Authors: Kristan Higgins
“Dude,” he said, “you paid for it.”
“You’ve earned it. For putting up with me.”
He gave me a sudden smile. “Please. I’m not that pathetic.” He stood up. “Well, I guess I’ll get my shit outta here.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said yet again.
“Ah, don’t worry. But hey, dude. You mind if I tell everyone it was because you’re a heartless bitch and stuff, and not that you fell for your ex?” He must’ve realized that
heartless bitch
was less than flattering, because he pulled a face. “Sorry. Never mind.”
“Den, you can tell people whatever you want,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. Thanks, dude. And hey. You can keep the rattail.”
“Oh. Uh, thanks, Den.” I smiled, then stood up and gave him a gentle hug.
An hour later, Dennis had loaded up his new truck with the still-unpacked garbage bags of clothes.
“I do have to thank you on this,” he stated, patting the truck’s door. “I’m wicked psyched about this truck. Got a totally sweet deal on it.”
“That’s good, then,” I said.
He got behind the wheel. “All right. Guess that’s it. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” I whispered, and it was true. Sweet, good-hearted Dennis had been easy and fun and pleasant. We would’ve had a nice life together, had gorgeous kids, probably wouldn’t have fought much.
Or maybe we’d have sat there at night, watching the Sox and stealing looks at each other and thinking,
Is this it?
Either way, I’d never find out.
Besides, Dennis deserved someone who loved him with her whole heart. And that, it seemed, was beyond my reach. I wasn’t cut out for couplehood, or marriage, or even children. I didn’t have what it takes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I
WAS NOT THE WALLOWING
type. No, I was much more the
work till three in the morning
type, and so, for the rest of the weekend, I sentenced myself to hard physical labor. I cleaned. Furiously. Bleach and ammonia cleaning (not combined…I wasn’t suicidal). When my house was free from every grain of sand, every speck of dust and every spore of mold, I decided (at 9:30 p.m.) that the deck could use sanding and got to work on that, too.
Coco watched, her eyes bright, head cocked. “Just doing a little repair work,” I called from the roof on Sunday afternoon. “All good.”
Kim came over to grill me about Nick, but I told her I was fine. “You know what?” I said from my perch on the ladder as I polished the ceiling fan. “Sometimes I think people want more than other people are capable of giving. And you know, Nick…he’s…I…” My breath started to hitch. “Just because you have feelings for someone doesn’t mean you get to live happily ever after.” That made sense. That was true, wasn’t it? Not the stuff of romantic movies, but valid.
“I don’t know. I think if you love each other…”
“We tend to go down in flames, Nick and I,” I blurted. “I don’t like burning. Burning hurts. Burning is painful. I’d rather…just…I’d rather just stay here and clean. Crotch! These lightbulbs are a crime against humanity. Have you ever seen such filthy lightbulbs?”
“You want dirty, I can bring the boys over. Then you will know dirt, and you and dirt will be one.”
Relieved that she was letting me off the hook, I continued on my Windex tour, and when I ran out of house to clean, I went over to Kim’s and tackled her kitchen as thanks.
The image of Nick getting into the cab kept flashing across my brain like a razor cut, fast and sharp and painless, at least for a second, right before all the blood tried to gush out. Then a rogue wave of…something…would threaten to knock me down and my heart rattled and clattered, my hands shook, and I backed away from that thought as fast as I could. Found something else to clean or wax or iron or nail. Turned on the TV. The radio, too.
But memories kept head-butting the door of my resolve. Nick with his head in my lap after we’d found his father…his smile as we lay in bed talking…the way his face lit up when I walked out of the Bismarck airport and over to his car…and the wave of despair and love threatened to knock me down and keep me underwater. So when those memories knocked and clattered, I shoved them away. I had to. And I was practiced at that sort of locking away. I’d been doing that most of my life, and at least this way, I was safe. Besides, I wasn’t capable of giving real, lasting, wholehearted love. I’d proven that, hadn’t I? I was my mother’s girl, after all. Stunted.
On Monday, I kissed Coco, made sure she had her bunny and enough chew toys to occupy her and drove to work. No bike today. Though I’d missed the Vineyard during time away, I barely saw the bayberry bushes and rock walls as I drove toward Edgartown. The sun beat down, the breeze was gentle, the smell of coffee wafted down the street from the bustling little café. It was a beautiful day, I noted automatically. Just wasted on me.
“Well, well, well, look who’s back!” Theo thundered as I walked into the old captain’s house that housed Bain-brook, Bainbrook & Howe. “Wonderful to see you. Did you really have that much vacation time coming? Don’t ever leave us again. Did you know I had to talk to a
client
last week? I haven’t done that for years!” He gripped me by the shoulders and gazed happily into my face. “Well. Nice chat. Back to work!” He did a little soft-shoe back into his office and his beloved indoor putting green.
“You good?” Carol asked, handing me a sheaf of messages.
“So good,” I lied. “You?”
“Never better.”
“Great.” So much for all the gushing and catching up. “Carol, see if you can get Judge McMurtry’s new clerk on the phone, okay? I’ll also need the Denver file. “
“Yes, master,” Carol replied. “Anything else I can do? Wipe your ass? Chew your food and regurgitate it so you don’t have to work so hard?”
“That’d be super,” I said. “But first the call and the file, Carol.” I went into my office, and the fake good cheer I’d summoned slipped away.
My office was very pleasant. Diplomas on the wall. Flowers delivered each Monday. A landscape by a local artist in soothing colors, meant to ease the battered hearts whose owners sat here, weeping or furious or numb…the walking wounded who chose poorly, or couldn’t figure out how to compromise, or how to commit to a relationship, or how to accept love…or give it.
Well. Back to work, helping once-happy couples split up. Speaking of, I needed to check in with Willa and see if she wanted to file for divorce. Crap. Maybe I should let her tough this one out on her own.
I also had to see BeverLee. I’d called her twice over the weekend, but my father had been present both times—I could tell because Bev was overly chipper, booming her colloquialisms into the phone. Willa was staying there for the time being, and Bev had her hands full comforting her daughter. So Bev and I hadn’t really talked, and we needed to. But the same swell of panic that thoughts of Nick inspired…it happened when I thought of BeverLee leaving the island, too.
I
T TOOK ME A COUPLE
of days to really get back in the swing of things. I had lunch with Father Bruce one rainy afternoon, back at Offshore Ale, since the good father liked to have a beer with his burger. He mercifully stayed silent when I told him Dennis and I had parted ways; just nodded, patted my hand, then went on to tell me about the seven couples he had in the pre-Cana class.
“Maybe I could swing by,” I found myself offering.
“Like the angel of death?” the priest suggested, taking a sip of his pale ale.
“Voice of wisdom, I was thinking.” I paused, toying with my straw. “You know. Give them a little insight into why so many couples…don’t make it.”
“And why do you think that is?” he asked gently.
To my surprise, there were tears in my eyes. “I have no idea,” I whispered. “Really?”
“Well, I thought it sounded better than ‘People are fucked up,’ you being a priest and all.”
He smiled. “Everyone’s messed up,” he said. “Note my editing, as I am a man of the cloth and only swear on special occasions. Speaking of that, I have to run. Giving a talk on the priesthood as a vocation.”
“And best of luck with that,” I said. “I’ll get the check, since you’re facing Mission Impossible and despite the fact that the Catholic church is the wealthiest—”
“Oh, stop. I’ve heard it all before,” he said, patting my shoulder as he slid out of the booth. “Thanks for lunch, Harper. Let’s talk soon.”
When I got back to work, where I’d been logging some serious hours since my return (much to Theo’s unadulterated delight), Tommy was standing in front of my desk like a kid about to be caned by the headmaster.
“Hey,” I said, hanging up my trench coat. “How’s it going?”
Tommy didn’t look at me. “I’d like you to handle my divorce,” he said.
I froze. “But—”
“She’s still sleeping with that guy. The night I came to your party, she hooked up with him. I’m an idiot, and I’m tired of it. So handle my divorce, okay, Harper? Because I just can’t take this anymore.”
And even though I knew this had been coming, even though I never had any faith in Meggie, even though I knew Tommy would learn from this and grow and hopefully find someone who deserved him…even so, my heart broke.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I hesitated for just a second, then went over to him and hugged him. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”
For a long time, I patted his back as he cried, as if he were a little baby, even if he was six-foot-four and I was anything but maternal. All my lines—the heart needing time, the head knowing, the euthanization of a dying relationship—they just weren’t enough. Tommy had loved his wife, and she didn’t love him back the same way, and all the logic in the world didn’t make that feel better.
Later that day, I went into Theo’s office and closed the door behind me. “I need a word, Boss,” I said.
“Of course, my dear,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You have four minutes.” He was dressed in a lime-green polo shirt and eye-numbing plaid shorts.
“Hitting the links, are we?”
Theo smiled smugly. “Yes. Senator Lewis is in town, dodging the press.”
“What did he do this time?”
“Apparently he found his soul mate.”
“Oh, dear,” I said.
“Mmm-hmm. And she posted their special moments on the Internet. Over three million hits in two hours alone. A proud day.”
“Young love,” I said, though Senator Lewis was well into his seventies. Made one wonder just who those three million were and why they wanted to burn their souls by watching the withered shanks of a fat white dude getting it on with his former cleaning lady.
“So what is it, dear? Three minutes, twenty seconds.”
“Right. Theo, I’d like to branch out.”
“From what, Harper?” Theo took a club out of his golf bag and mimicked a putt.
“From divorce law.”
He looked up, horrified. “What? Why? No!”
“I’m a little burned out, Theo. I’d still do some, but…it’s taking a toll.”
“Not you! I thought you were different! You really get it! Sometimes our hearts just need time to accept what our heads already know. “
I inhaled slowly. “Right. But sometimes our heads are just full of crap, Theo.”
He looked at me, puzzled. “Well, of course, Harper. What’s your point?”
“I need to branch out. Or quit.”
He recoiled, dropping his putter or driver or whatever it was. “Don’t even speak the words! Oh, you evil blackmailer! Fine. Whatever you want.”
“Partner,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to be partner, too.”
Theo sank into his chair. “Well, well. Would a raise suffice?”
I smiled, the first genuine smile in ages. “No.”
J
UST BEFORE
C
AROL LEFT
for the day, she popped into my office. “This came for you. Sorry. It was in with some other papers.” She handed me an envelope.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it absentmindedly while I clicked through my computer. “Have a good evening, Carol.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She closed the door behind her.
I finished with my email, then took a look at what Carol had given me. Hand-addressed, care of the law firm. No return address.
The postmark was from South Dakota.
All the air suddenly seemed sucked from the room.
Slowly, slowly, my hands shaking impressively, I slid the letter opener under the envelope flap and cut it open. Unfolded the letter very carefully, smoothing it out. A one hundred dollar bill fell onto my lap. I took a deep breath, held it, then let it out and looked at the letter. The handwriting was round and loopy, and despite not having seen it for so long, I recognized it immediately.
Dear Harper,
Well, I’m not sure what to say. You really surprised me the other day. I did recognize you, since of course you always did look just like me. I wish you’d given me a little warning—I wasn’t ready for a big scene, know what I mean? It was a shock to see you—how can I be old enough to have a grown daughter? Anyway, I looked up your name on Google and found you out there, still on that godforsaken island. At any rate, looks like you turned out great! A lawyer. You were always smart, I guess.
I suppose you want to know why I left. First, let me say that I’m great! Life has been one wild ride for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I never wanted to be tied down and really wasn’t cut out for motherhood or island life and all that. I toughed it out as long as I could, but in the end, I had to do what was right for me. I had a lot of plans back before you came along, and it didn’t seem fair that I had to stay stuck for the rest of my life. Sorry you got caught in the middle, but we had some good times, didn’t we?
Anyway, if you’re ever back this way, drop in and say hi. Just call first. By the way, I just didn’t feel right taking the money…I’m not the type who likes to be beholden, if you know what I mean. Buy yourself something nice and think of me when you wear it, okay? Take care.
Linda
I read the letter seven times. Each time, it became more repugnant.
Had to do what was right for me. Toughed it out. Wasn’t cut out for motherhood.
Holy testicle Tuesday.
Buy myself something nice and think of her? The woman who abandoned me, the woman who pretended not to recognize me after twenty-one
years
of being apart?
Looks like you turned out great.
“Actually, I’m quite a pathetic mess, Mom,” I said. My voice seemed overly loud in the quiet.
For a long time, I sat there in the lengthening shadows, the rain pattering against the windows like a thought wanting to be let in. And then something did creep into my consciousness, carefully, as if testing the waters to see if it was safe. Slowly, very slowly, a new possibility came into my mind.
I’d had enough.
My mother’s actions—her one action, really…leaving me—had been a choke chain on my heart…on my whole life…since I was thirteen years old. Enough.
Looks like you turned out great.
“You know what? Strike the previous comment, Ma,” I said. “You’re right. I
am
great, no thanks to you.”
Before I was even aware of moving, my raincoat was in my hand and I was running down the stairs, out into the small lot behind our building, into my little yellow car. I pulled out so fast the wheels flung gravel, but I didn’t care. Breaking every speed limit from Edgartown to Tisbury, I think I touched the brakes only when I veered into my father’s driveway. There it was—the house where I’d grown up, the place I’d avoided as much as possible my entire adult life since the second I left for college. I dashed out of the car and inside.
She was here. Looking older and worn out, no makeup today, which made her look oddly blank. She held a ciggie in one hand, and her hair was a couple of inches lower than her usual “closer to God” bouffant. When she saw me, she gave a tired smile.