Unlocked (15 page)

The longer Ella thought about the possibility, the angrier she became. Sun streamed through the window and splashed rays of light across the kitchen counter. Ella pushed her homework aside and walked upstairs to the scrapbook that held the pictures of Holden and her. Again she sat on the floor and flipped through the pages and this time she found other pictures, enough that the reality of the situation became clearer than before. Their families weren’t only good friends. They were best friends.

She found a photo where she and Holden were sitting next to each other in a double-seat swing. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders and in their free hands they held what looked like chocolate ice-cream cones. Smears of chocolate were on their cheeks and shirts, and the image eased Ella’s anger. She looked at Holden’s little face, the way his eyes pierced the camera, the joy in his expression. The photo had definitely been snapped mid-laugh, and it was clear Holden was happy and healthy.

The longer Ella looked into Holden’s three-year-old eyes the more she was convinced: what she saw there was still a part of Holden today. That fun-loving child was inside him somewhere. She’d seen a glimpse of him, when he looked back at her before he left with his mom.

From downstairs came the sound of a door opening. “Ella?” It was her mother.

Her anger burned quick and intense once more. She didn’t answer. Instead she stood and tucked the scrapbook safely beneath her arm. Ever since she saw the pictures of Holden and her for the first time she’d known this moment was coming. Now, after getting a glimpse of what must’ve separated the two families, Ella was furious with her mother. She padded downstairs into the kitchen in time to see her mom drop her gym bag and grab a glass from the cupboard. She turned as Ella walked closer. “Oh, hey, honey. How was school?”

Like you care,
she wanted to say. “Fine.” She folded her arms in front of her, the scrapbook clutched to her chest. Her mom was drinking her water now, looking at her reflection in the glass door of the built-in microwave. Her Botox was completely worked into her face, so her forehead was once again very smooth. Too smooth.

“That’s it?” Her mom kept her eyes on her reflection, pressing her fingers against the skin beneath her eyes and above her brow. “Just fine?” Then, as she finished her water, she laid her hand against her flat stomach, like she was checking that the workout had paid off. She glanced at Ella, and then back at her reflection.

Ella leaned her hip into the kitchen counter. She wanted to scream. Everything about her mom seemed phony and shallow, and for what? Her dad was too busy trying to hold onto yesterday. Meanwhile they’d lost friends like the Harris family. So what did the fake tan and Botox and endless workouts really amount to?

“Okay.” Her mother turned and put her hands on her waist. “You’re quiet. Is there a reason?”

If she didn’t say something, she would explode. “I have a question.” She spoke each word deliberately and controlled.

Her mom raked her pale blonde hair off her face and exhaled, more weary than tired. “Ask it.”

“Why did we stop being friends with the Harris family?”

It took a few seconds for the realization to register on her mother’s face. At first she opened her mouth like she might ask which Harris family, or for Ella to explain herself better. But then her lips closed again and she lifted her chin. The defensive tone in her eyes cast an awkward feeling over the moment. “You mean Holden Harris’ family?”

“Of course I mean Holden Harris.” She released a short burst of air. Then she thrust the scrapbook in her mother’s direction. “The Holden Harris who was my best friend when I was three.”

“Don’t shout.” Her mom filled her glass of water again. She was stalling, for sure.

“I’m not shouting, I’m asking.”

“You’re asking very loud.”

“Because I want the answer.” Ella was definitely shouting, but she was too angry to admit it. She lowered her voice. If she pushed any harder, her mom would walk away without another word. It happened all the time.

Her mother took a long sip of water and set her cup down on the black granite countertop. “What … you were bored, so you looked through our photo albums?”

Of course I’m bored,
she wanted to scream. Instead she remained motionless, desperate to keep control. “You didn’t answer me. Why did we stop being friends?”

“We went different directions.” She studied her manicured fingernails and barely glanced at Ella. “That happens sometimes.” She crossed her arms and leveled an impatient look at Ella. “You had lots of friends growing up.” The defeat was back in her tone. “How come you don’t ask about them?”

“Because Holden goes to my school.” There. She’d said it. She watched again while the surprise hit.

“He goes to Fulton?” For the first time that afternoon, her
mother looked concerned about something other than herself. “So he’s … he’s in regular classes?”

“Of course not.” She tried to keep the acid from her voice. “He’s autistic.”

A momentary sadness filled her eyes. She looked down at the stone floor. “I know that.” She sounded embarrassed. “I just thought …”

Ella let the statement hang uncomfortably for a long moment. “So … answer my question.” Ella waited until she had her mother’s full attention. “Why did we stop being friends with them?”

The doorbell rang, and her mother snapped into action. “I told you, Ella.” She jogged off toward the front door, and Ella watched her go. Her mother wasn’t wearing much, as usual. Tight dance pants and a bright blue tank top. Whatever delivery guy was at the door, he was bound to be surprised.

But instead of returning to the kitchen, Ella heard her mother bound up the front stairs.

Ella thought about letting the issue slide. She already knew the answer, right? Holden slipped into autism, and the Reynolds family slipped out the back door. What else could it be?

But this time she wanted to hear the words from her mother’s mouth. Or maybe from her heart. She wanted to see her mom squirm and dodge the issue until she had to face the fact that maybe Holden wasn’t the only one to go through a change fifteen years ago. Ella darted up the stairs, every step intentional. Being the wife of a major-league baseball player came with certain expectations, right? Her heart hurt as the reality became even clearer. The daughter of Randy and Suzanne Reynolds couldn’t possibly have an autistic friend. How would that look?

Ella walked quickly down the hall and flung open the door of the upstairs office at the west end of the house. Her mom was sitting at the computer on Facebook. Once again Ella wanted to scream. What was she doing here, when she knew Ella wanted to
talk? Before she could say anything, she noticed something. Her mom had tears on her cheeks. Ella hesitated. She searched her heart and found a scrap of compassion for her mother. “Did you think,” her tone was kinder than before, “I wouldn’t come looking for you?”

Her mother’s teary eyes looked defeated. “I thought we were finished talking.”

“We weren’t.” Ella kept her tone level. “I still want an answer. About Holden Harris.” She took a step closer, her eyes never broke contact. “Why did we stop being friends?”

Her mother opened her mouth like she might rattle off a quick answer, the kind she’d given Ella earlier. But then she dabbed at her eyes and stared out the window. A sigh came from what sounded like a very deep place in her soul. A forgotten place. When she turned to Ella again, her eyes looked softer than they had in a long time. “We loved Holden. He was … the sweetest little boy.” Her smile didn’t take the pain from her eyes. “We used to talk about the two of you growing up and …” She swallowed and gave a brief shake of her head. “None of us saw it coming, Ella. It was like … like we lost him overnight.”

Ella had guessed as much from the photos. “So why?” She lowered her voice, sad for Holden and all he’d lost. “Why aren’t we friends?”

Her mother’s shoulders sank. “He stopped laughing and singing. Before we knew it he wouldn’t dance or play or run around with you the way he used to.” Her sorrow became more of an embarrassment. “He started … stacking things and lining up your toys when we were together.”

“So you separated us?” Her anger was back, and Ella had to work to contain it. She tossed her hand in the air. “Because he was quiet? Because he stacked things?”

“It bothered you, Ella.” Her voice held more passion than before. “You would … you would walk up and tap his shoulder
and try to get him to run around and play with you or sing with you.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, as if she might not finish her explanation. When she looked up, her expression was hard again. “I don’t expect you to remember. But after a few weeks he wouldn’t even … he wouldn’t look at you. He wouldn’t talk at all. Not a word.” She leaned back in her chair. The past was written into her expression. “Sometimes you’d cry because you wanted him … the way he used to be.”

Ella didn’t understand everything about autism, but she knew this much: therapy had to start immediately. The earlier the better. “So I could’ve stayed in his life. We could’ve been part of the solution for him, but instead … what? It was too awkward, Mom, is that it?”

Her mother pushed back from the desk and stood, clearly finished with the conversation. “Yes, it was awkward.” She crossed her arms. “Is that what you want to hear? Fine. We stopped being friends because it was too awkward.” She met Ella’s gaze head on. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m taking a shower.”

She stormed past Ella and down the hallway to her room. Ella didn’t move. She looked out the window and let the truth settle. She and Holden had been best friends, but when he changed, when autism set in, things became awkward and her parents went their own way. Everything beautiful about the little boy Holden once was had been dismissed and forgotten. The way a person might forget about losing a favorite camera or a cell phone.

She reminded herself to breathe.

What ways might Holden have come out of his private world years ago if only the two of them had been allowed to continue their friendship? Certainly their connection was a strong one back then. That sort of childlike bond would’ve been very helpful in reaching him, right?

Ella took hold of the back of the computer chair and looked at the Facebook page still up on the screen. Her mother spent
way too much time here, looking for old friends and even guys she used to date. It was her way of escaping, Ella figured. Even on an afternoon like this when she knew Ella was trying to talk to her. Instead she’d come up here and gone looking for what? For a way to—

Her heart suddenly slammed into a strange rhythm. She stared at the Facebook search window, not believing her eyes. “There’s more to the story,” she whispered. “Isn’t there, Mom?”

There must have been. Because for all her mother’s attitude and avoidance of the topic of Holden Harris, she clearly cared. She’d been crying, after all. So maybe the loss hurt more than she wanted to let on, or maybe the separation was more difficult than she was leading Ella to believe. Something must have touched her mother’s heart or moved her, and this new understanding reduced Ella’s anger to an ocean of sadness. For the first time in a long time, Ella didn’t hate her. Because she and Holden weren’t the only friends who had lost each other fifteen years ago. The words in the search window told her that much.

Her mother had typed in “Tracy Harris.”

T
RACY MISSED THE OLD
H
OLDEN MOST ON
F
RIDAYS
.

The last day of the school week, there was always some reason for her to stop by Fulton High before school let out. Paperwork in the office, or a meeting with his teacher, a quick consult with the school therapist. Something. And on those days Holden would skip the bus and drive home with her.

Tracy punched the clock in the Walmart break room and left an hour early, the way she did most Fridays.
I’m picking my son up from school,
she told herself as she walked to the back of the crowded parking lot and slipped behind the wheel of her ’98 blue Honda. And for the entire ride she felt like any other mother, doing what any other mother might do. That was the problem, of course. The reason she missed him so much on Fridays.

The other days when he stepped off the special bus there was no denying her reality. Holden battled the private world of autism, Dan battled the Alaskan seas, and Tracy battled her despair before God on her knees—begging Him every day for a sign or a breakthrough. Praying that one day Holden might look at her or talk to her, or that she might hug him again or hold his hand. She missed so much about Holden, but maybe she missed his touch most of all. The touch of his smile and sparkling eyes, the feel of his little-boy, long-lost self, safe in her arms. The brush of his fingers against hers when they crossed a parking lot or read a book at night.

So much missing that usually she did better to keep herself grounded in the moment.

But on Fridays she couldn’t stop herself from thinking back.

The craziest thing was that he and Ella had reconnected. Tracy had been sure they would never see each other again. There were dozens of high schools in the greater Atlanta area. Only God could’ve led them both to Fulton. Like some divine plan being set into motion, one Tracy couldn’t fully comprehend. But something miraculous was happening, because not only were they at the same school, but Ella had actually befriended him. Gone to bat for him with Mr. Hawkins, the drama teacher. And she’d done that before she even realized they’d been friends when they were little.

Suzanne Reynolds’ daughter … What were the odds?

The light turned green and she kept up with traffic. There were no harsh words or terrible fights to mark the death of her friendship with Ella’s mother. It had died like so many other relationships, friendships tossed in the trash heap of life. The more days passed, the more it didn’t seem right to call or contact Suzanne. And Suzanne must’ve felt the same way because the phone never rang.

A breeze brushed against her damp cheeks as she turned left on the main highway that led to Fulton.
Dear God, sometimes I still miss her. I miss her the way I miss Dan and Holden and everything that used to be.
She blinked back fresh tears. Most days she was too busy at Walmart or working with Holden to think about all she’d lost. But times like this the burden felt like more than she could bear.
Please, God … speak to my former friend and her husband … and thank You for her daughter.
She wiped at another tear. Ella had grown up to be very kind. Like her mama used to be when they were in high school. Seeing Ella made her miss Suzanne the way she hadn’t missed her in more than a decade. She sniffed and tried to gather her emotions. She couldn’t cry as she pulled into Fulton High. She had a meeting with Holden’s PE
teacher today.
So, Father, I don’t know what You’re doing, but I can feel it. Something’s happening. Isn’t that right, God?