by Rena Olsen
“Later. Midnight. Up on the roof.”
My mouth falls open. “You are not serious.”
“I am. The hall outside your room has a small door, which leads to the attic. In the attic, there’s a window you can climb out. I’ll be waiting there at midnight.”
“I can’t sneak out.” I don’t dwell on the fact that Glen somehow knows which room I occupy.
Amusement flickers in his eyes. “You won’t be sneaking out. You’ll be sneaking . . . up. Besides, Macy does it all the time.”
I flinch. Macy’s nighttime activities are a constant source of worry for me. I dread the day she gets caught, but I don’t ask a lot of questions. I do not want to know the answers.
“I can’t.”
“I can’t leave until you promise to meet me on the roof at midnight.”
“Glen . . .”
He leans back and stretches his arm across the back of the swing, creating an even more incriminating scene for Mama to walk out to. This spurs me to my feet. “Okay. Fine. Midnight. On the roof. But only for five minutes.”
“We’ll see.” He grins as he stands and stretches. “I bet I can get you to stay longer.”
“Just go,” I hiss. Mama’s footsteps have started down the stairs. She will be out the door in seconds.
“Until later,” he whispers, hopping the porch railing and disappearing into the trees as the door behind me creaks open.
• • •
“I can’t do this.” I am sitting on my bed, watching Macy shimmy into dark clothes for her own midnight rendezvous. “I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Nuh-uh,” Macy says, pulling her hair back and checking her reflection. “You’re going. This is Glen, Clara. For goodness’ sake, you moan his name in your sleep now.”
I launch a pillow at her, which she catches with ease, giggling. “Shh,” I say. “Don’t wake the others.” Macy and I share the room on the top floor of the house. It is small and the ceilings slope so that we have to stoop to walk in certain places, but it allows us to have a room with just the two of us, and no younger girls to get in the way. “And I do not moan in my sleep.”
Macy raises an eyebrow. “You just keep telling yourself that. But I’m the one who has to listen to it.”
“Shut up.”
Putting the finishing touches on her makeup, Macy eyes me in the mirror. “It’s almost midnight, Cinderella. Are you going to be a princess or a pumpkin?”
I roll my eyes, but stand and join her at the mirror. My face is clear of makeup. When we turn fourteen, Mama teaches us how to use makeup and we are allowed to wear it as much as we like, though there are some circumstances where it is required. I rarely wear it, and Glen seems to like me just fine without it. Though I considered backing out many times, I have not changed into my pajamas. I adjust the straps of the light blue summer dress I am wearing. “Will I be able to climb up there in a dress?”
“You’ll be fine.” Macy looks at me with approval. “Besides, he might like it if you flash a little something his way. They’re pretty hungry down at the boys’ camp, if you know what I mean.”
I do know what she means. Sort of. I shoot her a smile. “Okay. I’m ready. Wish me luck.”
“With a bod like that, you don’t need luck,” Macy says. She pushes the window open. “I’m going to break my neck one of these times,” she murmurs, gauging the distance from the window to the ground. There are plenty of handholds, and Macy has become an expert at climbing the walls, but I still get a flutter of anxiety whenever she slips out that window. “’Night, Clara. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I say, and she sticks her tongue out at me before she disappears out the window. I wait until I see her shadowy figure race across the lawn before I creep out of the room and inspect the small door just down the hall.
It’s not that I haven’t noticed the door before. I was just never curious enough to see if it would open. Truth be told, I was probably afraid of what I would find. Spiders, mice . . . dead bodies. I grasp the tiny doorknob and hold my breath as I pull. Much to my surprise, it swings open with ease. I snag the flashlight I borrowed from downstairs and follow the narrow tunnel, pulling the door closed behind me. Macy and I have created pillow people in our beds. Mama rarely checks in on us, but just in case, we are prepared.
The tunnel is short, and soon I am straightening as the beam of the flashlight bounces across an attic I never knew existed. Dust covers every surface, rising in small puffs as I step carefully across the floor. Old, broken toys are scattered throughout the space, along with stacks of boxes with illegible scribbles on the sides. I would love to explore more, but a cool breeze beckons me toward the window, already open, waiting.
Glen sits a few feet from the window, facing the moon, which has risen over the mountaintops, visible from the higher vantage point. His legs are drawn up, and the fabric of his shirt stretches over the muscles of his back as he hugs his knees to his chest. I pause there, watching him in the moonlight, admiring him in an unguarded moment, when he is just himself, not trying to prove anything, all cockiness washed away.
“Are you going to stare at the back of my head all night, or are you going to join me?” His tone is amused, and he does not turn around. “Not that I blame you. My backside does look ravishing in starlight.”
I scramble out the window. “I’m surprised you were able to climb up here with all that ego weighing you down.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I slap a hand over my traitorous lips. I cannot believe I just said that to Glen Lawson. Surely that is worth a few new stripes on my legs.
Instead of getting angry, Glen throws his head back in a deep, genuine laugh. “That’s why I like you, Clara. You try to act all perfect, but then you say or do these little things, and you’re just so damn cute. I’d risk a lot to spend more time with you.” He turns to look at me, eyes sparkling.
“Is there a chance we could get caught?” I ask, a sudden rush of nerves tempting me to escape through the window and to the safety of my room.
He shakes his head. “Nah. My parents’ room is all the way downstairs and on the other side of the house. As long as we’re quiet, we’ll be fine.”
I settle in next to him, leaving a few feet of space, which he promptly eliminates. I stretch my legs out in front of me, and his leg is flush against mine, so I can feel his body heat through his pants and the fabric of my skirt.
“It’s just us up here, Clara,” Glen whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “We don’t have to pretend. Not here.”
“Who’s pretending?” I ask, breathless.
Glen chuckles. “I know you’ve been watching me, Clara.” I open my mouth to deny it, but he places a finger over my lips. “I know you’ve been watching me, because I’ve been watching you. You’ve always been different. You should hear my parents talk about you.” Traces of bitterness creep into his voice. “‘Clara mastered another language today. Clara is years ahead of the other girls her age. Clara learned to walk on water.’”
“Glen, I—”
“I hated you for a while. I thought they wanted you to be their kid.”
Is this why he asked me to meet him here? So he could tell me how much he despises me? Small pieces of my heart begin to break. I look down, away from Glen’s eyes, but he continues speaking.
“That’s when I started watching you. I was going to catch you doing something terrible.”
My stomach is in knots.
“But there was nothing,” Glen says. His voice grows warmer. “You were just as great as they said you were, and beautiful, and that’s when I knew I had to know you better.” He takes a deep breath. “I think I’m falling for you, Clara.”
I turn to look at him, and for a moment I think he is going to kiss me. Without thinking, I move my head slightly away from his. I’m
not sure I’m ready for that step. Glen smiles, then reaches down and laces his fingers through mine.
“Look up, Clare,” he says, shortening my name to one syllable. A thrill runs through me at the sound of it coming off his tongue. I look up, and my mouth drops open.
Above us, hundreds of stars streak across the sky, slicing shining holes in the velvety texture of the night. I catch my breath, exhaling the word. “Beautiful.”
Glen grins and tugs me back until he is lying on his back and I am lying with my head on his chest. I have never been this close with a boy, never felt this intimate. I am feeling things I do not understand, but all I know is that I never want this moment, these feelings, to end.
When the meteor shower is over, Glen starts to speak. He talks about what he would like to do, if he weren’t expected to take over the business. Work with animals, maybe, or children. Go on adventures to other countries. Explore the world. Some of these things he will get to do. Papa has been all over the world for his business. Glen will have those same opportunities.
But there is wistfulness in Glen’s voice, a hint that he is not as happy with his legacy as his parents would wish him to be. Sadness washes over me as Glen’s words slow, as his breathing grows deeper. I do not want to think of anything past this moment, because when we talk of the future, we talk of a time when we will be living separate lives. I cannot help but feel warmth in my chest, however, that Glen has chosen me to share his secrets with. I know that no one else has been privy to the quiet wishes he whispered tonight. As I drift off, my thoughts turn to dreams, where Glen and I are traveling the world together, both of us free to pursue our own desires, both of us choosing the other for forever.
Glen stirs as the sun comes up. He kisses my cheek and lowers himself over the edge of the roof, promising to find time to see me again soon. The separation overwhelms me for a moment, and I wait until I am calm before slipping back through the window, down the passage, and to my room. Macy is asleep, snoring softly, looking as angelic as Mama and Papa believe her to be. Macy is a soul that will not be tamed. She goes after what she wants. I push my pillow person aside and drift off, wishing that I could be more like her.
Now
“I hear you had a visitor yesterday,” Dr. Mulligan says about halfway through our session. I have been scribbling in my notebook for the last twenty minutes, feeling uninspired. I flip back to the page where I drew Glen’s face. It is a poor reproduction.
“I want to see Glen again,” I say, ignoring her statement.
Dr. Mulligan studies me for a moment. “I’m afraid that’s not in my power. Why do you wish to see him?”
“He’s my husband. Do I need a reason?”
“I suppose not. But why now?”
I slam the notebook closed and cover my face with my hands. I do not want to cry, but I haven’t felt right since Mama Mae visited. I hate this. All of it. I want to go back home and be with Glen and our daughters and even Mama Mae. I want to brush Daisy’s hair and fold laundry with Passion and help Jenna learn a new language.
“Glen’s mother came to visit me,” I mumble into my hands. I lower them and peek at Dr. Mulligan. “She says I ruined his life. Is that true?” Though it is only something Mama Mae said to preserve our story, the words have been weighing on me. Maybe it would have been better for Glen if he had let me go to my intended client all those years ago. Maybe his parents could have found him someone more suitable, someone who could help in ways I was not equipped to. Maybe he would still be free.
Something passes across Dr. Mulligan’s face, an expression akin to pain. She lowers herself onto the floor across from me. This is new. She always remains perched in her chair, while I usually choose to sit in my spot between the couch and the coffee table. It seems odd to have her at my level, her expensive-looking suit picking up carpet fibers and dust motes. She doesn’t seem to care, though, her eyes focused entirely on me.
“Listen to me, Clara.” Her tone is different from normal. Dr. Mulligan speaks in low, gentle tones, nonthreatening, not directive. She is like my guide, following me through the tangled web of my mind, nudging me here and there, but letting me take the lead. But now, her voice takes on an urgency, and I sit up and pay attention. “You did not ruin Glen’s life. Do you hear me? From what I understand, you only made his life better.” She stops and closes her eyes, and I notice a small tremble in her bottom lip.
“But if he hadn’t picked me, maybe his parents . . .” I trail off as her eyes snap open.
“What do you mean, Clara?” Her gaze is razor sharp.
“I mean,” I say, groping through my brain for the safe answer. I am not supposed to know his parents, so how do I explain how we got together?
“Clara.” Dr. Mulligan’s voice is gentle again. “When did you meet Glen?”
The memory of the dance class flashes through my mind. “Dance class,” I say. That is the story I gave Connor as well. “We ran away together.” Not a lie.
“How old were you?”
This is beginning to feel like a questioning session with Connor. I open my notebook up and begin to doodle again. It isn’t that I do not want to talk to Dr. Mulligan. It scares me how much I want to open up and spill everything. But I cannot trust anyone.
Dr. Mulligan sighs. “I know you can’t tell me the truth yet, Clara,” she says, and I can hear how she tries to hide the frustration in her tone. I feel bad for frustrating her, but my loyalty lies with Glen. She watches me for a few more moments, then stands, brushes herself off, and moves back into her chair.
We do not speak for the rest of the session, but I feel a little better. I know Dr. Mulligan cares for me, and I believe her when she says my presence in Glen’s life made it better. I just wish I could see him and talk to him about it. Just a few minutes would help reassure me.
“Time’s almost up, Clara,” Dr. Mulligan says. We seal and sign the notebook, and after she slips it into its secret spot, she leans against her desk, arms crossed. “I want you to think about something between now and our next session,” she says, her eyes appraising.
I nod. “Sure.”
“There’s a group that meets in this building every week. Women who have come from . . . difficult circumstances. I’d like you to consider joining them.”
Difficult circumstances? I’m not sure what that means, but I nod again. “I’ll think about it.”
“Please do. I think it would be good for you to connect with some other women.” She gives me a small smile. “Those who are not incarcerated.”
I return the smile, taking deep breaths to calm the flash of panic that goes through me at the implied mention of prison. Dr. Mulligan will spring statements like this on me from time to time. She explained that avoiding that which frightens me will not help me in the long run. Her smile widens as she notices my use of breathing techniques to calm my anxiety.
“Good job, Clara.” There is a knock at the door. “Think about the group,” Dr. Mulligan says as she goes to open it, revealing Jay, ready to take me back to my room.
“I will.”
Then
Some of the novelty from my great escape with Glen has worn off. It takes five hours on foot to reach a town, and the sun is fully risen by the time we spot the buildings in the distance. My feet went numb hours ago, but I trudged on, taking only a few of the breaks Glen offered. The numbness and fatigue are forgotten as soon as we see the first signs of civilization. I have never seen a town before. My memories are only of the house I’ve always lived in, with Mama Mae and my sisters.
“It’s so cute!” I say, grinning at Glen. The sleepy town is nestled in a valley, surrounded by snowcapped mountains.
Glen returns my smile, cheeks red from the cold, eyes shining. “I knew you’d love it.”
We head down toward the town, and as we stroll the streets hand in hand, I feel a sense of freedom that I didn’t know was m
issing. I want to jump and dance and twirl. Glen leads me to a small building on the edge of town. The bus depot. He buys two tickets to the next largest city, and we don’t have to wait long before the bus rumbles to the bench where we wait. Glen begins to fidget, checking his watch and glancing down the road. I begin to grow anxious as well. How long before they realize we are missing? How long before they guess where we have gone?
There are few people on the bus. It smells a bit like dirty socks, but to me it is miraculous. We take a seat across from an old man who is gently snoring into the window, each breath leaving a brief puff of condensation on the glass. I giggle and point him out to Glen, who chuckles with me. As soon as the bus pulls away, I feel Glen relax.
“We made it,” he says, turning to look at me.
I nod, unable to hold back my grin. “The start of a new life, right?”
“The best life.”
We pass the time on the bus talking about where we want to go and what we’ll do when we get there. Glen talks of a man he knows who is willing to create fake documents for us and keep it a secret from Papa G—for the right price, of course. Glen will contact the man when we’re safely away. We entertain ourselves by creating our new identities. My name is Delia, and I am eighteen. Glen is Brock, and he is twenty-one. We are newlyweds, fresh from our honeymoon, ready for adventure.
“Oh!” Glen says, reaching into the front pocket of his backpack. “I almost forgot.” He pulls out a small velvet bag. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
I take the bag and turn it over, emptying the contents into my hand. Two silver circlets rest on my palm, one with a tiny diamond chip on the side. I look up at Glen.
“Wedding rings,” he says. “Temporary, of course, until I can get you what you deserve.” He takes the rings from me. “May I?”
My heart thunders as I allow him to slip the ring onto my finger. The reality of the situation hits me. We are on our own, living as a married couple. No Papa G or Mama Mae telling us what to do, but also no one to provide for us.