Fragmented (16 page)

The e-mail address looked fake. It was a free account with a seemingly random set of numbers and letters preceding the “at” symbol. I clicked on the message and its attached photograph. Someone laughed and I looked up sharply, worried they might be looking at me. I tried to block out the surrounding noises and I enlarged the window and zoomed in on the picture’s details, looking for any clues as to where the photo had been taken. There were really no distinguishing features, however. The pumpkin was sitting on a cracked concrete sidewalk which could have been anywhere in the city. A sliver of grass was visible, littered with cigarette butts.

I retrieved my phone from my jacket pocket and pulled up the most recent text message. No one knew about the pumpkin and Harvestfest except for myself, Raleigh, and probably Raleigh’s aunt. Was this supposed to be a joke? Had Raleigh somehow gotten my pumpkin from the trunk of my car and held onto the picture until midterms to cheer me up or make me laugh? If so, why wouldn’t she have messaged me from her number or her student e-mail account? I couldn’t think of one reasonable explanation. And if it wasn’t from Raleigh, then who?

I briefly considered e-mailing or texting the person back, but I didn’t want to fuel the fire. Instead, I deleted the text and flagged the e-mail as SPAM so my e-mail client would filter out future messages from that address. I wanted to do more investigative work, but I didn’t have time. I had an exam to take.

I was one of the first people to arrive in the psychology lecture hall after lunch. I took my regular seat near the aisle and scanned over my notes to stuff last minute information into my brain.

I only looked up from my study aide when I heard the hinged desktop of the adjacent seat swing down.

“Productive lunch?” Raleigh asked.

“Not really,” I admitted. “How was your lunch with Andrew?” I tried to sound disinterested, but the question came out a little sharper than I had intended.

“We didn’t have lunch; he just walked me to my next class.”

I clenched and unclenched my jaw, willing the Green Eyed Monster to chill out. I had other, more pressing matters to investigate. “Random question: what did you do with the pumpkin you painted at Harvestfest?”

She arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting my question. “I put it on the front porch at my aunt’s.”

“Is it still there?”

“No. She threw it in the garbage.” Raleigh tucked her lower lip between her top and bottom rows of teeth. “Do you remember that day when I missed anatomy because my aunt and I had a fight?”

I nodded. I’d been worried she’d missed class because I’d done something at Harvestfest to offend her.

“That’s what we were fighting about.”

“A pumpkin?”

“My aunt doesn’t celebrate Halloween because of religious reasons. She told me she didn’t want my Satan-worshipping pumpkin to taint her Christian home.” Raleigh hung her head. “In hindsight I realize now what a ridiculous fight it was, but at the time it had felt really important that she not get her way.”

I immediately felt like a jerk for even entertaining the thought that Raleigh had something to do with the mystery text and e-mail.

“Can we hang out on Saturday?” I asked. “I owe you a scary movie marathon.”

Her smile was slow to appear, but when it did, the wait was worth it. “Yeah. That would be great.”

I slapped my palm to my forehead. “Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered I have to babysit on Saturday. The couple I nanny for have a wedding to go to, so I’m watching their daughter.”

“Okay,” she lightly laughed. I was sure she found it bizarre that I’d invited her to do something and then canceled in nearly the same breath. “Some other time then.”

“You wouldn’t want to babysit with me, would you?”

“Is that allowed?”

“The Henderson’s won’t mind. And I know Sasha would love to meet you.”

Raleigh’s warm smile made my heart flutter. “Then I would love to meet Sasha, too.”

+ + +

When I got home that night, I walked directly to my parked car and opened the trunk. The pumpkin was definitely gone. If I had been a Glass Half Full kind of girl, I would have been thankful that there wasn’t a rotting pumpkin stinking up my trunk. But that was the only positive outcome when I had to consider that someone had broken into my car. It was Chicago and in not even the safest neighborhoods could you guarantee that your car wouldn’t get broken into.

There was no sign of forced entry and no indication of how anyone could have accessed the trunk of my car. There was also no reason anyone would have known there had been a pumpkin in my trunk unless they’d seen me put it in there.

My first year living in the city, I’d forgotten to lock my car doors one night and someone had gotten away with all of my CDs and a new pair of running shoes. I hadn’t bothered to call the police or campus safety about it though; it was my own fault for having left the car unlocked, and it wasn’t like I could realistically expect any law enforcement agency to track down my gym shoes. Maybe I’d forgotten to lock my car doors again, but the only thing they’d found was a pumpkin.

I tried to not over-think or worry about the two strange messages. It was probably just a friend messing with me, so I chalked it up to a random occurrence and pushed it from my mind. I had more midterms that week to worry about. This situation with the painted pumpkin would have to take a back seat.

The roar of a gas-guzzling engine pulled my attention away from pumpkins and e-mails and who might have broken into my trunk. The candy red muscle car—the same car Jenn had yelled at and the car I’d seen in the Harvest Festival parking lot—idled in the middle of the street. Its bright headlights prevented me from seeing the driver clearly. All I could make out was the hulking form behind the steering wheel.

I slammed the trunk of my car closed and stiffly shouldered my bag. Instead of heading to my house, I bypassed my apartment and ducked into an alley to wait for the vehicle to pass me. After a few minutes of not seeing the car, I poked my head out from between the two brick buildings. The red car was parallel parked on one side of the street and its lights and engine were turned off.

Get a grip
,
Harper
, I mentally shook myself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The concrete stairs that led up to the front of the Henderson's two-story brownstone had been an oversight. It was only four steps, but it might as well have been a mountain. Raleigh was silent beside me as we both looked up at the incline to reach the porch.

My brain churned, working to figure out a solution. “There’s a garage entrance on the ground level, but there’s more stairs to get inside,” I thought out loud. “I could try carrying you, or I could ask Mr. Henderson to help. He’s a cop and he’s huge. I bet he could pick you up no problem.”

Raleigh touched her fingers lightly to my wrist, pausing my ramble. “I’ve got this,” she said quietly.

“But how—”

“I’ve got this,” she cut me off, her voice sharper than before.

Raleigh reversed her chair until her back wheels touched the outer edge of the bottom step. She twisted at her torso and reached backwards as far as she could and grabbed onto the black metal railing. She brought her free hand across her body and curled her fingers around the wheel closest to the railing. I watched in frozen amazement as she tugged herself up the stairs, one step at a time. She timed it just right, leaning back in the chair at the same moment that she pulled on the stair railing and the wheel of her chair, until she was on the elevated stoop.

“That was … wow.” It was probably no big deal to her, but it was singularly the most amazing accomplishment I’d ever been witness to.

Raleigh released a long, shaky breath. “Thanks.” She shook out her arms and clenched and unclenched her hands. “That was quite the work out.”

I had a key to the Henderson’s house, but with them both home, I never liked to just let myself inside. I pressed the doorbell, and Raleigh and I waited on the front stoop.

Mr. Henderson answered the door seconds later. I rarely saw him in anything but his police uniform, but tonight he wore a meticulously tailored black suit. “Harper!” he greeted me with a broad smile. His eyes scanned over my face and then fell to Raleigh’s. “And this must be the friend you were telling us about. It’s nice to meet you.”

Raleigh looked up at me. “You talk about me?”

I cleared my throat and hoped the heat I felt creeping onto my cheeks wasn’t visible. “Only to ask them if I could bring you with me.”

The awkwardness of the exchange went over Mr. Henderson’s head and he stepped back to let us in. There was a slight lip of weather stripping around the entryway, and I nearly stumbled over myself to help Raleigh hurdle the obstacle until I remembered she’d just scaled stairs by herself. She was perfectly capable.

Mrs. Henderson’s high heels clicked down the wooden staircase. Like her husband, she had ditched her usual garb for something more formal. The dark blue material of her evening dress contrasted attractively with her skin tone.

“You guys look fantastic,” I appraised.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Henderson.” Raleigh chimed in. “Thank you for letting me keep Harper company tonight.”

“You’re charming,” my employer smiled. “I’m glad Harper brought you along.”

“Where’s Sasha?” I asked, craning my neck to spot my tiny charge.

“She’s up in her room pouting,” Mrs. Henderson revealed with a shake of her head. “I think she wanted to get dressed up tonight like Mom and Dad.”

“That’s adorable,” I heard Raleigh mumble under her breath.

Mr. Henderson grabbed their jackets from the coat closet in the entryway while his wife gave me my instructions for the night.

“There’s money pinned to the fridge for pizza.” Mrs. Henderson was one of those parents who didn’t allow soda and sugar in her pantry, but it was Chicago, so pizza was often on the dinner menu. “And the number for the reception hall is by the kitchen phone. It’s out in Schaumberg, but if you need us, we’re only a phone call away."

After a few more instructions, the Henderson’s left for their event, leaving Raleigh and me on our own. When the front door closed, I was acutely aware that this was the first time we'd been alone outside of her aunt's house since Jenn and I had broken up. But we weren't really alone, I remembered.

“Sasha!” I called up the stairs. I listened, but heard no reply. “I’ll be right back,” I said, already bounding up the steps, “hopefully with child in tow.”

The second floor of the Henderson's brownstone was filled with closed doors, but I knew there was a closet that served as the laundry room, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson’s bedroom, an extra bathroom, and Sasha’s room. I knocked on Sasha’s bedroom door. “You in there, kiddo?”

I still didn’t get a reply, but I pushed the door open anyway. Sasha was sitting on the edge of her bed, legs swinging back and forth. Instead of her usual outfit of shirt and jeans, she was wearing a frilly dress.

“You gonna hang out in here all night?”

She stared at her shoes. “Maybe.”

“I brought a friend with me. Why don’t you come downstairs and meet her?”

“Can I wear my dress?”

“As long as you promise not to get pizza on it.”

She finally looked up. “Pizza?”

“Don’t tell me you’re not a fan?” I said with mock ignorance.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Raleigh.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“I know. But let’s not tell her that,” I winked.

Sasha hopped up from her bed. “Where is she?”

“Downstairs. But, Sash...” I thought about prepping Sasha and telling her about the wheelchair. I knew Sasha would have questions—she was a pretty inquisitive kid—but I didn’t want to make the wheelchair a big deal. I was out of my element. I didn’t know how to explain why Raleigh couldn’t walk without it turning into an anatomy lesson.

Sasha didn’t wait for me. Her dress shoes noisily clomped down the wooden staircase. Her steps halted on the stairs, and I heard a sharp gasp.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sasha’s voice filtered up the staircase to the second floor.

I swooped out of her bedroom. What a disaster. I should have prepared her for who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

Sasha squealed with excitement just as my feet hit the top step. “Your friend brought Candy Land!” She held the board game box above her head like it was a trophy.