it will all get better when you're older, but it doesn’t,” I say, thinking of Renee whispering prayer requests behind my back and Yvonne’s backhanded compliments in Sunday school week after week. I wonder if Rylie has heard things from Liana over the years. I hope not.
“Hannah’s mom is stupid. That’s why Hannah is stupid,” Rylie says. She does know. She leans over and hugs me. The tears fall silently down my cheeks. I sense another Charlotte standing in the doorway to Rylie’s room, but I ignore Her.
This moment is crisp and bright against the darkness of everything I’ve been hiding for years. My fear tears at the edges, pushing against razor-sharp corners and leaking out in thin slivers. Rylie shudders on my shoulder, and I pull her tighter.
“Don’t ruin your mascara, sweetie,” I whisper. I don’t want to make her stop. I’m crying, too, but I know that tears will make her even more vulnerable. She looks up, black already smeared under her eyes.
“Can I borrow your makeup remover?” she sniffs. “Mine doesn’t work.”
“Of course.” But I don’t move. I kiss the top of her head and hold her because I know this moment will not last. The Other Charlotte is collapsed on the floor in front of us, sobbing and hitting the carpet with a bruised palm.
“At least Ellie still likes me,” Rylie whispers.
