Hold Me Close

Polly rolled her eyes but ran her finger down the rest of the list. Her small mouth pursed, her brow furrowed. She looked a lot like Effie’s mom when she did that, and a wave of love for her daughter forced Effie to the sink so she wasn’t caught being all mushy. Sometimes Effie wondered if in her pursuit of not being too attentive, too hovering, she’d somehow ruined Polly. The girl was blessedly and casually independent, not at all clingy or a hugger. Still, not needing someone and not believing they would be there to help you when you needed it were two very different things, and although it never seemed as if Polly didn’t trust Effie to take care of her, there were plenty of times Effie felt as though she’d come up short in the parenting department.

Polly paused with her finger on the paper. “I could grow plants in different soils with different kinds of water. Like, with acid and stuff.”

“Acid, that sounds pretty dangerous.” Effie scrubbed at the paint under her fingernails. She’d been working on a commissioned piece and was hating it, which was why she’d still been painting when Polly got home. Usually she tried to be finished by the time school ended so she could spend time with her kid. Procrastination, thy name was “Chuck Norris Riding a Unicorn.”

“Not, like, superbad acid, Mom. Like, I dunno. Baking soda or whatever.”

“Baking soda is acid? Since when?”

Polly shrugged. “How about I could try to design a thing for an egg that protects it from breaking when you drop it off a roof?”

“Does that involve you going up onto a roof to drop things off it?” Effie scrubbed a little harder, looking over her shoulder.

Polly grinned. “Maybe.”

“Also no way. You’re the kid who broke her leg tripping over a shadow on the sidewalk. I’m not letting you up on the roof.” Drying her hands, Effie turned to lean against the counter. “Can’t you pick something easy and delicious, like testing different types of chocolate chip recipes to see how they change when you add or subtract vital ingredients?”

“Is that on the list?” Polly shook the papers.

“I have no idea, but if it’s not, it should be.” Effie came closer to look over Polly’s shoulder. “It would be fun. And I could be your taste tester.”

“You don’t eat cookies with chocolate chips in them,” Polly said matter-of-factly, then paused. The girl had always worn her emotions all over her face. She looked scared now, and sad, and Effie’s heart sank.

“What is it, Pollywog?”

“Meredith Ross said... She said...” Polly caught her breath and bit her upper lip with sharp white teeth.

Meredith Ross was a shitty little princess diva whose mother had gone to school with Effie. Delores Gonzalez had been a few years older than Effie, but she’d lived two houses down from Effie’s parents, so the walk back and forth to school had often been made only a few steps behind her. Effie had very vivid memories of the back of Dee’s head. They’d never been friends. Dee had been there the day Effie came home. The entire neighborhood had turned out to welcome Effie with a party like something out of a nightmare. It had been her father’s idea, God bless him. He’d meant well. He’d had no idea how hard it would be for Effie to come back home and face all those people.

This wasn’t the first time Polly had complained about Meredith. Once, when Effie was eight and Dee ten, the older girl had made fun of Effie’s favorite dress. It sounded as if Dee’s daughter was following in her mother’s footsteps. Effie kept her expression neutral, though. Polly already looked on the verge of tears.

“What did she say?”

Polly ducked her head. Her shoulders heaved on a sigh. She shook her head, not speaking.

It wasn’t like her to be so reticent. Effie pulled up the chair next to Polly’s. Their knees touched. She took both of Polly’s hands.

“Hey. Tell me what’s going on.”

Polly shook again, this time with silent, wrenching sobs. When she looked at Effie, blue eyes wide and confused, Effie’s heart broke. She pulled Polly close, stroking the girl’s blond hair over and over.

“Mama, is Heath my dad?”

Effie paused as her fingers snagged in Polly’s hair. She untangled them gently and squeezed her daughter harder. “No, honey. No.”

“Meredith said Heath is your brother, and that he’s my dad! Both!” Polly’s voice broke, agonized. She pushed away to stare at Effie. Her mouth worked. Her cheeks had flushed crimson.

“Oh, Polly. Honey...no. Heath isn’t your dad. He loves you very much, but he’s not your dad. And he’s not my brother.” Her voice hitched on that word. Brother. Sister. Daddy. She tried so hard never to think about Heath in that way, no matter how many times she’d been forced to call him that. Effie grabbed a couple of paper napkins to wipe Polly’s face. “Why did Meredith even say such a thing?”

“Because she’s a bitch!”

Effie choked back laughter and made her voice stern. “Polly.”

“She’s jealous because I got invited to Sam Walsh’s party, and she didn’t. Because she’s mean, that’s all. And Sam’s mom said she could only have four friends over, and I was one of them. But Meredith got mad.” Polly sniffled. “So she told everyone that Heath is your brother and I’m his kid. She said it was illegal and gross, and that I was probably deformed, because that’s what happens when brothers and sisters have kids together.”

Effie’s stomach turned over. “Polly. No. I promise you, Heath is not my brother. If he was, then Nana would be his mom, right?”

Polly sniffled again but looked relieved. “Yeah. And Nana doesn’t like him.”

“No, she doesn’t.” There was no point in lying about it.

“Because something happened when you were younger,” Polly said with some more confidence.

Effie hesitated. She’d never discussed with Polly what had happened to her from the ages of thirteen to sixteen. She’d meant to when Polly got older, probably when she was closer to thirteen herself, but she was only eleven now. There hadn’t seemed a need to get into the details. It was actually something of a surprise that nobody had ever told her anything about it before now.

“Yes. That’s why Nana doesn’t like him,” Effie said.

“It happened to you and Heath together?”

Effie nodded. “Yes.”

Polly frowned and plucked at the hem of her shirt before looking at her mother. “Meredith said the only reason you ever sell any paintings is because people on the internet are perverts.”

“Meredith Ross needs to keep her mouth shut, and so does her mother.” Effie’s voice rose, and she forced herself to calm. “Don’t listen to her, honey, okay? She’s a jealous little brat. You don’t need to worry about my paintings or anything else. It’s none of her business. You just concentrate on being the best Polly you can be, and ignore her.”

Polly didn’t look entirely mollified, but she nodded. Effie hugged her again, squeezing tight before letting her go. She held the girl’s shoulders gently for a moment, though, looking closely at her daughter’s face.

“If she gives you any trouble, Polly, you tell me. I’ll talk to the teacher.”

“No!” Polly looked alarmed. “Mom, no. Don’t do that, I’ll get called a tattletale.”

“Is she telling everyone this stuff?”

Polly shook her head. “I don’t think so. And if she did, I’d just tell them it’s not true. Because it isn’t. Right?”

“Right.” Still angry but not showing it, Effie looked over Polly’s list with her as they tried to settle on a project. Leaving it to be decided another time, she shooed her kid off to watch an hour of television before dinner.

Her phone buzzed with a call she picked up without looking to see who it was. Expecting her mother or Heath, Effie was ready to launch into a bitter tirade against tween girl bullies but stopped short at the sound of a male voice. “Oh. Mitchell. Hey.”

“Hi, Effie. Is this a bad time?”

She looked at the pot of water she was boiling to make boxed macaroni and cheese. “I’m just putting together a gourmet feast for me and my kid. How are you?”

“Good, good. I thought I’d give you a call. See if you wanted to chat.”

Effie hesitated. “I’m kind of in the middle of some things. Maybe later tonight?”

“Oh, sure. Dinner and stuff. Right. I should’ve thought.” Mitchell laughed softly. “Bachelorhood tends to make you forget about things like regular mealtimes.”