Hold Me Close

Her father takes a step forward but stops when Effie shakes her head. She glares at the cop. He should understand, more than any of them.

“Where is he?”

“Heath attempted to take his own life shortly after you left him. He was discovered by a jogger and taken to Lancaster General Hospital. He’s in stable condition, but he’ll be remanded to a psychiatric care facility for the next few days while he’s monitored.”

“He tried to kill himself?” Effie sags, vaguely aware her mother is tugging her arm to get her to sit on the couch. She allows herself to be pushed. She shakes her head. “What did he do?”

“He cut himself.” Officer Schmidt’s voice is gentle, and he doesn’t look away from Effie’s eyes, not even for a second. “It was unclear whether or not he’d harmed you, however. He told us you’d been together, but not if you’d left safely.”

“Of course I did. Heath would never hurt me. Not ever.” She shakes off her mother’s attempt at a hug and buries her face in her hands. The world spins. She thinks she might vomit right there on the rug, and won’t her mom be upset then, when Effie makes a mess?

“Now that you’re home safe, that’s all we need to know.” Officer Schmidt comes closer to squeeze Effie’s shoulder. He looks again deep into her eyes, then takes a business card from his pocket and presses it into her hand. His fingers are strong and warm. “If you ever need anything, Effie, anything at all, I’m here for you.”

Lots of people will tell her that in her life, but only a few of them ever are.

chapter nine

Polly had brought home a thick folder stuffed with information about the science fair. It was not optional. It was going to be a nightmare.

Effie, paint smeared all over her hands from the projects she’d been working on all day, gestured. “Okay, so what are some of the choices?”

“Testing the amount of sugar in sodas. Raising baby chicks. Ooh—”

“No,” Effie said. “No way.”

Polly rolled her eyes but ran her finger down the rest of the list. Her small mouth pursed, her brow furrowed. She looked a lot like Effie’s mom when she did that, and a wave of love for her daughter forced Effie to the sink so she wasn’t caught being all mushy. Sometimes Effie wondered if in her pursuit of not being too attentive, too hovering, she’d somehow ruined Polly. The girl was blessedly and casually independent, not at all clingy or a hugger. Still, not needing someone and not believing they would be there to help you when you needed it were two very different things, and although it never seemed as if Polly didn’t trust Effie to take care of her, there were plenty of times Effie felt as though she’d come up short in the parenting department.

Polly paused with her finger on the paper. “I could grow plants in different soils with different kinds of water. Like, with acid and stuff.”

“Acid, that sounds pretty dangerous.” Effie scrubbed at the paint under her fingernails. She’d been working on a commissioned piece and was hating it, which was why she’d still been painting when Polly got home. Usually she tried to be finished by the time school ended so she could spend time with her kid. Procrastination, thy name was “Chuck Norris Riding a Unicorn.”

“Not, like, superbad acid, Mom. Like, I dunno. Baking soda or whatever.”

“Baking soda is acid? Since when?”

Polly shrugged. “How about I could try to design a thing for an egg that protects it from breaking when you drop it off a roof?”

“Does that involve you going up onto a roof to drop things off it?” Effie scrubbed a little harder, looking over her shoulder.

Polly grinned. “Maybe.”

“Also no way. You’re the kid who broke her leg tripping over a shadow on the sidewalk. I’m not letting you up on the roof.” Drying her hands, Effie turned to lean against the counter. “Can’t you pick something easy and delicious, like testing different types of chocolate chip recipes to see how they change when you add or subtract vital ingredients?”

“Is that on the list?” Polly shook the papers.

“I have no idea, but if it’s not, it should be.” Effie came closer to look over Polly’s shoulder. “It would be fun. And I could be your taste tester.”

“You don’t eat cookies with chocolate chips in them,” Polly said matter-of-factly, then paused. The girl had always worn her emotions all over her face. She looked scared now, and sad, and Effie’s heart sank.

“What is it, Pollywog?”

“Meredith Ross said... She said...” Polly caught her breath and bit her upper lip with sharp white teeth.

Meredith Ross was a shitty little princess diva whose mother had gone to school with Effie. Delores Gonzalez had been a few years older than Effie, but she’d lived two houses down from Effie’s parents, so the walk back and forth to school had often been made only a few steps behind her. Effie had very vivid memories of the back of Dee’s head. They’d never been friends. Dee had been there the day Effie came home. The entire neighborhood had turned out to welcome Effie with a party like something out of a nightmare. It had been her father’s idea, God bless him. He’d meant well. He’d had no idea how hard it would be for Effie to come back home and face all those people.

This wasn’t the first time Polly had complained about Meredith. Once, when Effie was eight and Dee ten, the older girl had made fun of Effie’s favorite dress. It sounded as if Dee’s daughter was following in her mother’s footsteps. Effie kept her expression neutral, though. Polly already looked on the verge of tears.

“What did she say?”

Polly ducked her head. Her shoulders heaved on a sigh. She shook her head, not speaking.

It wasn’t like her to be so reticent. Effie pulled up the chair next to Polly’s. Their knees touched. She took both of Polly’s hands.

“Hey. Tell me what’s going on.”

Polly shook again, this time with silent, wrenching sobs. When she looked at Effie, blue eyes wide and confused, Effie’s heart broke. She pulled Polly close, stroking the girl’s blond hair over and over.

“Mama, is Heath my dad?”

Effie paused as her fingers snagged in Polly’s hair. She untangled them gently and squeezed her daughter harder. “No, honey. No.”

“Meredith said Heath is your brother, and that he’s my dad! Both!” Polly’s voice broke, agonized. She pushed away to stare at Effie. Her mouth worked. Her cheeks had flushed crimson.

“Oh, Polly. Honey...no. Heath isn’t your dad. He loves you very much, but he’s not your dad. And he’s not my brother.” Her voice hitched on that word. Brother. Sister. Daddy. She tried so hard never to think about Heath in that way, no matter how many times she’d been forced to call him that. Effie grabbed a couple of paper napkins to wipe Polly’s face. “Why did Meredith even say such a thing?”

“Because she’s a bitch!”

Effie choked back laughter and made her voice stern. “Polly.”

“She’s jealous because I got invited to Sam Walsh’s party, and she didn’t. Because she’s mean, that’s all. And Sam’s mom said she could only have four friends over, and I was one of them. But Meredith got mad.” Polly sniffled. “So she told everyone that Heath is your brother and I’m his kid. She said it was illegal and gross, and that I was probably deformed, because that’s what happens when brothers and sisters have kids together.”

Effie’s stomach turned over. “Polly. No. I promise you, Heath is not my brother. If he was, then Nana would be his mom, right?”

Polly sniffled again but looked relieved. “Yeah. And Nana doesn’t like him.”

“No, she doesn’t.” There was no point in lying about it.

“Because something happened when you were younger,” Polly said with some more confidence.

Effie hesitated. She’d never discussed with Polly what had happened to her from the ages of thirteen to sixteen. She’d meant to when Polly got older, probably when she was closer to thirteen herself, but she was only eleven now. There hadn’t seemed a need to get into the details. It was actually something of a surprise that nobody had ever told her anything about it before now.

“Yes. That’s why Nana doesn’t like him,” Effie said.

“It happened to you and Heath together?”

Effie nodded. “Yes.”

Polly frowned and plucked at the hem of her shirt before looking at her mother. “Meredith said the only reason you ever sell any paintings is because people on the internet are perverts.”

“Meredith Ross needs to keep her mouth shut, and so does her mother.” Effie’s voice rose, and she forced herself to calm. “Don’t listen to her, honey, okay? She’s a jealous little brat. You don’t need to worry about my paintings or anything else. It’s none of her business. You just concentrate on being the best Polly you can be, and ignore her.”

Polly didn’t look entirely mollified, but she nodded. Effie hugged her again, squeezing tight before letting her go. She held the girl’s shoulders gently for a moment, though, looking closely at her daughter’s face.

“If she gives you any trouble, Polly, you tell me. I’ll talk to the teacher.”

“No!” Polly looked alarmed. “Mom, no. Don’t do that, I’ll get called a tattletale.”

“Is she telling everyone this stuff?”

Polly shook her head. “I don’t think so. And if she did, I’d just tell them it’s not true. Because it isn’t. Right?”

“Right.” Still angry but not showing it, Effie looked over Polly’s list with her as they tried to settle on a project. Leaving it to be decided another time, she shooed her kid off to watch an hour of television before dinner.

Her phone buzzed with a call she picked up without looking to see who it was. Expecting her mother or Heath, Effie was ready to launch into a bitter tirade against tween girl bullies but stopped short at the sound of a male voice. “Oh. Mitchell. Hey.”

“Hi, Effie. Is this a bad time?”

She looked at the pot of water she was boiling to make boxed macaroni and cheese. “I’m just putting together a gourmet feast for me and my kid. How are you?”

“Good, good. I thought I’d give you a call. See if you wanted to chat.”

Effie hesitated. “I’m kind of in the middle of some things. Maybe later tonight?”

“Oh, sure. Dinner and stuff. Right. I should’ve thought.” Mitchell laughed softly. “Bachelorhood tends to make you forget about things like regular mealtimes.”

Somehow, she doubted that. Mitchell had not impressed her as the sort of guy who survived on day-old pizza. Was he angling for a dinner invitation? That was the problem with this dating stuff, Effie thought. It was so much more complicated than bringing home a guy from a bar and sending him home in the morning with a phone number one digit off so he wouldn’t be able to call her again.

“I had a great time with you. I wanted to let you know,” Mitchell said when Effie didn’t speak.

“Me, too.” She cradled the phone against her shoulder to pour the pasta into the water.

“So...we’ll talk later. Okay? Looking forward to it.”

“Me, too,” Effie repeated and let him disconnect the phone call first. She stared at the phone for a second or so. She hadn’t assigned him a special ringtone or added a picture to his contact information, so for the moment, Mitchell remained nothing but a string of numbers.

“Give him a chance,” she murmured to herself. “This is what you want.”

Something nice, something tame. Something normal. That was what she was looking for.

Wasn’t it?

Polly was so quiet at dinner that nothing Effie said got a smile out of her. Clearly, she was still bothered by what had happened with Meredith. So, after they’d polished off the mac-n-cheese and Polly had cleared the table, Effie sent her off to her room to do homework.

Then she picked up the phone.

“Hi, Dee?” Effie fell into the old nickname before thinking it was possible Delores didn’t go by it any longer. Then she decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass what the other woman preferred to be called. “This is Effie. Polly’s mother. Your daughter’s in Polly’s class.”

“I know who you are, Effie, of course.” Delores sounded bubbly, as if maybe she’d already started on the early evening cocktails. No wonder, since her husband had left her several years ago for not a younger woman, but an older one.

Maybe that was unkind.

“So listen, Dee, I’m going to cut straight to it. Keep your mouth shut about my daughter, your speculation about her father, and about Heath.” Effie drew in a breath as if she was dragging on a cigarette. “You know damn well he’s not my brother. And not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not Polly’s father. Get your own house in order before you start talking shit about mine.”

Dee sputtered. “What... I... Wait a minute. What?”

“My kid’s eleven years old. She should be worried about her science fair project and growing out of her favorite jeans too fast. Not any other bullshit you want to spread around.” Effie paused long enough to hear a snuffle from Dee through the phone. She smiled to be sure the other woman heard it in her voice. “She has a lot of people in her life who love her. She hasn’t suffered for the lack of knowing who donated the sperm that made her.”

“Oh.” Dee sounded confused. She’d never been the brightest shade of pink in the palette. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a sperm donor.”

Effie had in fact been knocked up the old-fashioned way and had been making a sarcastic comment, so now she sighed. “Dee, Jesus. It’s none of your business. Okay? Why would you tell your kid anything like that anyway? And as for my paintings, also none of your business. What difference does it make to you who buys them or supports them?”

Silence. Effie waited. Through the phone line she heard another snuffle.

“I’m sorry,” Dee said finally. “I didn’t tell Meredith any of those things. She must’ve overheard us talking.”

“Who was talking?”

“Friends, I guess.” Dee made a small, apologetic noise. “The subject came up at the last mommy meeting I had here. I guess she overheard us...”

It was far from the first time Effie had known herself to be the topic of conversation. For years after coming home she’d been approached by reporters and curiosity seekers wanting a piece of her story. After the debacle with the coming-home party, her dad had forbidden any of them from contacting her, but after he died, there’d been a few who managed to find her contact information. Some had been ballsy enough to approach her instead of just posting voyeuristic bullshit about her on that stupid fucking forum for sickos who liked to collect memorabilia from crime victims. Someone had even made a documentary. Effie had been offered money to participate, but she had refused.

To hear it now, though...her stomach twisted again. She wanted a drink, something strong. Instead, she forced herself to breathe.

“Why the hell are you gossiping about me anyway?”

Dee made another of those noises. “They asked me. Some moms from school, I guess they found out we went to school together, and when they heard about Andrews being up for parole...”

“Wait a minute. What? What the fuck?” Effie froze, her fingers cramping and curling around her phone.

“An alert came up, I guess, about how a convicted sex offender was possibly going to be living close by. I guess you know where the house is.”

Effie swallowed bitterness. “Yes.”

The same house. It had passed to Andrews’s children when he went to prison, and as far as she knew, they’d never sold it. Nobody had ever seemed to be living in it anyway, whenever she drove past, which was only on the rarest of secretive occasions. It had always been empty, the grass a little too long, merchandisers littering the driveway. At Halloween, no local kids egged it or strung toilet paper in the trees. The house had gained its own reputation.

Dee coughed. “Well. It’s only a couple blocks away from where I live now. If he gets out on parole, he’ll be living there. So, you know, they put out this petition to sign so that there wouldn’t be a pedophile living there.”

“I don’t think you can keep him from moving back into a house that he owns,” Effie whispered through her clenched jaw. “No matter what he did.”

Dee was very quiet then, only the sound of her breathing coming through the phone. “I didn’t tell anyone Heath was your brother, Effie. I told them that Andrews made you and Heath call him Daddy, that’s all. And that’s the truth, right? I didn’t make it up. I wasn’t lying! They asked me, and it’s not like any of them lived around here when it happened. They don’t remember the stories.”

“Oh, God. Well, aren’t they lucky they have you to catch them up.” Effie swallowed again, her throat closing. All those women in their yoga pants and matching hairstyles, matching smiles. She’d never quite fit in with them, and now they all knew about her...this, the worst thing. But that wasn’t what upset her the most. “Look, when it affects my kid, Dee, I get really pissed.”

“I’m sorry,” Dee said after a minute. “They’re really worried about him getting out and living so close. That’s all.”

“He’s not going to get out of prison.” Bill had told her so, enough times, and all she could do was believe it or live every moment of her life waiting in dread for it to happen.

“Well, there was something on the internet...”

“Rumors about it go around every few years when he’s up for parole, but he won’t get out. He was served with two consecutive life terms for kidnapping, indecency, cruelty to children and a bunch of other stuff. He’s not getting out, not ever.” Effie laughed, harsh and sour. “Tell all your biddy friends not to worry so fucking much. And tell your kid to back off my kid.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Dee said.

Effie took a slow breath. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

“Effie, if you want to come to our moms’ group...” The other woman trailed off.

Effie didn’t answer. The idea alarmed her. When Polly was younger and Effie had been struggling to get through school and working two jobs to make ends meet, she’d often eyed those put-together matchy-matchy moms in their playgroups with envy. Their fancy strollers and designer coffees. The way they all seemed to know how to keep their kids clean and dressed with what seemed like very little effort. There’d been days she swore finding two matching socks was a feat akin to Frodo’s journey to throw the ring into the volcano.

“So you can all talk shit about me to my face instead of behind my back? No, thanks.”

Dee sighed loudly. “I said I was sorry. They started to ask me questions. It’s not like any of this stuff can’t be found out on the internet. I mean, Effie, you make your living off it. Do you really think people don’t talk about it?”

Effie knew her work’s value lay in her past. She knew her story was public knowledge. She rubbed at the spot between her eyes. “Look, just...be more careful, okay? And tell your kid to back off.”

“She’s upset because her dad left,” Dee said after a second. “I know she’s been a pain to some of the other kids lately. She feels left out. Maybe if you could ask Polly to be a little nicer to her, you know, include her in some things...”

“You want me to have my kid befriend yours?” Effie frowned, thinking of all the little stories Polly had told her about Meredith’s bullying tactics.

“She used to have a lot of friends, and now she’s the outcast. She thinks they’re making fun of her because of her dad leaving.”

“It’s because she spreads rumors and makes fun of other kids.”

Dee coughed. “Girls like Polly... If she was nice to Meredith, the other kids would like her, too.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, to be honest. Polly’s not the one being nasty, you know.”

“I know.”

This conversation had not gone at all the way Effie had imagined it would. Consequently, her righteous outrage was fading in the face of Dee’s apologies and pleas on behalf of her lonely, socially alienated daughter. “I’ll talk to Polly.”

“I’ll talk to Meredith. And, Effie...if you don’t want to join the moms’ group, maybe you’d like to grab coffee one day? Catch up? I’m really sorry, I never meant for anything to be hurtful. It got blown out of context. It’s easy to forget there’s a real person on the other side of the gossip. Let me make it up to you.”

“Sure,” Effie said, to her own surprise. “That sounds great.”

Dee sounded pleased. “Great. I’ll call you next week.”

They disconnected and Effie tucked her phone into her pocket. She went into Polly’s room to wish her good-night, only to find her daughter already asleep. Another rush of love washed over Effie, so strong it made her want to cry.

It was only later as she was falling into sleep that Effie jerked awake with that feeling of falling. She’d forgotten to call Mitchell. She twisted in her sheets to look at the clock. Too late now. He really wasn’t the one she wanted to talk to anyway, but although she tapped in Heath’s number, she deleted it before the call could connect.

chapter ten

Serving her father coffee, Effie feels incredibly grown-up but far from mature. Not even with the small bump of her belly sticking out from the front of her maternity dress. It’s a horrendously ugly outfit and does nothing to hide the pregnancy she and her father have not yet discussed.

He takes the coffee and sets it on the table to look at her. “You don’t have to stay here, you know that? Your mother...”

“She made herself very clear.” Effie sips from a glass of ice water, the only thing she can stomach right now.

Her father sighs. “She’s sorry about that.”

“I’m sure she is.” Effie shakes her head. “But I’m fine here. Really.”

“If that boy wants to step up and take responsibility,” her father begins but stops when Effie holds up a hand.

“This isn’t Heath’s baby. I told Mom that. But Heath is willing to let me live here. It’s my best option. And it will be fine. Good. It’s going to be great.” As always since she came home, there’s an awkward silence in the space where once she’d have called him Dad. She can’t bring herself to do it anymore. It’s not Daddy, but even so, the name is soured for her. It’s not as if she can suddenly start calling him Pop or something like that. So Effie doesn’t call her father anything, and it’s obvious and uncomfortable, but neither of them ever mention it.

“I know you think so.” Her father frowns. “I understand.”

Effie sighs, sounding very much as he had only moments before. “You don’t.”

“I’d like to,” her father says.

This is never the sort of conversation a girl should ever have with her father. It involves trauma and awful things. Also sex, which wasn’t awful nor a trauma, despite the fact she ended up in this delicate condition when she ought to have known better.

Her father sighs again, looking so much older than he had even when Effie came back home, and she’d been shocked then at how much he’d aged in the three years she’d been gone. His smile reminds her of when she was younger and he’d take her on a Saturday to the hardware store to look at the tools. He’s the sort of father any girl would dream of, the kind who will get choked up when he dances with her at her wedding. Not that she’s planning a wedding anytime soon.

“The father. He’s not in the picture?”

Effie has not told the baby’s father that he’s the one who knocked her up. She hasn’t seen him since she found out. If he has by some reason heard about it, and he might’ve, because it’s a small town, he probably assumes, as her mother had, that the baby is Heath’s. And it should be, she thinks with a sudden, fierce twist of her mouth. This baby, the one she’s going to get to keep and not the one she lost, should be his.

She shakes her head. “No. He doesn’t know.”

“You could come home, Effie. We’ll take care of you.” Her father sounds sincere.

Effie believes him. But... “I’m almost nineteen. I’m in school, I’m working, and I’m having a baby. Living with Heath is helping me. We’re going to be all right. I don’t have to come home. I can’t.”