by Amber Garza
“You okay?” Carter asked as he rode with ease beside me.
“Yeah.” I nodded, and almost toppled over. Righting the bike, I felt stupid.
“I did offer to teach you.”
“Shut up,” I teased, as I white-knuckled the handle bars.
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep gripping that hard,” Carter said.
“Thanks for all the help. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said sourly.
“You’ve turned into a sarcastic little thing.”
His words bothered me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like it.” He tipped his head before passing me. “You’re coming out of your shell.”
I pedaled faster to keep up. Pretty soon I was teetering less, finding my rhythm. Maybe this was what the phrase meant. Not that you would get it right away, but that eventually it would come to you.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as we headed away from my property.
“You’ll see.”
I swallowed hard, a little discomforted by the fact that we were so far from my home, the one place in the world I felt safe. But I trusted Carter, so I kept riding. The breeze blew over my face and arms, the sun warmed my flesh. When I inhaled I caught a whiff of grass and flowers. The road we were on was desolate. Fields flanked us. Cows lazily chewed grass. They reminded me of Mom and our kitchen full of cows. Only these ones weren’t smiling or sitting down in a way that would be impossible for a real cow.
We rode over a hill and around a corner. Carter led me on a trail covered in bushy trees. Nerves filled me when I realized no one could see us. But I kept my fear in check, reminding myself that Carter would never hurt me. Not all men were like Kurt. I had to remember that.
When the trail opened up, I gasped. In front of us was a field of bright pink and purple flowers. I was so entranced with it, I forgot to pedal. My bike halted, and I was thrown off. My body lurched to the ground. I held my hands out and they got the brunt of my fall, my palms scraping across the dirt. When the pain shot through my hands I bit my tongue, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Oh my god. Aspen? Are you okay?” Carter’s bike hit the ground and he sank to his knees beside me.
I sat up, a little disoriented, but other than that I was okay. My hands were bloodied, but the rest of my body seemed unharmed.
“Here.” Carter squirted some water from his plastic water bottle over my palms.
It stung a little, and I hissed.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no biggie. Really.” I smiled. “It was fun.”
“Falling?”
“No. That I could’ve done without, but the ride was fun.” My gaze slid over his shoulder. “And this is breathtaking.”
“I knew you’d love it.” The colorful flowers reflected in his eyes, and I thought it might be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Carter stood and held his hand out to me. I extended my arm, and he yanked me up.
“Too bad I didn’t bring a first aid kit.” He picked up one of my hands, inspecting it. “Are you gonna be okay to bike home?”
I nodded, pulling my hand back. While I liked that Carter was concerned about me, he didn’t need to be. I didn’t care that I fell, actually. It made me feel alive. I never took risks. I never did anything at all. For the past ten years I’d been existing rather than living. And I didn’t want to do that anymore.
Stepping past him, I walked into the sea of flowers. They brushed against my thighs, tickling my flesh. Lowering my hands, I ran my fingers along the petals. A few butterflies soared over them, their wings beating swiftly. The floral scent was strong and it washed over me. It was what I imagined heaven to look like. Peace blanketed me, and I never wanted to leave. A clicking sound caught my attention.
Carter stood a few feet away from me, his eyes hidden behind his camera. The lens was pointed directly at me. He pressed down his finger and the click sliced through the quiet air.
“I wondered why you brought your backpack.” I smiled. “I thought we were interviewing today. Not taking photos.”
“I think this is better. We can do the interview a different time.”
My smile deepened, and he snapped another photo. Relief filled me, knowing I wouldn’t have to talk about my kidnapping today. This was better. Much better.
“There it is,” he said, pressing his finger down. “That light I was talking about.”
I giggled, loving that he saw something special in me. The damaged label I’d slapped on myself ten years ago seemed to be peeling off at the corners the more time I spent with Carter. It made me wonder if one day I’d be able to rip it off completely.
Wind lifted my hair and it feathered over my face. Carter stepped closer and reached out his free hand. He brushed the strands of hair from my face, his fingertips sliding over my skin. I stayed completely still, afraid to move. Afraid to even breathe. His intense gaze seared into mine, leaving me feeling exposed. But for some reason it didn’t make me want to hide. It made me want to stand tall. I wanted him to see me.
“Perfect,” He mumbled, and I fully expected him to pick his camera back up.
But he didn’t. His hand moved up around my face, his fingers tangling in my hair. The pads of his fingers traced my cheek, and I leaned into his palm. The whole thing seemed like a dream sequence. Like an elaborate fantasy. Not anything I ever would’ve believed could happen to me. But it was. And I had no idea what to do. So I did nothing. I stood completely still, as if I’d become a tree rooted to this very spot. I imagined I would start to sprout branches and leaves. Carter’s hand framed my face, and he took another step closer. He tilted his head, his lips nearing mine.
My heart hammered in my chest, and my palms filled with moisture. Was he going to kiss me? Hot breath met my lips as if in answer to my internal question. I felt his top lip brush mine gingerly. My heart skidded to a halt. Suddenly the reality of the situation crashed into me, and I panicked. What if I was a bad kisser? What if I totally bombed? Oh, no. I wasn’t ready for this. Fear and insecurity wrapped around me, squeezing hard. Holding out my hands, I placed my palms on Carter’s chest and stepped backward.
Carter looked stunned, as if he was coming out of a trance. “Aspen, I’m sorry.” A guilty look cloaked his face. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I felt bad for my reaction. Clearly he had misread my response. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. It was unprofessional of me.” He swallowed hard, and I watched his neck swell with the effort. Distancing himself from me, he stared at his camera, twisting it around nervously in his hand. “It won’t happen again.”
My stomach dropped. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I wanted to explain how badly I did want to kiss him. It wasn’t him that held me back. It was me. It was my fear. But most of all I wanted to tell him how perfect today was. And how I hoped it would happen again. Only the words got lodged in my throat, like jagged stones filling my mouth, cutting my tongue and leaving behind a bitter taste.
TEN
It had been several days since I’d heard from Carter. Not that I blamed him for staying away. I mentally slapped myself for the millionth time for the way I treated him when he tried to kiss me. Seriously, what kind of girl pushes a guy away like that? A girl who is ruined, that’s who.
I remembered Carter’s words about allowing Kurt to steal more of my life than just those five years. That gorgeous field covered in pink and purple flowers was exactly like the places I fantasized about while locked in that room. And Carter was someone I was starting to care for in a way I never thought possible. So why did I panic like that?
Damn, I was so tired of letting fear run my life.
But I didn’t know any other way. I’d been doing it for so long it had become second nature to me.
Closing my eyes, I conjured up the feel of his palm on my skin, of his fingers in my hair. I remembered the way my scalp tingled, and sh
ivers ran down my spine as his touch ignited something electrifying in me.
“Aspen?” Dad’s voice brought me out of my daydream.
I turned around as he stepped outside onto the back porch, closing the slider behind him. I knew Mom was inside watching one of her sitcoms. I never understood how she could waste so many hours watching mindless TV shows. But then one day my therapist pointed out that we all cope in our own ways. Each of us needed to find our own way of escape, so I would allow Mom to escape into her TV shows without passing judgment.
Dad made his way over to where I sat on the top step shrouded in darkness with only the moonlight shining on me. That’s how I liked it. Often I turned off the porch light so I could see the moon and stars better. So I could feel like it was just me and the sky.
“What are you doing out here?” He crouched down to sit beside me. His knees cracked as he slowly lowered himself. I noticed it was taking more effort for Dad to get up and down lately.
When I first came back that was the thing that shocked me the most. How much my parents had aged. Of course I knew that five years had passed. I looked older at thirteen than I had at eight, that’s for sure. But I didn’t expect my parents to look so different. However, I’ve heard that trauma can age you, and I suspect that’s what happened with my parents. It was like I could see the nights of worry traced in the lines of their skin, the days of searching drawn on their faces, and the terror written in their eyes. Even now I could see it.
“Just thinking,” I said, staring up at the inky black sky. In the distance I heard crickets, the rustling of bushes, a cat’s meow.
“Want to talk about it?”
It took years before Dad could bear to hear any details of what happened to me in that house. Even now our conversations about it had been brief. I think most of the knowledge he gleaned about it was from the police or newspaper articles.
I sighed. “Not really.”
“Did something happen with Carter?”
I glanced up at him, surprised at his astuteness.
He shrugged. “Your mom suspects something.”
Of course. That made more sense. I loved my dad, but denial had always been his best friend. And on top of that, he wasn’t observant at all. One time Mom cut my hair short, like all the way to my shoulders, and Dad didn’t notice for weeks.
“He tried to kiss me,” the words tumbled from my mouth as if they had been dying to get out for days. And maybe they had. It did feel good to finally say something. I kept so much bottled inside. Even now. I had shared a lot with my parents, the police, my therapists, but not all. There were things I still kept inside. And sometimes all of that information felt like it was strangling me, suffocating me from the inside out. Like I was a soda that had been shaken and all of that carbonation was fizzing under the cap desperate to get out.
“He did what?” Dad’s reaction made me wish that I had decided to keep the lid on a little longer.
“Dad, its fine.” I placed a steadying hand on his arm.
“No, it’s not.” He looked me over. “Are you okay?”
“He didn’t assault me. Geez. He just tried to kiss me.” I paused. “I pushed him away so nothing happened.”
“Of course you did.” Dad relaxed a little. “Good girl.”
Good girl? Was I five or something? Anger sparked like a lit match. “Why is that a good thing? Maybe I wanted him to kiss me?”
“Did you?” He cocked a bushy eyebrow.
I bit my lip, suddenly feeling weird about having this conversation with my dad. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s weird.”
“Aspen,” Dad spoke gently. “You’re my daughter. You can tell me anything.”
Daughter. The word replayed in my head over and over again. Why would he say that? I was not his daughter. My dad was Frank Fairchild. I had seen my birth certificate. Not that I ever needed proof. I looked a lot like my dad. We had the same light eyes and pale skin, the same slant of our noses and shape of our eyes. I even had his hands, a fact I’d hated since the moment I realized it. What girl wants thick fingers? My only hope was that they would thin out as I aged.
Kurt carried over two plates piled high with spaghetti and garlic bread. At least this looked appetizing. Not all of his meals were. For some reason he really seemed to be trying tonight.
“I hope you like it.” He sat the plates down on the coffee table in front of us. Then he handed me a dirtied fork. I cringed, hating that it was dirty, but knowing I couldn’t wipe it off in front of him. That would surely upset him. Kurt sank down on the couch next to me and set his plate in his lap. Some sitcom I didn’t recognize played on the TV in front of us.
At home we always ate as a family around our large dining table. The plates and silverware were always clean, and Mom made the best food. My heart squeezed with longing, but I held back the desire to cry. I had to be strong. It was the only way I’d survive this. And I had to survive. I had to get back to my family. To my life. No matter what.
Lifting the fork, I twirled it around the noodles. Then I brought it to my lips and took a bite. It tasted good, and my stomach rumbled in response.
“See, I knew you’d behave if I let you out.” He nudged me with his elbow. “We can do this every night if it goes well.”
I nodded, chewing my food slowly. Did I want to do this every night? Sit in front of this TV and eat next to this monster. I felt sick at the thought. Only it beat the alternative. Being locked in that room was way worse. My gaze flickered to the door. And maybe if he started to trust me I could one day escape this hell-hole.
“Don’t even think about it.” His gaze followed mine. “You can’t leave. You belong to me. I’m your dad.”
“Dad?” Why did he keep saying that?
“Yeah.” He smiled. “My little girl. Your Mama may have kept you from me, but now you’re here. Where you belong.”
He was crazy. That had to be it. I wasn’t his daughter. I knew that for sure. So where was his daughter? Squirming in my seat, I said a silent prayer that she’d return. Maybe if he had his real daughter back he would let me go.
I didn’t notice I was shaking until Dad grabbed my hand. The simple act brought me out of my internal thoughts and back to the present. When I glanced over at Dad, I could tell he was waiting for a response to his earlier question.
“I don’t know,” I said softly. “Maybe.”
“You think you’re ready for that?” Dad asked.
I shrugged. “I’m twenty-three.”
“Yeah, technically.”
Bristling at his statement, I made a face.
“You know what I mean.” Dad lightly squeezed my hand. “I worry about you. Your mom and I both do. After everything you’ve been through, we want to protect you.”
“I know.” I leaned into him. “And I appreciate it, but I have to grow up at some point.”
“But you’re vulnerable, and there are guys who will take advantage of that.”
“Carter’s not like that. Trust me.” I shook my head. “He’s a nice guy.”
“I just want you to be careful.”
His words were a painful reminder of how I wasn’t careful the day I was abducted.
“I wasn’t there to protect you all those years ago, and it kills me,” Dad continued, pain evident in his voice. “But I’m here now.”
I bit my lip to stop the tears from coming. “Thanks, Dad.”
ELEVEN
A week after our almost kiss, he finally showed up at my house. He wore his usual khaki pants and collared shirt, a briefcase in his hand. He was polite when I opened the door, and he spoke in curt phrases as I ushered him to the backyard. I had worn my hair down today and it swished down my back. Since I had washed it earlier, it smelled like apples. Not that he seemed to notice at all. He hardly looked at me as we sat down in the chairs on the back patio. When he pulled a notebook and pen out of his briefcase I sighed.
He lifted his head to look at me. His eyes held a pained look. “I’m sorry about what happened the other day. This is a professional relationship. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done that before.”
My heart leapt at his words. “Then why now?” I had to know. What made me different? I perched on the edge of my chair, waiting for him to say something incredibly romantic. Something I would read in a romance novel, like how he’s so drawn to me that he couldn’t stay away, no matter the consequence.
“I don’t know.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair and a few pieces stuck up. “It was so beautiful out there with the flowers and everything. I guess I got caught up in the moment.”
My stomach dropped. That was it? He got caught up in the moment? It was the scenery. Not me. It wasn’t because I was so special. I had been such an idiot to think otherwise.
Nodding, I said, “Okay. I understand now.” Biting my lip I pointed to his notebook. “I suppose we should get to it then.”
He stared at me a minute before clearing his throat and bobbing his head up and down slowly. “Alright.” His eyes scanned the paper. I felt his hesitation, and it made me nervous for what he would ask. Holding my breath, I waited for him to speak. “What was your childhood like before you were taken?”
I exhaled with relief. This was an easy one. I prayed they would all be like that. “Great. The best. I mean, we had problems like any other family, but we were happy. My parents doted on me, we spent lots of time together. They always had people over. You know, barbecues and parties.”
“He came to them, right?”
The question came out of nowhere, sideswiping me. It was like I imagined a car accident to be like. First you’re cruising along unaware, but then a vehicle comes out of nowhere slamming into you. Apparently Carter had been buttering me up. “Yeah. A couple of times. Not often.”
“And that’s why you trusted him enough to get into his car?”
“Yeah.” I clasped and unclasped my hands in my lap. Glancing out at the yard, I stared at the flowers. If only I could be tending to them right now instead of answering these invasive questions. “Now I know that I never should’ve gotten in his car, and I really never should’ve gone inside his house. But at the time I believed him when he said that my parents knew where I was and they were coming to get me. I know it was stupid.”
