“I’ll explain later,” Greg whispered. “But nobody left. They’re all just hiding.”
Zach punched the air. “Yes! I knew it!”
Greg threw another hand over the kid’s mouth. “Cut it out, Zach. I’d rather not get my head blown off today, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry.”
“Is…Carrie really okay?” Greg asked.
Zach shrugged. “I don’t know. She misses everyone.”
“But not me,” Greg said more as a statement than a question.
“What do you mean?” Zach asked, giving him a strange look.
Greg leaned against the siding and stared out over the small, trimmed lawn. “It’s my fault that she was arrested, and y’all were taken.”
Zach’s blue eyes hooded over, suddenly on guard. “No it wasn’t. You weren’t even there.”
“I’m the one who told her to go that day. And beyond that, if I had come with you, I could have stopped it.”
“So. How does that make it your fault?”
Greg blew out his breath. “It just does.”
In a matter of seconds, the boy changed: shades, expressions, stances. Everything about Zach shifted into a kid void of emotion, and when he spoke again, his voice had aged five years. “So…Carrie hates you now?”
Greg nodded slowly. “Do you?”
One of his shoulders lifted which was answer enough.
Greg studied Zach’s wounds, wondering what he’d been through—what they’d all been through. Zach wouldn’t even look at him anymore.
“Hey.” Greg put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. And you said Jamansky’s gettin’ Amber out tomorrow?”
The kid nodded to the grass. “But Jamansky said it was Oliver’s fault we got arrested. Oliver was mad at Carrie because she loves you more, so Oliver arrested you, too. Jamansky said so.”
Clearly, Greg hadn’t given the patrol chief enough credit. The guy could twist anything to his advantage.
“Oliver’s the one in prison.” Greg bent down to the kid’s height. “Listen, Zach, you stay away from Jamansky. He’s bad news. And by the way, all this stays between you and me. You can’t tell him I’m out here. And…” As painful as it was, Greg said, “you can’t tell Carrie either.”
Zach shot him another strange look. “Don’t you want to see Carrie? I thought you love her.”
“I do.” Desperately. “But I can’t see her now. Not with Jamansky.”
“She doesn’t like him, you know.”
Greg rolled his eyes. Obviously. Or…mostly obvious because she didn’t hate Jamansky as deeply as he did. If she did, she couldn’t be sitting where she was, as calmly as she was.
“I’ll ask her if you want,” Zach said excitedly. “I can ask her if she still loves you.”
And before Greg could stop him, the kid took off. Greg tried to snag Zach’s red t-shirt, but in seconds, he was to the patio and back inside.
“Hey, Carrie,” Zach called out inside. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Very subtle.
Greg wanted to punch the wall. Zach was going to get him killed.
Crouched behind the scratchy bush, Greg suddenly felt like he was back in middle school, watching the cute girl from across the way while his dorky friend asked if she liked him, the whole time being eaten up by jealousy as she sat next to the other guy. Unable to stop himself, Greg rose tall enough to peek through the kitchen window.
Carrie came, drifting into the kitchen, just ten tiny feet away. Greg searched her for bruises, cuts, or scrapes. Mercifully he found none. Still, something was off. She looked thinner and paler than before, but that wasn’t it. Had it been anybody else, he wouldn’t have thought anything was amiss. But then he realized what it was. Her eyes looked dull and lifeless, like a light had been extinguished inside her.
“What’s wrong, Zach?” she asked, joining him in the small kitchen.
Facing away from Greg, Zach leaned close and whispered something in her good ear.
Greg cringed, imagining Zach’s words. Do you still love Greg? Maybe or probably not?
She straightened in surprise and stared at her little brother for long enough to kill Greg twice over. Leaning forward, she whispered something back. A short answer. Then she went back to watch the movie.
That was it.
She sat next to Jamansky again, although not as close as before.
Greg waited for some kind of signal from Zach. Yes? No? But that was too much to ask from the idiotic, immature, and incredibly short-attention-spanned kid who suddenly was caught up in the movie. Greg’s entire existence was put on hold so Zach could indulge in Batman.
Zach! Greg wanted to scream. Turn around. Zach!
After about the fifth time, Greg gave the window a soft tap. Zach glanced over his shoulder, surprised to realize there was someone in the world besides him.
But then the kid flashed a simple thumbs up.
Suddenly, Greg didn’t care how immature the whole situation was, he was flying—and completely decided on breaking Jamansky’s left arm, quickly followed by the right.
“David?” Carrie said. The way the guy’s name rolled off her tongue made Greg ill, but then she finished. “I’ve got a sudden headache. I could use some fresh air. Is it alright if I step out back for a minute?”
Greg’s heart nearly burst from his chest. Carrie was coming to him.
Back.
To him.
He glanced down at his ratty clothes. It had been awhile since he’d seen clean water. Or a razor for that matter.
“Want me to come with you?” Jamansky asked.
“If you want,” Carrie said indifferently.
“No!” Zach shouted at the same time Greg thought it. There was a small awkward silence before Zach finished, “Who will explain the movie to me?”
Lame, but it seemed to work. Greg could have kissed that kid.
“It’s fine,” Carrie said. “Stay here and watch with Zach. I’ll just be a minute.”
Holding his breath, Greg counted each and every footstep. At eighteen, the glass door slid open. At twenty, Carrie stepped out onto the patio, and the sun hit her soft skin.
Greg stopped breathing all together.
She stood perfectly still, hugging herself as the gentle breeze swirled around her. Her hair glowed gold, and yet her expression was one of immense sadness.
Paralyzed, he waited for her to search for him, to see him crouched behind the bush, but she stayed staring off into space, seemingly unaware of him four tiny feet away.
With a pulse to match a race horse, Greg stood up. “What’s the weather today?” he whispered.
Carrie gasped. She whipped around and searched for the familiar voice.
Overwhelmed by every emotion known to mankind, Greg allowed himself a quick breath before stepping from around the bush.
One hand flew to her mouth, the other clutched her stomach.
“Greg,” she breathed.
He smiled. “Hey, beautiful.”
forty-nine
CARRIE STARED AT GREG, trying to convince herself that he was actually real: his brown hair, mussed and longer than he liked, his tanned face, his green eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world and yet somehow penetrated her soul.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Greg,” she whispered again. Then she flew off the porch and into his arms where he spun her around and around.
Once Greg set her back on her feet, she clung to him, arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. Even with the warmth of him, the strength of his arms squeezing her close, she struggled to believe it. Questions filled her mind. Zach told her to go outside in a few minutes if she still loved Greg. Such a strange request, but now…
She looked up into his face. “How are you here? I thought…” Her throat swelled. Her eyes overflowed. “Zach didn’t tell me.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, but she was smiling as much as she was crying. “Are you real, or have I finally l
ost my mind?”
His thumb brushed the hot tears from her cheeks, then he leaned down and kissed her. The world swirled with warmth and assurance that he was very real.
When he pulled back, he lifted her chin. His thick brows lowered as he studied her face, cheeks, and neck.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. More than fine. “How are you here?”
His eyes flickered to the house. “Long story, and we don’t have time. Jamansky’s gonna come lookin’ for you any minute. You should probably stand where he can see you, so he doesn’t get suspicious.”
With great effort, she released herself from Greg’s arms and went back to the patio. She looked inside. David sat next to Zach, but his gaze went to her, concerned. She turned away, keeping her back to the door where he could see her, but not see her expression. Nor her moving mouth. She would have to stay perfectly still as she spoke, even though everything inside of her was bursting with joy.
When she felt confident David would give her another moment of peace, she glanced sideways.
Greg’s head was tilted to the side as he examined the clothes she wore. Heat filled her cheeks. She was wearing Ashlee’s ridiculously short shorts, but that wasn’t what he stared at.
“That’s my lucky shirt,” Greg whispered with a smile.
She tugged on the corner of the light blue UNC shirt. His favorite shirt had become her favorite shirt. It was too big for her and had faded with age, but she loved the feel of the worn material and the smell of the back woods. She’d worn it every moment since she’d stolen it from Greg’s house, even at night.
“They burned my mom’s blouse,” she said. “And I…” The emotions threatened to overtake her, but she took a quick breath. “And after you were arrested, I needed you with me somehow. So I stole your shirt. Sorry.”
He laughed louder than he should have, all things considered. From his back pocket, he pulled out a little booklet. Her weather journal.
“What?” she whispered with a surprised smile. “Of all the things you could have taken, you chose my stupid rain log?”
“It’s not stupid, and it’s mine now,” he said, stuffing it back in his pocket.
Her smile grew. “So is this shirt.”
Needing to hide her excitement, she faced David’s backyard and stared up at the blue sky.
“I guess that shirt still has a little luck left after all. It looks good on you, Carrie girl.” At the sudden change in his voice, she glanced sideways. Greg’s eyes locked on hers, softening with a look that embraced her as much as his arms had. “Real good.”
She lost herself in those eyes. There was so much to say, so much that happened, but she didn’t even know where to start.
“Zach said Jamansky is getting Amber out tomorrow,” Greg whispered. “Is that true?”
She faced the woods again. “I don’t know. He’s been saying that for days. Something’s wrong with freeing Amber, but he won’t tell me. He just keeps saying, tomorrow, tomorrow. Everyday it’s another tomorrow. I’m worried, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay. Maybe he’ll come through tomorrow. If not, we’ll figure out somethin’ together.”
“Together?” Her eyes flickered to him again, filling with more hot tears. “You mean you’ll stay?”
“You think you could get me to leave you now?”
Her legs felt suddenly weak. “I can’t believe it. I’m getting my life back. And once we get Amber…”
“We’ll go home,” Greg finished softly.
Home.
“Where is everyone, Greg?” she whispered urgently. “Please tell me they didn’t—”
“Ferris,” he interrupted. “They’re all in Ferris, every last one of them.”
She closed her eyes in relief. “Even Oliver?”
Greg was silent a moment before answering. “No. Oliver’s in prison, Carrie. Has been since the night he dropped us off after the hospital. Jamansky arrested him, sent him to Joliet’s maximum facility.”
Pain twisted her stomach, quickly followed by anger. David had arrested Oliver. All his lies, all his schemes, but before she could reply, she heard something inside.
“I’m going to check on your sister, Zach,” David was saying. “I’ll be right back.”
“No!” Zach said desperately. “I’ve never seen this part and I need you to explain it to me.”
Carrie’s pulse jumped. “Greg,” she whispered hurriedly. “I have to get back inside.”
“Go,” Greg whispered. “We’ll talk later.”
Later.
How she loved that word.
“And for Jamansky’s sake,” Greg added darkly, “he better stay away from you.”
Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen. Before David could reach her, she slid open the door and entered the house.
“Are you okay?” David said. He leaned down to examine her face. “Have you been crying, Carrie?”
She wiped her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m just….really missing Amber.”
“Tomorrow,” Jamansky said easily. “I promise. Now come on. You’re missing the movie.”
As she followed him back to the couch, she started counting the minutes until all of them could go home.
* * * * *
Two hours after Carrie heard the TV shut off in the other room, she finally sneaked out of Jamansky’s bedroom. She crept down the dark hallway and peered around the corner. David’s black silhouette was barely visible, sprawled on the couch, but his snores filled the room.
All evening she’d tried to get back outside to Greg. Twice Zach managed to sneak food outside to him, but anytime Carrie tried to leave, Jamansky was at her side. Now he was dead asleep. Zach was conked out in Jamansky’s bed, sharing it with her, but she was wide awake even though it was well after 1:00 a.m.
Bretton and Felix pawed the laundry room door, still shut away. They started to whine as she passed them. They weren’t happy that David had locked them up all night, but Carrie had insisted they were irritating Zach. Now, as long as they didn’t start barking, she could make it outside without them waking David up.
No such luck.
The second she reached the dark kitchen, the dogs started to yelp. A few yelps turned into desperate barking. They wanted out.
Rushing back to the laundry room door, she put both hands on it. “Shhh,” she whispered.
Sensing her presence, they went back to whining and pawing the door. She checked over her shoulder. If Jamansky woke up, she could claim she was just going to the bathroom.
Jamansky continued to snore on the couch.
Even if she managed to escape outside, the dogs would bark at the door until they woke David up anyway. She scanned the dark house, searching for a solution. The only one she could think of wasn’t great, but she was desperate enough to see Greg that she grabbed the laundry room door handle and turned it.
She opened it only a crack. Then she knelt in front of the dogs. Their damp noses poked through, excited for attention. Opening the door a little more, she stroked their big heads.
“Shhh,” she soothed.
Their tails wagged happily.
Standing in the dark hallway, she opened the door the rest of the way, releasing them. Luckily, they stayed quiet now that they were free. They followed her into the dark kitchen even as she told herself what a bad idea this was. But Jamansky kept sleeping, so she kept moving. If he woke up and questioned her, she could say that the dogs had woken her, wanting to go outside.
As they reached the sliding glass door, the dogs’ tail-wagging sped up. So did their breathing. But no barking.
There was just enough moonlight outside for her to make out the basic shape of Jamansky’s backyard. With careful movements, she grabbed the dogs’ leashes and clipped them to their collars. Checking Jamansky one last time, she unlocked the sliding glass door and slid it open.
The dogs slipped outside first, and she followed into t
he black night. She closed the door behind her just as quietly. She was about to celebrate—she had done it—but Bretton let out a low growl, quickly followed by Felix. Both faced the bush Greg had hidden behind earlier.
“Don’t move, Greg!” she whispered urgently. “I have the dogs.”
She didn’t even know if Greg was still there, but the dogs were no longer happy and chipper. They had gone stiff, heads turned the same direction.
Mimicking Jamansky, she pointed a finger at them and firmly whispered, “Sitz!”
Both dogs obeyed, but they continued to search through the moonlight to the left, growls building inside their muzzles.
“Greg,” she whispered more desperately. “If you can hear me, I’m going to walk out a ways. I need to get the dogs away from the house.” Out of earshot of Jamansky.
She looked over her shoulder.
Jamansky’s dark shape hadn’t budged on the couch.
“Freund,” she whispered to the agitated dogs. “Freund.”
Again, she had no idea if she was talking to the wind. Greg could be asleep or ten miles away for all she knew. But she clutched the leashes and lead the dogs out across the dark grass. It took some urging, but they followed. She hadn’t dared grab her shoes since they were past Jamansky. The grass felt cold and damp on her bare feet.
As she walked, she kept whispering, “Freund. Freund. Freund.”
Bretton and Felix tugged on their leashes, wanting to go left and investigate whatever they smelled or heard of Greg. But she held firm, keeping them moving straight ahead. The harder they tugged, the harder she pulled. She had to get far enough away that if they barked—when they barked—it wouldn’t wake up Jamansky.
They reached the back fence that ran along all the homes. It wasn’t as far back as she hoped, but hopefully far enough.
“Sitz,” she ordered again.
They obeyed.
“Good boys,” she whispered, patting their backs. Begrudgingly, she decided they really were good dogs. Obedient, at least. It wasn’t their fault their owner was a tyrant.
“Now, let’s see how you like my friend. Freund,” she started chanting again. “Freund. Freund. Freund.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 122