Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale) (19 page)

She gave him a shy smile as she buckled her seat belt, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes still a little dilated.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t need to be.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, Gris.”

Her blush deepened. “Well, I, uh, I promise to keep my lips to myself from now on.”

There were about twenty places he’d rather have her lips than kept to herself, and they were all throbbing for her attention right now. But he didn’t argue. Holden hid his wince by turning the key in the ignition and letting the old truck roar to life, then placed his arm over the seat to back up.

Griselda rolled down the window.

Ten minutes later, Charles Town disappeared in Holden’s rearview mirror, and the countryside of West Virginia beckoned them to keep moving forward.

It didn’t take long for Griselda to fall asleep beside him, and Holden couldn’t help sneaking glances at her as he drove through the lush green fields dotted with vibrant trees that flanked either side of Route 9 West.

He had to admit it was strange to be back in this truck with her for the second time in his life, and he couldn’t help thinking about the first time. His lips tightened as he remembered Caleb’s first words to them—the first time Holden realized he was trapped with a madman:
Ruth? Ya ever make me wait like that agin, I’ll strip the skin off’n yer back.

Holden had known that something wasn’t right with Caleb Foster the first time he laid eyes on him. His elementary school had done a program about stranger danger in third grade, and his mother had always warned him about taking rides with people he didn’t know. But the thing about having your life upheaved and being placed in foster care? Everyone was a stranger, and you were forced to accept them into your life. You were told that they were your foster “mother” and foster “father,” even if you hadn’t laid eyes on them before your placement, even if they drank too much and forgot to give you dinner. You were instructed to live in their house, sleep in the bed they provided, and follow their unfamiliar rules. You were, more or less,
encouraged
to place your naive trust in total and complete strangers.

So Holden understood why Gris had gone willingly with Caleb after the tragic miscommunication between them, and the thing is? Somewhere inside, he knew what was going to happen if he got in that truck, but he couldn’t bear to watch her go off with Caleb alone. He was already invested in her.

The first time he ever saw Griselda, on his first night at the Fillmans’ house, she’d been standing in the hallway outside the room he shared with Billy. She had a toothbrush in her hand, so he guessed she was headed to the bathroom, but she’d paused in his bedroom doorway, watching Billy taunt him with his dead father’s Orioles cap, punch him, and call him a retard for stammering. Her blue eyes flashed with fury, small hands fisting by her sides, and Holden knew—
he knew
—that she would be important to him. Her indignation had also given him the courage to fight back because he didn’t want her to think he was some little wimp who let older kids push him around.

As Mrs. Fillman lit into him about punching Billy, he ignored her, shifting his eyes to Griselda instead. Leveled by her soft, steady, compassionate gaze, suddenly everything that had just happened with Mrs. Fillman and Billy didn’t matter. In a world full of heartache, turmoil, and strangers, she somehow felt familiar. She felt like grace in a graceless world. All he could see was her kind face, her pretty hair in neat braids, her kinship, her solidarity. For the first time since losing his grandmother, he felt a genuine connection to someone, and to let Griselda know that his heart recognized hers, he had winked at her.

Shifting his eyes back to the road, Holden grinned, remembering her tall, scrawny body and huge eyes that used to take in everything around her. How desperately he’d wanted to belong to her, to mean something to her, to protect her—whatever it took to be in her life. A little indignation with a side of compassion and he’d been a goner from the start.

He would have sold his soul to be close to her.

His grin faded.

In a way, that’s exactly what he’d done.

But would he trade it? If he could go back to that day on the side of the road, knowing what he knew now, would he choose differently? Would he choose to stay rooted to the pavement as she drove away with Caleb Foster?

The answer was swift and final: no.

He wouldn’t have changed his decision.

He would have followed her. No matter what, he would have followed her.

Go to the ends of the earth for you . . . to make you feel my love.

***

As they pulled into the driveway, Holden looked at the dilapidated farmhouse in front of them. During the twenty-minute drive, the Man had been mostly quiet, only muttering a few times, and Holden couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Something about “wickedness” and “evil ways,” and once he’d looked at Gris venomously, narrowing his eyes and spitting out “the path to hell” before turning his wild eyes back to the road.

Gris still held the puppy on her lap, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked at Holden despairingly, her eyes telegraphing her terror and acknowledging the grave mistake she’d made by getting into the truck. Desperate that she not be too frightened, he mustered the courage to wink at her once, then looked out the window like he was enjoying the view so she wouldn’t see the stark horror invading his eyes too.

“We’re home. Git out.”

The Man grabbed the puppy off Griselda’s lap, making it cry from his rough handling, and Griselda’s eyes cut to Holden’s as the Man slammed his door shut, leaving them alone.

“It’ll b-b-be okay,” he whispered.

“How?” she whimpered.

“We’ll d-d-do what he s-s-says and r-r-run away later when he’s asleep.”

Suddenly the door beside Holden was jerked open.

“Ya got to be stronger, little brother,” said the Man, darting a lethal glance at Griselda before settling his watery eyes on Holden. “Can’t succumb to her temptress ways this go-round.”

“Y-y-yes, s-s-sir,” said Holden, stepping down to the dusty ground, utterly confused by the Man’s words but anxious to appear agreeable.

“Beg the Lord for salvation from yer wickedness,” he added, looking back at Griselda. “An’ maybe He’ll forgive ya.”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled, tears thick in her voice, as she stepped down to the driveway beside Holden.

Don’t cry, Gris. Please don’t cry.

“Ye’ll live in darkness till yer evil ways is purged! Till yer worthy o’ the light.”

Holden stared up at him, watching as the summer sky turned gray with storm clouds.

“Ye’ll work yer fingers so the devil knows there ain’t no playground for his pleasure.”

Griselda’s hand touched Holden’s, and he folded his fingers over hers as the Man stared up at the sky.

“Can’t be no cleft in yer remorse! Ya hear?”

The puppy in his arms was whimpering, but the Man didn’t seem to notice how tightly he was gripping the small animal.

“For the wages o’ sin is death!”

The sound of water hitting the ground made Holden look down to see a puddle between Griselda’s dusty sneakers where she’d peed. At the same time, fat raindrops started falling, as though the Man’s angry ranting had the power to hide the sun.

Suddenly the Man looked down at them, his eyes widening at the sight of their clasped hands. The fury on his face was immediate and terrifying. Throwing the puppy to the ground, he ripped their arms away from each other, hurting them, staring up at heaven and wailing, “Cast out the wicked!”

His fingers squeezed their skin painfully as he dragged them behind him, around the back of the house. Letting go of Holden’s arm for a moment as he opened the storm cellar doors, Holden looked wildly at the woods that surrounded the property on all sides, wondering if he should try to run. But one look at Griselda, who had tears streaming down her face, closed the door on freedom. He didn’t run. A second later Caleb Foster grabbed his arm again and dragged them down into the darkness of their first night in hell.

***

“How long was I out?” Griselda asked him, waking with a start to find the truck was stopped.

“Not long,” said Holden, flicking a quick glance at her, then looking back out the windshield. He took a deep, shaky breath, then sighed, shaking his head a little like he was shaking something away. “Thirty minutes or so.”

She scrubbed at her face with her hands, then stretched her arms before crossing them over her chest. They were parked in front of a Target. “Where are we?”

“Martinsburg. I thought . . . well, you’re welcome to use my toothbrush, but you’re so skinny, I don’t think my jeans will fit you.”

Her lips tilted up. “Aw! You’d loan me your jeans?”

“What’s mine is yours,” he said.

“You keep saying that.”

“I keep meaning it,” he said, without looking at her.

“I have no money,” she said. Since she was careful with her money and had been self-sufficient for several years now, it was an uncomfortable admission.

She felt his eyes on her. “What’s mine is—”

“I get it,” she said, looking up and rolling her eyes at him, “but I’m paying you back someday.”

He shook his head, grinning at her. “Still stubborn as hell.”

“I’m no freeloader, Mr. Croft.”

“Okay, Miss Griselda. Fine. If you insist, you may pay me back for a couple pairs of jeans and a few shirts.”

“Miss Griselda, huh?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you Z-Zelda,” he said, parroting her words from yesterday.

She opened her door and stepped out of the truck, stretching again. She felt a familiarity coming back to their relationship and she loved it. Not that she’d ever had a home she loved, but if she had, she imagined this is what it would feel like to come home.

He walked around the hood of the car, holding his hand out to her, and she took it, letting him weave his fingers through hers as they walked through the parking lot.

“However, as long as we’re talking about Zelda,” he said tartly, and her heart skipped a beat as his fingers squeezed hers gently, “why don’t you tell me something about her that I, uh, don’t know?”

“I thought you hated that name,” she said.

“Maybe I’ll like it more once I know her better.”

Griselda was both relieved and sorry when he dropped her hand and handed her a red plastic shopping basket. Relieved because their physical connection—their raw chemistry—was fierce and relentless, and sorry because a rash, impulsive side of her wanted to encourage it, explore it, test it, and savor it.

She sighed, her body and mind at war as she stepped into the air-conditioned store.

“So?” he asked.

“Right. Zelda.”
Um . . . Zelda wants to jump your body like a monkey and hang on for dear life while you—
“She loves kids.”

Holden was silent, so she looked up to find him grinning at her with such a sweet expression, her tummy flipped over.

“Not surprised,” he said. “I always thought you’d be an amazing mom.”

His words from long ago—
We’ll be the b-best p-parents ever, Gris—
floated through her mind, making her feel warm. Her free arm brushed into his, and she didn’t move away so it happened again, each time sending delightful little shivers up her arm.

“What else?”

“I love my job.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, his fingers brushing against hers like a tease.

“I work Monday through Friday, eight to six. The house is in Georgetown, and it’s so beautiful, Holden—it’s like something you’d see in a movie. She has little soaps in the bathroom in the shape of birds, and they smell like . . . well, like clean fresh air and roses. Everything’s perfect. Everything’s lovely. Sabrina—she’s my boss—goes out most days, and it’s just me and Pru. I make her lunch, take her to the park, do her laundry. Sometimes I—”

“Pretend it’s your house, and she’s yours.”

Griselda grinned, nodding at his perception. “That’s harmless, right?”

“You always did love spinning fantasies, Gris.”

“She’s such a happy little girl, it’s not just a fantasy, Holden. There are really children who grow up in safe, happy places, and I love that. I love seeing what it looks like for a little girl to have such a beautiful childhood.” She didn’t say this with self-pity, but she worried it sounded that way. “Not that I . . . I mean, mine could’ve been worse, I suppose. You get what you get—”

“—and you don’t get upset,” finished Holden, surprising her by remembering Mrs. Fillman’s favorite catchphrase. As though reading her mind, he added, “D-didn’t much like Miz Fillman.”

Griselda turned into the women’s clothing section, scanning a clearance shelf for size-four shorts. She didn’t look at Holden when she asked, “What do you think was going on between her and Billy?”

Finding three pairs of denim cutoffs, she pulled them off the shelf and into her basket and looked up at Holden. His expression had darkened, and his jaw was tight. His eyes searched Griselda’s before answering. “Sh-she was molesting him.”

Griselda flinched. She’d suspected, of course, but it was dreadful to hear it confirmed. “How do you know for sure?”

“I pretended to be asleep while it was happening.”

She winced, reaching out to touch his arm, and he stepped closer to her.

“God, Holden.”

Her hand skated down his arm, clasping his hand.

“Only happened once while I was there,” he said. “B-but I was only there for three nights.”

His fingers entwined around hers, and she stepped back, pulling him with her between two racks of T-shirts that afforded them a little more privacy. “I’m sorry.”

“D-don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for B-Billy. Cost a lot to be the favorite.”