The Birthing House Read online

  He waited in the bedroom for her to finish her . . . bath. He sat on the bed and tried to figure when, exactly, she had come home. At first he had assumed she arrived an hour or so ago, come in, fed the dogs, then gone straight to the tub. But that just didn’t feel right.

  The bath drained and the shower started. The dogs waited for their mistress outside the door, ignoring him as she rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed. He could hear her sobs through the spray. He had never seen her this upset. He knew he was responsible for half of it.

  ‘Where were you?’ she had asked in the tub, in that dead voice, staring at him with colossal disappointment.

  ‘The house. The house is haunted,’ he said.

  She blinked at him. ‘Get out.’

  He stared at her hands. The dried blood under her nails. ‘I don’t understand what—’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  He left her, shaken by the change in her eyes, her body.

  He was sitting on the bed trying to understand what was so different when he felt rather than heard her return. He stood and turned around. She was standing in the doorway, staring at him with that same faraway look on her face.

  ‘Oh, Jo, Baby,’ he said. He walked up and tried to hug her, but she jolted at his touch and blinked furiously.

  ‘I’ve been in hell all week,’ she said, moving away. He saw the bulge of the pad in her panties just before she drew her pajamas up to her waist and let the elastic snap. She pulled back the covers. She hesitated, smelling the sheets.

  ‘I’m sorry. I let the dogs sleep with me. Haven’t changed the bedding since you left.’

  He stood there useless as she stripped the bed and went to the linen closet. While she was away, he replayed that answer in his head - I’ve been in hell all week. Did that mean she had started to miscarry a week ago? Did it really take that long? Or by ‘hell’ did she mean her general state of mind while not being able to reach her husband? Something about the timing felt wrong.

  It’s your wife, Nadia had said. She came home. I need to leave.

  Was it possible Jo had been here?

  No. Not for three days. He’d searched the house.

  But one day earlier? He’d seen someone in the yard.

  Jo came back carrying fresh sheets and Conrad studied her. Something more was off. She was no longer wounded, just tired.

  ‘What?’ she looked confused, suspicious.

  ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t be at the hospital right now?’

  ‘I’ve been to the hospital.’ She moved around him, tucking everything in. ‘You would have known that if you’d answered the phone.’

  ‘I was worried about you. I wanted to help—’

  ‘Help? You’re in no shape to help anyone.’

  ‘But tell me again. When did you come home?’

  ‘After I left the hospital.’

  ‘When did you fly home? Did you rent a car?’

  ‘I . . .’ Her eyes glazed over. She thought about it too long. ‘When I left the hospital.’

  Conrad’s scalp began to crawl. She’s talking like a goddamned robot again.

  ‘What did the doctor say?’

  When he said ‘doctor’ she flinched, and not subtly. He took a step toward the bed.

  ‘Jo? What did the doctor say?’

  She flinched again. She stared at him, unsmiling.

  ‘He wasn’t much of a docca,’ she said.

  ‘A what? Did you say—’

  Jo blinked, rubbed her eyes. ‘Don’t come to bed until you’re clean.’ She looked away, then abruptly crawled into bed and turned off the lamp.

  Conrad could not bring himself to stand there looking at her in the dark.

  But there are few states of mind a hot shower cannot improve, and as the water washed away his stale sweat and he dug into his scalp to clean under his fingernails, a frisson passed from his stomach to his toes, forcing a comical sigh from his mouth. She had been through a miscarriage. She was bound to be a little off kilter. What was important was she was home. There would be a talk. Perhaps a reckoning. She had been through something awful. Like Nadia. But now Nadia was gone and this was better. It was proper.

  But what about the baby? Was it really gone?

  He returned to the bedroom and watched her sleeping, thinking of the first night they had finished unpacking. How he’d been so content, so confident their new life together had finally begun. What if the past six weeks were just an interlude? What if this was the real beginning?

  He sank into the clean sheets, offering a prayer as he slipped into darkness.

  Please don’t take her, too.

  His first thought upon waking was, Mother’s home.

  No. Mother was long gone, and father, too. Jo. Jo was home.

  But not in bed. The smell of frying bacon permeated the entire upper floor, with coffee underneath.

  It was after eleven. He could not remember his last meal. His stomach growled as he pulled his shorts over his underwear. It would be horrible at first, but they would talk through it. They would talk and talk until the air was clear between them and then they would discuss the next steps. Maybe he would look for a job. She could stay home and heal. They could try again. He brushed and rinsed his mouth, dug a tee shirt out of the dryer. He slipped into his brick-red sandals (the ones he would never be able to wear again because they reminded him of the blood) and trotted down the servants’ stairs to join her in the kitchen.

  The bacon was black and smoking in the pan. The kitchen smelled like death and his stomach clenched.

  ‘Jo?’ He kept his voice at a normal pitch and busied himself by shutting off the stove and wiping up the grease spatters all around the pan. She liked her bacon crispy, but this was pushing it. ‘Jo? Where are you, Baby?’

  Predictably, the dogs came running in. He dropped some of the charred stuff into their radar range and they snatched it out the air and swallowed without chewing. He looked out the window over the sink. She wasn’t in the backyard. He saw the garage. What had he seen last night, from the bathroom window? A shadow? A tree bowing to the wind? After finding Jo in the tub, it seemed insignificant. Luther sprang from the floor and shoved Conrad in the back.

  ‘Where is she, huh? Where’s Mommy?’ he said, throwing the dogs more shriveled black carbon. He tossed the pan into the bin. He unhooked the trash bag and carried it to the front door and stopped, the bag swinging in his hand.

  He glanced out the front window. Jo was standing next to the mailbox. Talking to Steve Bartholomew, good ol’ Steve-O. Well well. She stood stiffly with her arms crossed over her chest, hair pulled back. Tee shirt, pink sweat pants, no shoes. Like she went out for the mail and got waylaid by the curious neighbor. The bacon had been burning; she had been out there longer than she had expected.

  Steve-O was doing all the talking and Jo was just staring at him, looking as stiff and tired as she had before bed. Steve-O looked grave, but that might not mean anything. He always looked pissed off unless he was guffawing at his own jokes and pouring wine down his throat. Maybe she’s just tired. Doesn’t mean Steve-O’s giving her a minute-by-minute surveillance report. Steve jerked a thumb toward the Grum house.

  Conrad’s heart stopped and then beat double-time, sending a branch of pain into his shoulder. Gail Grum was with them, standing to Steve-O’s right and slightly behind him. The skin around her eyes was visibly red from twenty-five feet away.

  ‘Here we go.’ The trash bag was slippery in his palm, the plastic sliding through his fingers as he yanked the door open and stepped out.

  All three turned to look at him.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, pacing off the path from the porch to the trash cans on the side of the house.

  ‘Conrad,’ Steve said.

  ‘Morning?’ Gail said, looking sharply at Jo.

  His wife didn’t say anything. She just sort of squint-smiled at him.

  Conrad dropped the trash in and replaced the lid. He stopped halfway up the walk and looked at Jo. ‘Do yo
u want me to shut off the stove, sweetie?’

  She did not respond for half a minute.

  ‘Jo? The bacon?’

  She jumped. ‘Oh, yes, please.’

  Shit, she is a wreck.

  Steve and Gail waited, watching him like they wanted him to go back inside so they could finish their chat.

  He walked across the lawn to join them, completing their square. ‘No word yet from Nadia, huh?’

  ‘No.’ Gail looked worse up close. Her hair was uncombed and her usually gleaming smile had been supplanted by a tight, lip-less grimace.

  ‘This business,’ Steve-O said. ‘It’s not sounding too good, Conrad.’

  Jo shifted her weight and looked at him like she was merely an observer, not yet fully a member of the drama. Even though she knew nothing, she seemed too . . . not relaxed, that was too generous a word . . . but unconcerned.

  Suddenly Gail dropped her fist from her mouth and made a small, eeking sound. ‘I have to tell you, Conrad, I have a bad feeling about this. I’ve spoken to the police!’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, hoping it came off as calm. ‘That’s wise. What did they say?’

  ‘Eddie is dead, Conrad.’

  ‘What?’ Conrad said, genuinely shocked. Not by the fact, but by the knowledge. It was out. Now things were going to get really fucking hairy. Watch your step, ’Rad. ‘How?’

  Steve shot Gail a look before elaborating. ‘Dale Stuart, his floor manager at Menard’s, called yesterday when Eddie hadn’t shown up two days in a row for work.’

  ‘What happened? What about Nadia?’

  ‘Eddie’s wounds are indicating a possible suicide, though the police aren’t revealing much yet. As for Nadia, Big John went with Sheriff Testwuide. They’re looking for her now. In four counties.’

  The air inside the square absorbed the charges coming from each, becoming electric. None of them had all the pieces, but each of them suspected something was off. If he let it continue this way, waiting for them to add up their suspicions, they would turn it all on him in one great zap.

  ‘Jesus. That’s awful. What can I do?’

  ‘What did she say, Conrad?’ Gail was as close to blasting off. ‘She must have said something! I know you know something!’

  ‘Conrad?’ Jo prompted, suddenly coming to life for the first time. ‘Do you know something about Nadia leaving town? Did she say something about leaving this, who is it, this Eddie?’

  Why was she chiming in now? Where was she getting this bit about Nadia leaving town? He stared at her. He did not think he had mentioned Nadia trying to leave town - not to Jo. He frowned at his wife. Jo nodded, just a little marriage nod, the kind so small only a spouse can recognize it. Go on, tell them about Eddie, the nod said.

  If you say so.

  Conrad looked back to Gail. ‘Did Nadia leave her cell phone at your house, at home, I mean?’

  ‘Her cell phone,’ Gail repeated, blinking. ‘I don’t know. Why?’

  ‘There was a message from Eddie,’ Conrad said. ‘He was screaming. He said he was going to kill himself. We heard a shot.’

  ‘Oh, my God . . .’ Gail tottered back on her heels. Steve took her by the arm and bore down on Conrad.

  ‘A shot!’ Steve said. ‘When was this? Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh my,’ Jo said, which really wasn’t something she had ever said before.

  ‘It was three days ago,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure because Nadia played it for me. Eddie had been calling her all the time, screaming and crying and begging her not to leave, telling her to get out of his life, threatening to hurt her if she left without him.’

  Gail moaned again.

  Steve made a fist. ‘Jesus! Why didn’t you mention this the other day, Conrad? Why didn’t you call for help?’

  ‘I was trying to help her, Steve. I told her we should call the police, and she panicked. She said Eddie liked to play with guns and she didn’t want to get him into more trouble, because she was his only friend. She said he pulled shit like this all the time, trying to scare her, manipulate her. I told her she was crazy and she better stay the hell away from him. I made her promise, in fact, not to talk to him.’

  ‘Not good enough, Harrison. You’re an adult. You don’t play around with guns. You call the fucking police!’

  ‘God damn it, Steve, I tried! Nadia said she was going to run away. She said if I called the police or you, or you, Gail, she would leave town and never come back. We argued. She cried about it. I thought we had reached a deal. She promised to stay away from Eddie and not go anywhere without me, and I promised to back off.’ Jesus, he was really feeling it now! Could even feel Jo beside him, nodding, encouraging him - yes yes, more more! ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have left your pregnant daughter alone, Gail. I’m very sorry, but obviously you - none of us - had any idea what a fucking basket case this father of her child turned out to be.’

  ‘You lied,’ Steve said. His voice was quiet.

  ‘She must have run away, Steve,’ Conrad said. ‘Nadia was with me. We heard the shot. He couldn’t have hurt her . . .’

  Gail was sobbing.

  Steve was staring at Conrad like he wanted to throttle him.

  ‘Oh, I don’t feel so well,’ Jo said.

  They all looked at her. She really was pale. She staggered back, just like Gail had a moment ago. She turned around in a slow circle and vomited into the grass. It was mostly orange juice.

  Gail looked up at the sky and wailed. ‘What is happening to me?’

  ‘Oh, for Chrissakes go home,’ Steve said, disgusted. ‘Take care of your wife.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Conrad said.

  ‘And stay by the phone, pal,’ Steve said over his shoulder, walking Gail back to her house. ‘The police are going to have questions, very soon. Count on it!’

  Conrad followed Jo, who was trotting into the house.

  Jo was in the downstairs bathroom, vomiting again. He knocked and spoke through the door.

  ‘Jo, can you let me in? Do you need a doctor?’

  ‘No,’ she said, choking. ‘No doctor.’

  He backed away from the bathroom door and walked back into the kitchen. He was still shaking when he reached the refrigerator and popped his first beer. The beer went down like he’d just held it over the drain until the foam dribbled out.

  ‘Fucking Nadia,’ he said, looking out the window to the backyard.

  ‘What was that?’ Jo said, coming up behind him.

  He turned, surprised by the change in her voice. She had her hair back in a band, her face splashed wet and pinker, more like herself. She was patting her brow with a hand towel. The sick woman from the lawn party had been replaced.

  ‘Is this normal?’ he said.

  ‘Normal?’

  ‘You look better, if that’s possible.’

  ‘I feel like I just woke up. What’s all the fuss about with Nadia?’

  ‘She was just a dumb kid.’ He dropped the empty into the sink and popped another.

  ‘Conrad. We need to talk.’

  ‘No shit.’ He turned to face his wife. She was scaring him, and he didn’t like that. He was pretty sure she was hiding something, too.

  ‘Did something happen between you and that girl?’

  ‘Tell me about the baby, Jo.’

  ‘You weren’t there. You have no idea what I went through.’

  ‘You left me. You told me to stay home.’

  ‘That’s not fair. You’re hiding something. If our neighbors can see it, how obvious do you think it is to me?’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me what happened to our child?’

  ‘Not until you tell me what went on in this house.’

  ‘What went on in this house,’ he repeated, tasting the words. ‘Yes, that’s one way to phrase it. Another way is, what is still going on in this house? Still another is, what has always been going on this house, what is going to happen next in this house?’

  ‘Was that a threat? I don’t fucking believe you.’r />
  ‘You should believe me.’

  ‘Don’t even speak until you’re ready to be honest with me. And then you better tuck yourself in, mister, because we are in for a very long haul with this little experiment.’

  She was angry. So very angry. But beneath that he saw fear, too. Good. Let her be afraid, a little. She deserved it. Coming home and giving him this shit.

  ‘You are a piece of work, you know that. I found this house for us. I gave this “little experiment” everything from day one, and what do you do? You move out of state, for what? For some job. For some money. You treat me like a walking hard-on while you’re away. You disappear, I can’t reach you, some douche bag in your room, hanging around like the gay sidekick on a bad sitcom. Did you convert him? Or was it Jake? Did you let him fuck you, Jo? You know what? I hope you did. I hope someone got laid while you were away, because it wasn’t me, and it seems to me like you really could have used a good fuck in the past three months.’

  Patches of red crawled out of her shirt and up her neck. She wheezed, holding the back of the chair like she was going to keel over.

  ‘Right,’ he said, going for his third beer.

  ‘How. Fucking. Dare. You!’

  ‘You already said that, Jo.’ He had seen this conversation play out before in his head so many times it was almost a memory.

  Her lips quivered. ‘Who are you that you have so much black rage inside you?’

  ‘Hey, Baby,’ he said, affecting a sort of jive-ass tone. Rollo on Sanford and Son. ‘You knew what kind of cat I was when we got hitched.’ He thrust his hips back and forth, fucking the air between them.

  She slapped him across the mouth, lit up his whole face. He tasted blood.

  ‘I am two seconds away from calling the police on you,’ she said. ‘What did you do to that girl?’

  ‘I told her to get a life.’

  ‘What did you do to that girl?’

  ‘I told her to get the fuck out of Dodge.’

  ‘What did you do to that girl!’

  He sighed. His wife was standing ramrod straight, tears running down her cheeks.

  ‘Just tell me the truth,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘I might hate you, but I’ll at least respect you for it.’