Hold Fast (11 page)

Courtney’s daughter. What a thought. It’s been such a busy day, and I’ve been spending so much time alternating between horrified and enraged by the things that I’ve seen and heard that I’ve not really had time to process what I’m thinking and feeling about Courtney herself. And what does she think of me?

The idle daydreams during the too-brief and too-infrequent downtime from combat operations in Iraq and Afghanistan had often featured marrying Courtney, having a family with her. Hell, just the other day while waiting for my new tires I’d thought about it. Here, tonight, watching her carrying around that little child, it hits me again, more vivid than ever before.

I could absolutely be happy like that, so long as it was what she wanted too. But would she? Eight years have passed, and we’d only had a few short minutes together today. People change a lot in eight years, and there’s no way that her experiences here won’t have affected her in some way. For that matter, I’m not the man I was eight years ago.

The pair stop in front of the building Courtney had marked as the women’s dormitory, and she sets the girl gently on the ground. With a kiss on the top of her head and a gentle swat on the butt, she sends the child, laughing, toward the front door before trudging back toward the door to her own little hovel.

It’s full dark by the time anyone emerges again from the shed where she lives. It’s a man. The fake husband? What’d she say his name was? Daniel, I think? The man closes the door of the shed gently, carefully, and his face twists up in the throes of intense emotion. Grief? Sorrow? It only lasts a moment, and he’s carefully composed by the time he walks from the shed toward the main house, wearing an open, friendly smile.

It’s too dark to see anything below, now. Lights glow from the windows of the main house and from the building-- what’d she call it? The building with the food. The refectory, that’s it. The only other place that’s lit up is the penance box, encircled with a ring of floodlights. The cheap night vision monocular I bought at Cabela’s isn’t effective at this distance. You get what you pay for, I guess. What I wouldn’t give for a box full of my old equipment right now.

Frustration sets in at the visibility. Definitely need more light down there. Wouldn’t that fire be just lovely right now?

This is going to be a long night. I have to stay alert, and I’ve got a long hump back to my truck in the pre-dawn hours if I’m going to make it back to Greenville in time. I’ve stood tougher watches before, and longer ones, but I’ve never stood watch over something I cared about this much.

Eight years had certainly changed me. I’m covered with scars now, filled with metal fragments and nightmares, but one thing has definitely remained constant. I’m still in love with Courtney Dwyer. Absolutely, completely, and totally.

The only thing that’s changed is that now I can admit it, and I won’t ever run from it again.

* * *

T
his time
I get up before Jen does. I haven’t slept a wink.

On Sundays, everyone gets to sleep in one more hour. Everyone but those who have Sunday chores such as me. I tiptoe to her bunk and watch her sleep. I want to hug her one last time, just to say goodbye. I want to, but I don’t, it would be cruel on my part to tell her I love her and then vanish from her life. I walk out of the silent dorm with a heavy heart. This baby girl is the one I’ll miss the most. More than Daniel.

More than Mom.

The very thought of her brings tears to my eyes. The parts of my mother I miss have been gone for so long, I can hardly remember who she once was. I’m sad but strangely with my newfound resolve the relief washes away the guilt. I will no longer have to watch her waste away.

The refectory is almost empty. Nobody from the market crew is here yet, only a few of the people that tend to the livestock. I mumble a vague greeting to the sister ladling out breakfast, and armed with my bowl of lumpy porridge, I take a seat at an empty table. Looking at the lukewarm mud-like substance in front of me, I promise myself that if I ever have kids, I will
never
force such dreadful food upon them.

Too soon Jeremiah, Leah, and then a half-asleep Nathan join me. We make quick work of breakfast and load the truck in silence until the kid finishes waking up and starts chatting up a storm. Oblivious to the tension between Jeremiah and me, Nathan speaks about some sort of drama that occurred last night before we returned. His friend Matthew tried to protect a puppy. Poor kid, he learned the hard way that in this community, it sucks being at the bottom of the food chain. Child abuse masquerading as discipline is just as common as cruelty to animals.

Leah mumbles between her teeth, “Stupid brat got his mother in trouble.”

“Sister Andrea will be in the penance box for three days,” Jeremiah says, as indifferently as he might note the weather was pleasant.
I look at him and shudder. The penance box is a drafty shack where you freeze in winter and fry in the summer. Today the temperature is pleasant enough. I look up at the sky. Thank God it’s clear. It’s terrible in there when it rains.

We set up our booth and it takes all my willpower to act normally and not look around for Sean. I have no doubt he’ll be here. I know he’ll be here. I fight back the smile that threatens to break across my lips as I remember how I swore to myself just a week ago that I would never trust anyone ever again and here I am, ready to put my life in Sean’s hands. This is one of life’s delicious little ironies.

The earliest customers trickle in and I do my best to act as if it’s business as usual. It’s hard, but I do a half decent job of it until I see a big blue Blazer drive by. Is that him? It looks like Sean’s truck, but it’s been so long! I can’t quite tell for sure. My heart stops and starts again as the vehicle rolls away too quickly for me to get a look at the driver.

I finish bundling up purchases for a customer when the Blazer comes around again. This time the windows are rolled down and I can clearly see Sean. He slows down, looking for a place to park, but there’s no empty spot right next to us. He pulls off to the side of the road and stops as close as he can. It’s in the general direction of the restaurant that lets us use their facilities but too far away from a direct line for comfort.

I consider making a break for it, but I can’t. Sean parked too far away from our booth. I turn around and look at Jeremiah who’s sitting at the back of our truck. He’s observing me. With this leg, I can’t move fast enough to get away. Jeremiah would effortlessly catch up with me before I reached safety.

I paste a needy grimace on my face and shift my weight from one leg to the other, pressing my knees tightly together. Jeremiah notices and frowns.

I turn to Leah and ask, “Can you hold the fort alone for a minute? I
really
need to go.”

“Why didn’t you go before we left, you stupid little cow?” she growls, eyeing me suspiciously.

As meekly as I can, I whisper, “I’m sorry, Sister Leah. I didn’t need to go, then, and the roads…” With my hand held out, I mime the bumpiness of the logging roads.

She sighs, calling out to Jeremiah. “Brother Jeremiah? Go with her, if you please,” she tells him. “Make sure that’s
all
she does. Watch
everything
.”

I make a beeline in the direction of the restaurant and in barely three seconds, Jeremiah is on my heels.

“Come on, Jeremiah,” I say, my tone light. “You don’t need to come with me. I’m sure you have better things to do than to hold the door for me.” Please, please,
please
show one shred of decency in your miserable life.

“Who said anything about holding the door,” he replies with an amused smirk. “You heard Sister Leah. She wants me to keep my eyes on you. At
all
times.”

“Seriously? You want to watch me pee?” Cold sweat drips down my spine, but I would rather eat shards of glass than let him see how terrified I am.

“Yeah,” he says, the smirk broadening into a cruel grin. “I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

I have no doubt this sadistic bastard is telling the truth.

“You filthy pervert,” I hiss. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You will
never
get to see between my legs.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Jeremiah shakes his head, chuckling at my anger and determination. “You belong to
me
. My uncle will be dealt with, Courtney. Get used to the idea of being my wife. I will have a
lifetime
of enjoying every single part of you, and I’ll have you any time I’m in the mood for it.”

“I’d rather die than be married to you,” I tell him through clenched teeth.

“Well,” he shrugs, “I didn’t say it would be
my
lifetime.”

We’ve reached the curb, and Sean’s truck is about twenty feet away. I won’t get any closer to it. Time to make a break for it.

I stop and bend over as if to re-tie a loose shoelace, and Jeremiah keeps on walking ahead of me. He’s four steps away when he finally stops, fists on his waist, giving me an exasperated look. I take a deep breath and gather up all my courage and-
thank you God!
He’s turned away! It’s now or never. Go, go, go! Don’t stop, don’t look back!

I can’t run, but I move as quickly as I can. As quickly as my twisted leg will allow, and a stunned Jeremiah takes a moment to react. I’ve made it three paces before he turns back to look at me and notices I’m moving, and three more before he starts after me. Only another five, maybe eight until freedom!

Behind me, too close for comfort, I hear Jeremiah call my name, but I ignore it. Keep going! You’re almost there!

“You stupid bitch! You don’t even
know
what kind of trouble you just got into,” he snarls, grabbing a fistful of my loose hair. It hurts like hell, but I can’t give up. Freedom is so close! I stop abruptly and turn around, mustering up all my strength for one good kick. I aimed for his knee, but I’m out of breath and off balance and my foot catches him in the shin instead. My heart sinks for a moment but then he stumbles and drops. Jeremiah instinctively lets go of my hair, using both hands to break his fall.

The Blazer’s passenger door pops open – Sean must have leaned across and pulled the handle for me – and my foot is barely on the running board when the big truck starts to move.

“Go! Drive, Sean! Drive!”
I scream, struggling to pull the heavy steel door shut.

The tires squeal and the big engine roars as Sean guns it. Jeremiah grabs at the door, teeth bared and eyes wild as he pulls at it, trying to grab at me and keep me from freedom. I hold on for dear life to keep the door from swinging wide, and as soon as we’re clear of the roadside parking space, Sean floors it and Jeremiah falls, tumbling to the side of the road. I watch him roll to a stop, dazed, as we make it through the intersection and on to the blessed open road to freedom ahead.

Only when he’s out of my line of sight do I dare to breathe again, and I reach for my seat belt. The last thing we need now is to be pulled over for something as stupid as a ticket! My hands shake so hard that it takes me almost a full minute to latch it, and another to stop hyperventilating.

“Where are we going?” I ask, shifting on my seat to look at him. My breathing may have calmed down, but my pulse still races.

“The camp, I think. If they look for you, they’ll go home first.” His eyes are on the road. He’s concentrating, but seems so calm, it’s almost scary. It’s as if he did this sort of thing every day.

“Home?
What
home? My father’s dead, my house is gone. There is no
home.
What’s left there for me to go back to?” A maelstrom of emotion swirls through me and the very thought of
home
brings tears to my eyes. I blink furiously to chase them away, and Sean slows, falling in behind an eighteen-wheeler.

“Your dad
did
lose the house,” he says. He glances in my direction, a strange expression on his face, before continuing. “But he never left, Courtney.”

I stare at him. What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense.

“Your father’s still alive,” Sean tells me.

My entire universe comes to a screeching, crashing halt. My heart stops, my breath stops, and I feel my eyes grow as big as dinner plates. The only sound in my whole world is Sean’s voice.

“Your father never stopped looking for you, Courtney. You were one of the faces on the milk cartons. Missing teen. The police never found a trace of you, and your father spent everything he had and then some hiring private detectives to find you. Every single one of them came back empty-handed.”

There’s no stopping the tears now. They flow out of my eyes in torrents. I think about all those wasted years and I want to scream out my rage.

“How could she tell me this?” I scream, my voice choked in my throat.
“Why?”

“If you have nowhere to run
to
,” he says, shaking his head sadly, “then you’re less likely to run.”

Yeah. It makes perfect sense. It was probably Satan’s idea. Or maybe it was hers. I need to stop making excuses for her. She’s manipulative enough to have come up with this scheme on her own.

“I know, it’s sick,” he says, hesitantly, “but if I had to guess? I’d say she did it because she loves you. She wanted to keep you by her side.”

“And it worked,” I admit. “If I had known he was still with us, I would have tried again and again until I got away.” I ponder the depth of my mother’s devotion to Father Emmanuel. How did he manage to get so much control over her? How did he make her blind to the sort of egotistic monster he really is? It’s as if she had lost all free will. Sister Rebecca said my mother heard the voice of The Lord more clearly than anyone else. Was that a metaphor, or did she mean it literally?

Sean reaches out to me, and I take his hand, clutching at it like it’s the only anchor I have to the real world, and in a way it is. His rough, callused touch gives me the strength to stop crying and brag a little.

“I’ll be fine in a minute. Don’t worry,” I say with a wry grin. “They broke my leg but they never broke my spirit.” Why did I say that? Why did I call attention to it? Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Sean’s face darken with anger, and I look away in shame.

“It’s hardly even noticeable,” he says in a flat, even tone. I love that he cares, and I love that he cares
enough
to try and make me feel better with the lie.

Sean races south down Route 6 toward freedom. It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere bigger than Greenville. My first breaths of free air are heady. A horizon with no limits stretches before me, leaving me dizzy with hope for the future. All the little towns and communities we pass through, places I’d only heard of in snow day announcements on the radio as a little girl, had taken on an almost mythical status in my years of isolation.

Monson and Abbot, Guilford. Sangerville, where we turned onto Route 23. These places seemed as exotic to me as El Dorado or Atlantis. The quaint little mill town of Dexter, a virtual Camelot, where brave knights in shining armor and beautiful ladies in fine silk quested for-

“Oh, Sean! Look!”
I grab his arm on the wheel, startling him, and the truck lurches to a halt on squealing tires.

“Huh? What? What’s wrong?” He’s not looking at me, but scanning the street around us. He shakes my hands off his arm, reaching for something behind my seat.

My breathless laughter calms him, and I take one of his big, callused hands in both of mine. “It’s the Holy Grail,” I whisper.

He looks at me as if I’d grown a third arm out of my forehead, and I have to laugh.

“No, not
really
. I’m sorry, I must sound like I’ve lost my mind. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just a Subway. I haven’t seen a fast-food restaurant in so many years, Sean.” I listen to my words, actually
hear
the things I’m saying, and suddenly my excitement turns to embarrassment, and I look away. “I’m sorry. I…” My voice trails off, and I shrink back into the vinyl seats, feeling small, silly. Dumb.

Sean’s free hand clasps over mine for a long moment, and he won’t let me pull away.

“Courtney.” His voice is so gentle, so caring. It sends a thrill through me, in spite of myself.

I close my eyes, not wanting him to see the beginnings of tears.

“Courtney. It’s okay. This is normal.” Sean’s voice is an anchor to steady me, his hands rocks to shelter me from the storm inside.

“Normal? There’s nothing normal about this.” I’m dizzy again.

Sean touches my cheek softly, turning my face to him, but I keep my eyes closed tight.

“Yes.
Normal
.” He’s firm. Sure of himself. “Look at me, Courtney.”

The turmoil inside me is gone, just as quickly as it started. The storm is over, and all that’s left is a vast emptiness. I don’t even have the energy to cry.

“It’s totally normal,” he continues. “This is what
happens
. We see it in troops coming home after long deployments, and you’ve been under continuous stress for, Christ,
years
. From some of the shit you’ve told me, you might as well have been in the field on constant combat operations for that whole time. But you’re
home
now. You’re in from the cold. You’re back in The World.”