The Birthing House Page 14

The afternoon gave way to dusk and she had not come back. He flipped through a couple of Jo’s house magazines and debated the wiser of two options - go back to the Grums’ and try to get her to open up on her home turf, or call his wife - until he drifted off. He was just about to slide over the cliff when someone started knocking on the door, pounding like they’d been there a while.

  When he opened it, Nadia was headed back across the porch.

  ‘Hey, I’m home. Sorry.’

  She turned around slowly, clearly disappointed she had not been able to sneak away.

  ‘Sorry. I nodded off. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,’ he said, leaving the door open.

  ‘I need the money.’ She followed him inside.

  ‘Have you eaten dinner?’

  ‘No. I’m starving.’

  He was sensing a pattern. ‘What are you in the mood for?’

  ‘Something with cheese. I’m craving cheese.’

  Dinner was a frozen pepperoni pizza and more iced tea. She said sorry, she got really grouchy when she was this hungry. They ate in silence.

  When she sighed and leaned back in her chair, Conrad said, ‘Better?’

  Nadia burped. It was loud and abrupt, a thing she did without embarrassment or excuse. He remembered she was a teenager, or close enough. Before the meal he might have been a piece of furniture. Now that she was sated, she seemed interested in him again.

  ‘How did you meet your wife?’

  ‘Can we maybe talk about the house instead?’

  ‘Who says we’re not?’

  ‘What’s Jo got to do with the house?’

  ‘You came here for a reason. I figured she was half the reason.’

  He walked around and poured them each another glass of iced tea. Nadia was gulping the stuff down as fast as he was, and they were a little wired from it. Good - maybe it would keep her talking.

  He set the pitcher between them. ‘How’s that one go - oh yeah. It’s never a good thing when the new woman asks you about the last woman.’

  She gulped, dribbling on her chin. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Something I read.’

  ‘I’m not the new anything.’

  ‘I know.’

  She glared at him.

  ‘Nadia, relax. I know.’

  ‘Good.’ The way she watched him, he reminded himself to watch his words. ‘Was she your first love?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who was your first?’

  Conrad sighed. ‘My high-school sweetheart. That ended badly.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘How about, I still have nightmares about her, and she was twelve years ago.’

  ‘Tsh. Get over it, dude.’

  ‘You’ve never been in love.’ It was a statement, not a question, but she took it as one.

  ‘Nope.’ Without hesitation. ‘What, did you ask my mom about me?’

  ‘No.’ He grinned and looked away.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I saw your, uh, MySpace thing.’

  ‘My wha—oh. Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘I was bored.’

  ‘You’re a total pervert!’

  ‘Nadia, please.’

  ‘Is that what you do when your wife’s away? Surf the web for porn?’

  ‘Porn? Did I miss something on your page?’ He laughed.

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ she said.

  ‘I thought it was nice. I felt like I learned something about you.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘That you’ve never been in love.’

  ‘Creepy . . .’

  ‘So why did you put it up there, then? It’s still called the World Wide Web, isn’t it?’

  ‘One of my friends made me do it. MySpace is so gay.’

  ‘Why haven’t you ever been in love?’

  ‘“In love.” God, you sound like my dad.’

  ‘Hey, I don’t know. What do kids call it these days?’

  ‘I’m not a kid. And they don’t call it anything. Now they just hook up.’

  ‘So why haven’t you ever been in love?’

  ‘You can’t force it.’

  ‘Well, actually you can, but you shouldn’t,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘You asked about my wife . . . no, that’s another long and not very interesting story.’

  ‘Isn’t that what we’re doing? Telling stories?’

  So it was going to be like this. She was not going to open up again until he gave something back. ‘Okay. I guess I was still messed up over Holly. When I met Jo I didn’t really understand how different we were. I was working in customer service at this software company. She was already in sales, making good money. I was sort of floundering after not finishing college. I was just happy someone wanted me. We started sleeping together. She didn’t even want to call it dating at first. Then she got this job offer in Los Angeles, and suddenly it was tearsville, and why didn’t I come with her? I didn’t have much else going on. I was like . . . you know, I just figured this out after we moved here and Jo went away. I’m the housewife.’

  Nadia pushed back her chair and waddled to the couch with the dogs, pulling Alice into her lap while Luther curled at her feet.

  He followed her into the living room with the iced tea and struck a Vanna White pose, the pitcher held up next to his smiling face. ‘See, I’m the housewife.’

  ‘Housewife.’ Nadia shivered a bit dramatically, smiling into her glass as she finished it. He set the pitcher down and sat on the couch opposite her, their bare feet facing each other over the coffee table. ‘Why are you the housewife?’

  ‘This is like the 1950s in reverse. You know, when men went to college to get a degree and women went to college to find a husband. I married a smart woman with ambition. The first one who batted her eyes at me. I don’t even know what she sees in me now. She’s always into her job. She can’t relax. I thought I was doing something great here. Buying this house. We moved here, a month later she’s out the door. I think I’m having a third-life crisis.’

  ‘Third-life crisis?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard that yet? We don’t wait until we’re forty. Now it’s after you’ve lived a third of your life.’

  ‘I’m about to turn twenty - I wonder what I’m having,’ Nadia said, sitting up as if she really wanted know.

  ‘I think you’re having a baby.’

  They both laughed at that.

  ‘Now she’s the one in the big scary business world. What do I do? I cook, clean, ask her about her day. I sulk. My father left me some money, which can only make things worse. I could join the PTA at this point, but I don’t have kids. Maybe I was meant to be the stay-at-home dad.’

  ‘Would you really want to?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘Most guys around here just wouldn’t.’

  Conrad drank more tea.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ve got nine Boelen’s eggs in my garage.’

  ‘Did you talk to your friend at the zoo?’

  ‘He doesn’t believe me.’

  ‘There must be an explanation, right?’

  Was she being coy, or was he really that far off base?

  ‘Nadia.’ He waited for her to look at him. He drained his glass and spoke very softly. ‘Who’s the father?’

  Her expression was flat. ‘What if there is no father?’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘What if it was a miracle, like your snake eggs?’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Please.’ She got to her feet and walked to the door.

  He followed her. ‘Wait, come on. You can’t just drop that on me.’

  She stopped and faced him. ‘Do you really believe it’s haunted?’

  If she was messing with him, he would seem a fool. If she was testing him, trying to trust him, he needed to tread carefully.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’
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  ‘Maybe I’m just fucking with you. Trying to take your money.’

  ‘You can have my money. All of it.’

  Nadia shook her head. ‘This was a bad idea.’

  ‘What were you doing in the house that day?’

  ‘What day?’

  ‘You were in the upstairs room the day I first toured the house with my realtor.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘You don’t remember bumping into me in the hall?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really? Because the way you looked at me when I was eating dinner at your parents’ house, I thought you recognized me.’

  ‘No, that was the first time I ever saw you.’

  ‘Did something happen in the house? To you?’

  ‘It was a mistake. You wouldn’t understand.’

  He rested one hand on her shoulder. ‘Nadia? Hey. You’re talking to the housewife, remember? I made a mistake. People make mistakes.’

  She kept shaking her head, looking at the wall. He could see she had something to say, but she didn’t want to say it tonight.

  ‘My wife is pregnant,’ he said.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Nadia.’

  ‘Con-rad.’ Sing-songy, avoiding it.

  ‘I’m not the father.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry. For both of you.’ She turned for the door. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘The thing is, Nadia . . .’

  She was on her way out.

  ‘I wish I was.’ His hand fell off her shoulder.

  ‘Good night, Conrad.’

  Fifteen minutes later he was in the office, shutting down the computer and heading for bed when the phone startled him.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey, asshole.’

  ‘Jo?’ Shit! He’d promised to call her.

  ‘No, it’s Nadia.’ Panic and anger in her voice, heavy breathing. ‘And this is so not funny.’

  His antennae went up. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ll call the police, you piece of shit.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Is this a game for you two?’

  ‘Who? What game?’

  ‘Who do you people think you are? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out sooner or later?’

  ‘Nadia, slow down.’ She was nearly hyperventilating. ‘Is someone there? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Fucker. I trusted you!’

  ‘Nadia, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?’

  ‘You’re such a shitty liar. I know she’s there!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your wife!’

  ‘Jo? She’s in Detroit.’

  ‘Oh, really,’ she scoffed.

  ‘Yes, really.’

  A pause on her end, a little hiccup of breath.

  ‘Nadia? What makes you think my wife is here?’

  ‘Your wife’s not home?’

  ‘No, I told you that.’

  ‘Conrad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If your wife’s in Detroit . . .’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Then who is that woman standing at the window, staring at my house?’

  21

  He was in the office. Walking ten paces around the corner would not only give him a view of the library, it would put him in the center of the room. The house was dead quiet.

  ‘Nadia?’ His voice was quieted by extreme force of will. ‘Tell me where you are. What do you see?’

  ‘This is such bullshit.’

  ‘I can’t see. Tell me, please,’ he whispered. The office door was open. If someone were in the library, it would be a short walk around the corner.

  She was still crying, but that seemed to be tapering off some. ‘She’s right there. I can see her in the window. I’m - I’m not doing this!’

  The line disconnected.

  Conrad opened his mouth but the words caught in his throat.

  Count to ten.

  Listen.

  He couldn’t hear anything beyond his own pulse thumping in his ears. He turned toward the open door. He tried to see it before he went to see it. He knew that the library had two windows separating the wall-to-wall bookshelves. The largest window faced the street and was not visible from the Grum residence. The other window faced Nadia’s house.

  Go look. You must go look.

  Where are the dogs?

  She must be mistaken. What could she see that would look like a woman?

  He had neither the courage to move nor wait in here all night. It occurred to him, too, that if there was someone here and she did come for him, he would be trapped in the office.

  He pressed *69, wincing at the beep of each key. The phone rang three times.

  ‘What?’ She was annoyed.

  He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Nadia, wait. I’m stuck in the office. Help me.’

  ‘Was she listening to us the whole time? Were you hoping to drag me into some sick game between the two of you?’ Nadia sniffed and blew her nose.

  Her insistence turned his bowels to water.

  ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘I can see her shape right now. She’s tall, with long, dark hair. She’s wearing a black dress or long coat.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, now!’

  ‘Wait, this is important. Don’t hang up.’

  ‘Conrad, is that your wife? That’s your wife, right? I won’t tell anybody. I don’t even know why you’re doing this. Just tell me that’s your wife.’

  He could no longer speak. The line went dead. He closed his eyes, letting his imagination play a cruel game with his mind. The game was called, Which One of These Things Is More Frightening Than The Other? The idea that there was an honest to God ghost in his house, right now, and he was about to see her, his sepia-toned woman sneering from the photo? Or that his wife was home? That Jo had been here all night, watching them?

  No, not Jo. It couldn’t be Jo. He’d just talked to her earlier today - no, that was yesterday. She could be here. But she wouldn’t.

  He imagined the other turning away from the window, the one he’d seen in the yard, her scratchy black dress heavy upon her shoulders and wide hips, lurching toward the garage where the eggs - and the babies, the buried babies, too - were hidden where the cross used to be. She was pregnant. She had the same dark hair and height and posture as Jo. Her mouth a slanted line with graying lips, her nose - no, she didn’t have a nose. The woman bucking on the table didn’t have eyes or a nose or anything above the mouth. Would her hair be coarse like the mane of a horse? Like the doll’s? He could almost hear her black boots scrape against the wooden floor and—

  And then not seeing was worse than seeing, and he moved. The steps to the doorway were slow and enormous, but he made them, turning ninety degrees into the hall, peering into the library, until only the front half was visible. The front window. The shelves of books.

  He felt her. Her presence in the room like a scratchy wool blanket draped over his shivering cold body. He could feel her in the room as surely as if she were standing behind him breathing on his neck. He knew this as fact, and now he absolutely had to go all the way.

  He took three quick steps, the floorboards creaking as he entered the library. The blood pounded up through him, threatening to blot his vision as it had in the room with the dogs, and he held the phone out to ward off whatever was coming for him. He blinked rapidly, willing the red and black dots clouding his vision to go away.

  She was upon him.

  She was—

  The library was empty.

  He was blinking, his heart stuck in an elevator ten stories below its natural position. He smelled cloves and something earthen, a sweet spice in the air, but after a few deep breaths that was gone, too.

  ‘She’s not my wife,’ he said to the room. ‘She’s someone else. Someone lost.’

  Gone. She was gone. It felt wrong, a let-down. He had been hoping for a confirmation, even if it drove him mad. At least he would have known.
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br />   He walked to the window, where Nadia claimed to have seen her. He wanted to deny her space, blot her out. He pulled aside the flimsy silk curtain and looked out to the Grums’.

  A bedroom window, lights off.

  He almost dialed her again, but what would be the point? He would only wind up scaring her worse than he already had. They’d been talking about Jo. Bad things in the house. Scary stories that were bound to have an effect on a girl in her condition.

  ‘Luther! Alice!’ His voice was hoarse, but he heard the whump-ump-ump-ump as the dogs unloaded from the couch and came trotting to the front stairs and the softer padding as they ran up the deep pile carpet runner to greet him, and for a second he was certain it would not be them, it would be her, come back to finish him.

  But it was only the dogs. He bent to pet them, to reassure them and himself. When he stood upright he was face to face with the window, and in its reflection, as if superimposed over his face, a pale woman with black hair stared back at him.

  He had been wrong about her face, so very wrong because she had no face before, in the room a few nights ago, but now it seemed, yes, even now her face seemed to be forming itself into something very old and something new. The flat, fish-belly white patch under her hair wrinkled and contorted as he heard the swish of her black dress fanning out behind him. Cool air pulled all around him and her starved ovoid visage filled the glass in jarring increments like a poorly edited film. He glimpsed a line of black stubble high on her head where her brow was filling in even as her stilted footsteps drummed across the floor and she fell upon him, her cold calloused hands wrapping around his neck.

  22

  Conrad, Luther and Alice slept on the high-school football field three blocks away.

  When he had felt her cold hands closing around his neck, he’d screamed like a child and fled the house. The dogs had gone nape-hair wild and barking after him. When they reached the field, the dogs ran in wide circles - it was playtime for them. He’d fallen to the grass and thought about what was ruined now - their fresh start, the new life. Maybe that had all been a false hope, perhaps it was never meant to be.

  The sky was so much clearer here than in Los Angeles. Without the smog he could see all the constellations he did not know the names of. He knew that Jo was sleeping now, in Michigan. What he had seen in the house could not be his wife. A ghost, an echo, a reflection. Whatever she was, he had seen the impossible and it sickened him to think she was in the house, had maybe been there all along.