The Year We Hid Away

by Sarina Bowen

  I stepped forward again, wrapping my body around him from behind, my face pressing into his back. “Shh,” I said. “It’s going to be alright.”

  “No,” his voice was rough. “It isn’t. I did everything I could, and it’s all fucked up anyway.”

  Hartley walked over to the window seat and picked up the pink bunny. “We need someone who knows their way around the department of social workers, or whatever it’s called. And we need someone who can help you with legal stuff.”

  “I think you should go to the Beaumont House dean,” I suggested.

  “No fucking way. That’s who I’ve been ducking since the summer.”

  “Wait…” Hartley said, looking up at the ceiling, as if the answer was written there. “I think she’s right. You were breaking the rules before, but right now you aren’t anymore. So now he can only help you. That’s his job, anyway.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t think,” Bridger said. I ran my hand through his hair. It felt so good to touch him again. Even if the timing was awful, I just didn’t want to let him go.

  “Look,” Hartley said. “I’m going to duck into his office and see if he has an hour for you today. I’ll tell him it’s important, but I won’t say why.”

  “All right.” Bridger sounded numb.

  At that, Hartley left the room and closed the door.

  “Shit,” Bridger cursed. “I don’t know anything about the system. I don’t know anything about social workers, except that I never wanted to meet one. I have no idea how it works.”

  Neither did I. But I realized that I knew someone who might. I set my bag down and dug out Uncle Brian’s letter. I tapped his number into my phone, my thumb hovering over the “send” button.

  I stopped myself just in time.

  “Bridge, can I use your phone? It’s important. My uncle is a social worker. He’s not in Connecticut, unfortunately. But he might know what to do.”

  “Something wrong with yours?” He pulled his phone off the desktop.

  “It’s sort of bugged,” I sighed. “My father’s attack dogs know every call I make, and read every text.”

  “What?” His eyes got huge. “That’s so fucked.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s also why I haven’t talked to you in ten days.” I hit “send” on Bridger’s phone and held it to my ear.

  Bridger put his forehead in his palm. “You should have just told me.”

  “Hold that thought,” I said, as I listened to a phone ring at the other end of my call.

  On the fourth ring, and just when I was losing hope, a man’s voice answered. “This is Brian Ellison.”

  “Uncle Brian?” I said into the silence. “It’s… Shannon.” After all this time, my old name felt foreign on my tongue.

  “Shannon,” his voice was rough. “Wow. I’m so happy to hear your voice. Is this your phone number?”

  “It’s my boyfriend’s.” Somehow I managed to prevent myself from checking Bridger’s face when I called him that. But it wasn’t easy.

  “I wrote you a letter a couple of months ago. Did you get it?”

  “Just last week. Because I changed my name, and everything got confused.”

  “Oh,” he said, his voice quiet. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Why would you, you know? But do you have a minute? There’s a problem.”

  “For you, I always have a minute. What’s the matter?”

  “It’s not my problem, but it’s really important. I need some advice about how social services in Connecticut would handle a situation. There’s a child — she’s eight — and the mother has died. But her brother is an adult who wants custody. And it’s urgent.”

  He was silent for a moment. “That sounds serious. Does this have anything to do with J.P.’s mess?”

  “Not a thing. But it has everything to do with people I love.” Please, I begged him silently. Please help.

  “Can I come and discuss it in person?” he asked. “I could be in Harkness by… five o’clock.”

  Relief flooded through me. “That’s an amazing offer. But won’t the social services offices be closed by then?”

  There was more silence on the line. “Why don’t you tell me the story. Who is this little girl?”

  “My boyfriend’s little sister,” I couldn’t help looking up at Bridger. His eyes were glued to me, but his face gave away nothing. “He took her out of his mother’s home last summer. Because the mom had a drug habit and some scary friends.”

  “Shit,” Brian said into my ear.

  “She was living in his dorm room until this morning, when social services came and took her from school. Because their mother died. And they probably assumed that she’d been living at home.”

  “And the father?”

  “Deceased.”

  “What a mess,” Brian sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I am too.”

  “Okay. What’s your boyfriend’s name? Can I speak to him?”

  “Of course.”

  I handed the phone to Bridger. And while I tidied up the things that Bridger had kicked around the room, he spoke to Uncle Brian, filling him in on all the details.

  Ten minutes later Bridger thanked my uncle and disconnected the call. He set the phone down and turned to me.

  “What’s going to happen?” I asked.

  Bridger raked a hand over his face. “He’s going to call around, and try to figure out where she is, and if I can see her. And then he’s going to call back and talk to me about how to try for custody.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  “Thank you for calling him.” Bridger didn’t even look at me as he said this.

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t go. “I would do anything to help you.”

  “If that’s true, then where the fuck have you been?” He looked up then, his eyes cool. “I am so incredibly angry with you right now.”

  The disappointment on his face made me feel shaky with fear. “I know you are. But I needed to keep my head down, so my father’s security guys would leave me alone.”

  “And how’s that been working for you?” There was a sarcastic edge to the question that made my eyes burn.

  “I’m sorry, Bridge.”

  “Your phone is bugged? Is that why you broke up with me with a text message?”

  I nodded.

  “You wanted them to see that?”

  Again, I nodded.

  “Can I assume there’s some fucked up reason why that seemed like a good idea?”

  I knew I deserved his anger, but it scared me anyway. “The asshole-in-chief started asking a lot of questions, pointing out that you were the only one I ever called. He actually threatened you. And then?” I swallowed. “He said, ‘who’s Lucy?’”

  “Fuck.” Bridger’s eyes got wide. “You should have just told me.”

  “Why? So you could have two people to worry about instead of one?”

  “But I do anyway!” he shouted. “I’m so twisted up over you, I never saw this coming!”

  “So this is all my fault,” I spat.

  His shoulders drooped. “I didn’t say that.”

  “All the ugly in my life was bleeding into yours.”

  “…Where there was already a shit ton of ugly,” Bridger finished. He lifted his eyes to me again, an unreadable expression on his face. My heart tripped over itself like it always did when he met my gaze. He was only three feet away, yet I felt like we were separated by miles.

  The door opened as we stood there glaring at each other.

  Hartley came in, clearing his throat. “Okay, the bad news is that the Dean is at a conference in New York today. The good news is that his assistant blocked out an hour for you tomorrow at noon.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “And I’m coming with you,” Hartley added. “Would you let me do that?”

  Bridger turned to face his friend. “Yeah, that would be good.”

  “We’re going to get her back, Bridge. We can figure thi
s out.”

  “Yeah.” His voice held zero conviction.

  “What do we do next? We could borrow a car and drive to the social services department.” Hartley shifted his weight from foot to foot by the door, and my heart swelled to see that Bridger had friends who were ready to help him.

  Bridger jammed his hands in his pockets. “Actually, we’re waiting for Scarlet’s uncle to call us back. He’s looking into everything.”

  “Okay. What else, then?”

  “Go to practice Hartley. You’ll help me tomorrow.”

  Hartley hesitated. “You sure?”

  “I am, man. Go.”

  But his friend didn’t move right away. “I guess I finally get why you quit hockey.”

  Bridger sat down heavily on the bed. “Yeah. Now you do.”

  “You moron. I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me.” Bridger looked up at me, and we locked eyes while Hartley continued his rant. “I’m sure you had some noble fucking idea about handling it yourself.”

  “I know.” Bridger’s voice was flat.

  Hartley heaved a great sigh. “You were a lot of help to me last year. Kinda kills me that you didn’t ask.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word, Hartley turned around and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

  After a couple of beats of silence, I spoke up. “You just had the same fight with Hartley that you picked with me.”

  Bridger’s answer was almost a grunt. “I noticed.” For a moment he only rubbed the back of his own neck. And then he moved fast. One moment he was sitting across from me, but in the next he’d closed that gap. He put his hands on my hips and hoisted me into the air, catching me in his arms. Then he backed up again, dropping onto the bed, cradling me in his lap. “I wish you would have explained it to me,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t answer him, because I was trying really hard not to cry. It felt so good to have him holding me again.

  “I need you, Scarlet. Even when things are really ugly. Especially then.”

  Tipping my face into Bridger’s neck, I took a deep breath of him. He smelled of soap and comfort. I’d missed this so much. “I need you, too.”

  His voice became raspy as he asked me a question. “Is there some other guy?”

  I shook my head vigorously. “I don’t even know any other guys.”

  Bridger only sighed into my hair, and gathered me closer. We sat there a long time, just holding each other. When Bridger’s phone finally rang, I jumped off his lap.

  He lunged for it. “Hello?” After he listened for a minute, I saw his shoulders relax. “Of course. Thank you. Let me get a pen.” When Bridger began scribbling something onto his notebook, I got up to look over his shoulder. It was an address in the neighboring town of Orange.

  “I’ll call them before we come. Yeah, Scarlet has a car here. Sure. Okay. Thank you.”

  Bridger turned to me, holding out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  I took the phone from him. “You found her?”

  “She’s with a foster family who takes in emergency cases. Bridger is going to be allowed to bring Lucy some of her clothes, and visit her tonight.”

  My eyes went to Bridger, who was now rustling around, pulling small t-shirts out of a drawer. “Wow, thank you.”

  “It’s nothing. But, listen — he’s not the type to do anything stupid, right? She has to stay with the foster family until this shit gets sorted out.”

  “No, it will be fine. He wouldn’t… snatch her or whatever you’re thinking.”

  “Good. Because he’ll be no help to her in jail.”

  “I’m sure he understands that.”

  “Emotions run high in these situations. People do stupid things when they’re afraid.”

  Don’t I know it.

  “Look, Sweetheart, I want to drive down there tomorrow. I’ll help Bridger figure out some things, but also I’ll get to see you too.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  “I think I can get to you about nine. Can you make time for me then?”

  I could if I skipped my last Italian study session before the exam. “Sure.”

  “Great. Can you give me your phone number?”

  I hesitated. “We’ll just use Bridger’s number, okay? Not mine.”

  “Shit. Are your parents tracking you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He cursed. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Sixteen: Dolphin Breath

  — Bridger

  “It’s going to be that green one — with the porch,” I said as Scarlet idled down the little residential street. The street looked okay. Hell, some of these houses were probably a little nicer than the ones on the street we grew up on. But that didn’t mean that anything about this was okay with me. And if Scarlet weren’t sitting beside me, I’d probably be a cursing, ranting mess. Instead, I settled for just shaking like a leaf.

  She brought her car to a stop in front of number 118, and I stared at it for a minute. The house needed a coat of paint, like, two years ago. And there were toys scattered around the front yard.

  Scarlet put her hand on mine. “That’s not so bad,” she said softly.

  “Right.” At least there weren’t weapons and live ammo lying around the front yard. Or crack vials.

  “I’m going to wait here,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze.

  But I barely heard her, because the front door opened, and a woman stepped out. Behind her I could see Lucy standing there, her face pale and stricken.

  A half second later I was out of the car and up the walk. Lucy flew out and down the steps. She launched herself at me, landing full force in my chest. I dropped the bag I was holding to catch her, to lift her up.

  She shoved her face into my jacket and howled.

  “Whoa, Lulu,” I said, fighting for breath. For some reason my lungs did not want to expand properly, and my vision went blurry. “Hey, now,” I choked out, rubbing her back.

  While Lucy sobbed, the woman picked up the bag I’d dropped, and nudged me toward the porch steps. Somehow I climbed them, carrying Lucy into the house. A cluttered living room was just inside. I staggered over to an ottoman and sat on it, holding Lucy tight. I took a few deep, slow breaths until I had myself back under control.

  Lucy’s sobbing had progressed to the drippy, hiccupping stage, and I wiped her face with my hands. She was trying to calm down, but her fingers still had a vice-like grip on my jacket. “I’ve got you,” I said, even though it was only half true, and both of us knew it.

  “She d…d…died,” Lucy stuttered, still drowning in her own tears.

  “I know, buddy. I’m sorry about that.” My throat threatened to close up again, so I cleared it.

  “We should have…” she choked on her own words. “…The hospital, maybe. We didn’t…” Lucy shoved her face into my jacket again.

  Oh, fuck.

  I pulled her head out where I could look her in the eyes. “No, buddy. Listen to me.” Those green eyes were wild and scared, and it took a second before I had her attention. “She was sick, but she wouldn’t go to the hospital. This is not your fault.”

  “She wouldn’t go?”

  I shook my head rather than lie again. It was true that I’d brought up treatment to my mother many times, and she wouldn’t discuss it with me. Whether I could have made a difference by actually hauling her selfish, bitchy ass to some kind of facility somewhere, we’ll never know. By the time I was sure she needed some kind of violent intervention, I had Lucy on my hands. There was nothing I could have done.

  At least, that’s what I was going to keep telling myself. Probably for the next sixty years.

  My sister seemed to have worn herself out from crying. Now she just lolled against me, and I got the feeling that both of us were catching our breath.

  “I’m Amy,” the foster mother said after a few minutes. “Are these Lucy’s things in here?” she
pointed at the bag.

  “Yeah.” My voice still thick. “Lulu, I brought you some clothes, and your PJs. And I brought Funny Bunny.”

  “I don’t want to sleep here,” she said into my t-shirt.

  “I know you don’t.” I closed my arms around her. “But it’s just temporary, until I get a chance to tell the judge that I should be the one who takes care of you.” I chose my words carefully, making no promises.

  “Why does the judge care?”

  “When somebody’s parent dies, they want to make sure you have a good home to live in.”

  “We can move back into the house,” Lucy said. “You and me.”

  It made me swallow hard to hear Lucy trying to come up with a solution. That’s all I’d done all semester — mentally rearrange the cards, trying to come up with a winning hand. I’d never managed it. “You’re going to stay here with Amy until I can figure out what we’re doing,” I said.

  “I have a room just for you,” Amy said softly, from where she stood in the corner. “You can have some dinner and a bath. You’ll go to school tomorrow, so your teacher doesn’t miss you too much.”

  “No,” Lucy said, her voice rising with a fresh wave of hysteria. “I just want to go home.”

  I took another slow breath. “I’ll bet there’s a bathtub,” I said. One of Lucy’s many complaints about Beaumont House was that she had to take showers.

  “Don’t care.”

  “Maybe your brother would fill it up for you,” Amy hinted.

  I scooped Lucy up and stood. Carrying her was still no problem, weight wise. But she was getting so big, she dangled down to my knees. It seemed like just last week when she was just a little lump on my hip when I carried her.

  Following Amy, I headed upstairs. We passed a bedroom, where a man was sitting across a desk from another child, a dark-skinned little girl. They seemed to be bent over a sheet of homework. The man looked up as I passed, and winked.

  Okay. So the place wasn’t exactly a scene out of Oliver Twist. But I still couldn’t believe that I was supposed to leave Lucy here. Christ.

  Lucy didn’t let me leave the bathroom while she bathed. I think she worried that I’d slip out, even though I’d promised not to. So I rinsed her hair with a plastic cup, and tried to get her to stop looking so scared.