by Amber Garza
“But you were back for high school, right?”
“I escaped when I was thirteen but I couldn’t jump into high school. I had five years of school to make up for. So I was homeschooled after that. Besides, I don’t think my parents would’ve let me out of their sight anyway.” I paused, lost in my thoughts for a minute. “But there were so many things he took from me that I can never get back.”
“Oh, I think you can.”
“How?”
“You have to be intentional about it.”
I thought about Carter’s statement when I was telling him how to care for his plants. “It sounds like a lot of work.”
“Anything worth doing is a lot of work.”
EIGHT
It was mid-morning and the sun was already scorching hot. The rays beat down on my neck that was exposed under my ponytail. With my free hand I wiped away the sweat. My other hand held the hose as I sprayed my flowers. A butterfly flickered past, its colors blurring as it beat its wings. The buzz of a bee sounded in my ear, and I batted it away. Water trickled on the ground, soaking my bare feet. The coolness of it felt good.
“Thanks to your expertise, I think a few of my flowers are already reviving.”
I flinched at the sound of Carter’s voice. When I turned, I saw him walking toward me wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I’d never seen him so casual, and it took me aback. “I wasn’t expecting you today. I’m guessing it’s not a work call?”
He glanced down at his attire, smirking. “What makes you think that?”
I giggled. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re not wearing your usual khakis.”
“Am I that predictable?” He winked. “You got me. I don’t work weekends unless I have to.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by and give you the 411 on my plants.”
“And you couldn’t have called?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“I could have, but then I wouldn’t have been able to see your face.”
I froze. What was he saying? Suddenly I felt self-conscious about my dirty hair and face. I hadn’t even showered yet today. Thank god I’d brushed my teeth and put on clean clothes.
“When I did this.” He moved so fast I couldn’t even react. His hands ripped the hose out of my hands and water sprayed into my face. I sputtered and jumped backwards.
“What the hell?” Reaching up my hands, I frantically sluiced water from my face.
“You said you never had a water fight before.”
“Out of all the things I said, that’s what you remembered?” I spit water out of my mouth. Cool droplets of liquid dribbled down my face and neck.
“Trust me, I remember it all.” He laughed, bringing the hose up. His finger was poised on the spray nozzle. My heart kicked up speed, and I held my hands up to shield my body. “Are you going to make it that easy for me again?”
I squealed and dodged the next spray. Whirling around, I raced away from him, but a spray hit me in the back. He had it on the mist setting, though, so it didn’t hurt. His laughter trailed me as I ran faster.
“Do people really think this is fun?” I hollered as more water showered me. Shivering, I blocked the water with my upper arm.
“C’mon, you know you’re having the time of your life.” He yelled back to be heard over the loud spray of the water as he squirted the nozzle.
It cascaded down my arm as a grin broke out on my face. I was having the time of my life. Not that I would admit it to him. I ducked down, as a thought struck me. There was another hose on the other side of the yard. With determination I headed toward it. Bending down, I hid behind a row of rose bushes as I maneuvered my way across the yard. Still he got me a few times. My hair was soaked by the time I reached the other hose. It dripped down my back, drenching my shirt. Water beaded in my eyelashes, and I blinked profusely as I snatched the other hose up. When Carter caught up to me, I sprayed him right in the chest.
“Ah.” He pressed his palm to his heart like he’d been shot. “I’m hit.” Then he winked. “Nice move, Aspen.”
“You gonna make it easy for me again?” I used his own words against him. Holding the hose up, my fingers were poised over the nozzle.
He smiled before quickly turning around, but not before I pressed down on the spray nozzle, soaking him. However, he got me back by spraying me from over his shoulder. Water pelted me, drenching the front of my shirt. I glanced down at my purple v-neck, grateful I wasn’t wearing one of my white t-shirts. With all my might, I sprinted after him keeping my hose trained on him. He hopped behind a plant, and I couldn’t see him. But I knew he was there. I stealthily made my way over.
Carter jumped out from behind the bush, startling me. Water sprayed me in the legs. I shrieked and sprayed him back. Mud collected near my feet, the grass now sopping wet. I took a step, but my toe caught on a rock and I pitched forward, the hose slipping from my fingers. Carter’s arms came around me, breaking my fall. However, he was still holding the hose, so water shot up my face. I coughed as some got in my mouth and nose.
“Oh, sorry.” He dropped the hose, his arms still around me.
Water pooled at our feet. Carter’s heart thumped beneath mine. I looked into his eyes and he stared right back. My breath caught in my throat. I’d never been this close to a guy before and I didn’t know what to do. My hands fluttered over his soaking wet chest as my body started to shake and my teeth chattered.
Carter’s hand rubbed my back. “You’re shivering.”
“It’s okay,” I said breathlessly. “That was fun.”
He nodded. “It’s one thing you can check off your list.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Any time.” His face was so close to mine I could smell his minty breath. His hand still circled my back, and his palm was surprisingly warm through my wet shirt.
“You’re a lot different than I thought,” I confessed.
“How so?” One of his eyebrows shot up.
“When I first met you I thought you’d never be the kind of guy to play in the mud.”
“Why’s that?” Carter seemed amused at my assumption. I noticed he still hadn’t let go of me, not that I was complaining. Just a little surprised, I guess. It was clear I wasn’t in danger of falling over anymore.
“You were so perfect when you first showed up here wearing your khakis and your collared shirt, nothing out of place. I guess it reminded me of my parents. They never look sloppy like me.”
“Trust me.” His hand reached up, his finger tipping my chin. “You never look sloppy.”
“Whatever,” I forced words out despite how fast my heart was beating. This was so different from how fast it used to beat in captivity. No, this wasn’t a scared kind of beat. It was an exhilarating one. One I hoped to experience again and again. “I know I’m kind of a tomboy. I’m more comfortable in shorts and t-shirts with mud on my hands than I am in a dress.”
“Aspen, even in your shorts and t-shirts with mud on your hands you’d blow the socks off most women in their dresses.” His thumb grazed my cheek. “You have no idea how stunning you are, do you?”
I stiffened, shocked by his words. No one had ever said that to me before.
“We can add that to the list of things he’s stolen from you. But not for long. Just wait. Pretty soon you’ll see what I do.”
I wondered what he meant by that.
His gaze shifted from me toward the house, and then he quickly dropped his hands. “I don’t think your mom is very happy about our water fight.”
I glanced up at the kitchen window. Mom watched us, her lips puckered. Laughter shot from my throat. I imagined this was what it felt like to be a rebellious teen. To do something just for fun.
But most of all, to have a friend.
After turning off the hoses, I wrung out the bottom of my shirt with my hands. The sun was getting hotter so I chose not to change out of my wet clothes. It felt kind of good, actually. Instead, I grabbed us some
beach towels.
Carter and I spread them out in the grass and lay down to dry off. Our faces were upturned, allowing the sun to shine on us. My hair fanned around my head, the edges crinkly from the water. My skin smelled like hose water and grass.
“If I wasn’t worried about getting my camera wet I would’ve gotten some shots of you earlier. That would’ve been priceless. You should have seen the look on your face when I first squirted you.”
“It’s not fair. You gave me no warning at all.”
“That’s what made it fun.”
“Did you and your friends have water fights like that when you were younger?” I rolled my head to look at his profile. He had on sunglasses now so I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could tell he was still looking up at the sky.
“All the time.” A smile passed over his lips. “But we didn’t always use hoses. Sometimes we used squirt guns. I had a super soaker.”
“Should I be frightened?”
“Nah.” He turned his head to look at me. “No more water fights. We’re moving on to bigger and better things now.”
“Now I really am frightened.”
“Don’t be.” His fingers gently brushed mine. “You never need to be scared of me.”
I had been at his house for six months before he told me why he took me. It was evening when he came into my room. The sky had darkened, pink tinging the bottom of the clouds. I still spent most of my days staring up at the sky through the bars in the windows. Every night I dreamt of trees, flowers, large fields of grass. Freedom. But my days were spent inside this room. I was sick of the white walls and deranged looking stuffed animals.
He didn’t close the door behind him this time, and my pulse quickened.
“You don’t need to be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you.” It was like this was his mantra. He said it all the time, but I knew it was a lie. He was hurting me by keeping me here. He hurt me every day he didn’t let me out of this room. Every second he kept me away from the family that loved me. The family I belonged to. “Do you think you can be a good girl if I let you come downstairs?”
This perked my interest. I wasn’t sure if it was smart to go anywhere with him, but the idea of getting out of this room was tempting. Slowly, I nodded. He held out his hand and my stomach soured.
“C’mon.” His tone was starting to take on that dark quality it got when I rejected him.
So I quickly tucked my hand in his. The mere act made me want to puke, but I resisted the urge. Taking deep breaths, I allowed him to lead me downstairs. I had only seen the house once that first day he brought me here. But I didn’t notice anything specific. At the time I was more interested in what time my parents would be by to pick me up. If only I hadn’t let him lure me upstairs to the “playroom” maybe I could have escaped and none of this would have happened.
When we reached the family room I was struck with how normal it looked. To anyone peering in the window we would look like father and daughter about to enjoy a quiet evening watching TV or playing board games. I didn’t know what I expected, but for some reason the fact that his house was clean and cozy sickened me. How could he act like a normal member of society when he had a child locked in a room upstairs?
The TV played quietly in the background and I could smell something baking in the oven. Despite my best efforts, my stomach growled.
“You hungry?” he asked.
Reluctantly, I nodded. I hated giving in to him, but the truth was that I was starving. He hadn’t brought me anything to eat yet today. Some days he did that. It didn’t bother me as much as it should because I enjoyed not having to see him.
“I can let go of your hand if you promise to stay put.” He squeezed tightly to my hand. So tight it hurt. As if I needed him to drive home the point. “If you try anything at all I’ll never let you out of the room again. Do you understand?”
I nodded, having no doubt he was serious. As much as I hated being with him, I did like it down here. I felt less claustrophobic.
He released my hand, and the flesh tingled as feeling returned. “You can sit on the couch and watch TV while I get dinner on the table.”
It all sounded so normal. Like a typical night with a typical family. It turned my stomach. But I nodded and obediently made my way to the couch.
“I hate keeping you in that bedroom, but I had to make sure I could trust you before I let you out.” He spoke in a soothing tone. “You understand, right? I would never want to hurt my own daughter intentionally.”
Daughter? I froze as the word registered.
NINE
I stepped out onto the front porch while Carter hoisted a bicycle out of a truck. Usually he drove a little compact car so I had no idea where this truck came from. Another bike still sat in the bed. After putting the bike down, he set up the kickstand and then reached for the other one. He had a backpack strapped to his back, a plastic water bottle nestled in the little pouch on the side.
“What’s going on?” I bounded down the porch steps to meet him in the gravel. “I thought you were interviewing me today.”
“I am.” He grinned, setting down the other bike. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. His dark eyes sparkled under the sunlight. “While I teach you to ride a bike.”
“I know how to ride a bike, Carter.”
“You do?” His eyes widened. “But you said you didn’t get to ride bikes.”
“Not while I was with him, but before that I had a bike. In fact, I still have it. Want to see?”
He nodded, looking a little wary. I guided him toward the garage. After punching in our code, the door opened. It rattled as it lifted slowly. Once it was open, I stepped inside, the scent of gasoline wafting under my nose. I scoured the garage until my gaze landed on the little purple bike with the banana seat and white wicker basket.
“There it is.”
Carter grinned. “Great. Well, you can ride that one and I’ll ride one of the ones out there.”
I giggled, trying to imagine fitting on that tiny thing.
“Why do you still have it?”
I shrugged. “My parents are hoarders. They’ve kept all my stuff. I don’t know why.”
Carter’s face grew serious. “It sounds like he’s stolen too much of their lives too.”
Sadness filled me as I stared at the bike in the corner. A memory of Dad teaching me to ride it filled my mind. I remembered his smile, his laugh. So joyful, so real. So unlike now. Joy wasn’t something we easily felt now. We’d become guarded, the three of us. Carter was right. Kurt had stolen those five years, but we were allowing him more. If only I knew how to stop doing it.
“Was all of this your stuff too?” He climbed over boxes and made his way over to the corner where the bike was. Next to it was my old art kit, a box of children’s books and a large dollhouse. I used to play with that dollhouse for hours. Mom and I would go to the store almost every week and purchase furniture and miniature dolls for it.
I nodded, as he ran his fingers over the roof of the pink house. When he brought his hand back, his fingertips were coated in dust. He wiped them off on his shorts and then reached for the art kit. “Art, huh?”
“Yeah.” I weaved through the boxes and junk at my feet to get to where Carter stood, holding a pack of crayons in his fingers. “I loved to draw. It was like my favorite thing to do.”
“But not anymore?”
I shook my head as he dropped the crayons back into the box. Bending over, he dipped his hand inside and pulled out a sheet of paper. Standing back up, he studied it. “You were really good. How old were you when you drew this?” He flashed the paper in my direction. It was a red flower with a long windy green stem.
“Seven probably.”
“Why’d you stop drawing?”
“He didn’t let me.”
He nodded, his gaze connecting with the drawing again. “And you never went back to it?”
“No. It seemed like that was a part of someone I didn’t even know anymore
.”
“But it wasn’t.” His gaze collided with mine. “It was a part of you.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. I wasn’t the same person when I returned.”
“Maybe you just need to find your way back to her.”
I squirmed under his intense gaze. Hugging myself, I glanced over his shoulder at all the stuff my parents kept. Was there a way to find that little girl again? Could I ever go back to that place of innocence and joy? I wasn’t sure it was possible. I knew too much about evil to ever believe in purity and unbridled happiness. That was only found in fairytales. Real life wasn’t like that.
Carter released the picture and it floated back into the box, landing upright. The blood red flower stared back at me like an accusation. Shuddering, I averted my gaze.
Carter took a step toward me and clamped a hand down on my shoulder. “Ready to ride?”
I nodded, grateful to leave this garage. Grateful to get away from all these reminders of my childhood. As Carter and I walked side by side I wondered if perhaps it wasn’t the article that would give me closer. Maybe it was this man.
“You really can ride your own bike if you want.” He winked.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll try out one of yours.” I grinned as I closed the garage door, locking my memories inside. Then I followed him back to the bikes in the driveway.
“If I would’ve known the style you prefer, I would’ve brought you a basket,” he joked.
“Very funny.” I realized that this bantering thing was getting easier every day.
Riding a bike, on the other hand, wasn’t as easy. Whoever made up the phrase “just like riding a bike” obviously hadn’t gotten on a bike after fifteen years of not riding one. The bike wobbled beneath me, my body teetering back and forth as I attempted to pedal and keep steady.
