The Girl Before (13 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” Mama glances over my shoulder, then leans in.

“Clara, Glen has a message for you.” Her voice is so quiet that I can barely hear her. I glance over my shoulder to see that Jay has left
the room. I know they are watching, but probably cannot hear us. “I need you to react like I am scolding you.”

This is not a hard instruction to follow. I place my face in my hands as she continues to speak under her breath, trying to concentrate on the rapid flow of words directed at me. “Glen says to stick to the plan, to stay strong, and to give them what they want, as long as it's not the whole truth.”

I nod as she speaks. This is what I have been doing all along.

“Mama,” I say. “I'm trying, but it's not working. They are frustrated with me. They brought me to a prison . . .” My throat closes as I remember my visit.

“You can do this, Clara. You're stronger than I ever gave you credit for.” She looks over at the mirror. “Glen also said they are trying to turn him against you. They will lie to get what they want, Clara. Remember that, and remember who kept you safe all these years.”

“Glen.”

Mama nods. “Good girl.”

I hear the door open behind me. I am not ready for her to go. She was not always my favorite person, but right now she is my only link to Glen. I want to launch myself at her and cling to her neck, but I hold my seat, my eyes the only window to my desperation.

“One more thing, Clara,” Mama whispers, even lower than before. “Glen says he will always love you. No matter what.”

My mouth drops open. The words are meaningful because they come from Glen, but even more so because Mama repeated them. She was never inclined toward the romantic and scoffed at my relationship with Glen being anything more than an infatuation, and then a convenience. Does this mean she believes our love will get us through this? Or is she just trying to give me the strength to continue? Either way, I am grateful.

“I think you've had enough time, Mrs. Lawson,” Jay says as he comes to stand behind me. He takes my arm and pulls me to my feet.

“Very well,” Mama Mae says, climbing to her feet as well. “I'd like to talk to her again sometime, if that's okay.”

“That depends on whether you can remain civil,” Jay says, his tone bland. “She appears very upset now, and we cannot have that in the middle of an ongoing investigation. This ward has very strict rules about visitors, especially those who cause patients distress.”

“I promise to behave,” Mama says, her face the picture of contrition. “Just look at her . . . She's hardly the monster I thought she was. I'd like to get to know her better.”

I'm sure Jay is going to laugh in her face. The lie is so transparent, it's a miracle she can keep a straight face. I wait for Jay's reaction. He is quiet for a moment, but then agrees. “Okay. I'll talk to the boss about it. But call first next time, okay? Clara looks a little shell-shocked.”

Mama nods, then turns and exits the room without another word. I slump against Jay.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, concern coloring his voice. “We don't have to let her come back.”

“No.” I shake my head. “It's okay. I was just surprised.”

Jay looks at me for a moment, and then takes the keys for the cuffs out of his pocket, using them to free my wrists. “All right. But I'm adding an extra dessert to your tray tonight.” He winks.

As he walks me back to my room, I begin to realize that good and bad are relative terms, and that my world, for now, is a constant shade of gray.

The skin on the back of my legs stings with the memory of Mama's yardstick. She has taken to punishing me for the infractions of the younger girls, since I am to be an example to them. This time, Leslie stained the sheets when she washed them. I was supposed to be supervising, but Macy and I caught sight of some of the boys out on their daily run. I knew it was wrong to watch them, but ever since dance class, I can't seem to stop thinking of them. One in particular. I missed the extra work shirts Leslie threw in. She had been hoping to save time, but instead earned us both a punishment. I just hope Leslie's legs are not as sore as my own.

It is my favorite time of day, and as I relax on the porch swing and start the gentle rocking motion with my toe, I let the past hour wash away, close my eyes, and imagine the pain leaving my body, the red stripes fading, the yellow bruises never appearing. Rest time is the best time, I think to myself, smiling at my silly rhyme.

“Do you always smile like that when you're alone?” A husky voice startles me, and I leap to my feet, the pain rushing back to my yardstick-kissed skin. As if I conjured him with a mere thought, Glen stands at the bottom of the porch steps, hands stuffed in pockets, smug smile in place. He is pleased to have surprised me.

“You-you're not supposed to be here,” I stammer, and mentally slap myself. Why am I even questioning his presence? Haven't I been longing to see him again? To spend more time with him? I dream about his eyes, piercing into mine, and his arms, wrapped around me, whirling me around the dance floor.

Thankfully, he is not offended, and laughs. “It's my house, too, ya know. I grew up here.”

“Yes, I know. But you don't live here anymore.” Shut up, Clara. Stop being stupid.

His shoulders lift. “The view is better here.”

My face scrunches as I think. I have never been to the boys' cabins, but I know they are by the river and are sure to have a mountain view. Everyplace has a mountain view out here, though from the porch it is difficult to see more than the peaks above the thick trees. “I don't know what you're talking about. There are just trees around here.” I make a wide gesture to encompass the surrounding forest, as if Glen has not lived here his entire life. As if he does not realize that there are lots of trees. Stupid stupid stupid.

His boots make slow, heavy clomps on the wooden stairs as he climbs them, coming to stand entirely too close to me. “I really like the view from right here.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I realize his meaning. It is improper, but I am having a difficult time caring. I do not think about what Mama or Papa would say, or whether the other girls would tattle on me if they witnessed this moment. The pain in my legs has disappeared, and I'm sure my feet have left the ground. I float, lost in Glen's eyes.

A door slams inside the house, shaking both of us out of our stupor. Glen grins. “Want to sit?” He nods toward the recently vacated porch swing, still swaying from my abrupt departure. I do not trust my voice, so I only nod and move to reclaim my spot.

Instead of sitting on the other end of the swing, Glen sits toward the middle, so that as he pushes the swing into motion, it causes the fabric of his pants to brush against the bare skin of my lower leg. The touch is angel soft, and if I weren't so aware of every square inch of him, I might not even notice it. As it is, shivers rush through my body
at the small contact, and it feels naughty and forbidden even to be sitting here in silence with him. It is probably both.

We sit like that for the entire afternoon rest period. Too soon, I hear Mama as she begins to rouse the girls to begin late-afternoon lessons. She will be out soon to fetch me. She knows where I like to spend my limited free time.

“You have to go,” I say to Glen, reaching to push his arm, my hand lingering at the feel of the solid muscle hidden underneath the thin cotton of the shirt.

He doesn't budge. “Do you want to see something?”

“Now?” I ask, anxiety creeping into my voice. I can almost hear the seconds flying away, and I can only imagine what my punishment will be if Mama catches me out here with Glen. Of course, I could leave, too . . . but I don't.

“Later. Midnight. Up on the roof.”

My mouth falls open. “You are not serious.”

“I am. The hall outside your room has a small door, which leads to the attic. In the attic, there's a window you can climb out. I'll be waiting there at midnight.”

“I can't sneak out.” I don't dwell on the fact that Glen somehow knows which room I occupy.

Amusement flickers in his eyes. “You won't be sneaking out. You'll be sneaking . . . up. Besides, Macy does it all the time.”

I flinch. Macy's nighttime activities are a constant source of worry for me. I dread the day she gets caught, but I don't ask a lot of questions. I do not want to know the answers.

“I can't.”

“I can't leave until you promise to meet me on the roof at midnight.”

“Glen . . .”

He leans back and stretches his arm across the back of the swing,
creating an even more incriminating scene for Mama to walk out to. This spurs me to my feet. “Okay. Fine. Midnight. On the roof. But only for five minutes.”

“We'll see.” He grins as he stands and stretches. “I bet I can get you to stay longer.”

“Just
go
,” I hiss. Mama's footsteps have started down the stairs. She will be out the door in seconds.

“Until later,” he whispers, hopping the porch railing and disappearing into the trees as the door behind me creaks open.

•   •   •

“I can't do this.” I am sitting on my bed, watching Macy shimmy into dark clothes for her own midnight rendezvous. “I'm just going to go to bed.”

“Nuh-uh,” Macy says, pulling her hair back and checking her reflection. “You're going. This is
Glen
, Clara. For goodness' sake, you moan his name in your sleep now.”

I launch a pillow at her, which she catches with ease, giggling. “Shh,” I say. “Don't wake the others.” Macy and I share the room on the top floor of the house. It is small and the ceilings slope so that we have to stoop to walk in certain places, but it allows us to have a room with just the two of us, and no younger girls to get in the way. “And I do not moan in my sleep.”

Macy raises an eyebrow. “You just keep telling yourself that. But I'm the one who has to listen to it.”

“Shut up.”

Putting the finishing touches on her makeup, Macy eyes me in the mirror. “It's almost midnight, Cinderella. Are you going to be a princess or a pumpkin?”

I roll my eyes, but stand and join her at the mirror. My face is clear of makeup. When we turn fourteen, Mama teaches us how to use
makeup and we are allowed to wear it as much as we like, though there are some circumstances where it is required. I rarely wear it, and Glen seems to like me just fine without it. Though I considered backing out many times, I have not changed into my pajamas. I adjust the straps of the light blue summer dress I am wearing. “Will I be able to climb up there in a dress?”

“You'll be fine.” Macy looks at me with approval. “Besides, he might like it if you flash a little something his way. They're pretty
hungry
down at the boys' camp, if you know what I mean.”

I do know what she means. Sort of. I shoot her a smile. “Okay. I'm ready. Wish me luck.”

“With a bod like that, you don't need luck,” Macy says. She pushes the window open. “I'm going to break my neck one of these times,” she murmurs, gauging the distance from the window to the ground. There are plenty of handholds, and Macy has become an expert at climbing the walls, but I still get a flutter of anxiety whenever she slips out that window. “'Night, Clara. Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“I don't think you have to worry about that,” I say, and she sticks her tongue out at me before she disappears out the window. I wait until I see her shadowy figure race across the lawn before I creep out of the room and inspect the small door just down the hall.

It's not that I haven't noticed the door before. I was just never curious enough to see if it would open. Truth be told, I was probably afraid of what I would find. Spiders, mice . . . dead bodies. I grasp the tiny doorknob and hold my breath as I pull. Much to my surprise, it swings open with ease. I snag the flashlight I borrowed from downstairs and follow the narrow tunnel, pulling the door closed behind me. Macy and I have created pillow people in our beds. Mama rarely checks in on us, but just in case, we are prepared.

The tunnel is short, and soon I am straightening as the beam of
the flashlight bounces across an attic I never knew existed. Dust covers every surface, rising in small puffs as I step carefully across the floor. Old, broken toys are scattered throughout the space, along with stacks of boxes with illegible scribbles on the sides. I would love to explore more, but a cool breeze beckons me toward the window, already open, waiting.

Glen sits a few feet from the window, facing the moon, which has risen over the mountaintops, visible from the higher vantage point. His legs are drawn up, and the fabric of his shirt stretches over the muscles of his back as he hugs his knees to his chest. I pause there, watching him in the moonlight, admiring him in an unguarded moment, when he is just himself, not trying to prove anything, all cockiness washed away.

“Are you going to stare at the back of my head all night, or are you going to join me?” His tone is amused, and he does not turn around. “Not that I blame you. My backside does look ravishing in starlight.”

I scramble out the window. “I'm surprised you were able to climb up here with all that ego weighing you down.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I slap a hand over my traitorous lips. I cannot believe I just said that to
Glen Lawson
. Surely that is worth a few new stripes on my legs.

Instead of getting angry, Glen throws his head back in a deep, genuine laugh. “That's why I like you, Clara. You try to act all perfect, but then you say or do these little things, and you're just so damn cute. I'd risk a lot to spend more time with you.” He turns to look at me, eyes sparkling.

“Is there a chance we could get caught?” I ask, a sudden rush of nerves tempting me to escape through the window and to the safety of my room.