Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale) (42 page)

“She said we could use the car,” she said, grabbing two Diet Cokes from the refrigerator.

Worry crashed over him like a wave, and he thought about the ultrasound picture of his tiny daughter. He froze in the McClellans’ kitchen and searched Griselda’s bluer-than-blue eyes for comfort. “Gris, you think she’ll be okay?”

“I do,” she said confidently, holding open the door for him and locking it behind them.

***

Holden filled her in on Family Day and graduation, answering her questions about the Crucible and the friends he’d made at boot, but Griselda could tell that his heart wasn’t into the conversation. He was preoccupied and worried, his body more and more tense the closer they got to West Virginia, and she respected his need for quiet by looking out the window and remembering the last time they’d crossed the border into West Virginia together:

Ten years old, their shoulders stuck with sweat to the vinyl backseat of the Fillmans’ old station wagon and each other.

Looking straight ahead out the window, she saw the large blue, green, and yellow sign: “Welcome to West Virginia.”

“I know you’re thinking about it,” he said. “The last time we were in a car together headed for West Virginia.”

“You know me well.”

He reached over and placed his hand on her thigh, flattening his palm against the soft corduroy. “C-come with me to California, Gris.”

“I will,” she answered without thinking, just as she knew she would.

“We’ll find you a college so you can continue your studies. A job. Whatever you need.”

“I just need
you
,” she said softly, her heart hurting a little that he hadn’t mentioned marriage.

He was talking about a place called Coronado, where he’d be finishing some training, and a base called Pendleton, where he thought he might be stationed. Her mind drifted.

Maybe we’ll be unconventional
, she thought.
Maybe we’ll be one of those couples that live together their whole life, and everyone just assumes they’re married, but they never actually said the words or did the deed. We’ll still have a home and kids, and when enough years go by, we’ll say “What’s the point?” because a piece of paper couldn’t make us love each other any more than we already do.

She took a deep breath and sighed, wishing her little internal pep talk had eased her worries. It hadn’t. But she’d fake it till she made it. The important thing was for them to be together.

“So you will? You’ll come with me? For sure?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice a little flat, but she knew Holden. He’d blame her lack of enthusiasm on their present circumstance.

“I’ll hook you up with Graham’s girlfriend, Claire, online. You two can touch base through e-mail, and then you’ll know someone out there.”

Great
, thought Griselda.
The girlfriend. Maybe we can drive over to the base together and peek our noses through the chain-link fence, watching all those military wives swiping their cards at the PX.

“Thanks,” she said.

If she was so damn strong, as she’d boasted to him an hour ago, she should just find the courage to tell him how she felt. Right? Right. She glanced over at him—at the worry lines on his face. Nothing had gone the right way today. Nothing. They were supposed to have this wonderful romantic day to reconnect, and instead his child’s life was in jeopardy, and they were talking about her moving to California as a way to comfort themselves instead of as a solid plan for their future. She felt all of this inside, and she even felt compelled to say something, but damn it, now was
not
the time.

“We can talk more about it later, Holden. Okay?”

“But you’ll c-come?” he asked quickly, turning his head, his bleak gray eyes skewering her blue.

She stared back at him for a moment before refocusing on the straight stretch of highway up ahead and said the only thing that made sense.

“You jump, I jump,” she said, placing her palm over his hand and squeezing.

They were greeted at the hospital by a white-faced, perspiring Clinton, who rushed Holden to the information desk. Once Holden explained that he was the biological father of Gemma’s child, he was whisked away to see her, leaving Griselda and Clinton in the waiting room with Quint and Maudie.

After she’d exchanged concerned greetings, Griselda was informed that Gemma had quickly gone from preeclampsia to eclampsia, and the seizure this morning had been their only real warning sign of danger besides the regular aches and pains they’d all chalked up to the  pregnancy. As far as they knew—they heard this from a nurse who’d taken pity on their worried faces and shared what she could—the baby seemed to be okay, but she’d need to be delivered today. Gemma’s body simply wasn’t able to carry her any longer.

“She’s so little,” said Clinton, looking up at Griselda with red-rimmed eyes.

She sat beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “Thirty-four weeks is real close to term, and this looks like a good hospital. I bet they’re going to be just fine. Both of them.”

Offering to grab some coffee for the worried trio, she headed to the vending machines in the hallway and purchased four cups, then sat down with them to wait. It didn’t take long. Holden returned about an hour later.

And she knew.

She knew from his eyes that she’d been right.

He pulled the surgical mask from over his mouth, his grin lighting up the whole room. “They’re both going to be okay! Hannah was just born, and they’re sewing up Gemma now. She’s here. She’s okay!”

Clinton hung his head, sinking down into a plastic chair, his shoulders trembling with relief and thanks, and Maudie rushed to comfort him while Quint stood up and offered his hand to Holden. “Congratulations, Papa.”

“Thanks, Quint.”

Griselda hung back a little, uncertain of her place until Holden swept her into his arms, spinning her around. His face was flushed and excited as he gushed, “She’s f-fine, Gris. She’s little, but f-fine. She weighed five pounds, and she cried real loud and strong. She got a seven on her Apgar test, and then a nine. She’s got d-dark hair like Gem’s, and blue eyes . . . sorta like mine.”

Griselda’s eyes watered instantly, and she cupped Holden’s cheeks, kissing him joyfully. “Congratulations, Papa,” she said, stealing Quint’s line.

“P-papa,” he sighed. “I’m a father, G-Gris. Somebody’s related to me.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, nodding at him, her tears mixing with her smile. “And yes, she is.”

Looking over her shoulder, Holden’s expression of joy dimmed. “Gimme a sec.”

He released her and headed over to Clinton, sitting down beside his friend.

“Gemma’s gonna be okay, Clinton. She’s gonna be real good. Just fine.”

“I heard you say that,” said Clinton, taking a deep breath and sniffling. “Very glad to hear it. Got a little worried there.”

“You love her a lot.”

“I love ’em both. I love ’em both so much, if anything happened to ’em, I would’ve . . .” He paused, swiping at his eyes. “Well, I would’ve just about wanted to die.”

“I know,” said Holden, putting his hand on his friend’s knee. “I know that. W-which is why Hannah’s birth certificate says her daddy’s name is Clinton Davis.”

Clinton’s neck jerked up, his face confused. “Se—Holden. What?”

Holden nodded. “She’s yours.”

“No! No, Holden. You don’t have to do . . . She’s . . . she’s
yours
.”

Holden shook his head slowly. “I won’t be here for her. I’ll be in C-California. I’ll be in Hawaii. I’ll be in Afghanistan. I’ll always love her, and I’ll try to get back here to see her when I c-can. And when I do, I’d like for her to know that it was me that gave her life. But it was you that gave her
a
life. You’re the one that loves her mama. You’re the one who’s gonna love
her
. Right?”

“Already do.” Clinton swallowed, blinking furiously as he dropped his embarrassed gaze to his lap. “I’ll do right by her. I swear to God, I will love that child and protect her and give her the best life I can. And you’ll
always
be welcome to come see her, Holden. Always. We’re family now.”

Holden blinked too, taking a jagged breath and slapping Clinton’s knee twice before standing up. “Well, Daddy. Why don’t you go b-back there and see your girls?”

Clinton stood up, giving his parents a proud smile before clapping his arms around Holden. “Thank you. I just . . . Thank you.”

Griselda watched Holden clench his jaw tightly as he nodded, and he didn’t turn around as Clinton rushed to Gemma’s side.

***

Holden had had a lot of time to think about Hannah in boot camp, and while he’d always love her and she’d always be his biological child, he wouldn’t be able to be a proper father to her. He didn’t love her mother. He wouldn’t be living in West Virginia. And getting to her from California between deployments? He simply couldn’t guarantee that it would happen with any regularity. Sure, he’d visit her once or twice a year and send her pretty things on her birthday and at Christmas. But that wasn’t a father. That wasn’t the sort of daddy he wanted for Hannah.

Clinton Davis was the best friend Holden had ever had, and Quint was the closest thing to a father after his own. He knew the Davis family and trusted them. Truth be told? He trusted them more than he trusted Gemma. If he wanted Hannah to have the best possible life? He needed to make damn sure that Clinton had legal rights over his daughter. It was the best way to ensure her safety and her future.

It had ached to write in Clinton’s name, denying his own. But he’d learned his first lesson about being a parent on Hannah’s birth day. He’d learned that being a parent was about putting yourself second and your child first. And that’s exactly what he’d done.

He turned to Quint, who looked at him with wonder and pride. “Welcome home, Marine. I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own son. And since your baby girl just became my granddaughter, you’ll forgive me if I hug you like you
are
my own.”

Pulling Holden into his arms, Quint held him tightly. Holden’s chest swelled with the rightness of his decision, and he felt a surge of peace break through his sorrow.

“Thanks, Quint,” he said, finally pulling away. He caught sight of Gris over Quint’s shoulder, tears running down her face faster than she could swipe them away, her eyes so full of love, he wondered if he could be blinded by it.

“Holden,” said Maudie, clasping Holden against her massive bosom. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He leaned back. “I know y’all will love her, Maudie. You’ll be an amazing family to her. B-better than anything I could offer.”

Maudie pulled him back, rubbing his back and speaking excitedly. “Yes, we will. And I will send you pictures and footprints, and I will record her little voice saying ‘Papa Holden’ when she’s ready, and she’ll always know she had a daddy before Clinton who loved her enough to give her the family he wanted her to have. And when you come visit, she’ll know you, Holden. She’ll know you, and she’ll already love you. I can promise you that, son. Now tell me what you and that sweet gal are doing for Thanksgiving on Thursday because I . . .”

Maudie kept talking a mile a minute, but Holden’s eyes caught Griselda’s over her shoulder.

He watched her mouth the words “I love you” before sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and placing the tattoo of their initials over her heart.

***

In those dark days in the cellar, Griselda had learned of Holden’s selflessness and courage—the countless times he’d sassed Caleb intentionally to distract him from Griselda and take a beating in her place, or the times he’d simply demanded to take it for her because he couldn’t bear to see her harmed. His deeply protective nature was a hallmark of his character, and the main reason that military service was such a wise and organic choice for him. He was selfless, courageous, and protective—values that would be put to excellent use in his career of choice.

But until the moment that Holden signed over his parental rights to his best friend, Griselda hadn’t realized that the well of Holden’s goodness was actually bottomless.

People were fond of saying things like, “I consider myself to be understanding, but even
I
have limits.” Or, “I think of myself as a kind person, but I couldn’t let
that
slide.” People inherently had limits to their virtues, and as disappointing as that fact was, it was a part of life that we all came to understand as we matured, as we learned that life isn’t black and white, but a million shades of gray.

The miraculous thing Griselda realized about Holden, standing in that hospital waiting room as he gave his daughter away, was that there was
no
limit to his virtue. His selflessness, courage, and protectiveness knew
no
bounds,
no
tether,
no
limits or conditions. In short, his love knew no end.

And her ridiculous worries about being married or not being married floated away like dust in a windstorm, like they’d never even existed. Because before her was the man of every woman’s dreams, and she knew in her heart that God broke the mold after Holden Croft was born. And she knew something else:

Despite the terrible misfortunes of her life, the scales were balanced now because Holden belonged to her.

“That was amazing,” she said, as she drove them from the hospital to his apartment on Main Street. “What you did, Holden, was
amazing
.”

He took a deep breath. “What I did was
necessary
. I mean, what kind of an asshole f-father would retain his parental rights if he knew that, for the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t see his child more than once or twice a year?”

Most,
she thought.
Out of pride. Or selfishness. Or fear. Or misguided love.

He continued, “You know, I’m no saint, Gris. I lucked out. I’m lucky because Gemma chose Clinton, and I
know
Clinton and I
trust
him. If it was some other guy? I can’t say I w-would’ve made the same choice. But I was lucky, Gris. For once in my life, I was lucky.”

Her lips turned up a touch as she glanced at him.

“Wait. Back up,” he said, placing his hand on her thigh and smiling at her with love in his deep gray eyes. “Twice. Twice in my life I was lucky. The f-first time was when I got moved to the Fillmans’.”

“The Fillmans were terrible people,” said Griselda as she turned into the alleyway where she remembered him parking his truck.

“Yep,” he said.

“And Caleb Foster? He was a monster.”

“Yep.”

“And we got separated for ten years,” she said, cutting the engine.

“Yep.”

“And you thought I was dead.”

“Yes, I d-did.”

“And then your girlfriend got pregnant.”

“Yep.”

“And your other girlfriend got beat up.”

He flinched. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“You know what, Holden Croft?” she asked in a saucy voice, ignoring his unnecessary apology and unbuckling her seat belt to lean over the supple leather bolster between the two front seats of the McClellans’ Mercedes-Benz.

“Nope,” he said, leaning so close that she felt his breath kiss her lips.

“It was about time you had a little
more good luck.”

And then it wasn’t his breath. It was his lips. And he was kissing her madly, deeply, like he was the desert and she was the rain and he couldn’t possibly quench his thirst for her in a million lifetimes. His hands reached up to cup her cheeks, his mouth slanting over hers again and again, the hot slide of his tongue against hers driving her out of her mind, and the bolster keeping him way too far away.

“Upstairs,” she gasped, drawing back from him, her breasts heaving. “Please.”

He scrubbed his hands over his hair, panting as hard as her. He got out of the car, slammed his door, and walked around to open hers. She took his hand, and he set off at a run without looking back at her, down the alley, around the corner of the building, onto the sidewalk, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, then turning the lock as quickly as he could.

Still clutching her hand in his, he took the stairs two at a time, with Griselda practically flying behind him. She was breathless and dizzy by the time he unlocked his apartment door and pulled her inside, backing her against the door and pulling her sweater over her head. There was an urgency between them borne of an intense three-month absence, and neither was prepared to wait another minute to be together.

“Naked. Now,” he said, dropping his lips to hers and kissing her savagely as he unhooked her bra behind her back. Griselda let it slip down her arms, freeing her breasts and reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Sucking his tongue into her mouth and loving his low, hot groan, she pushed the material over his broad shoulders, and it fell to the floor. He crushed her against his body, the tight points of her breasts pushing into his hard muscle, made even harder by weeks of boot camp. She could feel the difference in his body, and it made her hotter and wetter to think of lying beneath him as all that strength and power drove into her.