by L. G. McCary
“You call yourself a Christian?” I scream at him. He’s limping behind me. I push over the antique hall table behind me as I round the corner into the hall. The effort sends me crumpling to the floor on my bad leg. I hear him scraping across the floor. I try to crawl away, still watching the doorway to the living room. If I can just get outside, I can make it to my car.
He stands over the table, eyes wide. There is blood trickling down his face from his hair, and his cheek is red and puffy. He leans one arm against the doorway.
“Like anyone would believe you. Look at you.” He spits blood on the table and coughs. “They all think you’re crazy. Everyone.”
He leers at me, smiling despite the cut on his lip.
“Poor Charlotte. She’s so anxious. So protective. So paranoid,” he says with a low chuckle. “I guess she finally snapped. She lost her mind. Rylie running away was too much.”
I keep the knife pointed at him and push myself away with my other hand.
“Tori will tell them, you know,” he says. “She’ll tell them how you’re broken. How pathetic you are. How you’ve been hiding panic attacks.”
My throat closes.
“She’ll tell them your pathetic, delusional mind blamed me, and that it breaks her heart to see you so broken.”
“Shut up!”
“And they’ll lock you up, Charlotte! They’ll lock you up and drug you so high you can’t see straight.”
“Shut up!”
“Because that’s what they do to crazy people, right? Poor, crazy Charlotte! We all knew she’d have a breakdown!” he yells, stepping over the table and picking up something off the floor.
It’s the bat.
I fight against the pain to crawl toward the front door, still holding the knife. It’s mere feet, but it seems like a mile.
“If I go down, I’m taking you down with me,” Greg says, spitting blood on the rug. “Self defense,” he says, his voice as dark as tar.
I claw away from him, ducking and scrambling until my leg gives way underneath me. Blood drips off his chin as he raises the bat over my legs.
The door flies open.
“Drop it! Get down on the ground!”
A black figure is standing in the doorway, and I see others outside. For a moment, time freezes as I look down the barrel of a gun. The ice hits me again, and the Other Me bounds through the hallway ahead of me. I watch Her hug an invisible Tori for a second and flee into the sunshine. Then I see the gun again. I drop the knife on the floor and slowly kneel.
“Get down on the ground right now, man!”
I hear Greg saying something behind me and a heavy noise of something hitting the floor.
“Ma’am, come over behind me. Can you come over here?”
I realize that he’s talking to me. I scramble toward the door on my knees and behind him, out into the sunshine.
“Mom! Mom!” Rylie is across the street in a police car.
“Charlotte!” David runs to me and picks me up, nearly knocking the breath out of me. “Are you crazy? He could have killed you!”
“I had to get her,” I say, my voice breaking. I lean on his chest and weep. “Is she okay?”
“Ma’am, let me help you away from the house, please,” a police officer says. He and David practically carry me across the lawn to the police car on the other side.
A tall, imposing officer is standing guard next to Rylie, offering her water. The older couple who lives across the street is standing on their front lawn. The wife is crying. My leg is on fire, but I drag myself to Rylie.
Another police officer rushes to help me across the street. “We have backup coming right now, ma’am, and the ambulance is around the corner.”
“Can we help?” The neighbor asks the officer.
“We’ll take your statement in a moment.”
I kneel in front of Rylie and kiss her poor bloodied feet. She puts her head on my shoulder and cries. The pain in my leg is unbearable, but I have to hold my baby. David sits next to us, tears streaming down his face.
“Mom, I want to go home,” Rylie says. Her chest shudders against mine. I will never let my daughter go again. Never.
An ambulance siren screams and then dies as it reaches our street. They pull up in front of the police car and two paramedics jump out.
“Please, he hurt my daughter.” I show them Rylie’s feet.
“We’ll help you, honey,” the woman says to Rylie. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I hit my head,” Rylie says. “I fell when I tried to get out of the chair and hit my head.”
I try to follow the paramedics as they carry Rylie to the ambulance, but the injury in my leg is too painful.
“Ma’am, let us get your daughter to the ambulance, and I’ll help you next,” the paramedic says.
My body aches in every joint and my throat is dry as if I’d finished a marathon without a single drink of water. The first paramedic carefully snaps a brace around Rylie’s neck while the other one helps me get into the ambulance and straps my leg into a splint.
I’m deflating like a balloon. Normally I’d be shrinking into a puddle of embarrassment, knowing the neighbors are watching. Let them look. Let them see what kind of monster they lived next to.
“Sir, you’ll have to meet us at the hospital,” the paramedic tells David. He gives him directions to the hospital. David kisses us both and steps out of the ambulance.
“I will see you at the hospital,” he says. “And Nana will be there with me, Rylie.” The doors close, and Rylie covers her face with her arm and sobs as the ambulance flies down the road.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she says. “I was mad. Stupid Hannah was mean, and Liana was mean, and I went outside so I wouldn’t cry. And he grabbed me. He grabbed me and put me in the car.”
She shudders and can’t seem to breathe for a moment.
“My poor girl!”
“He said I ruined his life.”
“He ruined his own life, Rylie. He did everything to himself. You had nothing to do with it.”
“Mom, what happened to Aunt Tori? The house was so messed up.”
I remember the holes in the walls and shudder.
“Did he hurt her?”
“I don’t know, baby.”
“Mommy,” Rylie falters. “What if I can’t dance anymore? My feet hurt so much.”
I squeeze her hand and kiss her on the forehead.
“You will dance,” I tell Rylie fiercely. “I promise, you will dance. We’ll get the best people in the world to fix everything. I promise.” I kiss her hand and look up at the paramedic. “This girl is one of the most amazing ballerinas you’ve ever seen.”
“That’s wonderful, honey. I love ballet.”
The paramedic gets Rylie talking about ballet and her favorite music, winking at me when Rylie’s not looking.
As the adrenaline wears off, I realize the full destruction I saw in Tori and Greg’s house. How much of her redecorating was to cover up damage? Did she come home every week from church, worrying that the Sunday school teacher had made him angry? I used to admire her style that seemed straight from the pages of a magazine, but I can’t unsee the holes in the walls and the torn chair.
A few years ago, when she started wearing her hair up all the time, did he make her do that? Did he make her change her clothing too? A horrifying thought tears through me: what if he was hitting Tori, and not just the walls?
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I tell the EMT. She grabs a blue bag and makes me hold it over my mouth.
Tori and I became friends in Darren’s office, bonding over brokenness, but she never let me see hers.
Forty-Six
Another doctor visit down. I slump onto our couch and put my leg up on the opposite arm as David carries Rylie into her bedroom to rest. My mother-in-law is in the kitchen making lunch. She almost lives with us now. The small, partial fracture in my fibula still aches even though it has healed. Hopefully, once I get the boot o
ff tomorrow I will be more useful.
I’ve lost count of how many hours we’ve spent in doctor’s offices over the last six weeks. We’ve seen surgeons, specialists, physical therapists, and sports medicine doctors.
Or rather, David has seen them. He handled everything for the first few weeks until my doctor cleared me for more activity. Even today, I was playing catch-up to understand the sports medicine specialist that David and Rylie know all too well.
It was so hard to let him do everything. I felt like a failure, stuck at home for weeks. I still feel guilty about resting when I should be packing boxes.
“So she’ll dance again?” Nana says from the kitchen doorway.
“Her toes are healing, and her arch looks great,” I answer. “All the important tendons and ligaments are fine. He failed.”
The thought gives me grim comfort. Greg thought he could punish Tori by making sure Rylie couldn’t dance anymore, but he only succeeded in giving her ugly bruises and sprains and breaking two of her toes. I stopped him before he hurt her ankles or legs.
“When is the grand jury thing?” Nana asks me.
“They finally gave him a public defender, so soon, hopefully,” I answer. I had no idea how slowly the justice system moves. We’ve had dozens of meetings with the police department and various investigators, as well as the prosecutor.
I still can’t understand why he hurt my daughter. Based on what the police have told us, he was stalking the church, looking for Tori at the lock-in and grabbed Rylie instead. I’ve heard him called a nutcase, a narcissist, and a half dozen other names I can’t repeat. But I just think of him as the dictionary definition of “miserable failure.”
I survey the front room from my seat on the couch. It’s lined with boxes in a semi-organized jumble. I still need to pack my sewing machine and supplies. I wonder if I’ll have to alter Rylie’s costumes in Colorado myself or if they’ll have someone to do that. Hopefully, Rylie will be up for the surprise going-away party at her dance studio tonight. Colleen cried when I let her know we were moving.
David walks into the living room, reading from his phone. “Casey says Jerry might step down from the youth ministry.”
“Really?” I don’t know how to feel. “Do you think he should?”
David clenches his jaw and says nothing, heading into the kitchen to talk to his mom. He’s still furious with Jerry and blames him for what happened. I’m not as angry. I hold Jerry responsible for Rylie being missed, but I don’t blame him for what Greg did. Jerry has to be held accountable, but I don’t know that he deserves to lose his job.
I don’t know what justice would be for Jerry or any of the volunteers who weren’t paying attention when she slipped out the side door. I think their guilt is probably more than enough punishment.
Pastor Ryan has been to visit several times along with Darren. We haven’t gone back in person, and I have stayed away from the phone as much as possible. David and I both have had to field calls from people we barely know, asking about Rylie.
A lady I have seen in service but never actually met accused me of slandering Greg and told me I needed to repent for the good of the school. I was about to drive to the hospital for Rylie’s second surgery, so I hung up and blocked her number. I don’t think I’ll ever answer calls from unknown numbers again.
“We have barbecue left if you want some, Charlotte,” my mother-in-law says from the kitchen. I shake my head. That barbecue came from Renee. She begged to bring us dinner until I finally gave in. I remember following her to the kitchen in awkward silence. I still can’t wrap my mind around our conversation.
“I’m sorry,” she told me as she arranged the pans and boxes on the kitchen counter. “I’m just so sorry, Charlotte.” She put a bottle of my favorite lemonade iced tea in the refrigerator and folded the bag for the food into her purse. “I have a problem. I don’t even know what to say, but I’m sorry. I’ve said things about you and Tori...”
“I know.”
“I feel horrible, Charlotte. I’m so stupid.” She stood against the kitchen counter. “Please forgive me. I should never have talked about you. Or Tori. Or anyone.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Grace said something to me about it, but I didn’t listen.” She wiped away tears and took a deep breath. “When I heard Rylie was in the hospital...” She bit her tongue and tried again. “I heard that he hurt Tori.”
As I watch the wind in the trees from my comfy seat on our couch, that’s the moment I keep going back to. I have thought of a hundred things I could have said. I could have yelled at her. I could have kicked her out of my house and told her it was too late.
But I just waited until she realized it herself.
“I’m doing it again, right now, aren’t I?” she said. She covered her mouth with one hand. “Casey said I’m the worst gossip he knows. I guess you probably agree with him.”
“Yes, I do,” I said. I expected arguments and excuses, but she only cried.
“Please forgive me. I’m going to stop,” she said, unable to meet my eyes. “Grace is going to keep me accountable. I hate myself so much.”
I told her I forgave her, but I don’t know if I can trust Renee again for a long time. Maybe never. I believe her apology even if David doesn’t. I believe her when she says she wants to change. But since we’re moving, she doesn’t have much chance to repair the damage she’s done.
Darren said something to me in counseling about forgiveness and reconciliation being different things. Morgan told me that Renee isn’t talking to Yvonne as much and has been apologizing to other people. That gives me some hope.
I could take a nap, but I need to be productive. I still haven’t touched my studio since I wrecked it. Nana has asked to clean it. My parents also tried to help when they visited, but I told them it was my mess to deal with. I hoist myself off the couch and wander over to the studio to survey the damage.
The Enterprise painting is undamaged except for a small nick on the lower-left corner. I pick at the cracked acrylic paint for a moment before gently hanging the painting back on the wall. I can almost smell the plastic smell of burning acrylic and shudder.
I clear a spot in the center of the studio so I can sit and sort everything into three piles: one for undamaged, one for damaged but repairable, and one for trash. The sorting process makes my heart ache. Some of these were pretty good.
A hand on my shoulder startles me. “Brought you the trash can,” David says, sliding the plastic bin next to me.
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” he asks.
“I need to do it myself.”
“Okay. The Enterprise is okay?”
“Easy repair,” I say, pointing to the cracked corner.
“Good. I want to hang it in my new office.”
“I might be able to fix it before we move.” I stuff the pile of ruined paintings in the trashcan. “Just need the energy.”
“No rush. We’ll make sure you have somewhere to paint in Denver.” He kneels on the ground next to me and puts an arm over my shoulders. I lean my head against his as we sit in the sun. “You seem...better,” he says quietly.
“I hope so.” I shiver and see another Charlotte, shimmering like a mirage next to me, painting the Enterprise. Was it a year ago? Two? My hair was still long then.
“Can I ask you something?” David asks. “What changed? Everything fell apart, but you’re different.”
The Other Me fades.
“David, would you think I’m crazy if I told you...” I hesitate. How do I say what has been following me for so long? “I have been seeing glimpses of memories. All these small moments that I’d forgotten. Mistakes I made.” I take a deep breath. “With you and Rylie.”
“Me too,” David says. “I was actually thinking about that stupid peacock costume.”
I shiver and roll my eyes. I don’t stand up to look, but I know the Other Me is in the living room, putting moleskin on the i
tchy places.
“That was a dumb costume. You were right,” I start to explain. “But that’s not…”
“That’s not what I was thinking about,” he says.
I pull away from his shoulder and look at him. He has tears in his eyes.
“I was thinking about how she said she was a bad kid,” David says. “Because of her grades.”
I’d forgotten about that. He sniffs and shifts his legs beneath him.
“Her grades got better after that,” I say, patting his arm. “It all got better.”
“But she almost quit dancing.”
“No, she didn’t. She did great.”
“She asked me if she could quit the night before that recital.”
My mind trips over the sentence like uneven stairs. “You never told me that.”
“No, because I told her I wouldn’t let her.” He breathes in and drops his arm off my shoulder, folding his hands in his lap. His dark hair obscures his eyes, but I know he’s crying. “She said that she didn’t want to make us fight anymore.”
I grab his hand. “Poor Rylie.”
“I told her that I wanted her to dance. I wanted to see her be brave and do her whole recital.”
This breaks my heart all over again. I was so cruel to him after that performance. No wonder he was so hurt.
“I was so mean,” I say.
“You were right, though. I was hard on her. I should have let her be a kid.”
He shifts against the wall and kisses my knuckles. “I never told you that I went to see Darren a few times, too.”
I don’t think it is possible for me to be more shocked than I am right now. I shake my head and clear my throat. “When was this?”
“After we said we were one and done,” he said. “I probably should have kept going longer. I knew I had to change things.”
How could I see things so completely wrong? He has been trying so hard to break down the wall between us, and I’ve been building it higher. My heart hurts too much to let me speak.
