Unlocked (12 page)

Ella crossed her arms. Jake must’ve gotten the message, because he dropped his hand back to his side.

“I don’t know … It’s like being with the guys brings out the worst in me.”

Images of Holden and Michael flashed in her mind. “The guys?” She held her ground. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes.” His tone was marked by remorse. “It’s just … I don’t know, immature, I guess.” He didn’t pause long enough for her to respond. “I keep thinking about summer, our trip to the beach and how we sat on the sand and watched the sunset, talking about the future.”

Ella remembered, but she kept her tone matter-of-fact. Her decision was made up. “I thought you were special.”

He pursed his lips, clearly frustrated with himself. “I want you to see that side of me again.”

For a few seconds, Ella was tempted to give in, to tell him that’s what she wanted too—the Jake she’d come to care about over the summer. But before she could say anything, she pictured him and Sam, both of them sneering at Michael and making fun of him. Or the way they’d treated Holden. Ice ran through her veins and she steeled herself against his charm. “I have to tell you something.”

“What, baby … anything.” Jake leaned harder against the railing. He slipped his hands into his pockets, his long legs kicked slightly out in front of him. His eyes shone with kindness, and there in the moonlight he was the picture of athleticism and confidence.

“I can’t do this.” She refused to be moved. “The whole relationship thing.”

He cocked his head, like maybe he hadn’t heard her right. “If you need time, you can have it. I understand.”

“No … not time.”
This kindness thing is an act,
she told herself. The real Jake was the guy she’d seen at school bullying kids weaker than him. “I’m breaking up with you.” She sounded more weary than angry. “It’s over.”

“What?”

“Come on, Jake. Don’t act surprised.” She took a step back
and rubbed her arms. The night air was chilly, fall well under way. Her smile felt sad, even to her. “I don’t even know you.”

He tried for another few minutes, and then, almost like a switch had been flipped, his mood changed and he seemed to give up. “Okay, then … I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” Ella stepped out of his way as he headed back to the house. “I guess.”

Jake left, and a few minutes later she heard his tires squeal down her road. She kept to herself the next few hours while the party wound down. Sometime after one in the morning she went to bed, leaving her mom at the computer on Facebook. By then her brothers had come home from across the street, and Ella was almost sure she smelled alcohol on them. They were acting funny too.

Great,
she thought.
The whole family’s messed up.
Her dad was on a trip with the team, of course, but he hadn’t been in the lineup for ten games. It was like everything around her was falling apart.

The next day wasn’t much better.

Her dad’s game was at one in the afternoon, and the whole family was expected to go. “What if I have homework?” Ella figured that would get her out of it.

But her mom didn’t even take the time to look at her. “Homework can wait. Your father expects us all to be there.” She’d gone tanning again that morning, and her blonde hair hung in long layers around her shoulders. Her Botox injections had settled down, but they left her face stiff and mask-like. She wore black jeans, high-heeled boots, and a tight low-cut T-shirt. She smiled at Ella. “How do I look?”

“Weird.” Ella didn’t how else to answer.

“Ella Jean, that’s rude.” The lines in her mother’s forehead were more noticeable when she was angry.

“Fine.” Ella put her hands on her hips. “You look like you’re trying too hard.” She turned and walked away. “Ella, get back here this minute.”

She didn’t stop, didn’t look back, didn’t talk to her mother again until they rode with the boys to the ballpark for her father’s game. “This is very important to your father,” her mom explained. Her perfume filled the family’s Audi. “This could be a turning point for him.” She checked her lip gloss in the rearview mirror. “I’m glad you’re all here.”

None of them answered. Ella hated this—their family going to a ball game together like some kind of freak show. Why parade in together so everyone could see them? Randy Reynolds’ beautiful family. Big deal. Ella kept her sunglasses in place. She hated everything about the circus that made up her life. The game was a dismal loss, even from their front-row first-baseline seats. Their dad played only one inning and struck out on three fastballs. He looked angry and distant as he huffed to the dugout. They were sitting right next to the home dugout, and her brothers tried clapping and encouraging him, but he didn’t look their way —not once.

Ella only wanted to be home, and five hours later she got her wish. Her brothers headed across the street again, and her mom drove off to the gym for a late-night session with her trainer. Her dad, of course, would be late at the clubhouse. That left Ella alone in her family’s big house.
I hate this,
she told herself.
Life’s always lonely. Lonely and messed up.

She wandered upstairs to the stretch of cabinets that ran along their spacious hallway. Mindlessly, she opened a few of them, not sure what was inside. Three cabinets down the line she found a stack of old photo albums and scrapbooks. She hadn’t talked to anyone from school all day, and she had no plans for the night. So she took the stack from the cupboard and settled down on the floor, her back against the opposite wall.

She looked through a book of photos from when she was in third or fourth grade. Her brothers were little kids back then, and her mom and dad were together in most of the pictures. Ella ran her finger over the faces in the photographs. What happened to her family? They used to be happy, right? Sure, her dad traveled, but when he was home they did stuff together, weekend trips and afternoons at the park. Swimming in the backyard pool on hot summer afternoons.

So when had everything unraveled?

A few pages more and she came across an Easter picture, the three kids dressed in their Sunday best outside a beautiful church. Ella peered intently at the photos. As far back as she could remember, her parents hadn’t taken them to church except on Easter and Christmas. But she had the sense that there had been a time when she believed in God—more than she had lately, anyway. Now, though, her family never talked about anything more than what was happening that day. The boys’ soccer games, their hitting practice, her mom’s busy schedule between the gym and the various salons. Ella and her mom never talked, not more than a handful of words each day, and those were only the necessary discussions about dinner and dishes and homework.

Ella slid the book back on the shelf and picked up an older-looking one from the stack on the floor. This one had a picture of Ella and her parents on the cover, back when Ella was maybe two or three. “Was this where we lost it?” she whispered. “Before Dad started playing pro ball?”

The first page of the book showed pictures of her parents, happy and clearly in love. Her mom’s hair looked natural, and she carried a few more pounds on her hips. No big deal, just enough so she looked real. Not the plastic replica she was now.

Again Ella ran her finger over the photo.
Dear God … if You’re there, could You tell me this? What happened to my family?

There was no answer—not that Ella actually expected one.
She wasn’t a praying person, anymore than anyone in her family was. But watching Brian Brickell the other day, she sort of wished she were. Brian was a Christian, she knew because he talked about his faith. He was kind and he stuck up for kids like Michael or Holden. He wrote Bible verses in his eye black the way Tim Tebow once did for the University of Florida.

Just once she wished she had that kind of certain faith in God.

She turned the next page and the layout was filled with photos from some beach day. But it wasn’t just Ella’s parents this time. There was another couple in the pictures, and a little boy about her age. In one picture, she and the boy were holding hands, facing the ocean. The caption beneath the photo read “Ella and Holden at Tybee Island Beach.”

Ella and Holden?
She pulled up her knees and brought the book closer to her face. Holden who? She and the boy were both tan and blond—adorable kids who were clearly the best of friends. Another picture showed the six of them. Her family and this Holden’s family. Their parents looked happy and relaxed —the way people looked when they’d been friends for a lifetime.

Again Ella studied the images and looked intently at their faces. She didn’t recognize any of them. Whoever the people were, her parents must have lost touch with them. Ella tilted her head, sad for the loss. Everyone missed out when friendships died. And this one clearly had died a long time ago, because Ella had no idea who the people were.

The next few pages were more of the same. Beneath a few of the pictures, her mother had identified the couple as Tracy and Dan—but no last name. And every other picture was another darling shot of her and this Holden kid. Whoever he was, he had huge blue eyes. Familiar eyes, almost, and Ella wondered if some part of her brain somehow remembered back that long ago.

It wasn’t until a few pages more into the book that she
reached a page that consisted entirely of an enlarged photograph of her and the little boy. The picture was of the two of them dancing, and it appeared almost professional. Beneath the photo —

Ella gasped. Her feet slid forward and she nearly dropped the book. “What in the world…?”

Beneath the beautiful picture, the caption read “Ella Jean Reynolds and Holden Benjamin Harris—age 3.”

Holden Harris?
The same Holden Harris autistic boy at her school? It wasn’t possible, right? She and her parents had lived in New York for a decade. And before that they’d been all over Atlanta. They’d moved from Dunwoody to Duluth and finally to Johns Creek four years ago. There was no way the boy in the pictures could be the same kid who walked around Fulton flapping his arms. The boy in the photographs was normal. He was smiling and playing and dancing like a regular kid. His eyes had the look of someone fully with it, fully there. Not Holden’s vacant, spacey look.

But the longer she looked at his eyes, the more the truth became clear. The boy in the picture and the Holden at school had the same eyes. And slowly … like the most beautiful sunrise … the truth dawned on her. And as it did, she understood why Holden had seemed so familiar.

A lifetime ago, Holden Harris had been her friend.

She lifted the edges of the yellowed plastic protector and carefully removed one of the smaller pictures of Holden and her. She also eased from the page one of the photographs of their parents. Something was very wrong with all of this. How had their families met, and what had happened to separate them? Most of all, how come Holden looked normal in the pictures, when he was so far from it now?

Suddenly she remembered the card Holden had showed her the first day he came by her drama class. The card had two eyes and the words
I see.
He hadn’t acted like he knew her, and he
certainly hadn’t said anything about recognizing her. But maybe there was a deeper meaning to the words on his flash card. Maybe he was trying to tell her he knew her, that he could see past the years to the little girl she’d once been. It was possible, right?

Ella had no answers. She put the photo albums back in the cupboard and found an empty folder from among her father’s office supplies downstairs. She slipped the photographs inside and hurried to the closest computer. Her research could take all night, but she didn’t care. She had to have answers about why Holden had changed, and how come they stopped being friends. This was one place to start. She positioned the cursor on the Google search line and typed in just one word.

Autism.

T
RACY MANAGED TO ENTER AT THE BACK OF THE THEATER ROOM
and find a seat without catching Holden’s attention. The room held about a hundred seats and a small stage —large enough for rehearsals, but nothing more. Tracy tried to still her nerves. This was Holden’s first day observing the class, and Tracy was grateful Mrs. Bristowe had granted her permission to join him. If Holden had an outburst, no one could help calm him better than she could.

She’d been looking forward to this all weekend. She’d even called Dan and told him the news. “Holden’s going to watch the drama class rehearse!”

Dan’s silence lasted a little too long on the other end. “Is that a good thing?” He didn’t sound sarcastic, just confused.

Tracy tried not to let his response dim her enthusiasm. “Of course it’s good. This is a mainstream class. Holden’s therapists think that maybe by listening to the music, he might open up a little more.”

“Really?” Dan must’ve been outside, because the wind howled in the background. “Well, then … that’s great.” An awkward silence slid between them. “Tell him I love him.”

Their conversation didn’t last long. Dan told her the shrimping still wasn’t that great. Not like the salmon back in July. Storms continued to batter the region, and his pneumonia wasn’t quite cleared up. By the time she told him good-bye and that she loved him, her excitement was almost forgotten.

But now that she was here and the class was about to begin, Tracy could hardly sit in her seat in very back of the room.
Holden was sitting a few rows in front of her, but still far removed from the rest of the class. Tracy was glad Holden couldn’t see her. She didn’t want anything to distract him from this opportunity. She was still convinced Holden wasn’t merely noncompliant last week in the gym. He was dancing. Maybe in his mind he was dancing with his little friend Ella from so many years ago. He heard music in the drama class, he stopped to listen, and then a little later, with the music still in his heart, he must have started dancing.

What was so unusual about that?

She’d called that morning to tell Mrs. Bristowe her thoughts, but the woman wasn’t as quick to get behind the idea. “Dancing is a very social activity.” She had that tone again, the one that said her training was superior to any instinct Tracy might have as Holden’s mother. “Holden is at the place on the autistic spectrum where socialization is out of the question. He is completely noncommunicative.”