Brave Girl, Quiet Girl: A Novel

I saw there was something in there that hadn’t been there before. It scared me, even though it was only some folded-up sheets of paper, because nobody should have been in there to leave anything, and besides, I was scared to begin with.

I opened up the papers.

There was just a little last bit of sun coming in at a slant between the boards of the crate, and I sat where it would fall on the paper. There were two sheets, with writing on the front and back—loopy handwriting like the kind they teach you in school.

It said on the first line, “Dear Molly,” so I knew it was for me, and then I got a little panicky again, because nobody was supposed to know I was here. Only Bodhi was supposed to know our spot.

I started reading to see who knew, and what they wanted to say to me.

Dear Molly,

Your friend Denver told me where you might be staying. I went and saw him in jail. At first he didn’t want to tell me, but I think I convinced him that I only wanted to say a better thank you for everything you did for Etta.

I’ve been by every day this week but you’re never here. So maybe he lied about where you are. Or maybe he was mistaken. Or maybe you’re just away during the day like anybody else.

In case it’s that last thing, I’ve decided to leave you this letter. I’m going to write my address and phone number at the end of it. If you ever want to call or come by, you can. And I’ll tell you in person what I really need to say.

In the meantime, the short version is this:

I acted badly on the night I met you. I really didn’t understand the situation yet. I thought you were too slow to get her back to me because I didn’t know what you went through that night. Now I do, and I’d like to try again to say thank you.

The reason I thought you might want to come to my house instead of calling on the phone is this: Remember that policeman? One of the uniformed ones who drove you and Etta back to West LA? He drove us to the hospital that night to get Etta checked out. (She’s fine, by the way.) He said something that seemed strange to me at the time. He said you love Etta. He seemed very sure of that.

I don’t know if you think he’s right about that or not. But if so, I thought you might want to see her again.

But I also know you might not. Might not call or come by, either one. After the way I treated you that night, I wouldn’t blame you.

If that’s the way this works out, then at least I can say this in writing and hope you find this letter and read what I’m about to say.

When Etta was gone and I was waiting to see if I would ever get her back, I said a couple of prayers out into the night. It was a kind of pleading. That whoever had her please be comforting to her, and help her not be too scared.

Now I see that you were the answer to those prayers.

Etta is doing well, by the way. We have a therapist now, and she’s very impressed with the way Etta handled that terrible night. She thinks it’s because you helped her. She thinks you were very mothering with her, and that even though she didn’t have her mother, she had a mother figure to see her through.

So I really owe you one for that.

I hope I get to tell you any and all of this in person. But if not, it’s nobody’s fault but my own.

Etta says your name all the time. And sometimes in her sleep she says, “Brave girl, quiet girl,” and I wonder if she heard that from you.

Thank you,

Etta’s mom, Brooke Hollister

And then underneath she had written her address and her phone number, just like she said she would.

The light was starting to fade and I knew it would get dark soon, so I folded up the letter and stuck it in my pocket and tried not to be scared. But the combination of running into those boys and then somebody finding me here, somebody who knew who I was, well . . . it just kind of had me rattled.

I lay awake for a long time and decided it was nice of her to write me that letter, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to go over there or even call her on the phone. They were lots of pretty words, but I saw what she thought of me that night when I looked into her eyes, and I knew she probably had pretty much the same opinion of me now, even though I think she didn’t know it herself. But I still knew.

I think we all more or less know where we stand with people, whether we like to admit it to ourselves or not.

I guess it was around two nights later, but also maybe it could have been three. Sometimes all the days seem to melt into all the other days, you know? And then who remembers?

Anyway, I’d gotten back with almost nothing to eat, because I hadn’t found enough recycling to buy anything more than a candy bar. I should never eat a candy bar on an empty stomach, because it makes me jumpy and makes it harder to sleep, but then I went and did it anyway.

The plan was to get back, get a little money out of Bodhi’s wallet, and then go out and get some real food. But then when I got there I just crawled into the crate and flopped.

I guess I told myself I was just too tired to go out again, and I’m not saying that’s entirely not true. But also it was dark—not really late, just winter-dark—and