“Yes?”
The door opens and she walks in, smiling at first, but her expression immediately changes to disgust when she sees me at the window.
“Holly! Get away from that window. You’re barely even dressed!” she yells.
Startled, I back away from the window and look down at myself, confused. I’m wearing a long dark blue cotton nightshirt that hangs to just above my knees. Feather sleeps in the same thing, and so do some of the girls I see on television.
I cross my arms over my chest and cower slightly. The bad posture the counselor at Merryfield tried for months to get me to change returns in an instant. “I just woke up. This is what I slept in.”
She shakes her head and raises her hand to her mouth. “You cannot walk around like that. You’re a young woman and shouldn’t be half naked. Didn’t they teach you that?”
I blink at her, completely confused.
“How many times, little girl, have I told you not to stand unless I tell you to?”
“Um…I don’t remember anyone telling me what to sleep in…it was in the pajama section of the store, though. Feather got one too.”
“I don’t care what Feather does. I’m going to buy you some proper nightclothes.” She crosses the room to pull the curtains over the window. “Please don’t stand like that by the window. You don’t want the neighbors to see you, do you? It’s bad enough they know what…happened to you,” she stammers. “We don’t need to feed the gossip hounds.”
“I’m sorry. I only wanted to see outside.” Windows are still something I consider a luxury, along with everything that comes with them. Like the sun, and the clouds, and birds, and the sky. And air.
The usual forced smile crosses her face. “It’s fine, honey. You don’t know any better. Daddy just went to pick up Grandma. She’s so excited to see you.” She goes to the closet and pulls out another gray wool skirt, black leggings to wear underneath, and a black turtleneck.
“Wear this, you’ll look lovely.”
I try not to let the cringe I feel on the inside show on my face. “I don’t like those kinds of neck shirts,” I protest. “I feel like I’m strangling.”
His hand tightened around my neck, cutting off my air, suffocating me. “I can kill you now if I want to…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s very soft.”
I wish she would listen to me and try to understand that I’m not being ridiculous. I just want to get through my days without some kind of reminder of something bad happening to me. I don’t remember my mother being like this when I was little, before I was taken. Or maybe she was, and I forgot over the years that passed. In therapy, we talked about how sometimes we romanticize people in our own heads, make them better than they actually are, to make ourselves feel better and to justify liking them and missing them.
“You should get dressed, put a little makeup on, and come downstairs. I can’t help both you and Lizzie get ready, I have things to do myself before your father gets back with Grandma.”
Apparently, my mother thinks I need supervision. Does she think I don’t get up and dress myself every morning? I may have been held against my will by a sick man for years, but I would have gotten dressed in new clothes every day if I’d had a choice. Even at eight years old, I knew I was supposed to get dressed every morning.
“I’ll be down as soon as I can,” I reply. “I’ll brush my hair and my teeth, too.”
She nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind her, oblivious to my mild sarcasm. Dr. Reynolds tells Feather and me we shouldn’t make sarcastic comments, but sometimes it just comes out, and it kinda feels good.
When I’m sure my mother won’t be coming back into my room, I tiptoe back to my window and pull the curtains open.
“Oh my, look at you, my sweet baby! Come here.” My grandmother comes directly to me as soon as she enters the living room, where I’m sitting on the couch wondering how mad my mother will get if I take these uncomfortable shoes off. I stand, and Grandma immediately pulls me into a hug. At first I stiffen, but then my body relaxes and I let her embrace me. I can almost feel the love pouring from her as she clings to me, rubbing my back. I put my arms around her too, gently, as she’s shorter than me and feels very frail, like a little bird, and I’m afraid I may hurt her.
“My sweet Holly. I missed you so much.” She says with a sob. “Every day I prayed for you.” She pulls back to look at me, tears in her eyes, her mouth quivering. Her hands lightly touch my hair, then my cheeks, before finally resting on my shoulders. This woman loves me. I barely remember her, and I wasn’t allowed to see her until today, but her love for me is overpowering, in her touch and in her eyes. She honestly, truly missed me.