Hold Me Close

by Megan Hart

  “Not to me,” Effie said.

  Bill pulled her against him, and she let him, though she didn’t soften into his embrace. This time he caressed her hair instead of yanking it. Effie preferred the pain to his feeble attempt at comfort.

  “It’s all going to be okay,” Bill said.

  Effie closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of his skin. She turned her face a little, let her mouth press his bare chest, but she didn’t kiss him. After a minute, his hand moved from the back of her head to the small of her back, and she took that moment to step away.

  Clear-eyed, she gave him a neutral smile. “Thanks.”

  Bill looked as if he was going to say something, but instead he gave a low, long sigh and nodded. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  As if he could prevent the world from turning. Could she be angry with him for breaking a promise she knew was impossible to keep? Irrationally, yes, but she wouldn’t show it. She gave him another faint smile and, at the front door, stopped to blow him a kiss.

  “Shit,” Bill said miserably. “Effie.”

  She answered him with the closing of the door behind her.

  * * *

  There it was. Effie had spilled all of it. The entire story of her abduction, the years in the basement, the reason for the clocks in her paintings. The paintings themselves. Her love for Heath, and the reasons for that, too.

  Mitchell had listened, frowning at first, then sitting back with a look of stunned disgust he made no attempt at hiding. When she finished and took a long, deep breath, Mitchell didn’t say anything. Effie gulped ice water, glad she’d asked him to meet her here in a public place where she could hope to count on his good manners not to make a scene.

  She hadn’t thought he would. Stupidly, Effie had thought good-guy Mitchell would tell her how understanding he was of her problems because he had a sister who was fucked up, because his brother had died, because... Just because. Now, looking at his curled lip, Effie could clearly see how wrong she’d been.

  In a way, it was a relief.

  Mitchell was who he was, as Effie was who she was, and here they were. He’d fucked her once, he’d slept in her house and eaten off her plates and used her toothpaste, and all she could think of was that even though she’d spent almost an hour spilling her guts to him, how much there was still to learn about her that Mitchell did not know.

  How weary she was of trying to hide it.

  How little she wanted to explain any of it.

  “If you want to know more details, you can look them up on the internet,” she said finally. “They’re not hard to find.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” Mitchell said. “Shit. And you say he’s out now?”

  Effie nodded. “Yes.”

  “Living in the same house? The one where he kept you guys?”

  “Yes,” she repeated.

  “Shit,” Mitchell repeated under his breath. “That is really, really messed up.”

  “He made parole. His children had kept the house. I looked it up online.” Maybe she should reach for his hand, Effie thought, but she didn’t move. “I went past the house. I saw a light. He’s living there.”

  “You went past the house?” Mitchell frowned. “That’s a little creepy. Damn, Effie, it’s kind of creepy that you live so close to it to begin with.”

  “I’ve lived close to it my entire life,” she said in a low voice. “I bought my house because it was close to my mom.”

  She could tell her explanation hadn’t made it sound less weird to him.

  “I didn’t knock on his door,” Effie said. “I just walked past it.”

  He studied her. “Maybe you should.”

  “That’s... No.” Effie shook her head. “Wow. No.”

  “You obviously have a lot of unresolved issues about all of this stuff.” Mitchell rubbed at the back of his neck and gave Effie a narrow-eyed glance she couldn’t read. “You should’ve told me this before.”

  Effie snorted softly. “Sure, riiiiight. That’s how to start off a date. Tell me, Mitchell, what would you have done if I’d laid it all out for you the first time we went out? If I’d introduced myself, shook your hand, ordered dinner and then regaled you with the reasons why I can’t bring myself to eat like a normal person, what would you have done?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you out again,” Mitchell told her flatly and crossed his arms.

  Effie sat back in the diner booth. “I see. Because I have some fucked-up stuff in my past? It makes me too damaged.”

  “No. Because I was up front with you, Effie. I was looking for something long-term. You told me that you were, too. And I thought you were maybe playing a bit of a game with me, but I figured, give it time. See what happens. There are a lot of people on that site, and it’s still really hard to find someone you connect with. I thought maybe we did. Or could.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I was looking for something serious. I am. I know it took me a while to open up to you, Mitchell, but it’s because I want to make something of this. I...like you.”

  Mitchell shook his head. “Like.”

  “Yes. I like you,” Effie said firmly. “Isn’t that a good place to start?”

  “It would’ve been, before.”

  “And not now?” Her fingers curled into fists below the edge of the table, and she put them in her lap.

  “I don’t know, Effie. It’s a lot to deal with. And Heath. You’re in love with him. You didn’t have to tell me,” Mitchell cut her off when she tried to reply. “I could see it all over both of you that day I came to the house. Maybe you should’ve told me all of this that night.”

  Effie nodded. “Yes. Maybe I should have. But I didn’t lie to you. I told you it was over between me and Heath, in that way. And it is.”

  Mitchell’s laugh barked out of him. Snide. He shook his head again. “I’m not that stupid. You told me that night he was in your life and always would be.”

  “For Polly’s sake,” Effie began but stopped at the look on his face. “Mitchell...”

  He put up both his hands and pushed the air as though he wanted to push her away. “No. It’s fine. I get it. You love who you love. There’s no way to get around it. I just...well, I’m not the guy who’s going to take second place for the rest of your life, that’s all. And it’s pretty clear that second place is all I’d ever be. Unless you can tell me you’ll never see him again.”

  It was actually a promise that seemed more likely to be possible than it ever had, but the fact that Mitchell had asked her to make it only set Effie’s jaw. “I won’t promise that. He’s important to my kid, and to me.”

  “So, if I asked you to choose between me and him, you’d choose him?”

  “It’s not a choice I should have to make,” Effie said stiffly. “You and I, we’re barely starting out.”

  “No, Effie. You and I, we’re over.” Mitchell sighed. “I’m sorry. But I really want to find someone I can trust.”

  That stung, and she recoiled. “Okay.”

  Mitchell stood, picking up the check. “I’ll get this.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do. And listen, Effie...” Mitchell paused. Effie looked at him. He sighed, and his expression softened. “You’re a great girl. Just not the right girl.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  He sighed again. “I’m not the right guy for you, either. I’m sorry.”

  Effie pulled her coffee mug closer. She hadn’t taken even a sip. It was cold now. She stared steadily up at Mitchell, then smiled. “No. Don’t be. You’re right. You were up front from the start about what you were looking for, and I really thought I could make it work. I wanted to. I hope you believe me.”

  “I do.” Mitchell looked thoughtful. “You know what, I
do. And I hope you find a way to make it work with him, Effie.”

  She didn’t stand. It would be too awful to fend off a hug or, God forbid, a farewell kiss. He was trying to be nice, but he had no idea what he was saying. A way for her and Heath to make it work? It was called a miracle. “Thanks.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” she said again and half turned, dismissing him.

  “More coffee, hon?” the waitress asked, looking expectant but also a little anxious, as though she wanted Effie up and out of there so she could fill the spot with other paying customers.

  Effie shook her head and slid out of the booth. “No. Thanks.”

  “You didn’t eat very much. You want a box?”

  Effie didn’t even bother to look at the uneaten meal. “No. You can throw it away.”

  She’d grown very good at that, Effie thought as she left the diner. Throwing things away. It seemed it was all she was able to do.

  chapter thirty-eight

  Effie had dressed as carefully for this moment as she ever had for any date. A dozen outfits pulled from her closet and tossed aside. Nothing seemed right. Too dressy. Too casual. She’d settled on a pair of skinny jeans tucked into knee-high boots. A tank top and a cardigan over it. A scarf. Her leather jacket.

  A hundred times she’d driven past this house and never stopped, but she stopped today. She didn’t park in the driveway, but along the street. She sat there for twenty minutes, waiting for someone to rap on the window and demand to know what she was doing there, but nobody even passed by on the sidewalk. She stared straight ahead, hands on the wheel, until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Then she got out. She went to the front door.

  She knocked, hard. Three times. Then again when nobody answered.

  She didn’t have a story ready, in case it wasn’t him. She hadn’t thought she’d need one until right this second when she could hear someone on the other side, shuffling. A faint voice, muttering, “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  The door opened, and there he was. He did not look the same. He’d shrunk throughout the years. Shoulders hunched. His dark hair had gone gray and thin, brushed over a bald spot. His skin sagged, circles like bruises beneath his eyes. He’d become an old, old man, and clearly one in ill health, but it was him without a doubt.

  Daddy, she thought but didn’t say.

  “Help ya?” His voice had grown as old as the rest of him. Raspy and clogged. He looked at her without expression or recognition.

  Effie opened her mouth but could find no words. The old man in the doorway frowned. This was not how she’d imagined it would happen. He would see her, he would blanch, maybe stumble back. Or he would smile and wave her inside, though no, no, of course she would not go. She would scream at him, or she would turn away without a word. She’d even imagined punching him in the face. Kicking him. Knocking him down while she knelt over him, battering until he bled. Instead, she stood there and gaped like a fish while he stared.

  “I don’t need Jesus or a vacuum cleaner, and I don’t read magazines,” the old man said. “So if you’re selling something, you can go right on along out of here.”

  Effie found her voice. “No, no... I’m sorry. I thought this was... I knocked on the wrong door. I’m so sorry.”

  His smile had not changed, though the teeth inside it were dingy and yellowed. She backed up from the sight of it, her heel catching on the step. She almost fell backward off the concrete stoop but caught herself.

  “Careful. You don’t want to hurt yourself now.” He gave her a curious, up-and-down look that shifted into sly wariness in a second. He straightened. “What do you want? Who are you?”

  Who are you?

  Who are you?

  Effie answered something meaningless, a scatter of words as careless as a handful of gravel thrown at a window. She turned. Back straight, not shaking. Down the two steps and onto the sidewalk. Furtive, embarrassed glances from side to side, making sure nobody could see her leaving.

  He shouted something after her that sounded like a question, but Effie had no answer. She could not speak. She could see nothing but her car in front of her. Her fingers fumbled with the key, setting off the car alarm for a horrifying second before she could hit the button to stop it. She was behind the wheel moments after that, key in the ignition, foot on the gas. She didn’t look for traffic, but fortunately she didn’t hit anything as she sped away.

  Effie always made sure not to drive and text, but today she pulled her phone from her pocket as she steered with one hand. Dialing Heath. She needed him, but he wasn’t there, and she’d done that. She’d fucked that up. She’d forced him away from her, she’d been so stupid and prideful and awful, and now when she needed him, he would not answer her calls.

  “I saw him,” Effie said to the voice mail. “I saw him, and he didn’t...know me. Heath, he didn’t even recognize me. Call me. Please. I need you. Please, Heath, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please call me, baby. I miss you so much and I need you.”

  Then, although she’d been lucky up until that moment, the light turned red before she was ready for it. Effie slammed on the brakes. She dropped her phone. Her car skidded on the damp road and came to a stop so hard she hit the steering wheel with her chest because she’d forgotten to put on her seat belt.

  The car behind her hit the rear bumper hard enough to knock her forward again. Her teeth clicked down, catching the tip of her tongue. Stars. She saw stars.

  In the next moment, her car rocked forward again as the second car in the line hit the one behind her. Glass shattered this time. A horn blared. Through it all, Effie sat stunned, not sure what had just happened, and she sat there without moving until someone finally knocked on her window to ask her if she was okay.

  When she faced him, the man outside the window recoiled, face twisting. It wasn’t until she looked into the rearview mirror that she understood why he looked so startled. Her grin had gone wild, fierce. Her teeth, outlined with blood from her cut tongue.

  “No,” Effie said around the taste of blood. “Nothing is okay. Nothing is okay at all.”

  chapter thirty-nine

  Everything hurt, but ice and some ibuprofen would take that away. Nobody had been injured badly in the three-car fender bender. Effie had not admitted to talking on her phone and being distracted, and nobody, so far, had said otherwise. Wet roads, a red light, cars following too close to each other. Her car needed to be repaired, but it was still drivable until she could get it to the shop. It all could’ve been so much worse. It was an accident, and they happen.

  Mom had come to take care of her, of course. Clucking her tongue and muttering, but she’d done it. She’d made sure Effie was tucked into bed with the ice packs and the television remote, and she’d warned Polly about what had happened as soon as the kid got home from school, and she’d managed to do it without scaring her, which Effie appreciated. Polly had sat with her for a while but had grown bored of Effie’s choice in TV. Now Mom and Polly were in the kitchen playing cards. Effie could hear the slap of them and their laughter, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up and go out there to join them.

  Heath had not returned her call, and Effie would be damned if she called him again. He’d let her down in the past, and to be fair, she’d done the same to him. But never like this.

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah, Wog. What?” Effie opened her eyes to see Polly in the doorway.

  “Nana wants to know if you want something to eat.”

  Effie held out her hand, and Polly came over to take it, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  “You sound funny.”

  “It’s because I bit my tongue.” Effie stuck it out to show her, laughing when Polly made a face. She squeezed the girl’s fingers lightly.

  “Does i
t hurt?”

  “Yeah. It hurts.” Effie smiled, though. “But I’ll be okay. What’s Nana doing?”

  Polly shrugged. “Cleaning the kitchen. She said if you don’t want any soup, she’s going to go home. Unless you need her to stay.”

  “No.” Effie shifted under the blankets. “That’s okay.”

  Polly hesitated. “Mom...”

  Effie waited. Polly didn’t say anything. Effie sighed.

  “I want to go over to Julia’s house for a sleepover tonight. She asked me.” Polly looked slightly defiant, which didn’t make much sense.

  Effie shifted again to prop herself higher on the pillows. “Can Nana drive you over? I’m not up to any driving.”

  “I’ll ask her. But, Mom...”

  “What, Polly?” Effie’s tongue hurt too much for her to bite it, so she rubbed it against the back of her teeth to stop herself from getting irritated.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone.” Polly frowned, for a moment looking as though she might cry.

  Alarmed, Effie pulled her daughter close, careful not to groan at the aches and pains. “I’m fine. A little banged up, but I’m okay. You can go to Julia’s house. I’ll be okay to pick you up by tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Effie stroked Polly’s hair. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  From the doorway, Effie’s mother knocked lightly. “I can take her to Julia’s house, if you’re sure. I can pick her up tomorrow, too, so you don’t have to run out.”

  “Thanks, Mom. That would be great.”

  “You sure you don’t want any soup?” Her mom frowned.

  Effie laughed lightly. “You two, both of you, I’m fine. I promise you. Everything’s okay. I’m going to lie here and watch bad TV and take a hot shower later. Really, I’m okay.”

  It took some convincing, but at last Mom and Polly both left. Effie settled into the blankets, dozing until her phone rang. She picked it up at once.

  It wasn’t Heath.

  “What the fuck, Effie, what happened?” Bill’s voice cut through the distance, sharp as shattered glass. “The guys at the station said you wrecked your car.”