The Birthing House

'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?'

'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--