Harper

It’s only two weeks until my finals, so I’m spending extra time studying at the library today. It’s Sunday, and normally I’d be having coffee with Layla and Mia, but instead, I grabbed a cup and came straight here. I thought about going over to Fremont today and trying to visit with Sadie and see Luke, but I’m not sure.

Taking the last sip of my coffee, I walk over and toss it in the trash can, stretching my legs and arms for a second.

Just as I settle back in with my notes, my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Harper Evans?” the man on the other end asks.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Ms. Evans, this is Dr. Jackson. I’m your mother’s physician here at Fremont. I need to speak to you in person at your earliest opportunity.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, wondering why, but knowing they won’t give out information over the phone. “I’ll come right now,” I tell him, shoving my notes and pen into my bag.

Maybe Sadie has changed her mind and wants to see me?

Twenty minutes later, I’m opening the doors of the rehab and walking up to the desk. A familiar lady with brown hair in a tight bun greets me with a small smile. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“Harper Evans,” I say, offering her my driver’s license. “Dr. Jackson called and asked me to come here to speak with him.”

She takes my I.D. and makes a call, letting someone know I’m here. When she hangs up, she motions to the wall of chairs, telling me I can have a seat and Dr. Jackson will be out to speak to me in a few minutes.

Sitting down in the stiff blue chair, I look around the waiting area and try to distract myself...try to keep myself from wondering, thinking, over-analyzing.

When the door to my right buzzes and then opens, I look up to see a man in a white lab coat with neatly combed salt and pepper hair and glasses that sit on the tip of his nose walking toward me.

“Harper Evans?”

“Yes, sir.” My nerves are suddenly on high alert, and my palms are sweaty.

“Would you like to follow me to my office?”

Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Please follow me.”

I do as he asks and follow him back through the door that buzzes when he opens it. I’ve never been down this hall. It’s not stark white like the other hall where the therapy rooms are located. It has striped wallpaper and looks like a typical doctor’s office. He stops at the first door and holds it open for me while I walk in, and I take a seat in the leather chair across from his desk.

He sits down on the other side, folding his hands.

“Is Sadie okay?” I ask for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Sadie is gone.”

“What?” I ask, confused. “She can’t just leave. Can she?”

“I’m sorry to tell you this.” His voice softens and he reaches across the desk, covering my hand with his. “But your mother died.”

“Died?”

“She was recently released back into group therapy, which also allowed her to be off suicide watch and in a joint room.” He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. Letting out a deep breath, he continues. “Her roommate found her this morning.”

“She died?” I ask again because I can’t process what he’s telling me. “How did she die?”

I feel numb.

I feel like I’m hovering above myself, watching me talk to the doctor sitting across from me.

I feel like I should be crying, but I’m not.

“She took a piece of a sheet and tied it to a vent in the bathroom...”

I hear the words, but I can’t make sense of them. His voice goes from a monotone, soothing sound to a droning noise, buzzing in my ear like the door we passed through a few minutes ago. “She’s dead?” I ask, interrupting the buzzing. “But I didn’t get to see her. How could she die?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Evans. Is there anyone I can call for you? Anything I can do?”

“No.” I can’t look at him. I focus on the thin lines in the tile beneath my feet and try to wrap my mind around what he’s been telling me.

Dead.

I need air.

I can’t breathe.

“I have to go,” I tell him. “Is there anything I need to do?” I hear myself talk, but it doesn’t sound like me. It’s not scared or sad or freaking the fuck out, and I’m all of those.

“You can view the body, if you’d like. I can give you the contact information.”

“No.” I don’t want that. I don’t want to see her. She didn’t want to see me.

“You’ll have a couple days, if you change your mind. And if you need someone to talk to, you can call here, anytime.”

“Thank you.” I stand from the chair and walk back out into the hallway with the nice wallpaper and through the door that buzzes, and I run for the entrance that I know leads to fresh air and floors that aren’t tiled. I run until I see grass under my feet, and then I fall to my knees, taking deep, ragged breaths, hoping I won’t pass out. My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel like I might die...like Sadie.

She’s dead.

Oh, God. My head feels light. I’m breathing so hard that my lungs physically hurt. A sob breaks free from my throat, and I feel someone touch my back.

“I’m here,” he says.

Two words. Two words, and I feel like I might not die.

“She died. She’s gone,” I whisper.

“I know.” Luke’s voice cracks, but his arms are strong as they wrap around me, and he allows me to cling to him.

“I didn’t even get to see her...or say goodbye.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” His lips press to the top of my head, and I feel his chest shudder.

And then I lose it...everything. I cry and allow my grief to consume me. I forget where I am and what time it is. I barely remember being lifted up and put into a car and then lifted again and placed on something soft. I don’t know how long I cry, and sometimes I forget why, but then it hits me again...

She’s gone.

I eventually fall asleep with strong arms wrapped around me. Luke doesn’t have to say anything. His presence is like a soothing balm.

Sometime later, I wake up, and the room I’m in is dark. The only light is an alarm clock on the nightstand and a faint light coming from a closed door. When I stir, the arms that have been holding me together loosen, and Luke brushes the hair away from my face.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks.

I shake my head, afraid if I answer I’ll start crying again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head again, but his question gets my mind turning. Sadie died. She hung herself... with a sheet.

“Why?” I croak out, my voice hoarse. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is deep and raspy, like he’s been crying too. “Sometimes, the addiction is too much to bear, or the weight of guilt begins to crush you…”

“I forgave her. I needed to tell her that.”

“She knew.”

“I feel...guilty,” I tell him, trying to make sense of the emotions rushing through me.

“Why?” he asks, sitting up and facing me. “Harper, none of this is your fault. Do you hear me?” There’s fierceness there where sadness had been before. “None.”

“I feel bad because I almost feel relieved.” I whisper that out into the darkness and hope he can’t hear me, because how can a daughter feel that way? How can someone be relieved that their mother is gone?

“That’s normal, Harper.” His hands cup my face, and he brushes tears away with his thumbs “Sadie has been sick for a long time...your whole life. It’s like cancer or anything else. You’ve watched her suffer, and you’ve suffered along with her. Feeling relieved that she’s no longer hurting isn’t a bad thing.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I know.”

We sit there for a few minutes, or maybe hours. I’m not sure. Luke eventually moves back beside me, leaning against the headboard and pulling me into him. His gentle strokes down my back lull me back to sleep, but it’s restless. I have intermittent dreams of my mom and dad, and then one time, I fall asleep, and I’m alone in a dark room. The walls start to feel like they’re closing in on me, and I wake up gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” Luke asks, sleep thick in his voice.

“I...I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

He sits up and turns a lamp on, and for the first time, I realize where I am.

His room.

His apartment.

“Just take some deep breaths,” he soothes, running a hand down my hair. “I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

When he stands to walk out, I recognize the gray sweatpants. He’s also wearing a white T-shirt that hugs his chest and his back. “I’ll be right back,” he assures before walking out of the bedroom.

This is surreal.

I’ve wondered what this room would look like, and now I’m here. I pinch myself under the blanket just to make sure I’m not still dreaming.

“Here’s some water, and I brought some Tylenol for you to take. You’ll need it in the morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Just a little after midnight.”

I take a drink of the water and swallow two Tylenol. My head does have a dull throb, and my eyes feel swollen.

“Layla,” I say, realizing I went straight from the library to the rehab, and then nothing...I can’t remember anything after that. “She’ll be worried.”

The guilt I was feeling earlier is coming back, but now it’s because I feel like the worst friend.

And daughter.

My mom is gone.

I bite down on my lip to try to keep from crying again. I don’t know how I have any tears left to shed.

“She called earlier,” Luke murmurs, watching me from the edge of the bed. “I told her.”

He told her?

“You talked to Layla?”

“Yeah, she called several times, and you were sleeping. I thought you should rest, so I answered it, and I didn’t want to not tell her...I’m sorry. I probably should’ve—”

“No.” I stop him. “Thank you. I’ll call her in the morning.”

“She wanted to come and get you, but I couldn’t let you go. I needed you here with me...I had to make sure you were okay,” he says, but he’s not apologizing for this.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It was selfish. I just…” He drifts off, shaking his head. “I just needed you, needed to be close to you.”

I crawl across the bed and into his lap, curling up and sinking into his warmth. When the overwhelming grief starts to wash over me again, I inhale him. Somehow, he grounds me—keeping me from the black hole that is merely inches away, wanting to suck me in.

“I’m here...and I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers.

There’s pain in his words and I realize it’s not only for me, it’s for him too. He lost someone too.

“Have you lost patients before?” I ask.

“Yes. One,” he admits, holding me tighter.

With his confession comes a flashback to a time when I watched him from his window and tears streaked down his face. I wonder if this is the why. And I’m grateful that I’m here—on this side, able to absorb some of his pain, like he’s doing mine. “I’m sorry.”

I spend the rest of the night sleeping for an hour or so and then waking up. Sometimes, Luke and I talk. Other times, I cry, and he holds me. But he’s true to his word, and he never leaves.

For the last hour before dawn, I lie in Luke’s bed awake. This is the first day that my mom isn’t here. The first sunrise she won’t see. And I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel about it. Sad that she’s not here? Guilty that I am? Guilty that I’m relieved? Happy that she’s no longer suffering?

When a man in a white coat tells you your only living relative died, he should hand you a manual so you know what to do with yourself.

I’ve spent my whole life worrying about Sadie. Even when I was young and didn’t really grasp what was going on with her, I still worried. Every time she’d leave. Every time she was there but wasn’t. Every time I saw my dad cry or get angry. I always worried. I remember when I was little, my stomach would hurt. Sometimes, I wouldn’t be able to eat for days after she’d leave. She never told me goodbye, so the fact that she left for good without saying goodbye seems appropriate. Shitty, but appropriate.

Now what? What am I supposed to do now that she’s not here to worry about?

“I’m making you some breakfast,” Luke says, kissing the back of my head. I knew he was awake. I could feel him shift beside me, reminding me he was still there.

I don’t reply. I just lie there. It’s all I can do right now. Besides, I don’t feel hungry.

When I’m alone, the thought from last night creeps back into my mind: I’m in Luke’s bedroom. The bedroom I always wondered about. As the room gets lighter from the rising sun, I’m able to take it in. The colors in here are a stark contrast from what I remember the rest of the apartment looking like. It’s warm and cozy, like a cocoon. The blankets are thick and soft. The pillows are fluffy. The windows are covered with blinds and have taupe-colored sheers over them. There’s a writing desk against the wall with a few books and scattered papers.

It’s Luke. Not the Luke I first saw in the window, but the Luke I know now. It’s the Luke who picked me up and brought me here...the one who’s in there making breakfast that I probably won’t eat.

I think I love this Luke.