The Girl Before (14 page)

He shakes his head. “Nah. My parents' room is all the way downstairs and on the other side of the house. As long as we're quiet, we'll be fine.”

I settle in next to him, leaving a few feet of space, which he promptly eliminates. I stretch my legs out in front of me, and his leg is flush against mine, so I can feel his body heat through his pants and the fabric of my skirt.

“It's just us up here, Clara,” Glen whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “We don't have to pretend. Not here.”

“Who's pretending?” I ask, breathless.

Glen chuckles. “I know you've been watching me, Clara.” I open my mouth to deny it, but he places a finger over my lips. “I know you've been watching me, because I've been watching you. You've always been different. You should hear my parents talk about you.” Traces of bitterness creep into his voice. “‘Clara mastered another language today. Clara is years ahead of the other girls her age. Clara learned to walk on water.'”

“Glen, I—”

“I hated you for a while. I thought they wanted you to be their kid.”

Is this why he asked me to meet him here? So he could tell me how much he despises me? Small pieces of my heart begin to break. I look down, away from Glen's eyes, but he continues speaking.

“That's when I started watching you. I was going to catch you doing something terrible.”

My stomach is in knots.

“But there was nothing,” Glen says. His voice grows warmer. “You were just as great as they said you were, and beautiful, and that's when I knew I had to know you better.” He takes a deep breath. “I think I'm falling for you, Clara.”

I turn to look at him, and for a moment I think he is going to kiss me. Without thinking, I move my head slightly away from his. I'm not sure I'm ready for that step. Glen smiles, then reaches down and laces his fingers through mine.

“Look up, Clare,” he says, shortening my name to one syllable. A thrill runs through me at the sound of it coming off his tongue. I look up, and my mouth drops open.

Above us, hundreds of stars streak across the sky, slicing shining holes in the velvety texture of the night. I catch my breath, exhaling the word. “Beautiful.”

Glen grins and tugs me back until he is lying on his back and I am lying with my head on his chest. I have never been this close with a boy, never felt this intimate. I am feeling things I do not understand, but all I know is that I never want this moment, these feelings, to end.

When the meteor shower is over, Glen starts to speak. He talks about what he would like to do, if he weren't expected to take over the business. Work with animals, maybe, or children. Go on adventures to other countries. Explore the world. Some of these things he will get to do. Papa has been all over the world for his business. Glen will have those same opportunities.

But there is wistfulness in Glen's voice, a hint that he is not as happy with his legacy as his parents would wish him to be. Sadness washes over me as Glen's words slow, as his breathing grows deeper. I do not want to think of anything past this moment, because when we talk of the future, we talk of a time when we will be living separate lives. I cannot help but feel warmth in my chest, however, that Glen has chosen me to share his secrets with. I know that no one else has been privy to the quiet wishes he whispered tonight. As I drift off, my thoughts turn to dreams, where Glen and I are traveling the world together, both of us free to pursue our own desires, both of us choosing the other for forever.

Glen stirs as the sun comes up. He kisses my cheek and lowers himself over the edge of the roof, promising to find time to see me again soon. The separation overwhelms me for a moment, and I wait until I am calm before slipping back through the window, down the
passage, and to my room. Macy is asleep, snoring softly, looking as angelic as Mama and Papa believe her to be. Macy is a soul that will not be tamed. She goes after what she wants. I push my pillow person aside and drift off, wishing that I could be more like her.

“I hear you had a visitor yesterday,” Dr. Mulligan says about halfway through our session. I have been scribbling in my notebook for the last twenty minutes, feeling uninspired. I flip back to the page where I drew Glen's face. It is a poor reproduction.

“I want to see Glen again,” I say, ignoring her statement.

Dr. Mulligan studies me for a moment. “I'm afraid that's not in my power. Why do you wish to see him?”

“He's my husband. Do I need a reason?”

“I suppose not. But why now?”

I slam the notebook closed and cover my face with my hands. I do not want to cry, but I haven't felt right since Mama Mae visited. I hate this. All of it. I want to go back home and be with Glen and our daughters and even Mama Mae. I want to brush Daisy's hair and fold laundry with Passion and help Jenna learn a new language.

“Glen's mother came to visit me,” I mumble into my hands. I lower them and peek at Dr. Mulligan. “She says I ruined his life. Is that true?” Though it is only something Mama Mae said to preserve our story, the words have been weighing on me. Maybe it would have been better for Glen if he had let me go to my intended client all those years ago. Maybe his parents could have found him someone more suitable, someone who could help in ways I was not equipped to. Maybe he would still be free.

Something passes across Dr. Mulligan's face, an expression akin to pain. She lowers herself onto the floor across from me. This is new. She always remains perched in her chair, while I usually choose to sit in my spot between the couch and the coffee table. It seems odd to have her at my level, her expensive-looking suit picking up carpet fibers and dust motes. She doesn't seem to care, though, her eyes focused entirely on me.

“Listen to me, Clara.” Her tone is different from normal. Dr. Mulligan speaks in low, gentle tones, nonthreatening, not directive. She is like my guide, following me through the tangled web of my mind, nudging me here and there, but letting me take the lead. But now, her voice takes on an urgency, and I sit up and pay attention. “You did not ruin Glen's life. Do you hear me? From what I understand, you only made his life better.” She stops and closes her eyes, and I notice a small tremble in her bottom lip.

“But if he hadn't picked me, maybe his parents . . .” I trail off as her eyes snap open.

“What do you mean, Clara?” Her gaze is razor sharp.

“I mean,” I say, groping through my brain for the safe answer. I am not supposed to know his parents, so how do I explain how we got together?

“Clara.” Dr. Mulligan's voice is gentle again. “When did you meet Glen?”

The memory of the dance class flashes through my mind. “Dance class,” I say. That is the story I gave Connor as well. “We ran away together.” Not a lie.

“How old were you?”

This is beginning to feel like a questioning session with Connor. I open my notebook up and begin to doodle again. It isn't that I do not want to talk to Dr. Mulligan. It scares me how much I want to open up and spill everything. But I cannot trust anyone.

Dr. Mulligan sighs. “I know you can't tell me the truth yet, Clara,”
she says, and I can hear how she tries to hide the frustration in her tone. I feel bad for frustrating her, but my loyalty lies with Glen. She watches me for a few more moments, then stands, brushes herself off, and moves back into her chair.

We do not speak for the rest of the session, but I feel a little better. I know Dr. Mulligan cares for me, and I believe her when she says my presence in Glen's life made it better. I just wish I could see him and talk to him about it. Just a few minutes would help reassure me.

“Time's almost up, Clara,” Dr. Mulligan says. We seal and sign the notebook, and after she slips it into its secret spot, she leans against her desk, arms crossed. “I want you to think about something between now and our next session,” she says, her eyes appraising.

I nod. “Sure.”

“There's a group that meets in this building every week. Women who have come from . . . difficult circumstances. I'd like you to consider joining them.”

Difficult circumstances? I'm not sure what that means, but I nod again. “I'll think about it.”

“Please do. I think it would be good for you to connect with some other women.” She gives me a small smile. “Those who are not incarcerated.”

I return the smile, taking deep breaths to calm the flash of panic that goes through me at the implied mention of prison. Dr. Mulligan will spring statements like this on me from time to time. She explained that avoiding that which frightens me will not help me in the long run. Her smile widens as she notices my use of breathing techniques to calm my anxiety.

“Good job, Clara.” There is a knock at the door. “Think about the group,” Dr. Mulligan says as she goes to open it, revealing Jay, ready to take me back to my room.

“I will.”

Some of the novelty from my great escape with Glen has worn off. It takes five hours on foot to reach a town, and the sun is fully risen by the time we spot the buildings in the distance. My feet went numb hours ago, but I trudged on, taking only a few of the breaks Glen offered. The numbness and fatigue are forgotten as soon as we see the first signs of civilization. I have never seen a town before. My memories are only of the house I've always lived in, with Mama Mae and my sisters.

“It's so cute!” I say, grinning at Glen. The sleepy town is nestled in a valley, surrounded by snowcapped mountains.

Glen returns my smile, cheeks red from the cold, eyes shining. “I knew you'd love it.”

We head down toward the town, and as we stroll the streets hand in hand, I feel a sense of freedom that I didn't know was missing. I want to jump and dance and twirl. Glen leads me to a small building on the edge of town. The bus depot. He buys two tickets to the next largest city, and we don't have to wait long before the bus rumbles to the bench where we wait. Glen begins to fidget, checking his watch and glancing down the road. I begin to grow anxious as well. How long before they realize we are missing? How long before they guess where we have gone?

There are few people on the bus. It smells a bit like dirty socks, but to me it is miraculous. We take a seat across from an old man who is gently snoring into the window, each breath leaving a brief puff of condensation on the glass. I giggle and point him out to Glen, who chuckles with me. As soon as the bus pulls away, I feel Glen relax.

“We made it,” he says, turning to look at me.

I nod, unable to hold back my grin. “The start of a new life, right?”

“The best life.”

We pass the time on the bus talking about where we want to go and what we'll do when we get there. Glen talks of a man he knows who is willing to create fake documents for us and keep it a secret from Papa G—for the right price, of course. Glen will contact the man when we're safely away. We entertain ourselves by creating our new identities. My name is Delia, and I am eighteen. Glen is Brock, and he is twenty-one. We are newlyweds, fresh from our honeymoon, ready for adventure.

“Oh!” Glen says, reaching into the front pocket of his backpack. “I almost forgot.” He pulls out a small velvet bag. “It's not much, but it's something.”

I take the bag and turn it over, emptying the contents into my hand. Two silver circlets rest on my palm, one with a tiny diamond chip on the side. I look up at Glen.

“Wedding rings,” he says. “Temporary, of course, until I can get you what you deserve.” He takes the rings from me. “May I?”

My heart thunders as I allow him to slip the ring onto my finger. The reality of the situation hits me. We are on our own, living as a married couple. No Papa G or Mama Mae telling us what to do, but also no one to provide for us.

“And mine?” Glen asks, holding out the larger ring. I say nothing as I slip the ring onto his finger. I begin to feel light-headed. Glen lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the ring. “Mrs. Montgomery?” And with that small gesture, my heart calms, and all is right.

“Mr. Montgomery,” I say, my lips curving into a small smile.

“Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Once we reach the city, we head directly to the ticket booth to figure out where we're going next.

“California?” I ask. “You could become a movie star.”

Glen laughs. “I was thinking someplace even farther. East Coast maybe? New York City?”

I consider that. Everything I've read about New York makes it sound very exciting. And huge. The perfect place to disappear.

“New York sounds fantastic.”

Glen grins and buys the tickets. It will take several days by bus, but that's okay. We are together, and we have a lot of catching up to do. Most important, I need Glen to coach me in how everything out here works. I don't want to stand out.

We eat at a small diner for lunch, and I decide I could eat cheeseburgers for every meal and die happy. There are still a few hours left before the bus leaves, and Glen spots a movie theater down the road.

“Do you want to see a movie?” he asks, as if I might say no.

“Are you kidding?” I ask. “Yes!” I squeal and jump on him, more excited to see a movie in a theater than I was to eat a cheeseburger.

“Whoa!” he says, catching me around the waist and stumbling back a few steps. “I'm going to start thinking you're only using me to eat cheeseburgers and see movies.”

He holds me securely against his chest, and I look down at him, full of love. I bend my head and kiss him, pouring my feelings into the action. Without breaking contact, Glen puts me down and pushes me against a wall. His lips urge mine to open and I am lost. Too soon, his lips slow, and he backs a few inches away.

“So, about that movie . . .” He trails off.

“What movie?” I ask, dazed.

Glen throws his head back and laughs. “Let's go, beautiful.” He grabs my hand and we rush toward the theater, hurrying to make it
since our detour put us behind. Glen picks a movie at random and we make it in just as the lights are going down.