Fragmented (30 page)

“It’s been nice. I got to see some old friends from high school, and we went over to my Aunt Susan’s for Thanksgiving dinner. Tomorrow we’ll go to a tree farm and get a Christmas tree.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. Picking out and decorating the Christmas tree was one of my favorite things growing up. It’s a little more difficult now because of the chair, but it’s still fun.”

I hummed in agreement. It was hard not to picture Raleigh, bundled up and with an attractive blush on her cheeks from the cold. She seemed like a Christmas carol and hot chocolate kind of girl.

“How’s your Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“It’s been good so far,” I confirmed. “I had a big dinner with my aunt and uncle tonight, and tomorrow I’m visiting my mom.”

“You’re in Memphis?” Her voice revealed her surprise.

“After our fight I, uh, I didn’t feel like being alone.”

“Harper—”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Before you say anything else, I have to apologize.” I sat up in bed and pushed out a readying breath. “You were right to be mad. I do have a lot of secrets. And lying and hiding the truth about my life, about my past, has become second nature to me. I’ve never had someone in my life who I felt comfortable sharing those things with.” I paused to lick my dry lips. “Until you.”

I fell silent and waited for her response, but she was quiet on the other line.

I cleared my throat in nervousness. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“What are you thinking?” I openly worried.

“I’m thinking that honesty and good communication are the foundation for every solid relationship,” she started. “And up until now, I don’t think we've had either of those."

My heart dropped in my stomach at her words. “I’m sorry I kept things from you,” I apologized again. “I want to be better. I want to gain your trust again. If you’ll let me.”

“You’re complicated, Harper.” She sighed into the phone. “But you’re awfully sweet, too.”

“More sweet than complicated?” I tried hopefully.

Her chuckle vibrated in my ear. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I miss you,” I said, unfiltered.

“I miss you, too, Harp.” Her tone was so genuine and honey sweet, it made me warm all over. “When will you be back in Chicago?”

“I’m taking the train back on Sunday. You?”

“Same. Only I’m taking a plane.”

I sighed out deeply. “So I guess I have to wait until Monday at school to see you.”

“Unless you take a train up to Boston.”

I groaned at the proposal. It was a no brainer; I’d much rather spend time with her than visit my mom, even if it meant spending an excessive amount of time on a train. “You have no idea how much I wish I could.”

“I know it’s not a very practical request.”

“And we all know I’m a practical person,” I grumbled.

“Stop it,” she admonished. “You know I like that about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I immediately felt lighter, like the gorilla in the room was no longer sitting on my chest. Maybe I hadn’t ruined everything.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Olive and Jerret were already awake when I finally dragged myself out of bed the next morning. Olive was at the stovetop and Jerret sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the weekly newspaper
.

“Morning, Harpoon,” he greeted between sips from his ceramic mug.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at the store for the Black Friday rush?” I observed.

“People who buy records like to sleep in,” he reasoned.

Olive laughed. “More like people who
sell
records like to sleep in.”

I plopped down in an empty chair and helped myself to a cup of coffee.

Olive set a plate in front of me and stacked it high with cornmeal pancakes. “Sleep okay, sweetie?”

“I suppose so,” was my vague reply. I’d been nervous about the prospect of seeing my mother in the morning, but talking to Raleigh had helped quiet the nervous thoughts in my head enough for a dreamless sleep.

“Were you on the phone last night?” she asked.

“Yeah, for a little while. Why?”

“I thought I heard giggling coming from your room. Did you and this mystery person you’re dating reconcile?”

“Maybe.” I began shoveling pancakes into my mouth and washed them down with hot coffee.

“Maybe?” Olive echoed. “More secrets?”

“No,” I stubbornly insisted around my food. “But we only talked on the phone. I won’t know if we’re okay until I get back to Chicago.”
And can kiss her again,
I silently added.

“What time are you heading over to see your mom?” Jerret asked, changing the subject. He’d never been a fan of conflict or confrontation, or maybe the idea of me being old enough to date made him uncomfortable.

“As soon as I get ready.”

“I can take the bus to the store if you wanna drive the wagon,” Jerret offered. He and Olive shared a car—a beat-up station wagon whose trunk area was perpetually filled with records. “You could swing by the store afterwards and pick me up.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” I agreed. It would be nice to see the store filled with people and music and alcohol. And I might need a drink depending on how my visit with my mom went.

After cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I cleaned up myself and headed out to Riverside Estates. I parked the ancient station wagon in the large visitor parking lot adjacent to the front entrance. It looked more full than I remembered, no doubt on account of the holiday.

“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” The white uniformed orderly opened the door for me as he’d done each time before.

“Don’t you ever go home?” I shot back good naturedly.

“And miss out on the chance to see your smiling face?” he smoothly returned.

“Charming,” I murmured as I passed through the door. He was attractive, but harmless, and I was sure he’d settled more than a few anxious visitors with his easy demeanor and infectious grin.

I checked in at the front desk and went in search of my mother. I had been nervous all morning, not sure what to expect when I saw her. I couldn’t know which version of her would be waiting for me until we were face-to-face.

I hovered in the open doorway outside of my mother’s room. She sat on a twin-sized mattress covered in a thin blue blanket. Her red-haired nurse, Thelma, sat in a nearby chair.

I cleared my throat to garner their attention. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

My mother’s head whipped around at the sound of my voice. “Harper!”

I exhaled. She knew who I was today. “Hey, Mama.”

My mom fussed with her hair. “No one told me you were coming today. I look like a mess.” I was there early enough that her nurse hadn’t helped her through her morning rituals yet.

I took a step inside the room. “You look beautiful as always, Mama.”

She smiled and seemed to be satisfied with my response.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I repeated.

“You too, baby. What are you doing here?”

“I thought maybe I could spend the day with you,” I said.

“Really?” Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

I made eye contact with Thelma. “Is that allowed?” My trip to Memphis had been so last minute, I hadn’t thought to call ahead to see if my mother’s schedule would allow for the visit. She might have had therapy or other planned activities I was interrupting.

Thelma stood up. “I’ll go talk to Dr. Primrose. I’m sure we can rearrange some things.” She smiled warmly and squeezed my elbow as she walked past me and left us alone in the room with each other.

“I like your room.”

My mother had a single room, which I guessed cost extra since her condition didn’t necessitate that she live on her own. A roommate might actually have been nice. The room had only one window, but it was large and allowed a good amount of natural light to cheer up the otherwise drab, nondescript room.

“You do?” She wrung her hands on her lap. “Don’t you think it’s a little plain?”

The residential program had dedicated spaces for recreation, art, music, and television, so I imagined there was no need for computers or televisions in patients’ rooms to help pass the time.

“Nothing a little wall art couldn’t liven up,” I proposed. Nothing hung on the white walls and no framed pictures decorated the flat surfaces like the wardrobe in a far corner of the room.

My mom’s face lit up. “We have an art room down the hallway. I paint there sometimes.”

The suggestion reminded me of something I’d been meaning to ask my mom. August Moreland was in police custody, but he had told the detectives that someone had hired him to follow me. That person was still out there. I wondered if they knew August Moreland had been apprehended, and if so, how long until the harassment began again?

“Mama, who else have you told about Ruby?”

She squinted her pale eyes. “Ruby?”

“You drew me a picture of her once, remember? Ruby. It’s the name you gave to …” I trailed off. Her face told me she had no idea what I was talking about, so there was no point in asking her about it. Ruby must have only manifested on her bad days.

“Never mind,” I dismissed. “It’s not important.”

I could tell she knew I was withholding information, but our time together was rare and precious. There was no need to dredge up ugliness when we were having such a nice time.

There was a quiet knock on the doorjamb, and I looked in the direction of the sound to see my mother’s therapist, Dr. Primrose.

“I heard you were here,” she said, “but I had to see for myself.”

“Hey, Dr. Primrose. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you as well, Harper. I’m happy you were able to come back for the holiday.”

I grasped my mother’s hand. “Me, too,” I smiled. “I hope I’ll be able to make these visits more frequent once I’m done with school.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment in private?” the doctor asked.

The smile slipped from my face. “Of course.” I patted my mom’s hand and told her I’d be right back before following the doctor out into the corridor.

I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “What’s up?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

Dr. Promise looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of your mom, but your brother has been late on his payments to the program. We’ve written him and have called, but it seems like he’s been avoiding us.”

“I’ve actually been trying to get a hold of Damien, too,” I noted. “How behind is he?”

“About three months,” Dr. Primrose said grimly. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue to care for your mother much longer if her bills continue to go unpaid. There are other programs in the state that are more affordable if money has become an issue.”

I held up my hands to stop her. “I know. And you probably know that my mom has tried practically all of them with no result. Riverside Estates has been the only place where she hasn’t had a major setback. I’ll talk to Damien today.”

“I’m sure you can appreciate how uncomfortable a situation this is. I’m a therapist, not a debt collector.”

“No, thank you for letting me know. I had no idea Damien was so behind. I’ll have my mom’s debts settled before I go back to Chicago on Sunday, I promise.”

“Thank you, Harper.”

“One more question, Doctor.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Does my mom talk about Ruby often? Often enough that the nurses or maybe even other patients know about her?”

“I don’t know if it’s healthy to discuss this as though Ruby was a real person.”

“I know she’s not real,” I said with mounting frustration. “But I still have my question.”

The doctor folded her arms across her chest. “Your mother only discusses Ruby on her bad days. I don’t think she knows that she’s named her illness when she’s lucid.” That would explain the confused look on her face when I’d asked her about it. “Patients say a lot of strange things on bad days, and I imagine that most staff have learned to tune all the nonsense out. I can’t speak for the other patients though. Does that answer your question?”