Hold Me Close Read online

  “I had a great time with you. I wanted to let you know,” Mitchell said when Effie didn’t speak.

  “Me, too.” She cradled the phone against her shoulder to pour the pasta into the water.

  “So...we’ll talk later. Okay? Looking forward to it.”

  “Me, too,” Effie repeated and let him disconnect the phone call first. She stared at the phone for a second or so. She hadn’t assigned him a special ringtone or added a picture to his contact information, so for the moment, Mitchell remained nothing but a string of numbers.

  “Give him a chance,” she murmured to herself. “This is what you want.”

  Something nice, something tame. Something normal. That was what she was looking for.

  Wasn’t it?

  Polly was so quiet at dinner that nothing Effie said got a smile out of her. Clearly, she was still bothered by what had happened with Meredith. So, after they’d polished off the mac-n-cheese and Polly had cleared the table, Effie sent her off to her room to do homework.

  Then she picked up the phone.

  “Hi, Dee?” Effie fell into the old nickname before thinking it was possible Delores didn’t go by it any longer. Then she decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass what the other woman preferred to be called. “This is Effie. Polly’s mother. Your daughter’s in Polly’s class.”

  “I know who you are, Effie, of course.” Delores sounded bubbly, as if maybe she’d already started on the early evening cocktails. No wonder, since her husband had left her several years ago for not a younger woman, but an older one.

  Maybe that was unkind.

  “So listen, Dee, I’m going to cut straight to it. Keep your mouth shut about my daughter, your speculation about her father, and about Heath.” Effie drew in a breath as if she was dragging on a cigarette. “You know damn well he’s not my brother. And not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not Polly’s father. Get your own house in order before you start talking shit about mine.”

  Dee sputtered. “What... I... Wait a minute. What?”

  “My kid’s eleven years old. She should be worried about her science fair project and growing out of her favorite jeans too fast. Not any other bullshit you want to spread around.” Effie paused long enough to hear a snuffle from Dee through the phone. She smiled to be sure the other woman heard it in her voice. “She has a lot of people in her life who love her. She hasn’t suffered for the lack of knowing who donated the sperm that made her.”

  “Oh.” Dee sounded confused. She’d never been the brightest shade of pink in the palette. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a sperm donor.”

  Effie had in fact been knocked up the old-fashioned way and had been making a sarcastic comment, so now she sighed. “Dee, Jesus. It’s none of your business. Okay? Why would you tell your kid anything like that anyway? And as for my paintings, also none of your business. What difference does it make to you who buys them or supports them?”

  Silence. Effie waited. Through the phone line she heard another snuffle.

  “I’m sorry,” Dee said finally. “I didn’t tell Meredith any of those things. She must’ve overheard us talking.”

  “Who was talking?”

  “Friends, I guess.” Dee made a small, apologetic noise. “The subject came up at the last mommy meeting I had here. I guess she overheard us...”

  It was far from the first time Effie had known herself to be the topic of conversation. For years after coming home she’d been approached by reporters and curiosity seekers wanting a piece of her story. After the debacle with the coming-home party, her dad had forbidden any of them from contacting her, but after he died, there’d been a few who managed to find her contact information. Some had been ballsy enough to approach her instead of just posting voyeuristic bullshit about her on that stupid fucking forum for sickos who liked to collect memorabilia from crime victims. Someone had even made a documentary. Effie had been offered money to participate, but she had refused.

  To hear it now, though...her stomach twisted again. She wanted a drink, something strong. Instead, she forced herself to breathe.

  “Why the hell are you gossiping about me anyway?”

  Dee made another of those noises. “They asked me. Some moms from school, I guess they found out we went to school together, and when they heard about Andrews being up for parole...”

  “Wait a minute. What? What the fuck?” Effie froze, her fingers cramping and curling around her phone.

  “An alert came up, I guess, about how a convicted sex offender was possibly going to be living close by. I guess you know where the house is.”

  Effie swallowed bitterness. “Yes.”

  The same house. It had passed to Andrews’s children when he went to prison, and as far as she knew, they’d never sold it. Nobody had ever seemed to be living in it anyway, whenever she drove past, which was only on the rarest of secretive occasions. It had always been empty, the grass a little too long, merchandisers littering the driveway. At Halloween, no local kids egged it or strung toilet paper in the trees. The house had gained its own reputation.

  Dee coughed. “Well. It’s only a couple blocks away from where I live now. If he gets out on parole, he’ll be living there. So, you know, they put out this petition to sign so that there wouldn’t be a pedophile living there.”

  “I don’t think you can keep him from moving back into a house that he owns,” Effie whispered through her clenched jaw. “No matter what he did.”

  Dee was very quiet then, only the sound of her breathing coming through the phone. “I didn’t tell anyone Heath was your brother, Effie. I told them that Andrews made you and Heath call him Daddy, that’s all. And that’s the truth, right? I didn’t make it up. I wasn’t lying! They asked me, and it’s not like any of them lived around here when it happened. They don’t remember the stories.”

  “Oh, God. Well, aren’t they lucky they have you to catch them up.” Effie swallowed again, her throat closing. All those women in their yoga pants and matching hairstyles, matching smiles. She’d never quite fit in with them, and now they all knew about her...this, the worst thing. But that wasn’t what upset her the most. “Look, when it affects my kid, Dee, I get really pissed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dee said after a minute. “They’re really worried about him getting out and living so close. That’s all.”

  “He’s not going to get out of prison.” Bill had told her so, enough times, and all she could do was believe it or live every moment of her life waiting in dread for it to happen.

  “Well, there was something on the internet...”

  “Rumors about it go around every few years when he’s up for parole, but he won’t get out. He was served with two consecutive life terms for kidnapping, indecency, cruelty to children and a bunch of other stuff. He’s not getting out, not ever.” Effie laughed, harsh and sour. “Tell all your biddy friends not to worry so fucking much. And tell your kid to back off my kid.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Dee said.

  Effie took a slow breath. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Effie, if you want to come to our moms’ group...” The other woman trailed off.

  Effie didn’t answer. The idea alarmed her. When Polly was younger and Effie had been struggling to get through school and working two jobs to make ends meet, she’d often eyed those put-together matchy-matchy moms in their playgroups with envy. Their fancy strollers and designer coffees. The way they all seemed to know how to keep their kids clean and dressed with what seemed like very little effort. There’d been days she swore finding two matching socks was a feat akin to Frodo’s journey to throw the ring into the volcano.

  “So you can all talk shit about me to my face instead of behind my back? No, thanks.”

  Dee sighed loudly. “I said I was sorry. They started to ask me questions. It’s not like any of