Hold Me Close

by Megan Hart

  Effie and Heath look at each other. Never locked? All this time, never locked? She runs through the living room, over the scattered bits of glass and broken pottery set into the concrete. One stabs through the tape, but she keeps going. She bends, using her hands to pull herself up the staircase faster than she could by standing. Up, up, and at the top, the door. She slams into it, already imagining the kitchen beyond it, the phone, how she will call the police or, better yet, run screaming out into the yard to beg the neighbors for help.

  She hits the door at the top of the stairs with a thud and reels back. For an interminable moment, she hangs there, hands pinwheeling, her slippery, taped foot on the edge of the stair. At the last second, the very last, she grabs the railing to keep herself from plummeting all the way down. She hits the door again. It doesn’t budge.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Daddy appears. “That door, now, that one is always locked. Ten bolts, and you need a key for each of them.”

  Effie looks at the row of holes lined up along the door. She’s never seen a door with so many keyholes but only one doorknob. She hits it again. Again. Her hands hurt. She’s cut herself.

  Daddy comes up the stairs and grabs her by the back of the neck. He yanks her to the bottom of the steps. She skins her knees on the concrete floor as he drags her back into the bedroom, where the fires are still burning. Heath is in a small pile on the ground, not moving.

  “Put them out,” Daddy says. “Unless you want to burn to death down here, or suffocate from the smoke. Put them out.”

  It’s too late, Effie thinks. The fire’s out of control. All she has are her bare hands and her duct-taped feet to stamp out the flames that moments before seemed so enormous but are now puttering into ash, but she does it while Daddy watches.

  “I’m going to kill that woman the next time she comes over,” he says quietly. Calmly. “I hope you know I’m going to kill her, and it will be all your fault.”

  “No. Please... We didn’t mean... It was a joke...”

  “I’m going to kill her right in front of you, and you’ll understand then, the consequences of your actions.” Daddy nudges Heath with his toe. “He’ll be out for a while. Clean up this mess.”

  chapter thirty-four

  Effie had offered Polly a birthday party at one of the local kids’ hot spots, the one with the laser tag and trampolines and video games, but Polly had declined in favor of some friends sleeping over. And she’d requested her favorite dinner, cooked by Heath. Had it felt a little like manipulation on her dearest daughter’s part? Of course, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier for Effie to say no.

  It had been over a month since she’d seen him last. He answered her texts now, at least there was that. They were being cautious with each other, stepping as carefully as winter-softened feet on summer’s first rocky beach.

  What had started as two friends had turned into six for dinner, though two of the girls weren’t able to spend the night and would be leaving after the movie and popcorn. Effie didn’t mind. Watching Polly with her friends reminded her of how it had felt to be turning twelve. Giggling with friends, pigging out on junk food, everything stretching out bright and shiny. Adulthood impossibly far away.

  Twelve had been safe.

  Effie had added the leaves to the dining room table and brought out the good china her mother had given her when she bought herself something new. She’d even set the table with a pair of fancy candlesticks and long tapered candles. There was sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne glasses and a vase of flowers that Heath had brought, and a white linen tablecloth with matching lacy napkins.

  Watching the girls tip their glasses to each other to pretend they were at a fancy restaurant, Effie’s chest grew tight. Behind her, Heath’s warmth tempted her to press herself against him, but she didn’t. She did look over her shoulder, though, to find him smiling.

  “You did a great job,” he said.

  “So did you.”

  Then for a moment their fingers linked and squeezed. She could’ve kissed him then, if things were different, but they weren’t, and so Effie let go of his hand so she could move into the kitchen to help serve the food. Her mother was there, dishing up pasta and vegetables.

  “How’s it going out there? Look at this. What a lovely presentation.” Her mother gestured at the platters Heath had brought. She didn’t look at Effie when she added, “He’s very talented.”

  Effie paused, sure she hadn’t heard that correctly. “Who? What?”

  “Heath.” Her mother straightened. “He’s talented.”

  “Yes,” Effie said. “He is.”

  “And Polly clearly adores him.”

  Effie eyed her mom. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well. I’m just saying.”

  Effie didn’t reply. She helped her mother finish dishing up the portions and took them into the dining room to serve with a flourish and a fake French accent that had Polly rolling her eyes but all the other girls guffawing. Effie gave a grandiose bow.

  “Would Madame require any-zing else? More cham-pan-yuh, perhaps?”

  Polly gave in to laughter. “Mom!”

  “Fine, fine. We’ll get out of here and let you girls have your privacy. C’mon, you,” she said to Heath. “Let’s go have an adult beverage.”

  In the den, she poured them both glasses of gin and added sweet lime and club soda. Heath sipped his with a grimace and shook his head. Effie laughed.

  “I’m trying to expand your palate,” she said. “Man cannot live on beer and Mad Dog forever.”

  Heath took another slow sip but didn’t laugh. “So, cake and ice cream after dinner? Then I’ll head out.”

  “Oh.” Effie looked toward the dining room to the rising sound of girlish hilarity. Then to the kitchen, where her mother was still presumably puttering. “I thought maybe you’d stay.”

  “Nah. I have some plans.”

  “Ah.” Effie drank. If he was waiting for her to ask him what plans, he’d be waiting a long damned time.

  Heath didn’t offer any more information. He gave her a steady, solemn look, though. That was answer enough.

  She didn’t care, Effie told herself as she polished off the drink but did not make another. She couldn’t get shit-hammered with a house full of other people’s kids. She didn’t care what Heath was doing when he wasn’t with her.

  When the doorbell rang, they both turned in the direction of the sound. Oh no, he did not invite her here. With a scowl, Effie set her glass on the end table and went through the living room to answer the front door.

  “Mitchell!”

  “Hi.” He grinned, holding up a pizza box and a paper sack that clinked inside, like glass. “I brought... Oh. I didn’t realize you had company.”

  From behind her, Heath said, “I guess I’ll just get going now, then.”

  “No. Wait.” Effie turned, her cheeks flaming. “Um, Mitchell, come in.”

  He stepped through the doorway. Rapidly melting snow coated the shoulders of his navy blue peacoat and clung to the dark strands of his hair, falling over the top rims of his glasses. He shook it, set down the bag on the stairs to hold out his hand.

  “Hi. I’m Mitchell.”

  “Heath.”

  The men shook firmly, one-two pumps of their hands before Mitchell stepped back to look at Effie. “I should’ve called first. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’re having a birthday party for my daughter. Heath made pasta. My mother’s here. It’s a family thing.”

  “Oh,” Mitchell said and seemed relieved. He gave Heath a chin tip. “Nice to meet you.”

  Heath stepped backward, out of the foyer. “I’ll say goodbye to the Pollywog and head out. Nice to meet you, too.”

  Shit.

  Effie held out her hands for the pizza b
ox. “Let’s take this into the kitchen.”

  “You sure I shouldn’t leave, too? I don’t want to interrupt.” Mitchell followed her into the kitchen, where her mother looked up, startled, from her place over the birthday cake she’d been decorating with candles.

  “Mom. This is Mitchell.” Effie put the pizza box on the counter.

  There must’ve been more awkward silences in her life, but at the moment Effie couldn’t remember any. Heath came through the dining room door and grabbed his coat from his hook. Her mother looked from one man to the other, frowning, before she caught herself and gave Mitchell a wide grin.

  “Mitchell. So nice to finally meet you. Effie’s said so many nice things about you.” As she moved forward to shake his hand, Heath opened the back door and Effie moved toward him.

  She followed him onto the back porch. “Hey. Listen...”

  “It’s fine. He seems like a nice dude. I have to get going anyway.” Heath looked past her, into the house. “You should get back inside. You’re going to catch a cold.”

  Effie shivered and looked up at the dark sky and the snow coming down like cotton balls. Heavy and wet, it was sticking to everything, and the bite in the air promised there’d be ice later. She sighed.

  “I didn’t know he was coming over.”

  “No. Of course you didn’t.” Heath shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. He scuffed a trench in the couple of inches of snow on the walk. “Have him shovel this for you before it gets too heavy.”

  “Heath.”

  He leaned suddenly to hug her, but not long enough and clearly as though it were a duty, not desire. “Later.”

  She watched him get into his car and drive away, and by the time his taillights had blinked red one last time, the snow had almost filled in the furrow he’d made. It also covered her hair and shoulders, and she brushed it off before she went inside. She stamped her feet on the mat. Mitchell and her mother turned.

  “Hey,” he said with a slowly widening grin that lit his hazel eyes. “I was just thinking I needed to send out a Saint Bernard with a barrel.”

  “You’d think she’d have more sense to come in out of the weather,” her mother said.

  Effie smiled at them both. “You’d think so, huh?”

  “They’re about ready for the cake,” her mother said.

  Effie nodded. “So, Mitchell. Do you want to help us sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

  * * *

  The snow hadn’t stopped. Effie’s mom had insisted on heading out to get home, but the two girls who were supposed to leave ended up staying so their parents didn’t have to come out in it. Now they were all settled in the den in sleeping bags with bowls of chips and cans of cola, watching episodes of whatever the currently popular teen show was.

  Effie and Mitchell were in the living room. He’d helped her clean up the kitchen after dinner, moving around her kitchen with an easy efficiency that had unsettled her. By the time they’d finished, his car had vanished beneath a blanket of snow.

  She’d invited him to stay.

  She regretted it now, with the rise and fall of voices from the other room reminding her they were anything but alone. He’d lit a fire in her cranky fireplace. He’d suggested they play cards and offered to teach her to play gin rummy. He hadn’t tried to kiss her, but what would happen later, when even the girls in the next room started to fall asleep? Was he expecting to share her bed?

  “They’re being really quiet,” Mitchell said as he dealt another hand. “My sister and her friends were always so loud my parents had to holler at them.”

  “They’re a good bunch of girls. We can just hope there isn’t going to be any drama. So far, so good.”

  “Uh-oh. Are you expecting some?” Mitchell looked at the cards in his hand, fanning them out.

  Effie took her own cards, sorting them. “You never know. There’s been a little bit already with one of the girls, but hopefully it’s resolved. But they’re preteen girls. Drama happens.”

  “My sister used to have frenemies. Hell,” Mitchell said with a thoughtful pause, “I think she still does.”

  “How old is she?” Effie studied her cards, trying to strategize.

  “Twenty-two.”

  She looked up, surprised. “Oh. So she’s much younger than you.”

  “Yeah, about fifteen years. I had an older brother who died in a boating accident when I was pretty young.” Mitchell said this easily, an old pain that had diminished enough to be made casual. “My parents never quite got over it. Then when I was fifteen, lo and behold, a baby sister.”

  “That must’ve been a surprise.”

  Mitchell smiled faintly and shrugged. “It was a surprise to my dad, for sure.”

  Ah. So there was a story. Effie put down a card, picked up another. Laid down a set. “Am I getting the hang of this?”

  “Yep.”

  They played in silence for a minute or so, until Mitchell won. Effie tossed down her cards in mock disgust, though she didn’t care about winning or losing. As she leaned to gather the cards to shuffle for her turn as dealer, Mitchell leaned, as well.

  He kissed her. Effie didn’t pull away. Mitchell was the one to withdraw first. When she opened her eyes, he’d gotten to his feet to go to her mantel to look at the framed pictures arrayed there. He ran his finger along the wood, pausing at the large collage frame Effie had put together years ago when she and Polly had moved into this house from Heath’s apartment.

  “Is he Polly’s father?”

  “No.” Effie gathered the cards and tapped them into a tight deck, then slipped them into the box. She closed it and went to stand beside Mitchell.

  There was a photo of her with baby Polly, wrapped in a pink blanket. Tiny face screwed up on the verge of tears. Heath next to them, making a face. His hair had been long then, past his shoulders, and tied at the back with a shoelace. Effie had been fat in the face and soft in her belly, the remnants of pregnancy. There was a picture of Polly in a baby swing on the playground, Heath pushing her. A photo of the three of them she’d had taken at one of those mall stores, the background a covered bridge and trees with brightly fake fall leaves. She hadn’t looked at any of these pictures in a long time, but she could remember when and where each of them had been taken.

  Mitchell turned. “He might as well be, though. Huh?”

  “Yes. I guess so. He’s been in Polly’s life since before she was born.” Effie looked at the picture next to the collage. That one was Polly’s school picture from last year. She’d changed so much in those few months.

  “When I first got here, and you said it was a family party, I thought he was your brother. Like, he had to be. And then I thought, maybe a cousin. But he’s not, is he?”

  “No, Mitchell. Heath’s not related to me.” Effie looked at him. “But he is family.”

  “Ah.” Mitchell took a step or two back. “I knew I should’ve called first.”

  Effie frowned. “Yes. You should have. But you didn’t, and you’re here now. He’s not. So if you have something you need to say to me, or ask me...”

  She waited, sort of breathless, for him to say something. To ask those questions she’d avoided until now but had known would eventually come up. She would tell him everything. She would do it, let him see her.

  “Is he the reason why you’re hesitant about committing?”

  “Yes,” Effie said.

  “You were together?”

  Effie turned to the mantel and the photographs. “We’ve known each other since I was thirteen.”

  “Oh. First love,” Mitchell said as if he knew what that meant.

  Effie looked at him. “Yes.”

  First. Last. Only.

  “But it’s over?”

  “Yes. That part of it, anyway,” Effie said an
d wanted to cry because of how much it felt like the truth.

  Mitchell was quiet for a moment. He looked at all the pictures again. Without looking at her, he said, “It’s admirable that you can be friends for Polly’s sake.”

  “We’ll always be friends.”

  “Got it,” Mitchell said.

  From the other room came a swell of giggling that broke the mood that had, for a moment, threatened to turn somber. Effie smiled at him. She went to the mantel and pointed at the collage.

  “I got pregnant at eighteen with someone I was only casually seeing. Had Polly just after I turned nineteen. I knew better but hadn’t been careful. My mom flipped out. Heath was there for me. He’s always been there for me.” She touched the frame briefly, then turned to Mitchell. “He’s my best friend. Anyone who’s with me should be his friend, too.”

  “Fair enough.” Mitchell nodded. He hesitated, then said, “Effie, I feel like you have a lot going on that you don’t share. And I’m not trying to push you or whatever. All in good time, I guess.”

  Only minutes ago she’d imagined herself telling Mitchell everything, answering any question. Faced with the reality of it now, though, Effie found herself unable to offer anything. She’d have stripped down bare in front of him and felt less naked than telling him why Heath meant so much to her.

  “Another game?” Mitchell suggested, and she gladly agreed.

  They played cards, then watched a movie until the girls in the den quieted down. Effie tiptoed in to check on them. All sleeping. She moved half-full soda cans and popcorn bowls to the side and turned off the lights, leaving on the one in the hall in case any of them needed to get up in the night to use the bathroom.

  Back in the living room, she found Mitchell had straightened up the sofa pillows and was looking over the photographs on her walls, most of them Polly but a few of Heath there, too. He turned when she came in. He gestured toward the window.

  “It looks like the snow’s stopped. A plow went by, and a salt truck. I bet the roads are okay now. If you wanted me to leave.”

  Effie paused before answering while she thought about what she wanted. “Do you want to go?”