by Rena Olsen
“That is my son’s wife,” Papa G calls from the doorway. “She is not a part of my operation.”
Glen has reached us, and I hold my breath. Neil looks me up and down, lip curling. “Pity,” he says before releasing me. My arm throbs where his hand gripped it, but I am grateful he did not ask more questions. If he had time to look through the paperwork, he might see that I am still listed as collateral. Papa has not gotten around to getting rid of my paperwork, though Glen’s debt has been taken care of.
Grabbing my hand, Glen pulls me across the room and out the door before Neil can second-guess his decision to release me. We jump into the truck, where Joel is concealed under a pile of blankets, and Papa guns the engine. Too soon, the house shrinks into the background, disappearing in the clouds of dust kicked up by the tires. Glen squeezes my hand, and I meet his gaze for a moment. Then, with one last look back, I say good-bye to my home, square my shoulders, and prepare for my future.
Now
It is questioning day. I no longer track time by the days of the week, but by group day, therapy day, questioning day, and the occasional visiting day, when Mama Mae comes to gush about how excited she is to become a grandma. Then there are the days in between, the rare days when no one comes for me. Those days I fill by reading my books about pregnancy and motherhood. I think I would like to try a water birth, and I wonder if I’m still here when he is born if they would be able to make that happen. Nut moves all the time now, assuring me of his presence with each gentle flutter.
The door opens and Jay and Connor both come in. Connor looks grim, while Jay fidgets as if he is nervous. I stand and follow them out of the room. There are no niceties today, and I do not need instructions to know where we are going. I am surprised when they turn the opposite direction of the questioning room and bring me toward Dr. Mulligan’s office instead.
“It’s not therapy day,” I say, wondering how I could be the only one keeping track of the schedule. “That’s tomorrow.”
“I know,” Connor says, not looking at me. “We thought you’d be more comfortable for the questioning today with Dr. Mulligan.”
My brow wrinkles at his words. Questioning has been going okay. I have given them quite a bit of information, though nothing specific to Glen. I think Glen would be pleased with my answers. Just enough to be cooperative, but not enough to get anyone in too much trouble. Like balancing on the garden wall as we did when we were children. Falling off either way would be disastrous, but as long as I stay focused and centered, we will be fine. Mostly the questions have been about my part in things, in training the girls, the clients who we served, that sort of thing. Safe topics. They do not even ask about Mama’s visits, though they must be wondering how much I could have in common with a woman I claim to have never met before. I do wonder about that. Connor and Jay are not stupid, and I know they suspect I have met Mama before. It makes me anxious that they have not pushed for more details on that relationship.
At the door to Dr. Mulligan’s office, I stop. “Maybe I don’t feel very well today. Could we do this another time?”
Connor’s eyes are gentle, but his tone is firm. “There are some things we need to talk about, Clara. It’s important. It can’t wait any longer.”
I chew my lip, contemplating a fainting spell, but instead I move forward, past Jay as he opens the door. Dr. Mulligan stands as we enter and gestures toward the couch.
“It’s good to see you, Clara. I hope you weren’t caught too much by surprise at coming here today.” Dr. Mulligan knows that I have created a schedule in my mind. She knows more about me than anyone, except Glen. Or maybe not. She may know more about me than even Glen does now. It is an unsettling thought. I perch on the edge of the couch instead of sinking to the floor as I usually do. I sense this is an important meeting.
Connor rolls an extra chair over that has obviously been taken from another office, while Jay lounges against the wall, always watchful, but out of the way. The atmosphere is tense, and while I understand that they want to breach a tough subject in a place that is comforting to me, I resent that they have brought tension to the oasis of Dr. Mulligan’s office.
“Clara, you have been with us for several weeks now,” Connor begins. “And we have been going slowly with you. I understand this is all difficult.” He looks at Dr. Mulligan. “Dr. Mulligan says that you have been making some good progress in therapy, coming to terms with some tough issues.”
A flash of betrayal stabs through me, and my eyes shoot to Dr. Mulligan. How could she share what I have been saying with these men?
“Calm down, Clara,” Connor says, and I drag my eyes back to him. “She didn’t give us details, only told us that she is happy with your progress and feels you are ready to hear some things that we have been keeping from you.”
I look at Dr. Mulligan with new appreciation. She really does keep my secrets, and she thinks I am strong. She’s told me as much before, but this proves that she believes it, and it’s not just something she says to make me feel better. I sit up a little straighter. “I can handle it,” I say.
Connor smiles. “I know. But, Clara, this is going to be tough. That’s why Dr. Mulligan is here. If you need a break, let us know.”
A break? I’ve never been offered a break before, even at the beginning when the questions were so overwhelming that I wanted to crawl into myself and never emerge. I clasp my hands together, ignoring the moisture that has covered my palms. I nod. “I’m ready.”
Connor retrieves a folder from his ever present stack of paperwork. He removes a glossy picture and sets it on the coffee table in front of me. A young girl with a missing tooth grins up at me. She has straight brown hair and dark green eyes that twinkle even through the photograph. I smile. “She’s cute.”
“Yes,” Connor says. “Do you recognize her?”
I squint at the picture. She does look familiar, but as I riffle through my memory, I cannot place her. She is not one of my daughters. I remember each of them as clearly as if I had just seen them yesterday. Even when Glen’s face fades, I can bring each child forward in my memory in sharp relief. “I don’t remember her,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. Should I know her?”
Connor’s mouth is set in a grim line, and I resist the urge to cover my ears before he can speak again. “Her name was Diana.”
Diana. That name. That is what they called me when they first took us, what Meredith insisted on calling me for days when I first arrived. Diana. My heart stutters and then begins to race. I think they are trying to suggest . . .
“You think this is me?” I ask, disbelief in my voice.
Dr. Mulligan leans forward. “It is you, Clara,” she says, her gentle voice soothing my nerves. “Or it was you. You were six years old in this picture. It was taken about six months before you disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” My mind is spinning and I cannot comprehend what they are telling me.
Connor is speaking again. “You were abducted someplace between your house and the neighborhood park when you were six years old.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re wrong. That’s not true. My parents gave me away. They didn’t want me. They wanted Mama Mae and Papa G to raise me.”
There is a sharp intake of breath and I look over to see Connor’s shocked gaze fixed on me. Jay swears under his breath. Even Dr. Mulligan’s poker face breaks for a moment, her mouth opening slightly in surprise.
My heart stutters as I realize what I have said. It’s over. I broke my promise to Glen. I was never supposed to let them know that I knew Mama and Papa. I have let them believe that I hooked up with Glen when I was older, and have refused questions about who raised me. This is huge. I can see it on Connor’s face, and Jay is staring at me openmouthed.
“Mae? You mean Glen’s mother?” Connor asks, careful to keep his voice neutral, as if I do not already realize what I have opened.
; I clamp my lips together and stare down at the picture of the laughing girl on the table. Every muscle in my body is begging me to flee, but I stay as still as possible.
“Clara? How long have you known Mae Lawson?”
This can be salvaged. If I never repeat the information again, they still have nothing.
“She visited me for the first time a few weeks ago.” It is not a lie.
“So we’re back to this again. Evasive answers and half-truths. Dammit, Clara, we can’t go backward. Enough is enough.” Connor throws his papers on the table, and more photos slip out of the folder. The same girl from the large picture in front of me dances across the other pictures. In some of them she is alone, but in others, a blond girl plays by her side. Diana and the blonde with their arms around each other, eating ice cream, swimming at a lake. And one photo of a family. Diana sits in the lap of a large man with a kind face. A woman laughs as she looks over at them, and I feel an uncomfortable pang in my chest.
I reach forward, separating the family picture from the rest. The blond girl was hidden, but now she comes into view, nestled in the crook of the woman’s arm. I can almost hear her laugh, almost feel the strong arms of the man, holding me securely in his lap. Is it possible?
I take a deep breath. “Who are these people?”
“Jane and Doug McKinley,” Dr. Mulligan answers. “The older girl, the blonde, is Charlotte. That is your family, Clara.”
My head is moving back and forth in denial before she even finishes. “That’s not possible. My parents didn’t want me. This family cannot be mine.”
Dr. Mulligan moves to sit next to me, something she has never done. “It’s true, Clara. They are your family. We compared medical records to be sure. And, Clara.” She pauses. “They want to see you.”
Then
I walk in the door, a basket of freshly dried laundry on my hip, and hear peals of giggling from the sunroom, overlaying strains of an old-fashioned waltz. Passion, who is in front of me, looks over her shoulder, eyes sparkling. A smile creeps across my face as I shrug. I left the girls doing lessons just twenty minutes ago, and I should be angry that they are goofing off instead, but it’s such a lovely day, I can’t really blame them.
“Let’s go see what the troublemakers are up to,” I say in response to Passion’s unspoken question. She grins and follows me down the hall. As we draw closer to the sunroom, I turn and place a finger over my lips, and we tiptoe the rest of the way to the door.
My smile grows when I peek inside. Glen is in the middle of the room, surrounded by all of our daughters. He is taking turns twirling each girl around in time to the music. When I look closer, I see that he is letting them jump on his feet, allowing them to spin and whirl faster. It has been so long since I’ve seen Glen smile like this, and I hate to break the moment.
As if he senses his audience, Glen looks up, and his eyes heat. He works his way across the room, dancing with a few more girls before stopping in front of me. He holds out a hand and bows slightly. “Mrs. Lawson?”
I step fully into the room and do a small curtsy before taking his offered hand. It has been a long time since we’ve danced, but it feels as if no time has passed at all. We are back in dance class, and I am fourteen again, crushing on the cocky, unattainable boy. Except now the boy is mine, and he has grown into a handsome, confident man. Glen’s eyes pierce mine, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. Moments like this happen less often lately, which makes them even more special.
At some point, I tear my gaze away and realize we’re alone in the room.
“Passion took the girls back to their lessons,” Glen whispers, his voice tickling my ear. “I always liked that girl.”
My arms twine around his neck, pulling him closer. “She’s the best.”
His mouth claims mine and we continue to sway together long after the record stops playing.
Now
Glen’s face lights up when Connor ushers me into the room. He looks much better than he did the last time I saw him, when I told him about the baby. I am pleased that the news has rejuvenated him so. It worries me also, because of what I must talk with him about today. I don’t plan on telling him about my slipup with Mama and Papa. He’ll find out eventually, but just the thought of admitting to such an enormous mistake fills me with dread. I’m already uncertain about how he will take the news of my family. Will he be happy for me? Worried for me? Angry? After all, until yesterday, he was really the only family I needed. Him and my daughters. Will he feel betrayed if I tell him I am considering meeting the McKinleys?
Glen stands and rushes to the door to meet me, stopping short with his arms raised to embrace me when Connor clears his throat. Glen shoots Connor a dirty look but drops his arms.
“Hey, Clare,” he says, and his voice is almost shy. I thought I had seen all the facets of Glen, but excited daddy is not one of them. I smile.
“Twenty minutes, Clara,” Connor says before backing out of the room. There is censure in his tone. He’s noticed the difference in Glen, too, and knows where it’s come from.
As soon as the door is shut, Glen envelops me in his arms, holding tight for a moment before leading the way to the table. “Sit down, tell me how you’re doing.” His eyes are glued to my abdomen. On close inspection, there is a small mound beginning to form. He notices immediately, of course. Glen knows my body better than anyone, even in the baggy clothes they have provided. He places his hand over the bump, a grin creasing his face, melting away the years he has gained since being arrested. “That’s our baby in there.”
I nod. “And he’s perfectly healthy.”
Glen’s grin widens. “It’s a boy?”
Laughing, I grip his hand. “It’s too soon to tell for sure. I just feel it.”
“When can we find out?” His face is eager, and he reminds me of the boy I fell in love with.
“In a couple of months. Maybe we will both be out by then and can find out together.”
Glen’s face falls. “I don’t know. They’re gathering a lot of evidence against me. I think they’re waiting for it all to come together.” He pauses. “I think they’re waiting for you, Clara. Be careful.”
My heart races. “What do you mean?”
“No one is talking. My guys are loyal, and Mama, of course. I think some of the girls from the brothel have talked, but they’re trying to get me on bigger charges.”
“Bigger?”
“Don’t worry about that now.” His voice drops so low even I have a hard time hearing him. I lean closer. “They’re going to try to trick you, Clara. Don’t let them. I’m counting on you, baby. I want to be there for you, for our son.” My heart surges with purpose. Glen is right. I have a family to protect. At the reminder of family, I feel the blood drain from my face.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Glen asks, gripping my face. “You look like you’re going to be sick. Do I need to call someone?”
“No,” I whisper harshly, glancing at the two-way mirror. I hate being watched all the time. “No.” Less harsh this time. “I just . . . Glen, they found my family. The ones I lived with before Mama and Papa brought me home.”
His eyes turn dark. “What?”
“They . . . they want to meet me. These McKinleys. They want to meet the daughter they gave up almost twenty years ago.”
“Don’t be stupid, Clara.”
I sit up in surprise. I have forgotten how quickly Glen’s mood can change. His tone is fierce, almost mocking. “I am not stupid.”
“You are if you see them. They’re trying to fill your head with this fairy tale of a family, but, Clara, they are the ones who abandoned you. If they wanted you so badly, why didn’t they come and get you?”
He makes a good point.
“They’re probably out of the money they got for you and want more. Don’t believe the lies. Believe in me, in us. We are the only
fairy tale you need.” He says it with conviction, his typical confidence in full force. I feel myself being pulled back to him, doubts piling up about the information I’ve gathered over the past several days.
I start to shake my head. “But Dr. Mulligan said—”
“Who, your quack therapist? She’s with them, Clara. The ones trying to keep us apart, trying to put me away for the rest of my life. Don’t let this happen. Stay strong. For us.” His hand goes back to my stomach. “For him. For Glen the third.”
“For little Glen,” I repeat, placing my hand over his. Warmth rushes through me as I picture the three of us together. But the feeling disappears when I look up and see Glen’s expression.
For a fleeting moment, I see Papa G in Glen’s eyes. There and gone in a moment, but the sense of unease I feel lingers even into my dreams that night.
Then
Glen rolls away from me, breathing hard. “That was great, baby,” he says, propping his hands behind his head. I snuggle closer, chilled away from his body heat. I listen to his heartbeat slow, and the perspiration cools on our bodies. Even after being together like this for several months, I am in awe of Glen and how he is all mine.
We stay like that, limbs tangled together, for countless minutes. Finally, Glen sighs. “I need to go check on the house, make sure Mama’s secured everything.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and reaches for his clothes. I sit up and watch as he wanders, shirtless, into the kitchen of our tiny one-room cabin.
“Is Papa away on business?” I thought I had spotted him earlier, but Mama keeps me so busy during the day, I might have been confused.
Glen laughs. “No, he’s at the Treehouse.”
The brothel? I’m confused, and my face must show it, because Glen chuckles again and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. I sit up and raise the sheet to cover my nakedness.
“First,” Glen says, tugging the sheet until it falls to my waist, “never cover up such beauty.” He strokes my skin as his lips find mine, and my heart quickens again. My skin flushes.