She’s here. I know because there’s a definite shift in the mood of the room as my foot falls over the threshold. I knew it was wrong of me to come, but I couldn’t make myself stay away. I want to see her, even if it’s only for a minute. I’ve convinced myself I’ll be able to leave after that. All I need is closure; I won’t approach her or attempt to talk to her. I just want to see that she’s happy—that I made the right decision to let go. Maybe then I can.
“As I live and breathe, Ellis Hughes. I didn’t expect to see you here, son.”
“Hello Mr. Adkins, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I answer the old man. “I was always very fond of Mrs. Adkins, I don’t think the town will feel the same without her cheery face behind the counter at the general store.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, Ellis. I happen to know Jeannie was fond of you too. She was very upset, when…well, you know. She was so sure she’d be dusting off her hat one day, ready to watch you marry Harlow.”
I swallow hard, because once upon a time that was my fate. Apparently, a decade isn’t long enough for the pain in my chest to subside when hearing her name. I haven’t responded, I realize, and sufficient time’s elapsed with me standing here like a mute for it to be considered awkward. Floods of memories are washing over me, playing through my mind on a torturous bittersweet loop—I’m completely paralyzed.
“Well, excuse me, Ellis. I have to do the rounds and make sure I’ve talked with everyone. Jeannie will no doubt haunt me if I don’t,” Mr. Adkins says, letting out a sad laugh and patting me on the shoulder, pulling me back into the present. He steps around me to accept the next person passing over his front stoop and I shake my shoulders out and make my way further into the room.
Half of the town is crammed into the downstairs of the Adkins’ house. There are people huddled in every nook and corner chatting idly as they sip their drinks and reminisce about Mrs. Adkins’ life. I make my way through to the kitchen to get myself a drink. God knows I need one. People greet me as I pass; their expressions confirm I’m the last person they expected to see. Nobody mentions whether or not Harlow is here, but I don’t miss the way they acknowledge me and then immediately scan the room as if looking for her. I glance at the stairs leading upstairs from the kitchen just in time to see a slim pair of milky, smooth legs under a thin black skirt in a pair of beat-up chucks disappear skyward.
My skin literally prickles in recognition. I haven’t even seen her face, but my body has gone into an adrenaline overdrive. I’m pretty sure I can hear my own pulse, and I want so badly to race up the stairs after her but I don’t. Obviously, I don’t. No matter what else I am I’m not an asshole. I have no right to ambush her at a friend’s wake. Against every instinct within me to follow her, I turn on my heel and march out of the patio doors to get some much-needed air. I haven’t even seen her fully, but it doesn’t stop the ache in my chest or the guilt in my stomach from unfurling. Memories I’ve spent years burying are resurfacing faster than I can blink them away. One glimpse is all it’s taken. One glimpse and I feel like I’m about to pass out.
1990
My knee ached more than I let on as I sulked at the kitchen table, moving mashed potatoes from one side of my plate to the other. I’d have to remember to tell Logan about being shot. He didn’t need to know it was a BB gun, or by a girl. It would sound way cooler if I left those parts out. I would write him a letter as soon as I was allowed to leave the table unless the new phone was working. Mom had said a line was being installed, but I wasn’t sure if it had yet.
I’d been out exploring the neighborhood, trying to gage what was what, when the crazy girl next door tried to kill me. I noticed Jared and Jake in their backyard, shooting at old cans. It looked like fun. Logan had a BB gun, and I knew I was a good shot. I figured they’d like me when they saw how accurate I was.
Logan’s grandpa had a farm back in Montana, and he’d taught us how to shoot straight—well, me anyway. Logan couldn’t hit a fifty-foot standing target if it were two feet in front of him. Didn’t stop him from practicing, of course. He’d been my best friend for as long as I could remember, and our mothers had been friends since they were little girls, too. We spent almost every holiday with the Smith family. My mom seemed as miserable about leaving them behind for Dad’s new job as I was.
I didn’t see Harlow at first; the twins shielded her. Jake had said hello to me a couple of times and told me he was an identical twin, but he failed to mention he had a kid sister that looked about my age. It was only when I called out, and she turned and pointed the gun right at me that I noticed her. She was definitely their sister; much smaller than her brothers, but the likeness was unmistakable, if not a little creepy—like maybe their parents cloned them?
I’d been frozen to the spot, waiting for her to lower the gun; everyone knows you don’t point a loaded weapon at someone, right? I wondered for a moment why she was staring at me funny. Her eyes were scrunched up as though I’d asked her a really hard question, and she was having trouble figuring out the answer. She was kind of pretty, I suppose. She wasn’t dressed particularly nicely, and her hair reminded me of the straw Logan’s grandpa kept in the barn for the horses. It was tied up with pieces jutting out in all directions.
I decided in that split second I’d try making friends with her. Something about her seemed familiar, either her pale skin with its smattering of freckles, or the fact that she’d forced me to think of my best friend.
Then she shot me.
Did I mention she was crazy?
“If you’re finished playing with your food, empty your plate and hand it over please, Ellis,” Mom ordered.
I quickly pushed my chair back and hurried over to the trash, scraping away the remnants of my dinner. I had zero appetite when my mom had called me to the table. My tummy felt queasy, and the welt on my knee was throbbing. “It’s probably just the shock,” Mom had said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”
I hadn’t felt better. I felt the same as I had when I’d been looking over at Harlow as she apologized at the door. She cried the moment I’d fallen over in pain. I don’t know if it was because she realized she was about to get into trouble, or because she genuinely didn’t mean to shoot me. Either way, as she stood on my porch wringing her hands together talking to my mom, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I felt sick that I’d made her cry. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks had turned splotchy. That’s twisted, right? She was the one who was supposed to feel guilty, not me.
“Mom, can I call Logan?” I asked.
She took the empty plate from my hands and placed it in the sink.
“Go ahead, I meant to call Kathryn and give her the new number. Let me have the phone when you’re done with him, though. I want to speak to his mama.”
I was in the hall looking for the telephone before she even finished speaking.
I yelled back, “Yeah,” but had no clue what I’d agreed to. I heard her mumble something else but was too distracted; I just wanted to talk to my best friend.
Stretching my injured knee out in front of me, I pulled my other to my chin and settled on the third step of the staircase, cradling the telephone to my ear. It was just like I used to do at home, except that wasn’t my home anymore—this was The Cape in Wilmington, North Carolina.
I missed Montana; it was different here, and even the air smelled strange—like salt. The sound of seagulls had woken me every morning, and as soon as my hearing tuned into their cries I couldn’t ignore them, no matter how hard I tried—or how badly I wanted to stay asleep.
The churning in my stomach intensified when I thought of what Dad had promised me: it would be an adventure, and I’d love living so close to the beach. I’d been down to the pier a couple of times on my bike. The water was wild and harsh, not at all what I’d expected. The pier and harbor were dotted with bait shops, cafés and those tourist-type shacks that my mom loved—the ones that sold postcards, sea glass wind chimes, and shell necklaces. Everyone seemed to wear polos and khaki shorts. I didn’t fit in. I looked like a tourist, and I didn’t like it—it felt weird.
Maybe it had been homesickness that got me all worked up. When Logan finally answered I started to relax and feel like myself again. Normal.
“So, your next-door-neighbor shot you—but you’re okay?” he scoffed in disbelief at my version of accounts.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“And you didn’t need to go to the hospital?”
I could tell my story was falling apart at the seams; he’d always been the type to badger me until he had all the details.
“No, it was a BB gun pellet. Didn’t break the skin. I’m tough,” I told him. The line went quiet for a beat, and then Logan’s laughter boomed from the receiver so loud I needed to move it away from my ear.
“Dude, I thought you meant you were shot! Like for real!”
“It was real, jackass. It still hurts, she got me good.”
“Wait, what?”
The second he paused I realized my mistake. “I said it still hurts.”
I hoped he’d drop it, but Logan wasn’t the type to drop anything.
“I heard that, but the other part. Did you get shot by a girl?”
The smile in his voice was unmistakable. I could picture the wide goofy grin on his fair, freckled face, his red eyebrows rising up to meet his hairline.
“Yeah, but—”
“Man, this just keeps getting better. It’s gone from you being almost killed in a shootout in your neighbor’s yard, to you being capped in the knee with a BB gun by a girl! Ha, this is so awesome!”
“Yeah, yeah laugh it up. I shouldn’t have even told you,” I said, grinning. There’s no way I wouldn’t have spoken to him about it. He probably knew all there was to know about me better than I knew myself.
“Was she an older chick? Because that would at least make it sound badass.”
I laughed out loud at that, and gave the sore spot on my knee a rub. I wished the conversation were face-to-face; it had only been a week since the move, and I missed Logan and his sense of humor.
“I think we’re about the same age. She doesn’t look too girly, though. She wasn’t dressed anything like how your sister does. Oh, and she has older brothers—twins. They seem cool.”
“Too bad she’s not pretty. It makes for a better story when the people are good looking,” he said matter-of-factly, and it made my skin prickle.
“I never said she wasn’t pretty,” I told him defensively.
“But you said—”
“I said she wasn’t dressed girly. Harlow’s pretty all right, but completely mental, too—you can’t just go around shooting people!”
He began to laugh again, and Mom interrupted, telling me to wind it up and pass her the phone.
“Got to go, Logan. My mom wants to speak to yours. I’ll catch you later?”
“Sure. Bye, Ellis.”
I passed my mom the phone and headed up the remaining stairs to my room. I limped a little, not because it hurt, but because I knew my mom had been watching and I liked to milk situations. If I kept it up, ice cream could be in the cards.
Back home in Montana I had a view of the mountains from my bedroom window. My view from the Wilmington house looked out over the Stevens’ property. It was almost identical to ours, only their house was painted light blue and ours was white-washed.
I’d been staring at the empty window across from my own when Harlow appeared. I needed to narrow my eyes and strain so I could see a little better as I watched her move back and forth, in and out of view. I waited for a while before I saw her suddenly standing right there, staring back at me. It was awkward, but kind of a good awkward. She looked confused that I was watching her and didn’t have the decency to at least look away once she caught me.
“Hi,” I mouthed, raising my hand in a small wave. Her eyes looked as though they’d narrowed to slits, and I could just about see her back straighten. Before I could even drop my hand, she stuck out her tongue and pulled her curtains closed, leaving me standing open-mouthed like an idiot.
I remember being confused as all hell, wondering why she was mad at me.
I dropped down onto my bed and folded my arms behind my head deciding I was right about her.
She was crazy.
The stubborn window interactions with Harlow carried on throughout the week. I wasn’t sure why she’d taken such a dislike to me, but it was pretty evident that for whatever reason, I wasn’t her favorite person. I found myself spending an inordinate amount of time in my room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her and wondering if today were the day she’d finally relent and wave back.
Up to that point I’d been on the receiving end of two complete dismissals, two instances of her sticking her tongue out at me, and an especially memorable moment when I actually thought she was about to concede and return my wave. That was until she flashed me the sourest smile I’d ever witnessed, flipped me the bird and drew her curtains.
It seemed the more I waved at her, the angrier she became. I should have ignored her rudeness, but it bugged me that she appeared so unwilling to try and be friends. We were neighbors and by the next week we’d be classmates too. I’d already forgiven her for her lousy shot. The bruise on my knee didn’t hurt for very long, a couple of days at most; the only evidence of the event was a faded yellowing mark. Mom always said that I took after my father in that I was, and guess I still am, a people pleaser. I like to be liked, and the fact that Harlow seemed to loathe me without reason was beyond maddening to me.
I’d seen her brothers by the pier the day before when I finally got tired of staring at the same four walls in my bedroom. I had jumped on my bike and ended up buying a waffle cone stuffed with mint ice cream from the quirky-looking wooden shack by the water. I noticed Jared and Jake inside eating burgers with two other guys, and I leaned my bike against the weathered post boasting a huge metal sign reading “Bait House Tackle & Tavern” that moaned and creaked in the steady breeze.
I fished out the remains of my allowance from the depths of my cargo shorts pocket. I’d worn them to fit in and not look like such an outsider, although I’d foregone the obligatory polo everyone seemed to wear for a faded O’Neil hoody. The kids in town had a preppy vibe about them and being from Big Sky, my skater-boy clothes screamed, “he’s not from around here.”
I couldn’t tell the twins apart, and the one I thought was Jake called me over to their table. I hesitated for a moment. I wanted to go over there but wondered if they had the same problem with me that their sister seemingly had. I couldn’t consciously remember anything that I could have done to offend them.
“How’s the leg?” Jake asked around a mouthful of fries.
Jared smiled and then leaned into the other two guys sitting at the table.
“Ellis here’s the guy Peewee nailed with the BB gun,” he said laughing.
I snickered to myself, betting she just loved that name. “It’s good now, thanks. All forgotten,” I answered. I didn’t want them to think I was holding some sort of grudge against their little sister.
“Oh, it’s not forgotten in our house,” Jake guffawed. “Harlow’s still grounded for another couple of days, and damn do we all know about it. She’s moping around the house like a bear with a sore head.”
I winced. I genuinely felt sorry that she was still being punished. “Is that why she’s in such a bad mood?” I asked.
The twins’ heads snapped in unison back to me.
“How would you know if she’s in a bad—?” Jared asked suspiciously.
Jake interrupted him. “Has she been sneaking out?”
I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks, knowing I’d have to admit that I’d been watching her through my bedroom window. Even though I knew it was innocent, I was still aware of how bad it would sound to her older brothers.
“She flipped me off through the window,” I offered, hoping they wouldn’t want me to elaborate further.
The slightly chubby black-haired guy sitting to my right had snorted into his soda, causing it to fizz up in his face as the table erupted with laughter.
“Nice, Blake,” the other boy with them had grinned.
“You should come hang out with us later,” Jake offered. “We’re gonna go home and watch horror movies all afternoon.”
And just like that, my mood lifted. I’d been invited into their home, the same home that Harlow was holed up in and wasn’t allowed to leave. She’d have no choice but to acknowledge me. That was my in.