Shadow of a Girl

by Shannon Greenland

  She waves me on, and while she plops back across her bed and starts flirting with some girl on the phone, I grab her iPad and power up.

  I spend the next thirty minutes looking Gideon up online. It’s something I hate to do, but it’s a necessity. Though I want very much to, I can’t get too comfortable, and I definitely can’t get careless. I compare his speaking schedule to our tour cities, and other than New York, they don’t coincide. That’s not to say they won’t. His people could very well add another city.

  I scroll through news feeds, looking for more on this world tour of his. It’s supposed to start after the New Year sometime in February and will kick off in Ethiopia. I change tactics, this time Googling my real name. Images pop up of me, always standing in Gideon’s shadow, sweetly smiling and proudly watching on. There’s one of me shaking hands with the President last year when we were invited to the White House.

  There’s no mention of my current absence. It’s like I’m not even missing.

  Bluma and I said we wouldn’t call each other, but we need to talk. I need to know what’s going on. I grab my phone and send her fake account a quick message, and right as I hit send, a text comes in from West.

  Sweet 16. You’re still in, right?

  I stare at the message. I want to be in, but all my secrets are telling me to take a step back. I shouldn’t be doing this, whatever this is with West. I should be moving on, I should always be moving.

  Anne glances over my shoulder. “Oh, hell, yeah, you’re still in.”

  “Anne!” I didn’t realize she’d hung up with that girl.

  She snatches the phone from my hand. Yes, I’m in, she types, hits send, and hands it back. “There. Now stop thinking about it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Of course I don’t stop thinking about it. I obsess over it all night, and in the morning I meet West in the hotel’s lobby. He grabs my duffel and leads the way out to a Mustang he’s rented. “From Orlando it’ll take us two hours to get there. Not long.”

  I ignore the nerves doing jumping jacks all through me. In two hours I’m going to meet his family. I’m not funny or witty. They’re going to think I’m a dud.

  West opens the door for me, I climb in, and we’re off.

  For the first hour he talks non-stop about all the promotional work they’ve been doing, the crazy questions reporters ask, and new stuff Ms. Kelly booked for them.

  I try to listen, I really do, but I’m completely distracted by the fact I’ll be meeting his family in now, I check my watch, under one hour. Maybe I made a mistake agreeing to this trip. Shouldn’t I be more excited than scared? I’ve met a lot of powerful people—The President, Governors, Senators—and I have never been this nervous.

  “Eve?”

  I glance over. “Yeah?”

  He reaches over and takes my hand and presses a kiss to it. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not,” I lie.

  He threads his fingers through mine and lays them on my knee. “Yes, you are. And you don’t need to be. My family’s great. You’ll see.”

  My gaze goes back to the window, and he lets go of my hand for a minute to turn on the radio, and then he naturally takes it right back, like we’ve been holding hands for years. Despite my crazy nerves, the familiarity of the gesture relaxes me.

  “So what do you think about...?” And that’s how the rest of the hour goes. Him asking what I think about all these different things. Chocolate versus vanilla. Steak versus chicken. Ketchup to mustard. Sweet or salty. Winter or summer. Beach or the mountains.

  I know he’s trying to distract me. And, well, it does work.

  “This is the bridge to the island,” West informs me, and renewed anxiety rolls through me.

  I sit up in my seat as we cross the intracoastal and take in the overgrown marsh on one side, the scattering of homes on the other, the sailboats anchored in private coves, and the tiny canals zigzagging off the waterway.

  West points out his window. “Check out the marina. They’ve got a ton more boats then the last time I was here.”

  We drive a few more minutes, and West turns down a road that gives us a view of the Atlantic Ocean.

  I gaze out at the water that alternates between shades of green, turquoise, and blue with sparkling sun prisms dancing over the surface. It reminds me of when I was in Greece with Gideon and he left me alone one afternoon, and I just sat on my balcony and stared at the water, wishing I could swim away. “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  He turns the car into a neighborhood. “We’re here.”

  I put my hand on my stomach and tell myself to calm down.

  “You’re making me nervous,” he laughs.

  I blow out a breath and consider just telling him I’ll stay in the car the whole time. But I know that’s ridiculous.

  He reaches over and tugs on my earlobe, and it sends flutters from my scalp down across my neck. “Relax,” he tells me.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Maybe if I kiss you again?”

  The temperature inside the car elevates and suddenly I’m nervous for another whole reason.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  I laugh, despite my incredible nerves.

  He pulls up to a Spanish style house with a manicured lawn. I immediately think of the fortress I was raised in. So different. So icy where this already comes across welcoming. Warm.

  We park and get out, and I follow him up a terracotta walkway.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  I smile. “Lovely.”

  Right as we step onto the porch, the front door opens a few inches, and a tiny head peeks out. West makes a face at her, and she makes one back.

  He laughs. “This is my cousin, Maria.”

  She switches her amber eyes to me, giving me a once over, and I try not to fidget under her stare.

  “She’s a runt for eight,” West teases, and Maria charges out the door. He swings her up and squeezes her until she squeaks.

  “I won’t be a runt forever,” she challenges.

  A man appears next in the doorway, and I assume he must be West’s father. They look identical. He stands the same height as West, but looks fuller through the shoulders like he lifts weights.

  West puts Maria down. “Hey, Dad.” They embrace in a long, warm hug with such obvious love and affection it tugs through me and makes me mourn what I’ve never had, and yet I’m so happy for West that he does.

  West takes a step back. “This is Eve.”

  I nod at his dad but hang back a little bit. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolf.”

  Maria surprises me by taking my hand. “Hi, Eve. West said you were pretty. I love your blue hair. I think I might want blue hair. Or maybe green. Yeah, probably green. Green’s my favorite.”

  “We’re sticking with brown,” Mr. Wolf says to her as he reaches out a hand to me. “Welcome to our home, Eve.”

  I shake it. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  Then like a whirlwind, something bursts through the door, and I glance down to see a girl in a wheelchair. With her long black hair and dark eyes, there is no doubt she is related to West. This has to be his sister.

  “West!” she squeals.

  “Vianca!” he squeals back, making them both laugh, and leans down to give her a huge hug. It’s only then that I realize we climbed a ramp to get to their porch.

  She grins up at me, and I completely see West in her then. “I’m so glad you’re here, Eve.” She backs her wheel chair up and spins around. “Come on in.”

  I glance over to West to see him smiling at me, and I smile back.

  The inside of their house matches the outside. Spanish style with tile floors, a mixture of rustic wood and leather furniture, colorful throw pillows, white washed walls, beam rafters, and open rooms separated by archways. Pictures of the family hang everywhere, and I find my eyes drawn more to them than anything. There’s one of a beautiful lady with Hawaiian features, and I guess she
must be their mom.

  “Your house is great,” I tell Vianca.

  “Thanks, now that Maria’s living with us, we’ve had to shuffle things around.”

  West comes through one of the archways. “Maria’s living here?”

  Vianca glances over her shoulder and lowers her voice. “New development. Tell you about it later. Gramma!” Vianca yells. “Get a move on! They’re here!”

  “Vianca,” West laughs.

  “What? Gramma primps more than me. And,” Vianca lowers her voice, “she’s got a boyfriend.”

  “I heard that,” a small woman I assume is Gramma comes through the same archway West had.

  Her gray hair hangs to her shoulders in wild kinks, and she has these big gold hoops swinging from each ear. She wears a calf-length dress that flits and flows around her and a dozen or so colorful bangles clink on each wrist. Bold eyeliner accentuates her eyes and marks the only makeup she wears. She is hands down the coolest Gramma I’ve ever seen.

  West goes straight to her and wraps her in a hug. “Hi, Gramma.”

  “Hi, baby.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek and closes her eyes to rock him for a few seconds.

  He takes a step back and turns to me. “This is Eve.”

  “Hello Ms…” I realize I don’t know her last name.

  She walks straight toward me. “You call me Gramma.”

  I hold my hand out for a shake, and she ignores it as she pulls me straight into a hug. But not just a hug, it’s a strong, warm, full-on-contact embrace like nothing I’ve ever received before, like she can protect me from anything that might ever try to hurt me. I think it must be the best hug I’ve ever had. I feel a bit split open by it, like I could cry happy tears again.

  When she lets go, I have the unnerving urge to ask her for another.

  She takes my hand between both of her warm ones. “He’s never brought a girl home before,” she whispers, a glimmer in her eyes.

  I glance over to West, and our eyes lock in a way that has my head reeling with a bit of vertigo. His eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile that has one of my own spreading across my face.

  I’m the first girl he’s ever brought home. Isn’t that something.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Gramma turns to Vianca. “Did you show Eve her room?”

  “Not yet. You’re going to stay in my room,” Vianca tells me, “and I’m bunking with West in the living room.”

  I immediately feel guilty. “You don’t have to give me your room.”

  Vianca waves her hand through the air. “West and I stay up all night anyway when he comes. Popcorn, zombie movies, Twizzlers. It’s a whole thing we do.”

  “It is,” Gramma puts in. “Take her room. You’ll never get any sleep otherwise.”

  I think popcorn, zombies, and Twizzlers sound fun.

  A few minutes later Vianca shows me to her room. A twin bed with a trapeze sits under a window with a desk and computer in one corner. A bookshelf lines the wall, and an oversize crème fabric chair takes up the other corner with a thick burgundy throw rug underneath it. It’s all so cozy and wonderful and just the type of room I would have loved to have.

  “Dad put your duffel on the bed,” she says. “Make yourself at home and come on out when you’re ready.” With that, she spins her chair and is gone.

  “Hey,” West says, coming on in. “What did you think of the grand tour?”

  “West, your family is amazing. I can’t believe you grew up in all this love.”

  His head tilts adorably, but I see the curiosity in his squinting eyes that asks why “love” is amazing to me when to him it’s normal. He holds out his hand. “Come on out. Dad’s making his world famous nachos for Vianca’s birthday.”

  I laugh. “Nachos?”

  “It’s what Vianca wanted.”

  Smiling, I take his hand, and he leads me into the kitchen where island music already fills the air with a fun drum rhythm. Maria sits at the bar, and there’s a lower section to accommodate Vianca’s chair, and Mr. Wolf stands at the stove stirring something that smells delicious.

  Gramma hits the blender and starts dancing to the rhythm.

  We take bar seats beside Vianca and Maria, and everyone starts talking at once. Vianca and Gramma, West and his dad, Maria and Gramma, then Vianca and West, Mr. Wolf and Maria, then Gramma and West…and on and on it goes, one conversation bumping into another. Laughter, jokes, yelling over each other.

  I sit quietly, taking it all in, loving it. Every once in a while someone asks me a question and I answer, then they’re off on another tangent. It’s exactly what a family should be like.

  At some point Gramma puts a frothy drink in front of me and winks. “I make the best virgin margaritas around.”

  We serve ourselves nachos, and I have to admit, they are the best nachos I’ve ever had. We all eat right here in the kitchen, piled around the island and the bar. If it had been me, this would be the best birthday ever.

  Eventually everyone’s done eating, dishes are piled in the sink, and we all move into the living room. Maria cranks the music louder, and they all start dancing.

  Mr. Wolf grabs Maria, and Vianca does some crazy spins in her chair. West dips Gramma, and she laughs and curtsies to Mr. Wolf, and on it goes.

  I don’t know what to do, so I sort of hover near the wall, smiling, watching all of them, trying to act like I belong but not quite fitting in. I wonder if this is what an animal feels like in a zoo. Looking out through the bars at all the people laughing and having fun, wondering what it would be like to be out there.

  West gyrates over to me, doing the same moves that makes the girls scream. Smiling, I shake my head as he crooks his finger at me.

  I press my lips together and then admit, “I don’t know how to dance.”

  He bounces his brows, “I do,” and gyrates some more. He takes my hand and leads me onto the makeshift dance floor.

  I shoot a nervous glance at his family but they’re not even paying attention to us, so wrapped up in their own laughing and dancing.

  West pulls me up tight against him. “Hey, Green Eyes.”

  He moves with me across the floor, making it so easy to follow that I don’t have to know how to dance. I’m reminded of that time he hummed and slow danced with me on the rooftop.

  “No mushy stuff.” Maria pushes between us.

  West laughs and picks her up and the three of us dance together. Gramma joins in, and Vianca, then Mr. Wolf, and we all do some sort of goofy thing in a circle.

  Before I know it I’m laughing just as hard as all of them. It’s just plain fun being silly, and I find myself hoping and wishing for more of these moments with West and his family. The companionship. The friendliness. The warmth. I’ve never known anything like it.

  Finally the music stops and everyone crashes onto the couch and chairs. Vianca opens her birthday presents next, and then we have banana splits. Soon the sun is setting, and I find myself wishing I could do this day all over again.

  Maria comes out of the bathroom from her bath, grabs a book, and climbs right up into West’s lap. In the overstuffed leather chair, he snuggles her in right beside him, opens the book, and Maria begins reading.

  I listen to their rhythm, her first, then him, then back to her. They’ve obviously done this several times. He raises his voice at one particular point, and she giggles and snuggles in to his side.

  I take in her wet hair, her cloud-patterned pajamas, and his tattooed arm curled around her as he cradles her. What a lucky girl to have so much love. Her eyelids start to droop, and he continues reading, lowering his voice to accommodate lulling her to sleep. I continue watching them, warmed to the core by their special moment.

  As if drawn by my stare, West raises his dark eyes to mine. The corners of his mouth curve up a little, and then he goes back to reading.

  “Okay, sleepyhead, time to put you to bed,” Gramma calls from the kitchen.

  “Nooo,” Maria whines. “I’m not t
ired.”

  “Let’s go,” Gramma counters.

  West picks her up and sits her on her feet. He straightens her pajamas. “I’ll see you tomorrow, cutie.”

  Maria hugs him and kisses him on the cheek. “Night, West.” With a yawn, she pads over to me and gives me a hug, too. “Night, Eve.”

  I return her hug, loving the cuddle of it.

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes to tuck you in,” Gramma tells her.

  “Want some coffee, Eve?” Mr. Wolf asks from the kitchen.

  “Sure. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Yes, come keep me company.”

  West grabs my hand and leads me into the kitchen. We both takes seats at the bar while Mr. Wolf grinds beans. Vianca’s in the kitchen, too, flipping through a magazine and sipping hot chocolate.

  “So what’s going on with Maria?” West quietly asks.

  His dad looks up from the coffee pot. “Your Aunt Ty did another disappearing act and this time she didn’t come back.” Mr. Wolf turns to me. “My sister would rather party than be a mother,” he explains.

  “There’s more,” Vianca whispers.

  West looks up at his dad who lets out a long sigh. “We found bruises on her.”

  Everything in me goes very still.

  None of them say a word for a few seconds, and then West drops his head into his hands.

  Gramma comes back into the kitchen and immediately picks up on the mood. “What’s wrong?”

  “We told West about Maria,” Mr. Wolf answers her.

  Gramma shakes her head. “That girl’s seen more tragedy in her tiny eight years than most people do in a lifetime.”

  If only they knew…and suddenly I feel compelled to assure them she’s going to be okay. “Yes,” I quietly say, “but the rest of her life will be one filled with safety and love.”

  West lifts his head and looks at me. Really, really looks at me, and I feel his searching dark gaze to my very core. Then he reaches over and simply takes my hand, and with that gesture I know he’s silently telling me that he hears me. He hears me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At 5:30 the next morning, I’m the only one up. The first thing I do is check my phone. There is no response from Bluma to my last email about scheduling a phone call. Concern flares through me, and I type out another one: Is everything okay? It’s not like her to completely ignore me. I wish I could pick up my phone and call her. But we agreed I wouldn’t. It’s just not safe. She’ll call me when she can. When it’s private. When no one is listening.