The Girl Before (3 page)

They bring someone in to clean me and change my bed. I do not help. I do not move. They dress me like a doll. I am limp in their arms. I hear Connor's voice.

“Clara. Sit up. Eat something. Glen wants you to eat.”

It won't work this time. Glen did not see my daughters being given away. Glen has never understood my attachment to them. I can say good-bye when the time is right, when I have prepared. But not this. Not all of them at once.

The mattress sinks as Connor sits on the edge. He puts a tentative hand on my arm. I do not react. I do not have the energy to shrug him off. I do not have the energy to care.

“I'm sorry, Clara,” Connor says, and there is regret in his voice. More tricks. “I thought it would make you happy to see that your daughters are being taken care of.”

I turn my head so I can see him. This is the first time he has referred to them as my daughters. How did he know? I have not spoken. Has he talked to Glen?

Encouraged by my reaction, Connor continues. “The people who were parents for the girls before they came to you . . . they agreed to take care of the girls again. They didn't want bad things to happen to them. You don't want bad things to happen to them, do you, Clara?”

Very slightly, I shake my head. Connor's brows rise, but he goes on without comment about my communication. “To keep them out of group homes, we had to find families willing to take them. Since they already knew these families, it made sense.”

Connor's words are logical. The best place for them is with me, of course, but as long as I am kept here, the girls need to be someplace familiar. I give a short nod, then turn back to the wall. Connor's hand tightens on my arm before he releases me and stands.

“We'll forgo our questioning for today, Clara. Meredith and I will see you tomorrow. I trust you'll eat something before then.” Without waiting for a response, Connor walks out of the room. I am alone again. I close my eyes and imagine myself as one of the parents in the video, all my daughters rushing toward me, tumbling into my arms. And I smile.

Muffled giggles follow me as I tiptoe toward the window. It's a gorgeous day today, but Mama has shut us into the library with the windows sealed tight. I am in training, learning to work with the younger girls on their studies, but even though I'm in charge, my heart is racing as I creep toward the sheer curtains. Even as I come within an arm's reach, I falter.

“Chicken,” Macy coughs from the door, where she is acting as lookout. She has been helping me with the younger girls as well. Mama says it will be good for her placement, where she will be acting as a tutor for young children. She'll be leaving in a few months, but I try not to think about the house without her around. At least she'll be happy.

Scrunching up my face at her, I take a deep breath, straighten, and stride the last three steps to the window. Without hesitation, I throw back the curtains, slide the lock open, and raise the window, admitting fresh mountain air to the stuffy room. A collective happy sigh from the girls seated at the small tables makes me smile. Leaning out the window, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply.

A warm hand closes around my wrist and I shriek.

“Shh,” Glen says, and I open my eyes to see his face inches from mine, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “You don't want Mama to check on you, do you?”

My heart thunders in my chest, but I can't help the butterflies that flit through my stomach at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” I glance back. The younger girls are leaning forward, craning to get a better look at Glen, while Macy stands by the door, arms crossed and a smug expression on her face. She gives herself credit for my relationship with Glen and points it out at every chance. After all, she reasons, if she hadn't pushed me to break the rules and talk to Glen, we never would have ended up together.

“I saw a pretty girl leaning out of a window. I couldn't resist a Rapunzel moment.”

“We're on the first floor.”

He smirks. “Clara-punzel, are you going to let me in?”

Macy gives me a thumbs-up when I check with her again, and I move aside as Glen launches himself over the window ledge and into the library. I take a small step away from him, though I want to do the opposite. Even though we're already breaking all kinds of rules, I don't want to set a bad example for the girls on how to act around boys. Glen grins at my small step and mirrors my movement, leaning close enough that his arm brushes mine. Tingles run up and down my skin, and an involuntary sigh escapes me. I wonder if I will ever feel normal around Glen.

“You can't stay long,” I warn, moving toward the tables to pretend to check on the work the girls have done. “Mama will be back soon.”

“But I came to help,” Glen says, shadowing me. When I bend to check on Rebecca's French translation, he does the same. When I hold Cassie's portrait up to show the rest of the girls, he claps along like one of the group. This goes on for about five minutes before I break down in a fit of giggles. He has thoroughly charmed each little girl in the room, and even Macy's grin has shifted from smugness to a shade of envy.

“What is all this noise?” Mama thunders into the room. Macy has been so distracted that she forgot her job, and her horrified expression gapes at me from behind Mama, who stands with hands on hips, looking between Glen and me. “You two are not supposed to be unsupervised.” A rule put in place after our initial adventure.

“I came looking for Papa,” Glen lies smoothly. “I had some ideas about the expansions we were talking about.”

“Papa never participates in the lessons with the girls,” Mama says, unconvinced. “There would be no reason for you to stay once you saw what was going on.”

“Yes,” Glen says, not missing a beat. “But in a few years Clara and I will be running things, and I thought this was a good opportunity to practice doing some things together. Besides,” he continues, flashing his most flirtatious smile at the rest of the girls in the room, “it's not like we were unchaperoned. We had quite a large audience, actually, and I swear nothing happened.”

Everyone is so entranced with Glen's antics, even Mama, that no one notices when Papa enters the room until the smile slips off Glen's face.

“What the hell, boy?” Papa says, his voice deceptively calm. This is the voice he uses right before handing down some sort of punishment. He has been using it more and more around Glen and me, no
matter what we do. We are still being punished for our indiscretions, as he calls them. I hope our punishment will not last the rest of our lives. Or his.

“I was just looking for you, Papa, and—” Glen begins, but Papa silences him with a hand.

“I heard your damn circus act from down the hall. You will work on things with Clara when I say it is time. Not a moment before. Now get to my office, boy, and we'll see what
ideas
you have for me.” He manages to inject enough venom into his words to shoot icy daggers of fear down my arms, and I glance at Glen, worried at his reaction.

Glen squares his shoulders, his jaw ticking. “Yes, sir,” he replies, and I relax only a little. At least he won't be causing a scene here. I try to catch his eye, to give him reassurance, but the playful boy from a few minutes ago has gone, replaced by this angry man who has been showing up more and more often. A pit grows in my stomach as Glen follows his father from the room.

Before the door shuts behind him, Glen looks back once more. With a small smile, he winks, as if this is all one big joke, but both of us know the time for joking is quickly passing.

Connor lied to me. They did not come for me the next day. Or the day after that. I am eating again, and the days are flowing into one another like sticky honey. I sit on my bed and stare at the floor tiles. I stare at the ceiling tiles. I stare at the two-way mirror on the wall and wonder if anyone is watching me. I wonder if this is how my children feel without me. Trapped. Watched. Squeezed.

Needing a distraction, I begin humming a happy waltz. My feet
move in time to the quiet notes, and the bed creaks with the rhythm of their dance. I jump up, take my frame, and move around the room. My humming grows louder, morphing into the nonsense “BA-dum-dum BA-dum-dum” rhythmic notes, and I feel the smile creasing my face as the steps come effortlessly.

I begin to laugh, whirling myself around the room, twirling to the tune of the waltz only I can hear. My eyes are closed. Without warning, my shin bangs into the sharp metal corner of my bed. I collapse on the floor, reeling in pain. More acute than the pain in my leg is the pain in my heart. For just a moment, I forgot where I was. And now that I'm back, it hurts even more.

“Well, that was . . . interesting,” an amused voice drawls from the doorway. I peek through my hair to see Meredith leaning just inside the door, a small smile on her face. “I didn't know you could dance. Or sing, for that matter.”

I glare, angry at her for teasing me, angry at myself for getting caught up in my memories. I pull myself to my feet and hobble to the bed, favoring my bruised shin.

Meredith walks into the room. “Connor wanted me to come and get you,” she says. “We decided it's time for you to see Glen.”

The first time I see Glen face-to-face, my breath escapes me. He is the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. Of course, my exposure to boys has been severely limited. Mostly, I see Mama Mae and my sisters, or the older men like Papa G. Glen grew up in the house, but was kept separate from us. When we were younger, we would try to catch glimpses of him without Mama knowing. I was sure I caught him
watching me from time to time, too. When Mama Mae suggested to Papa G that they hold dance classes, Mama's bruises lasted for days. But here we are. With actual boys. If we had been allowed to giggle, I'm sure most of us would be overcome by now.

The boys come from the training program. Some of them will be trained as bodyguards or manual laborers, and others will be trained to stay on with Papa G. I learned this from Mama Mae. She was not supposed to tell me, I don't think, but I helped her with the baby last night, and she talks a lot more in the night.

Mama Mae raps her yardstick on the floor, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Papa G stands to the side, a frightening look on his face, but he allows Mama to run the show. “These are the rules,” Mama begins, her voice clear and sharp. “You do not speak to each other. You do not touch except where it is required by the dance. You keep your heads up, but look over the shoulder of your partner. These classes are for all of you to learn steps, not for flirting. Any broken rules will result in expulsion from the class and punishment chosen by Papa G. Am I clear?”

The girls murmur, “Yes, Mama Mae,” in unison, while the boys nod, their expressions solemn. I sneak a glance at Glen, only to find that he is looking at me as well. He winks, and my cheeks flush. I am surprised he is in this class. He looks just like Papa G, except for his eyes, which could only come from Mama Mae. They are bright blue with mischief now, but I imagine they change color with his moods, as Mama's do.

Mama has begun pairing boys and girls off. The couples stand awkwardly a few feet apart from each other, looking everywhere but at their partner. When she reaches Glen, he whispers something to her. She swats him, but in a playful way, and nods. “Clara!” She motions me over. “You will partner with Glen.” She begins to walk away, then stops. “I want you to remain in this class, Clara. Glen,
behave yourself.” There is a mixture of amusement and warning in her tone, and warmth rarely present, probably reserved for her son.

When the couples have all been paired, Mama instructs us to face each other, and demonstrates the correct placement of hands. Glen pretends to get them wrong, and his hands end up lower than is appropriate. I risk a glare at him and see that he is watching me, amusement glittering in his blue eyes. He knows the effect he is having on me, and it takes all my willpower to say nothing and follow Mama Mae's instructions. Glen's hand travels back to its correct spot before Mama Mae comes to check our position, but I cannot hide the flush in my neck and cheeks. I wonder if the blush will become permanent.

“It is not becoming to flush, Clara,” Mama scolds. “A lady is comfortable with all situations. Perhaps this exercise will be beneficial for you in more ways than one.” She moves on.

“It's benefiting me an awful lot,” Glen whispers, low enough so only I can hear. I pretend I have not heard. “And that dress is benefiting both of us.”

I fake a cough to hide my laugh. Glen is being completely inappropriate, and completely charming. It is dangerous to feel anything toward a boy who is not a client, and especially this boy. I am being groomed for a very special client, and I will not let Glen distract me. “Behave,” I warn him, refusing to meet his eyes, glancing over to where Mama and Papa stand watching over the couples. My tone is not very convincing, but Glen follows my gaze and settles down, a slight smirk on his face.

The rest of the lesson goes more smoothly, and Glen only makes one or two more remarks. I feel his eyes on me the entire time, a fact that cannot be lost on Mama Mae, or Papa G, whose eyes are narrowed every time we spin past him. When Mama dismisses us, I line up with the other girls and march out, head held high, back straight. It is difficult to stand tall with the weight of three pairs of eyes boring into me.

The first time I see Glen in his jumpsuit, my heart stops. He looks pale, and thinner than I remember, but handsome as ever. I fantasized about our reunion the entire drive to the prison where Glen is being held, and I do not know what to expect when I enter the room, but no one stops Glen as he rises and comes around the table to gather me in his arms.

He smells wrong, strong with the scent of bar soap and industrial laundry detergent. Nothing like his normal citrusy aftershave. Though the feel of his arms is familiar, there is something off. He feels less substantial, and he grips my body like a lifeline. He buries his face in my neck, and suddenly I feel as if I am the one holding him up. It doesn't last long.