“Careful, baby,” called Griselda from the park bench, watching Prudence make her way up the slide for the fourth or fifth time. Griselda’s best friend, Maya, sat beside her while her charge, Niall, who was the same age as Prudence, kept Prudence company.

“Okay, Zelda,” said Prudence, giving Griselda a gap-toothed grin before continuing her ascent.

“So, you’re going? To West Virginia?” asked Maya, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t get you.”

“What’s to get? He set up a weekend getaway, and he wants me to go.”

“But you clearly don’t want to. I mean, come on, Z. West Virginia? Of all places?”

Griselda sighed. “I didn’t have much say in the matter. Anyway, it’ll be fine.”

“‘Fine.’ You love the word fine. Just remember, I know you, girl. I’ve known you a long time.”

In addition to living with Maya for a year and a half at her second post-Holden foster home, they’d attended the same high school from freshman year until senior year, which was unusual for kids in the system. When you moved homes, you often had to switch schools, but Griselda had been moved to a foster home in the same school district. Friends for almost a decade, Maya was the closest thing Griselda had to family, but even Maya didn’t know everything. Nobody knew everything except for Holden.

“I know you, but I don’t get you,” continued Maya, shaking her headful of brown braids, the colorful beads on the ends clicking with the movement.

“Yeah, well. No use rocking the boat.”

“Not unless you want to get smacked.”

Griselda shot Maya a look, telling her friend to shut up.

“You don’t think I can see those fresh bruises on your chin? And news flash, Zelda . . . you’re wearing long sleeves in the middle of June. Shit. I seen it all a million times before, starting with my mama. I just don’t understand why you put up with it.”

Because someone who did what I did doesn’t deserve better.

Griselda hated this particular conversation, but she knew from experience that the best way to hurry it up was just to remain silent.

“You’re beautiful, Z—”

Griselda scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes, her fingers reaching up to trace the scar on her chin.

“Not to mention, you’re flush,” continued Maya, referring to Griselda’s secret stash. “Get your own place. Tell Jonah to take a hike. Find someone who treats you nice.”

I don’t get to have nice. Not until I know that Holden has nice too.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t touch that money, and you know it.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know why. What’re you saving it for if not to make a better life for yourself?”

A better life for herself? Theoretically, there were probably many ways her life could be improved, but only three that really mattered: find Holden, help Holden, be with Holden again.

Griselda made $640 a week with the McClellans, which worked out to $33,280 per year, $6,000 of which went back to Uncle Sam. That left $21,824 for living expenses and $5,456 a year that went into her savings account for Holden. The first year, she’d spent several thousand dollars on a private detective, but the money had run out quickly and the detective, whose business had been shut down a few months after Griselda gave him a check, hadn’t found out much. He’d discovered that the Man who held them, Caleb Foster, was born in 1961. At the time of Griselda’s and Holden’s abduction, he’d been forty years old and the last surviving member of his family, outliving his parents and a younger brother and sister, both of whom had been tragically killed in an accident in the seventies.

Despite her efforts to research Caleb Foster on the library computer at the Laurel Public Library, she’d never found very much. There were thousands of Google hits when she searched his name, but none of the profiles jibed with what little she knew about him. And when she searched “Holden Croft,” she found nothing beyond the news of their abduction. No hits. Not one. Which always made her grief intense and painful because it made her wonder if Holden was dead, how he died, and when. Had he been frightened? Alone? Was he thinking about her in his final moments?

Staying hopeful that Holden was still alive was the most gut-wrenching and exhausting challenge of Griselda’s sorry life. But she could not—she would not—give up on him until she knew for sure that he was dead. Until then, she would keep looking . . . because she owed him, because once upon a sweet and terrible time, she’d loved him, and he’d loved her in return.

Internet research had finally led her to the Browne & Castle Agency in New York City, one of the best private detective firms in the country, and rather than throwing away any more money on scams, Griselda had decided to book their services as soon as she was able. The catch? The retainer was $5,000 up front, which she had, but the per-hour expenses ranged from $40 to $100. If Caleb Foster had driven Holden all over the country, it could take weeks or months to track down their trail and what had eventually happened to them. Griselda figured she’d need about $20,000 before she could retain Browne & Castle’s services, and right now she was more than $5,000 short. So she worked. And she waited. And she hoped that next year she’d have enough money to find Holden, to help him, to spend whatever she had to make up for leaving him behind . . . or at least find out what had happened to him.

In the meantime, giving Jonah $100 here and there hurt her heart, because every dime she gave to Jonah was another hour further away from finding Holden, the only human being whom she knew—beyond any shadow of doubt—had ever truly loved her.

Taking a deep breath, Griselda gave Maya, who was still waiting for an answer, a sidelong glance. “Honey, if it ain’t your tail . . .”

“. . . don’t wag it,” finished Maya, quoting their foster mother, Kendra, with whom they’d lived for the first two years of high school. “Damn, but she loved saying that.”

“Yes, she did.”

“You deserve so much better than Jonah.”

No, thought Griselda. No, I don’t.

“Why, Zelda? Why stay with him?”

Because I should have gone back with Holden and I didn’t. Because we were supposed to make it together, but one of us got dragged back to hell. Because life is only bearable when it’s more bad than good.

And, her heart added in a guilty whisper, because when Jonah shuts up and falls asleep, his arms are warm and solid around me, and sometimes I can trick myself into believing he’s someone else.

“Forget I asked,” said Maya, sighing heavily. “Ain’t my tail.”

Griselda nodded, watching Prudence run from the slide back to the ladder. “Jonah’s not always mean, you know.”

“Yeah, sometimes he sleeps.”

“He can be sweet to me sometimes.”

“He’s mean enough, often enough. A little sweet don’t make a difference,” said Maya, suddenly sitting up straighter and tsking. “Niall, don’t you grab that child’s braids. You leave her be, now.” She turned back to Griselda. “Most days I don’t know if I’m grateful that you got me this job or not.”

“You’re grateful.”

Griselda paused, thinking how much better this weekend would be if Maya and her boyfriend, Terrence, were in tow. She had nothing against Jonah’s friend Shawn, and his girlfriend, Tina, had been pretty nice the one time Griselda had met her. But still, they were practically strangers.

“Can’t you and Jonah be friends?” she asked.

“Not going to happen, Zelda. He and me is like oil and water—hell, oil and a match.” Maya chuckled, shaking her head. “I’d belt him good if he came after me the way he gives it to you.”

You’d lose, thought Griselda, and her upper arm throbbed where it was covered with the black-and-blue imprints of his fingers. She’d exchanged pleasantries with the cashier at ShopRite last night, and the minute they got back in his truck, Jonah had grabbed her arm and accused her of flirting.

Still staring straight ahead at the kids, Maya’s voice was soft when she asked, “You ever gonna tell me, Zelda? What happened to you? I mean, besides the old news reports I can read on the internet?”

Griselda turned to her friend, and Maya faced her, her chocolate-brown skin satiny in the sunshine and her deep brown eyes profoundly sympathetic.

It had taken Griselda a half a day of hiking through woods barefoot before she made it to a highway at dusk. An older lady picked her up, chastising her soundly about the dangers of hitchhiking before dropping her off in front of the Charles Town sheriff’s office. Griselda ran into the building like a maniac, delivering her entire story to the first person she saw and ending with the demand, “Please! You’ve got to find him!”

The sergeant working the front desk had stared at her for a moment before calling a female officer to escort Griselda to a small interview room. They found a sandwich in the kitchen, half a sleeve of Oreos, and two cans of pop, which they placed in front of her, and someone rustled up a blanket, which the officer placed carefully around Griselda’s shoulders. Although she was starving, Griselda wouldn’t eat until she had shared every bit of information that she possibly could: the names of her foster parents, how she and Holden had been taken, the general location where they’d been held captive, and how she’d escaped. She begged them to race to the Man’s house, and only when the officer assured Griselda that two cars were en route did she lay her head on the metal table before her, weeping with fear and relief and exhaustion.

How tempting it was to tell Maya the whole story. It would be like stepping off the side of a pool into warm water, free-falling, sinking into the compassion of a friend, then drowning as she faced the awful truth of what had happened.

Her breath was ragged as she inhaled deeply.

“No, Maya.”

Griselda pushed off the bench and fixed a smile on her face as she walked over to the slide.

“Time for lunch, baby,” she called to Prudence. “Playtime’s over.”

***

“You know where my fishing pole’s at, Zelda?” Jonah asked, peeking his head into the bedroom.

Griselda looked up from where she sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head before turning back to the TV.

“Aw, baby. Can’t you try to crack a smile? We ain’t had a vacation in months.”

Actually, they’d never had a vacation. Not in the year they’d been living together. They met when the cable company sent Jonah to her apartment block to check on a faulty connection. He’d buzzed her apartment instead of the super’s, and even though—or maybe because—she suspected he was so mean, they’d started dating that night. He’d been rough the first time they had sex, and she hadn’t liked it, but then he’d held on to her as he fell asleep, and it felt so nice, she didn’t ask him to leave. Mostly, she hated him for his meanness, and she hated herself for liking the moments he was gentle.

To Maya’s point, Griselda wouldn’t let herself be with someone kind and decent. That would mean that while Holden’s life was likely a living hell, she was pursuing a happiness that she didn’t deserve. Being with Jonah made her pay mightily for every embrace, every kind touch. She couldn’t relax or let her guard down. Whatever tenderness she received from him was balanced by his meanness, which was the only reason she allowed it.

Sometimes, when she went days without a kind word or touch from Jonah, she almost likened her time with him to doing penance. Penance was a matter of choice for the transgressor, wasn’t it? It was punishment for the wages of sin. It felt good to do penance, even though punishment hurt by nature, because it moved her life closer to redemption.

But tonight? With a weekend in West Virginia bearing down on her? She just didn’t have the energy for his abuse.

“Maybe I should stay home, Jonah. I just don’t think I’m—”

He crossed the room in a flash, standing before her with his hands on his hips. “You don’t want to spend time with me and our friends?”

She leaned back on her hands to look up at him, crossing one finger over the other. “I do. Of course I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

She scrambled to think up a plausible explanation for not wanting to go to West Virginia. “Wouldn’t it be nice to go away together? Just you and me?”

“Sounds boring as fuck,” he said, pulling a mashed-up pouch out of his back pocket, opening it up, and pinching a wad of brown tobacco between his fingers.

She looked up at him, feeling her eyes flash with a rare show of hurt.

“I don’t know why we’re together,” she mumbled, despising him. Despising herself more.

Tucking the tobacco between his bottom lip and teeth, he grinned at her like a shit-eating baboon. “Because you’re sweet, Zelda. You take care of me. Hell, you suck cock better than any girl I ever met.”

Much like Billy, her tormentor of old, Jonah was a bully. The only child of older and deeply devoted parents, he’d steamrollered them for most of his childhood and adolescence, from what Griselda could piece together. He’d been in trouble for petty crimes once or twice—defacing property and drunk and disorderly conduct, the stories of which he shared with pride—but his parents had always arranged for good lawyers, and Jonah had never served any time.

Griselda had never met his mother and father—they’d passed away two years before she met Jonah—but when she met him, he’d just blown through the life savings they’d left him, and their house, on which he’d failed to pay two years’ worth of taxes, was being repossessed by the bank. He was very handsome and kept himself in good shape. His jokes were crude, which his friends from the cable company liked, and she had to admit that he could be charming, even though he was also self-centered and mean if he didn’t get his way. But when his hands weren’t slapping or grabbing her, they could be gentle and warm. And when he clasped her against his chest in the middle of the night, she could close her eyes and pretend it wasn’t him, lulled to sleep by the soothing whisper of his warm breath against her neck.

Refusing to rise to the bait, she lowered her head and took it, accepting his ugly words and feeling just as dirty as he’d intended. She looked down at her knobby knees, barely covered by her oversize T-shirt.

“Why do you make me say things like that to you?” he asked. “I tell you what . . . you’re contrary today, Zelda. Mrs. Hoity-Toity rubbing off on you?”

She didn’t answer. She clenched her jaw, knowing what was coming.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head up. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m just tired.” She sighed, staring into his mean green eyes. He’d hit her if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, and she wasn’t in the mood for extra pain tonight. Anticipating the trip to West Virginia was painful enough. “I-I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

“That’s better.” He nodded at her, smiling, easing his grip. “I feel better now. Don’t you feel better?”

She nodded once, forcing her lips to tilt up.

Jonah’s hands reached for his belt, the sound of the jangling buckle making her blood run cold as it always did. “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know what I said before? It was a compliment. You’re the best, baby. I mean it. The best. How about you—”

Her stomach rolled just as his phone rang. Wincing with disappointment, Jonah zipped up his fly and took his phone out of his back pocket. His expression brightened immediately. “Shawn! We all set for tomorrow, cocksucker?”

Griselda watched as Jonah pivoted and exited the room without another glance. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she lay back on the bed, tears welling in her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling fan rotating slowly over her head.

***

“Baby, I’m sorry if I made you mad before. I shouldn’t be crude to you.”

Griselda’s eyes fluttered open, and she was surprised to find herself in bed, under the covers, the TV off, the lights out. She’d fallen asleep staring at the fan, and Jonah had tucked her in. Now he held her gently from behind, whispering into her ear tenderly.

“I’m crazy about you, Zelda. Sometimes I feel like I’d die without you.”

She concentrated on the way it felt to be held and tried to block his voice and words out of her ears.

“Don’t you want to go to West Virginia, baby? You ever been there before?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d been dreaming about Holden again, as she did almost every night, and she wiggled her feet under the covers. She could almost feel the dry soil of West Virginia seeping between her toes. They’d been watching the mother deer and her fawn, speckled with spring freckles. Sh-sh-she’s awful pretty, huh, Gris?

Her head pounded, and she clenched her eyes shut. “It’ll be fine.”

“I’m so horny,” Jonah murmured, hardening against her backside. “I want you, Zelda.”

“Shouldn’t we get some sleep?”

“Won’t take but a minute.”

He pulled down her panties just enough for access, pushed her back forward a little, grabbed her hips, and thrust into her unprepared body from behind without permission or warning. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes as he grunted with every thrust, kneading her soft skin to the point of pain. After several minutes, he cried out, his forehead falling into the back of her neck as his grasping fingers relaxed. She felt him come inside her, pulsing hot and wet, as he whispered, “So good. So good. So good, Zelda.”

He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. Not a moment later, the rumble of his snores filled the room.

I didn’t answer you, she thought to herself, his semen dripping onto the sheets as she rolled onto her back and wrapped her arms around her chest.

No, I don’t want to go to West Virginia.

Yes, I’ve been there before.