by Jean Oram
“So one morning, he got up, turned to the other guys, and said, ‘I’m going outside, I may be a while.’ Then he walked out of the tent into a raging blizzard and no one ever saw him again.”
“He died?” She gasped.
“For sure. They never found his body, but one could survive that.”
The cold seeped through the window and Eva shivered. She bit her lip, trying not to imagine the pain of dying that way.
Ben ran his hand over the picture on the cover. “Everyone else died anyway,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think that makes Oates any less of a hero. He was willing to sacrifice himself so others could live. You can’t get more courageous than that.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Ben sighed and pulled his attention back to Eva. ““I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.
Twin darts of excitement and nervousness zipped through her, and she felt the color rise to her cheeks. Should she tell him she’d been thinking of him as well, or was that too forward? But she had been thinking about him, constantly, in the days since the beach party—at work while she dipped chocolates and tied ribbons on gift baskets, at home where her quiet apartment suddenly seemed too quiet, and especially during the long walks on the beach while she hunted for sea glass, replaying the night he’d strolled by her side and wishing he could be there again.
Ben adjusted his position on the window seat, leaning slightly away, and Eva saw it for what it was—she’d waited too long and the moment to tell him how she felt had passed.
“Saturday mornings were my favorite,” he said. “Any other day, you couldn’t pry me out of bed, but on Saturdays, I always got up early. Mom let us eat whatever we wanted for breakfast—probably so we’d let her sleep in. My favorite was Cheerios and honey.” He shot her a serious look. “Not Honey Nut Cheerios; that’s an entirely different creation. These were regular Cheerios drizzled with honey, and if we had mini marshmallows, that was the best. We’d get our cereal, then race to the basement to turn on the TV and watch cartoons all morning long.”
He flashed the dimple. “Okay, I shared one of my memories. Now it’s your turn.”
She searched her memories for something as innocent as marshmallows and Cheerios and found nothing. Her memories were sharp, they hurt. “I already told you about going crayfish hunting.”
“No, you told me you went crayfish hunting,” Ben corrected. “You didn’t tell me about going crayfish hunting.”
Eva bit her lip, thinking. “Well, Saturday mornings when I was growing up were … different from yours.”
Ben’s face lit up in a grin. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He turned his shoulders in the tiny space so he faced her, giving her his full attention. “How so?”
The words stuck in her throat as her mind spun back to the long sermons, the prayers, kneeling on the hard, cold floor until her whole body ached. There was nothing about Saturdays she looked forward to.
Except … she did have a memory of something else. “Cinnamon rolls,” she finally said. “My dad used to take me to a diner for cinnamon rolls.” The memory was hazy, half-formed, and remembering it was like trying to catch the early morning fog that sometimes blew in from the sea.
“I’d wear my pink shirt,” she said slowly, “because it was my ‘breakfast with Daddy’ shirt.” How old had she been? Three? She could smell the sugary air of the diner washing over them when her daddy whooshed opened the door. The tiled floor was baby blue and there was a short ramp leading to the place where the lady with the menus stood. The booths had been vinyl, soft and slick.
“Sounds awesome,” Ben said quietly. “Was that in Georgia?”
The memory dissolved, chased away by the pain surging through her, making her chest heavy. “Seattle. Before we moved.”
“Why did you move?”
The window seat was suddenly claustrophobic. There were too many books in the way, and he’d blocked the exit so she couldn’t get out. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Eva said, her voice sounding tight in her ears.
Ben’s face fell. “Sorry, I won’t push you.”
There was a long silence and Eva stared at her hands, splayed over the pages of the sea glass book while her inner thoughts battled.
He felt safe; she wanted to trust him.
But he was a cop.
But he was also a kid who ate Cheerios with marshmallows. He was a son who brought his mother chocolates. He was an uncle who gave piggyback rides.
“If you want to talk, I’m a good listener.” Ben’s voice broke into her thoughts.
What would happen if he knew the truth?
“I don’t want to talk,” she said firmly, and began gathering her books. “I need to get going.”
“Eva, don’t run away again,” Ben pleaded.
Her fingers fumbled at the books as she began stacking them in her arms. “I’m not,” she insisted. “I’m busy. I have things to do.”
His eyes searched hers, looking for … what? Something she couldn’t give, no matter how much she wanted to. The best thing to do would be to get away from him, and she did, as quickly as possible.
Chapter 6
Ben set the nail against the two-by-four. Two quick blows with the hammer and the nail sank into the wood with a satisfying thud.
“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn,” Tyler said. “If Eva’s not interested, she’s not interested.”
Ben sent his brother a hard look. “It’s not that I want her to be interested,” he said. That was a lie, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Tyler. “I just think she needs someone. She’s all alone—”
“And she seems to like it,” Tyler cut in. “Mom told me she’s invited her to lunch, asked her to go shopping, tried to get her involved in that society thing … all that stuff girls like. But Eva always turns her down. I think she’s shy and wants to be left alone.”
“When did Mom tell you that?” Ben reached for another nail.
“Last week when you two were walking on the beach.”
“You’re as bad as Miss Lucille,” Ben grumbled. “Sounds like a conversation she’d hate to miss.” He hammered in another nail and surveyed the large square they were building. “This sandbox is going to be huge.”
Tyler grinned. “I don’t have a beach off my back porch. I have to make do.”
“Well, Jennifer’s going to love it when the kids track sand in like we used to,” Ben pointed out.
“She’s okay with it,” Tyler said.
And she probably was. Jennifer was cool about things like tracked-in sand or bug collections. It was one of the things Ben liked about his sister-in-law.
They worked in silence for a while, finishing the frame for the sandbox and hammering braces into the sides for stability. They’d already dug up a section of the lawn where the frame would go. Tyler’s two younger children, Mia and Ezra, had helped for a while, but had eventually gotten bored and migrated to the swing set. Ten-year-old Abbie was inside, finishing her homework.
“I think Eva’s in trouble,” Ben announced into the quiet. “I can’t shake the feeling she’s hiding something. Or maybe hiding from something … or someone.”
“Like an abusive husband? You’re not going to go all Sleeping with the Enemy on me, are you?”
Ben snorted, but felt the back of his neck flush. “Of course not. I just feel like I could help.”
Tyler gave him a long look from his side of the wooden frame. “You don’t always have to be the hero, little bro.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Remember when those teenagers kicked over Gina’s sand castle? What’d you do?”
Ben remembered. Gina had been about nine, which would have made him six or so. She’d spent the better part of an afternoon making a sand castle, a real castle, not just a bucket of hard-packed sand upended onto the beach. It had turrets and a moat and Gina had even collected bits of shell to make a mosaic above the drawbridge. She’d worked s
o hard on it, only to have a couple of teenagers playing Frisbee run over it a few hours later.
Tyler was the older brother, but it was Ben—skinny and tanned, missing his front teeth, and with his swimming suit sagging around his narrow hips—who chased down the boys, ready to fight.
The result had been rather anticlimactic, actually. He’d been prepared for a beat down, but the teenagers had taken him seriously and apologized to Gina. Tyler and Ben spent the rest of the day helping her rebuild the castle, but Ben would never forget the rush of adrenaline and absolute fury that overtook him when he’d seen his sister’s tears. It hadn’t mattered if the perps were older, taller, and at least a hundred pounds heavier; he’d been ready to kick some butt.
“Look, I get it,” Tyler said, pulling him back to the present. “You’re a cop; you have a protective nature. When someone’s hurt or needs help, you want to ride to the rescue. But maybe you’re wrong about Eva.”
Ben ran his thumb over the pointed end of the nail. Maybe Tyler was right; maybe Eva wasn’t interested and didn’t know how to tell him. Maybe he was making assumptions based on years of police work. Or maybe it was guilt, as if by saving Eva he could absolve himself of the blame twisting in his gut every time he thought about Griffin and Atlanta.
Jennifer stepped out the back door and came across the grass. She was barefoot and wore loose black pants and a fitted pink shirt with the logo for the local yoga studio on the front. “Are you guys about done? There’s a pork roast in the kitchen with your name on it.”
“Sounds amazing.” Tyler dropped his hammer into the bucket of tools and pulled his wife into a hug. “With the pineapple sauce, I hope?”
She grinned. “Duh!”
Tyler planted a kiss on Jennifer’s freckled nose. “We’ll get this frame set and be right in.”
“Good deal.” She moved out of his embrace and to the swing set, where she began rounding up the kids.
Ben’s heart twinged. Even after twelve years of marriage, Tyler and Jennifer were still so in love it was almost sickening. He wanted what they had.
Would that mean marrying someone as uncomplicated and open as Jennifer? How could you build a relationship with someone who took off the minute things got too personal?
But there was something about Eva. The look in her eyes drove him wild. Was it romantic attraction he felt for her, or was Tyler right? Was he trying to be a hero where none was needed?
“You can’t go back.”
Eva dug her fingernails into her ribs, watching as Dora England paced around the kitchen. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and there were fingerprint smudges on the stainless steel refrigerator. Eva was supposed to be cleaning, but all she could do was sit on a barstool hugging herself, trying to stop shaking. Her long hair was tangled and the sleeve of her blouse was torn.
“I’m serious. You can’t go back now,” Dora insisted. “He’ll never let you leave again.”
“I know.” Eva’s words were a whisper.
Dora circled the center island until she was at Eva’s side. Swiftly, she gathered the trembling girl in her arms, holding her tightly, and Eva breathed in Dora’s comforting smells of peppermint tea and chamomile hand lotion.
After a few moments of silence, Dora pulled her phone from her pocket. “Let me make a few calls. It’s going to be okay. This is what we’ve been prepping for.” She gave Eva a one-armed squeeze and left the room.
It was true. Eva had taken the job cleaning Dora England’s house not long before Father Neezrahiah’s failed attempt to start Armageddon had resulted in tragedy. At first it had been a normal cleaning job; then it morphed into school, then something else—a support system she’d never had before. Dora had been pushing Eva to leave the Family, but Eva kept putting her off. She wasn’t ready yet. Sam wasn’t ready yet.
But ready or not, the day had come. The tension with Jessemyinth had been growing steadily, and when Eva would catch him looking at her, the predatory, hungry look in his eyes would send icy fear trickling down her spine.
And there was not much she could do about it. If Jessemyinth decided he wanted her, she’d be expected to go along and even consider it an honor. He was Father Neezrahiah’s grandson, and the prophet’s blood family enjoyed privileges not awarded to other members of the Family. They lived in the inner sanctum—a gated Compound within the gated Compound—held private worship services, owned cell phones, computers, and cars, were allowed to leave the Property whenever they wanted, and had unrestricted access to the women of the Family. Rumors flew about which of the prophet’s sons and grandsons had fathered which children, but unless the father wanted to claim them, their illegitimate children lived in the outer Compound with everyone else.
When they’d joined the Family, Eva and Sam had watched their mother disappear behind the inner gates with one of the prophet’s sons, leaving them to the care of lesser Family members. She used to visit them in the barracks, but as the years went by, she came less and less frequently. Did she know about Jessemyinth? Did she care?
“I’ve spoken to a friend in South Carolina.”
Eva jumped as Dora came back into the room.
“She has room for you and thinks she can help you find a job. If we leave now, we can be there by morning.”
“I have to get Sam,” Eva insisted.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dora said gently.
Eva shook her head. “I can’t leave him! He won’t even know what’s happened to me.”
Dora’s green eyes sought Eva’s blue ones. “What will happen if you go back tonight?”
She was right. Jessie would be waiting for her. And after this afternoon, he wouldn’t let her leave the Compound again.
He’d been waiting for her, standing by the side of his car along the road where she walked to work. When she’d tried to hurry by, Jessie had grabbed her, forced her into the back seat, and then … The memory of his thick, fleshy hands on her skin made her nauseous. She gave a strangled gasp and started crying.
“Sweetie, it’s okay.” Dora wrapped her in a comforting embrace, speaking in low, soothing tones. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Jessemyinth hadn’t raped her; she’d struggled too much, and finally, with a string of curses, he’d left her on the side of the road with tangled hair and a torn blouse. But he’d wanted to rape her, and now … what waited at home? Would he try again? Or would his focus switch to punishment instead of pleasure? She thought of the Tank with an icy shiver.
“I can’t leave Sam,” she pleaded. “I can’t.”
“If you go back in there, you won’t come out,” Dora said quietly. “I’ll get word to Sam and once you’re safe, I’ll send him to you.”
Eva swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. There didn’t seem to be many options.
“This should help,” Dora thrust an envelope into Eva’s hands. Inside was a wad of cash, a driver’s license, and a birth certificate for Eva Malone, age twenty-two.
“Fake ID?” Eva ran her fingertips over the birth certificate. “Where’d you get this?” Her own birth certificate was long gone, whether left behind in Seattle or lost within the walls of the inner sanctum, she didn’t know.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dora said. “But don’t lose them; you’ll need them. I also have a bag packed for you with some clothes and food.”
Eva stared at her own face looking out from the driver’s license. It was a picture Dora had taken several weeks earlier—an unsmiling Eva standing in front of a plain white wall. At the time, Eva hadn’t thought to ask why Dora wanted such an unremarkable photo.
“Where is your friend?” Eva tried to pull up the geography lessons in her mind, tried to picture the vague heart shape that was South Carolina.
“It’s a town called Indigo Bay. It’s by the coast, about five hours from here.”
Eva thought of Jessemyinth’s thick, fumbling fingers and the sour stink of his sweat. Suddenly, five hours didn’t seem like enough dis
tance to put between them. But it was a start.
“Okay.” She nodded. “Okay.”
Eva dug her fingers into the back of her neck, trying to fend off a sense of panic. Reasons and rationales tumbled with emotion as she tried to remember what she’d done and why.
The Family’s lifeblood always had been and always would be fear. Officially, fear of aliens who could swoop in at any time and light the world on fire. Second to that, fear of nonbelievers who could shoot at them from helicopters. But Eva had come to realize she had far more to fear from members of her own community than she did of outsiders, alien or otherwise. And Jessemyinth’s attack was the catalyst that drove the point home. If the prophet’s grandson could drag her into the back of a car and rape her with impunity, how much worse could the outside world be?
Eva unfolded the note she’d found earlier, slipped under her front door. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought they’d found her. But then she saw her name written across the front in large, clear letters—Eva. Not her Family name, but the name she used now, one they wouldn’t know. Her muscles had unclenched and she’d stooped to pick up the note, but the relief was short-lived.
Dear Eva,
Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like there’s something between us that could be pretty interesting and fun. I’d love to hang out and see where it could go. Tyler and I are taking my dad’s boat out Sunday morning. If you’d like to come, we’ll be at the house to pick it up at nine. If you don’t come, I’ll take the hint.
Ben
Eva checked the clock on her phone; she had fifteen minutes to decide. She’d be lying if she claimed not to feel something between them too, and her heart thrummed at the thought of “seeing where it could go.”
But along with the excitement came fear. Fear of getting too close, of letting someone too close. Fear of trusting. And besides all that, the fear of water. Because of course he had to suggest boating. She pictured the cold, black depths of the ocean and shuddered. Could she do it?
