by Carian Cole
It’s a photo of the decorated tree, deep in the woods, with Poppy posing next to it with a Santa hat on, a happy doggy grin on his face. Tears of happiness spring to my eyes. Only Tyler could have left this card here for me. But why? And more importantly, how? Did he actually climb up the house in the middle of the night? And how did he know I was here and which room was mine?
How bizarre.
How stalkery.
How romantic.
A new shiver courses through me, this one warm and tingly and unlike any sensation I’ve ever felt. After what I went through, things like this should scare me. Someone watching me should be a huge red flag. I’m intelligent enough, and I’ve watched enough TV, to know that. And if it was anyone else, I would be terrified. But it’s Tyler, and he’s an exception. He’s special, and he doesn’t scare me. I hold the photo and the card over my heart for a moment before putting them in my nightstand for safekeeping.
Christmas morning is a whirlwind of exchanging gifts, listening to holiday music, and eating an unimaginable amount of food. Zac and Anna join us, which seems to be the norm from what I can tell. My parents cook pancakes, waffles, eggs, and bacon together and appear happier than I’ve ever seen them as they tease each other in the kitchen. After breakfast, they surprise me by singing “Happy Birthday” and piling more presents in front of me. Being the center of attention is awkward for me, and poor Lizzie can’t understand why I’m getting extra presents and she isn’t.
I rise from my seat on the couch and put my arm around her, which she always loves. “I’m going to put some clothes on and go walk in the snow. Do you want to come with me?” I ask her, hoping it will cheer her up.
Her face lights up. “Yes! Maybe we can make snow angels!”
“Awesome. Go get dressed, okay? You can’t go outside in your jammies.”
“Lizzie,” Mom interrupts from the kitchen. “Maybe you can go outside later. Daddy is going to get Grandma soon. Go put your nice new dress on.”
My little sister pouts and stomps her foot. “But I want to go out in the snow with Holly. We’re going to make angels like Holly used to be.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Mom gives us both a warning look before shoving a casserole dish into the oven and turning back to us. “Lizzie, it’s Christmas. Don’t be difficult.”
The happiness I felt a moment ago is replaced by growing anger as I watch my sister stomp off to her room. My mother refuses to look at me as I stare at her.
“I’d love to take a walk,” Anna offers, sensing the tension. “If you don’t mind me going with you?”
“Not at all.” I force a smile onto my face, resuming the mask. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I take my presents upstairs and change into jeans, a sweater, and boots. As I’m leaving my room, the sound of my mother in her bedroom across the hall catches my attention. Mustering up courage, I nervously run my fingers through my hair and cross the hall to knock on her bedroom door.
“Come in.”
A look of surprise crosses her face when I enter the room and close the door behind me. I watch her as she lays outfits out on her bed for evaluation. “Holly…do you like the presents we got you? You’re so hard to buy for. We can exchange anything you don’t like.”
“I loved everything. Thank you.” I now have more clothes than I ever thought possible. Zac and Anna gave me two new books, a candle, and a coffee mug that changes color with temperature, which I thought was fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it and can’t wait to use it.
“Mom…” I say hesitantly. “Did I do something wrong?”
She looks up from the four outfits on her bedspread with a distracted frown. “What? Why on earth would you ask that?”
I lean against her dresser and clasp my hands in front of me. “It’s just…every time I try to spend time with Lizzie, you jump in and stop it. It’s been going on for months. It confuses her. And to be honest, it’s confusing for me, too. She’s my sister. I’m trying to get to know her.”
Her lips close into a thin line, and silent admission is all over her face.
“Why?” I urge. “I’m not contagious.”
“Holly, don’t be ridiculous. Lizzie is just a little girl…and she doesn’t really know you. She’s very vulnerable and innocent.” Her chin lifts slightly. “I don’t want her to know any details about your past. I’ve tried very hard to protect her from all of it. She’d be petrified if she knew the truth.”
I remember being petrified. I remember it very well. And I was also just a little innocent girl. “Details?” I repeat, coldly. “Do you think I’m going to tell my seven-year-old sister I was starved and raped, Mom? Do you think I’m going to tell her how I was kept locked in an old dirty room for half my life?”
Her hand goes to her neck, fingering the gold cross necklace she wears every day. “Keep your voice down, please,” she says, but there’s a manic edge to her voice. “Everyone is right downstairs. They don’t need to hear such awful things.”
“I would never tell her those things. But she is my little sister, and she is curious. Eventually, she’s going to ask questions. What am I supposed to say? I wasn’t on vacation.” I swallow hard over the anger that’s slowly building up in me. “You told her I was dead. Do you want her thinking dead people come back to life? That’s just as scary as what really did happen to me.”
She looks away, still fingering her cross necklace. Maybe she’s praying for this topic to end. “Honestly, I don’t know what to tell her,” she says, her voice harsh. “I have no idea how to explain this to a child. Nobody should ever have to have such conversations.”
I take a moment and stare at the woman who gave birth to me twenty years ago today. Her jaw is tight, and she holds her body rigid, almost defensively. From me? My words? What? I wish I understood her. I wish she’d talk to me like a real person and not like I’m some kind of stranger who just happens to stay in her home occasionally.
“She should have been at the family therapy sessions,” I say as calmly as I can. “That’s what those were for, to help us become a family again. Because it wasn’t just me that needed therapy, Mom, it was all of us. Just because Lizzie came into your life after I was gone, doesn’t mean I’m not part of her family.”
“You’re right.” She walks to her dresser and randomly opens and closes drawers, not taking anything out. “It’s just a very difficult situation, and it was all very unexpected, devastating, and confusing for everyone.”
“Because you never expected me to come back. I feel like I…” I grapple for the right words, sensing my mother is becoming more and more uncomfortable. “I feel like me coming back was a disruption, especially for you. Like I ruined your perfect life. I feel like I ruined it by being taken, and then I ruined it again coming back.”
Her mouth falls open, and I feel bad for making her feel cornered. I really do. But I don’t know how to live in this awkward space. I want to get out of it.
“That is not true.” She licks her lips nervously. “And I’m very hurt you would even think that.”
I take a deep breath, arming myself emotionally for what I’m going to ask her. “Did you know where Poppy’s been for the past year? Because I know he’s with Tyler Grace.” Her face lights with surprise and then annoyance at the mention of his name. She fingers a blouse on the bed. “I found him, Mom. Entirely by accident and coincidence, but I found him. Or should I say them, since you knew I was looking for both of them.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just stares at me, this stranger who is my mother. I held hard to the memories I had of her while I was gone, not wanting to ever forget her. I could remember her hugging me, singing to me, rocking me to sleep when I was sick, and setting me on the stool in the kitchen so I could stir cookie batter. I was a mommy’s girl, and I loved every moment with her. When did she become so mean and uncaring? Did my disappearance do this? Or my reappearance?
“You have no idea how much that dog meant to me and
what I had to do to keep him safe…” Tears slide down my cheeks, the memories assaulting me, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I can’t believe you kept him from me.”
“And that is exactly why, Holly. He’s a reminder of what you went through, and you need to put all that ugliness behind you.” Her voice starts to waver with emotion beneath the anger. “That evil man gave you that dog to manipulate you. The dog was a pawn, not a pet. Do you not see that?”
“I don’t care why he was given to me,” I protest. “All I care about is I love him and he’s the only friend or family I had. Did you know Tyler has had him the whole time? Did you lie to me about Poppy living with a family? Just to shut me up?”
Her face is stoic and unreadable. “The dog was the least of my worries, Holly. I was trying to deal with a daughter who had been kidnapped and horribly abused in every way imaginable. I just wanted you to focus on getting better, and not clinging to a mangy dog and a filthy bag of books. I didn’t know that savage had him.”
I cringe at her choice of words. “He’s not a savage. And it’s not okay to tell lies.”
“You’re right,” she says softly. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I thought I was doing the right thing. You have to understand I’m new at this too, Holly. I’ve never been through anything like this. I know I haven’t handled any of this in a good way. Not back then, and not now. I…I just can’t think about it or talk about it. I want it all just gone.”
“For it all to be gone, I would have to be gone,” I whisper, pain clenching my heart like a tight fist. “Is that what you want?”
Her chest heaves up and down beneath her robe and, for a second, she looks like she’s going to faint, but she recovers quickly. “Please, Holly. It’s Christmas Day, and it’s your birthday. Now is not the day to be talking about such horrible things and getting upset. I promise we can talk about all of this on another day. I promise I’ll be better. Everything will get better, you’ll see. I don’t want you gone. That’s a terrible thing to say. I love you. I just need time to sort it out.” Although she smiles hopefully, her eyes are begging me to drop this conversation.
As Feather would say, my mom can’t deal. It’s taken me a long time to build up the courage to confront her. I would rather just continue to talk about it now, but I suppose she’s right that now is not the best time. “All right.” I agree reluctantly.
Relieved, she steps closer and pulls me in for a quick hug. “I’m sorry this is all so confusing for everyone. I really am. I know I haven’t been the best mother to you. We’ll work on fixing it, okay? We just need time. That’s all.” She holds me at arm’s length and looks into my eyes. “I want you to be happy, please believe that.”
Returning the smile, I slowly disengage from her embrace, not quite knowing what to believe. She and my father are so distant, barely part of my life at all. I can’t help but wonder how much of it is from being busy with their lives and jobs and how much of it is because I just make them too uncomfortable.
The quiet of my bedroom is a welcome haven that night, even if it’s in a house that feels not at all like home to me. My mind is filled with so many different emotions from the day that I’m not even sure what I’m feeling, other than purely exhausted, mentally and physically. Spending time with my grandmother earlier cheered me up after the talk with my mother, but I still feel an odd emptiness inside, like something big is missing but I have no idea what it is. Before changing into the clothes I sleep in, I peer out the window, searching for any new footprints or signs of Tyler, still curious as to how he got to my window and secretly hoping he’ll come back.
After I climb into bed, I reach into my nightstand and pull out the card and photo. I wish Tyler was in this photo, kneeling in the snow next to Poppy. I try to imagine him there, with his long hair that almost matches the color of mine, his strong, colorful arms, and those bright blue eyes that mesmerize me. He’s far too beautiful to not smile, I decide, and I set a new goal for myself: make Tyler smile. A real smile.
14
Holly
Two days after Christmas, my family has gone back to their normal busy routine, my mother has dodged any further in-depth conversation, and I’ve been driven back to Merryfield. I decide the best thing for me to do is to put my Make Tyler Smile plan into action. I need something to feel good about.
On the way out of town, I ask my usual taxi driver to stop at the ice cream shop. My worries about going in there again after I was let go were for nothing because, when I place my order, the new girl working there doesn’t know I’m the Girl In the Hole Who Passed Out In the Soft Serve.
The driver laughs at me when I get back into her car carrying two large purple drinks with fluorescent green straws. Before I’d gone in, I’d offered to get her something, and even offered to pay for it, but she declined.
“I’m not drinking them both,” I inform her. “One is for my friend.”
“Hey, I don’t judge. People bring all sorts of weird things into the car.”
My stomach twists into knots as we get closer to the edge of the woods leading to Tyler’s house. What if he doesn’t want to see me again or refuses to talk? Obviously, he can talk but chooses not to. His voice is hoarse and different but, to my ears, it doesn’t sound so bad that he should be ashamed or afraid to speak. I actually like the way it sounds and the way it makes my insides flitter around like I swallowed a butterfly. Unless, perhaps, it causes him physical pain to talk. Or emotional pain which, in some ways, can be worse.
The driver has brought some paperbacks with her and agrees to wait for me once again. She doesn’t seem to mind waiting as long as she’s getting paid, and sitting here reading is probably better than driving random strangers around all day. I really need to talk to my parents about getting my driver’s license and a car, because this is becoming expensive. I feel that I’m more than ready and able to drive a car.
Carrying the two teas, with my backpack over my shoulder, I make my way down the path. It has a light dusting of snow over it, and I’m curious whether anyone else lives out here or if his house is the only one. He certainly has gone out of his way to put himself as far away from other people as possible, and I can’t help but wonder why. Whatever that reason may be, it led him to saving my life that day.
As soon as I enter his yard, via a short dirt road that’s overrun with weeds, Poppy comes running to me from out of nowhere, with another dog chasing after him.
“Hi, Poppy!” I say, not able to pet him with my hands full of drinks. “You have a friend.”
The small reddish-brown dog starts to run circles around my feet, round and round and round, making a strange squealing noise, while Poppy stands to the side and watches, with his tail wagging, looking very amused.
“Wow, you’re very excited,” I say to the red dog, who has turned and is now running counterclockwise around my ankles, in a blur, preventing me from walking. I have never seen such an odd dog, and he’s making me very dizzy.
A whistle suddenly pierces the air, and the dog stops cycloning around me and runs to the source of the whistle: Tyler.
He’s standing at the open door to his garage, with dark sunglasses hiding those beautiful eyes and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He must not feel the cold since he never wears a jacket—just jeans, boots, and a thick flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up. The dog bolts to him, its massive tail flying behind him like a fluffy flag, and that’s when I realize it’s not a dog at all—it’s the red fox that’s in the Christmas tree photographs I bought. Poppy and I approach Tyler and his fox together, and an odd sensation of comfort encompasses me, like the four of us are old friends or family.
Dare I say, a feeling of belonging?
“You have a fox,” I say, watching the animal play with Poppy. He’s beautiful —hyper and goofy —unlike Poppy, who’s much calmer. They seem like best friends as they frolic around the yard, and it warms my heart to see Poppy in what looks like a very happy home. Tyler nods and snuff
s out his cigarette then throws it in a small garbage can next to the door he’s leaning against.
“Is he a pet?” I ask. I’ve never heard of anyone having a fox for a pet, but my life knowledge is still pretty limited.
He nods again while taking the sunglasses off and placing them on top of his head. His eyes settle on me, slowly looking me up and down, but not in a creepy way. More like he’s just…taking me in. Getting used to me being in front of him.
I hold one of the drinks out to him and smile. “I bought you a bubble tea. This one has the bubbles that pop. They’re not the squishy tapioca ones. It’s my favorite.”
He takes the drink from me and examines the clear plastic cup, watching the bubbles swirl around. “It’s purple,” he states, and that dry, hoarse voice of his shoots through me like a laser, bringing a mix of guilt, unease, and excitement. I never knew little things about a person could make my body feel such boggling sensations. His eyes, his voice, the width of his arms—even his handwriting has a baffling effect on me. These feelings are totally alien to me, and experiencing them with a man brings on small waves of uncertainty. Are these feelings normal? Are they safe?
The words of Dr. Reynolds echo through my memory. Not all men are bad. Be cautious, but also be open to enjoying what a healthy relationship can feel like, physically and mentally.
I exhale the breath I was holding while my mind and body struggled. “It’s called taro,” I finally say, enjoying his skeptical face as he inspects the straw.
“Bubbles are fucked up enough, but purple too?” He shakes his head and holds the drink up again.
“Try it.” I take a sip of mine, my eyes still peeking up at him. “It’s good. Trust me.”
A small, crooked grin touches his lips, making him look like a little boy who’s up to no good. It’s not a smile, though, so it doesn’t count toward my goal.
