Griselda

 

“No, Jonah. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

“Don’t you love me, baby?”

Griselda shifted her glance from the windshield to her boyfriend’s handsome profile, running her eyes over his thick, chestnut hair, aquiline nose, and pouty lips. He caught her staring and winked at her playfully before turning his glance back to the road.

“I—I care about you, sure,” she hedged.

He clucked at her, shaking his head as his knuckles tightened on the wheel. “Didn’t ask if you cared about me, Zelda. Asked if you loved me.”

She heard the warning in his voice and subtly crossed her fingers in her lap. “’Course I love you. But what does loving you have to do with it?”

“You know? Sometimes I think you like to play stupid just to piss me off.” He picked up the Snapple bottle in his lap, pressing it to his mouth, and she watched a stream of dark brown spit shoot to the bottom of the glass. When he turned to her, some brown spittle on his bottom lip made it glisten. “If you love someone, you want to make them happy.”

“By doing something we both know is wrong?”

“Wrong?” He clucked again, backhanding his mouth to wipe it clean. “Now, honey, the only thing wrong is the way you’re looking at this.”

“How’s that, Jonah? How is me stealing from my employer right?”

“Because then you and me can join our friends for a sweet little weekend getaway. And your Jo-Jo will be happy. And happy is always right.”

Griselda shook her head, angling her body away from his and leaning her elbow on the window. She knew very little about happiness, but Jonah’s version of it didn’t agree with her.

“You like Shawn and Tina,” he cajoled.

She ignored him.

“A few beers? A good time?”

. . . that would likely end up with Jonah and Shawn, his friend from the cable company where he worked, getting stinking drunk and shooting beer cans off rocks like rednecks until the sun came up.

“Didn’t even tell you where we’re headed yet,” he said, poking her thigh just a little too hard to be playful.

Looking askance, she gave him a bored, annoyed look.

“Makes me want to smack your mouth when you look at me all ugly like that, Zelda.”

She flinched before forcing a small, brittle smile.

“That’s my girl,” he said, spitting into the bottle again. “Shawn knows a guy who owns luxury cabins a couple of hours from here. Somewhere out in Pennsylvania. Said he’d rent one to us.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Naw, that’s not right. Not Pennsylvania. Uh, West Virginia, I think.”

Griselda’s breath hitched, but Jonah was staring out the windshield and didn’t notice.

“Always so much goddamned traffic in the goddamned city,” he griped, merging into the thick D.C. traffic as they crossed the bridge into the quaint neighborhood of Georgetown. One modest benefit of dating Jonah was that he drove her to work every morning, which meant she didn’t have to take the bus anymore. “Why can’t you work for a family closer to home?”

“Money’s better in the city. Where in West Virginia?” she asked, trying to calm the fierce thumping of her heart by taking a long, deep breath.

Jonah’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for an opening in the stream of cars before finally turning. His voice was distracted. “I don’t—uh, it’s by a river, I think.”

Her fingers trembled in her lap as she scrambled to remember the names of them, praying it wasn’t the same one that she visited over and over again in her dreams, in her nightmares.

“The Cacapon?”

“Naw, that wasn’t it.”

“One of the Forks?”

“Naw.”

“The Cheat?”

“You making that up, baby?” His eyes darted to hers, narrowed in accusation.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s a river called the Cheat in West Virginia. Honest.”

“Well, that wasn’t it, anyway.”

“The . . .” She clenched her jaw hard before spitting out the words, “The Shenandoah?”

He pulled up in front of Senator McClellan’s townhouse and turned to her. “Look at you, all booky-booky smart and shit. Yeah. The Shenandoah River. That’s the one.”

Griselda took another deep breath and nodded, looking down at her lap, her brain short-circuiting as she flashed back to the last time she’d felt the waters of the Shenandoah against her skin. She shuddered, trying to force the thought from her mind, but she couldn’t. The shock of hearing the river’s name had already conjured the image of Holden’s wet, filthy face, his hair plastered to his head, his eyelashes dripping with water, his terrified gray eyes that somehow managed to tell her how much he loved her, even though she . . . she—

Jonah grabbed her chin a little harder than necessary and dropped his lips to hers, kissing her forcefully, bruisingly. When he pulled back, his eyes were narrow again.

“You know I hate it when you space out.”

“Sorry, Jonah,” she said. “Got lost in thought.”

“If I ever thought you was thinking about another man, I’d—”

She shook her head. “There’s no one but you.”

He smirked, kissing her again, still hard, but not quite as angry, and it shamed her that the bitter taste of his mouth was so comforting. “Now tell me you’ll do it.”

“Do it?”

“The money. Take a bracelet or something. I’ll fence it. She’ll never notice.”

“She might. I could lose my job.”

“Now, baby, you’re really pissin’ me off,” he said, his fingers tightening on her chin, over the scar there, pinching into her skin painfully.

Griselda reached up and covered his fingers with hers, rubbing them softly to soothe him. “Couldn’t we wait until next weekend instead? I get paid next Friday—”

“No.” His fingers, which had gentled, tensed again. “Shawn already fixed it. I want to go tomorrow, and he needs a hundred and fifty for our share. It’s luxury cabins, Zel. Luxury ain’t cheap.”

“Tomorrow? I don’t know if I can go tomorrow. I might have to work this weekend or—”

His thumb shifted slightly, digging into the soft flesh under her jawbone, and she winced.

“You don’t have to work. She always tells you in advance. Now, you listen to me, Zelda. You’re stealing a ring or bracelet that Mrs. Hoity-Toity will never notice, you’re giving it to me when I pick you up at seven, and we’re going to West Virginia with Shawn and Tina bright and early tomorrow morning.”

His voice was low and menacing, and the painful pressure of his thumb made her teeth clench and her breath catch. It hurt, but she welcomed it, refusing to linger on how sick and twisted that made her. Pain was the only thing that stopped her from seeing those frightened gray eyes.

“Got it, baby?”

Griselda nodded once, and Jonah grinned, relaxing his fingers and leaning forward to kiss her gently. His lips touched down on hers with tenderness, nipping softly, licking the seam of her lips open and seeking her tongue with his. The mint and tobacco taste of him filled her nostrils, turning her stomach. She stopped breathing through her nose, holding her breath, and felt light-headed when he finally released her mouth.

When he drew back, his eyes were dark and possessive. They spelled it out for her in no uncertain terms: You might be leaving me right now, but you’re not free. You’re trapped with me, whether you like it or not.

She took a deep breath, staring back at him, wondering if he’d kiss her one more time, and hating herself that she wanted him to.

“Run along, now,” he said, gesturing to the townhouse with a flick of his head, dismissing her.

Run. The word reverberated in her head as she opened her door and slammed it shut, any trace of disappointment supplanted with a panicky burst of painful mental images. She walked up the stairs to the glossy black door with a shiny brass knocker. Taking the house key from her purse, she turned the lock and stepped inside.

The thing is? Griselda had run, all right, but she’d never actually gotten away.

***

“Zelda? Is Prudence down for her nap?” asked Sabrina McClellan, entering the kitchen where Griselda was loading a colorful plastic cup and cereal bowl into the dishwasher.

“Yes, Mrs. McClellan. She’s sleeping.”

“Wonderful.” Griselda’s boss leaned her elbows on the black marble kitchen island, sipping coffee from a clear glass mug and giving her employee a warm smile. “You’re so good with her.”

“She’s easy.”

“Coming from the system, you must feel like taking care of only one is simple.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Griselda. Mrs. McClellan’s casual reference to Griselda’s years in foster care made her uncomfortable, as it always did, though she knew no harm was intended.

All three post-Holden foster care homes she’d lived in before her eighteenth birthday had sheltered more than four kids each, and the care of the younger children had always been left to the older girls, like Griselda. She’d never resented it. She felt bad for the little ones, entering the system at four or five with no memories of a normal childhood. In that way, they were just like Griselda.

She closed the dishwasher door and turned the dial, wiping down the countertop with a dish towel before turning to Mrs. McClellan. Noting that her boss’s coffee was half finished, Griselda picked up the warm pot from the hot plate and refreshed it.

“Why, thank you.” Her employer looked up from the Washington Post and smiled distractedly before dropping her eyes again.

At thirty-three years old, Sabrina McClellan was just ten years older than Griselda, but their lives were a world apart. The daughter of a venture capitalist who’d made a killing in the nineties, Sabrina Bell had attended a posh college in Newport where she’d met her husband, Royston McClellan, a hotshot pre-law student attending Brown University. They’d married right out of college, but waited on starting a family until Roy had been elected to the Senate. Little Prudence was almost four.

Three days a week Sabrina worked at a nonprofit organization, Nannies on Ninth, that placed young adults from the foster care system in child care positions all over D.C. It was how they’d met, in fact. Griselda’s third foster mother, who wasn’t the best or worst of the bunch, had once offhandedly remarked that Griselda was the only foster child she’d ever had who took her child care responsibilities seriously. Short on compliments in her life, Griselda had treasured the words, and they’d led her to Nannies on Ninth after her high school graduation, at the recommendation of her guidance counselor.

She’d never forget the day she walked into the bright, clean storefront with a small play area in the front to keep children occupied as their mothers filled out applications seeking child care help. Griselda had been nervous that day, but she’d used her modest spending money to purchase a simple blue skirt and white blouse, like businesswomen wore on TV, and she’d pulled her honey-blonde hair into a simple bun, hoping to look older.

Her efforts paid off. Sabrina McClellan, who was eight months pregnant at the time, hired Griselda that day and paid her to help set up the nursery, prewash onesies and baby clothes, and run errands until she gave birth to Prudence Anne, the prettiest baby Griselda had ever seen.

Griselda had been with the McClellans for four years, and Prudence owned as much of her shredded heart as anyone could.

“Have you given any more thought to those courses we discussed?” asked Mrs. McClellan, still staring down at her newspaper.

After overhearing Griselda make up a fairy tale for Prudence one night before bed, Mrs. McClellan had commented that Griselda might have some talent as a writer and asked if she had ever considered attending college.

“I’ve never heard that story,” she’d told Griselda, her eyes alight with wonder as Griselda closed the nursery door and stepped into the upstairs hallway. “It was charming! Who wrote it?”

“Oh,” said Griselda, her face coloring a little. “N-no one wrote it. I like making them up sometimes. For Pru.”

“Well, it was wonderful,” Mrs. McClellan gushed, tilting her head to the side as though seeing Griselda in a new light. “Hidden talents.”

A few days later, on Friday evening, as Griselda prepared to leave, Mrs. McClellan stopped her in the front vestibule, holding a yellow envelope in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

“Did you know, Zelda, that there are over twenty colleges and universities in D.C. alone?”

“No, ma’am,” she answered, wondering if Jonah was already outside waiting for her. She got a perverse pleasure out of making him wait, even though it pissed him off—even though it also meant he’d grab her arm roughly or kiss her too forcefully as punishment. It was a fair price for the small victory of displeasing him.

Mrs. McClellan held out the envelope, and Griselda peeked inside, surprised to find it full of college brochures.

“Many of them have writing courses for promising storytellers.” She flashed her elegant smile before shrugging playfully. “Take a look for me?”

Griselda tamped down the quick bolt of pride she felt in the compliment. Not only was college a luxury she couldn’t afford, there was no way she’d actually get in. Colleges weren’t exactly lining up to recruit girls like Griselda. “That’s really nice of you, but I don’t have the money for—”

“There are loads of scholarships out there,” said Mrs. McClellan, waving her hand dismissively as she took a sip of wine. “Take a look. Then let’s talk. Okay?”

“Okay,” Griselda had answered, rushing to wrap her scarf around her neck and hurry to meet Jonah before he beeped the horn.

That was six months ago, and although she’d fantasized more than once about the possibility of college, she hadn’t allowed herself to look at the brochures. Her savings were designated for something else. Something important and nonnegotiable. She needed to work, and college would eat away at her working time. Work meant money, and money was needed for Griselda’s only shot at redemption. The formula was simple, and deviating from it unthinkable.

Have you given any more thought to those courses we discussed?

“No, ma’am,” she said softly, worried about her boss’s disapproval.

“I overheard you telling Pru another story last night. I really do think you have talent, Zelda.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McClellan.”

“Will you give it some more thought?” she asked with a light smile, and Griselda nodded, wondering what it would be like to go to college, to learn how to write her stories on a computer, maybe even to make a living like that someday—writing stories and selling them.

She doused her hopeful thoughts quickly, trading them for a cold dose of reality. She had a plan, and it didn’t include college.

Work, money, redemption.

“Well, I’m off,” said Mrs. McClellan, throwing a windbreaker over her gym clothes and grabbing her purse from the kitchen desk where she managed the household accounts. “I’ll be at the gym, then the club for lunch, then I’ll stop by N-on-N for a few hours this afternoon. Back by five. Pru’s laundry is ready for folding, and I bought Gruyère so you could make her a grilled cheese. No TV, Zelda. She watches too much as it is. Call if you need me.”

“Have a good day, Mrs. McClellan.”

“You too!”

Once the door clicked shut, Griselda leaned back against the counter, closing her eyes in the silence of the tidy kitchen. After a moment of peace, she poured herself a cup of coffee, hooked the baby monitor to the belt of her jeans, and went outside to the small but beautiful garden patio behind the townhouse. Griselda was lucky that Prudence had held on to her morning naptime later than other children. It wouldn’t be long before she gave it up and Griselda wouldn’t have this little break to herself anymore, and although Griselda should spend the time folding the laundry, she allowed herself a rare moment of quiet reflection instead.

Except that there was a problem with quiet reflection—her mind turned to something unpleasant immediately: Jonah’s demand that she steal something from the McClellans.

It was good that he still believed they’d need to steal to come up with $150 quickly. It meant he hadn’t discovered that she’d amassed a small, but respectable, sum in her private savings account.

When she went to work for the McClellans, they’d offered her the option of direct deposit twice monthly and asked for her account numbers and distribution. A laughable question, since Griselda didn’t even have one account. She’d gone to the bank closest to the McClellans’ house, and a well-meaning banker had advised her to set up two accounts: one for savings and one for checking. Though she funneled only twenty percent of her earnings into her savings account, she rarely touched it, and it now held several thousand dollars, earmarked for one very specific use. The rest—almost every dime—went toward her rent, utilities, and living expenses, aka, supporting Jonah.

Heading back inside, Griselda made her way upstairs. Quietly opening the pair of elegant French doors that led to the McClellans’ bedroom suite, she crept across the room, her bare feet sinking into the plush cream-colored carpet. Stopping at Mrs. McClellan’s dressing table, she ran her fingers gingerly over a pair of gold hoop earrings and a matching bangle bracelet. They were undoubtedly real and would likely fetch more than the $150 Jonah required.

Drawing her hand away, she walked back across the room, closing the French doors behind her. She wouldn’t repay the McClellans’ kindness by stealing from them. Griselda had lived through many frightening and unsavory situations, and she was many things as a result, but she wasn’t a thief. Not then, and not now.

Which left her no other choice. Today, after she took Prudence to the park, she’d have to stop by the bank and withdraw $150 from her savings account. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit it hard enough to taste blood. Touching that money went against everything in her heart, but she couldn’t think of another way. Later, when Jonah picked her up, she’d tell him she’d stolen the earrings and bracelet and fenced them on her lunch break. He’d buy that story. He’d be relieved not to have to do it himself.

She headed back downstairs and picked up the coffee cup she’d left on the kitchen counter, resting her bruised chin on her palm and swallowing the lump in her throat as she mulled over their weekend plans, and recalled the first—and only—time she’d ever visited West Virginia.