CHAPTER NINE
March 30—the day had arrived, according to the miniature calendar stuck to the front of the mini fridge in Harper’s cabin that morning. Of all the days in the whole year, this was the one that always, always put a big black cloud over her head, a rock in her chest, and tears in her eyes.
The weeping would begin that evening at exactly eight thirty. Until then she’d just deal with the blackness of the whole day. She dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans and was sitting on the bench when Zed arrived to open up the café.
“Looks like it’s goin’ to be a beautiful day. I need to get a key made so you don’t have to wait on me in the mornin’s,” he said. “What time is Wyatt pickin’ you up tonight?”
“Crap,” she muttered under her breath. She hadn’t even looked at a calendar when she said she’d go out with him. No way could she do it. Especially not with him. This was the day that she normally didn’t go to work. This was the day when she usually drank herself into a stupor to forget.
“What was that? My hearin’ is gettin’ bad these days.” Zed flipped on the lights and adjusted the thermostat. “I’ll get the coffee goin’. Go be sure the saltshakers and napkin dispensers are filled up for the day.”
The phone rang, and Harper grabbed it. “Lake Side Resort. This is Harper Clancy.”
“Great. I was hoping you might answer,” Wyatt said.
“I’ve got to—” she started.
“I’ve got bad news—” he said at the same time.
They both stopped for a long, silent moment and finally he said, “You go first.”
“No, you,” she said.
“I was coming to the lake with four clients for a weekend fishin’ trip. Buddies of mine now. But one of them had a heart attack about an hour ago. I’ll call later and cancel our reservations, but I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight. I’m so, so sorry.” His deep drawl seemed sincere. “Now you.”
“It wasn’t a date. You didn’t even have to call. You just stay with your friend, and I’ll take a rain check,” she said.
“Thank you. If I can get away later this evening, I’ll call you,” he said.
“Don’t worry if you can’t,” she said, already planning to unplug the phone in her cabin as soon as she got home that evening.
“’Bye, then.”
“’Bye, Wyatt.”
Zed finished making coffee and glanced over his bony shoulder. “No date tonight?”
“It wasn’t a date to begin with. He was just going to come by and visit on the porch for a while. And we lost the rent on three cabins. His friend has had a heart attack,” she said flatly.
“I’m sorry,” Zed said.
“About the heart attack or the fact that we lost rent?”
“Both, but mostly because I think you wanted to see him this evenin’,” he answered.
“I’ve gotten over worse in my life,” she answered. “But I bet that some of your good strong coffee will help everything.”
“Always does.” Zed nodded.
It was ham day at the café, and every chair was filled by twelve o’clock. Harper spun, taking orders and refilling glasses. And then a man and wife arrived with three little daughters, blondes spread out from about a year old to somewhere around nine.
Harper stopped halfway across the floor and turned around so fast that the room did a couple of hard spins. She made it to the kitchen before she slid down on the linoleum, wrapped her hands around her knees, and began to sob. Zed stopped what he was doing and sat down beside her, drew her into his arms, and let her soak his shirt with her tears.
“What is it, child?”
“Little girls,” she sobbed.
“Do they remind you of when you sisters were little?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re . . .” And the sobbing started again. “I need a drink.”
“You need to let go of this burden, child. Talk to me.”
“I gave her away and those little girls remind me of how she’d look,” she answered in short bursts of words.
“Gave who away?” Zed asked.
“My baby daughter. I was only sixteen and I couldn’t raise her and Mother was mortified about what her friends would think. She and Daddy wouldn’t help me . . .” She clung to Zed as if he were a lifeline in a category-five tornado.
“So that’s what happened that summer that changed everything.” Zed patted her back. “Why didn’t you call your granny?”
“Mama said that Granny’d hate me and I loved her too much to have her disappointed in me. Oh, Uncle Zed, today she’s nine years old . . .” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “I’ve never told anyone.”
“Your secret is safe with me, child.” Tears dripped off Zed’s chin and joined hers on the front of his shirt. “I’m so sorry that your mother made you believe that about me and Annie. We would have taken you right in here to live with us.”
“I was sixteen, scared, and angry, and halfway across the United States.”
“Did you love the father?”
“I thought I did, but he was only sixteen, too, and I couldn’t . . .” She wiped her face. “We’ve got customers.”
“And they’ll wait or leave. You are more important than any of them people,” he said.
“I love you, Uncle Zed,” she whispered.
“And I’ve always loved all you girls. Y’all was my family as much as you were Annie’s.”
She stood up as gracefully as she could and held out a hand toward Zed. He put his into hers; lifting him was like pulling up a bag of air. She hadn’t realized how thin he’d gotten until that moment.
“Wyatt?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You ever goin’ to tell him?”
“I don’t know if I can. Tellin’ you was the second hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Zed hugged her tightly. “You’re in the right place to lay down this heavy burden, child. Let me and your sisters help you with this.”
“Please don’t tell my sisters,” she whispered.
“That’s not my place, honey. You take the rest of the day off. Tawny can come help me out. You go on out the back door, so you don’t have to see them little girls. I’ll tell Tawny that you’re sick and we don’t want to spread it around,” he said.
“You sure?” Harper asked.
“Of course I’m sure, and from this day on, you are going to have March 30 off.” He smiled, the pain on his wrinkled face echoing hers. He reached for the wall-hung phone and called Tawny. “She’ll be here in three minutes. Won’t hurt them folks to wait a little longer.”
“Thank you, Uncle Zed.” Harper pulled off her apron and laid it on the worktable. “For everything.”
“Just wish things could’ve been different for you, child,” he said. “There she is comin’ in the front. You get on out of here before she sees them swollen eyes and all that black eye stuff on your face.”
Harper hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on her door, dragged a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the closet, and took a long drink right from the bottle before she ran a bathtub full of hot water. Sinking down into it, she held the bottle in one hand and took another long drink before she came up for air. It burned like hell all the way to her stomach, yet like always, it did not quite take the pain or the guilt away.
Knowing that Zed didn’t hate her and that he and Granny Annie would’ve helped her actually made it worse, so she took another drink right from the bottle. She could have had a lovely little blonde-haired daughter, just five years younger than Brook. The baby could have grown up right there on the lake, and Harper would have been there with Granny Annie all these years rather than jumping from job to job, dreading the end of March every year.
“Lord, why did I believe my mother?” she mumbled as she turned the water off with her toes and leaned back. Exhaustion, mixed with the whiskey, made her eyes heavy, and she fell asleep.
The sun was going down by the time she awoke with a nasty taste in her mouth, a half-empty bottle of Jack floating in the cold water like a ship on the ocean, and the vision of those three little girls still on her mind. She carefully picked up the bottle and set it on the floor, pulled the plug on the tub, and shivered when the cold air hit her naked, wet body. She wrapped a towel around herself and carried the bottle of whiskey with her to the bed, where she sat down and stared blankly out the window at the wooded area.
The couple who had adopted her baby named her Emma, and they’d even let Harper choose the middle name. Somewhere out there was a nine-year-old girl named Emma Joanna. And Granny never even knew about her second great-granddaughter.
She threw off the towel and dressed in a faded nightshirt and a pair of cotton underwear. Turning up the bottle again, she took a couple of gulps and then threw it across the room, shattering it on the far wall. She fell back on the bed and heartbreaking sobs racked her body as her hands went to cradle her stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” she moaned. “But I was so young and so afraid I’d be a mother like mine. You deserved more than that.”
She shut her eyes and images of the older little girl who’d come into the café flashed in her mind. Would her daughter be blowing out birthday candles right now? Did she get a bike for her ninth birthday, or better yet, a puppy? The couple lived out in the country, so maybe she already had a pet and a bike. Perhaps she got a pony for her birthday and a pair of new boots.
Harper kept her eyes closed and imagined a little blonde-haired girl giggling as she opened her birthday presents. Then someone knocked on her door and ruined the whole vision. She ignored it, and they knocked again, louder.
“Harper, please open the door,” Wyatt yelled. “Zed said you’re in there.”
“Dammit, Uncle Zed. You promised not to interfere.” She stumbled toward the door.
He didn’t break his promise. Granny Annie’s voice was in her head. Zed keeps his word. You can count on that, so don’t go blamin’ him.
Another knock and she slung open the door, hanging on to it to keep from falling through the screen and landing at Wyatt’s boots. With blurry eyes, she looked at him and could see by his expression that he was hurting.
“My friend died, Harper,” he said hoarsely. “He had another heart attack and they couldn’t revive him.”
“I gave away our daughter,” she blurted out. “Guess we’re both in pain.”
The floor kept getting closer and closer and everything was spinning out of control. She felt the heavy weight of blackness surrounding her, and then strong arms cradled her like a baby and carried her to the bed. He stretched out beside her and held her so close that she could hear his heartbeats and his quiet weeping for his friend.
“Sweet Jesus!” she slurred. “Did I say that out loud?”
The last thing she smelled as she passed out was a mixture of coffee on Wyatt’s breath, remnants of his shaving lotion—the same that he’d used when he was sixteen—and the Jack Daniel’s that was in a puddle on the floor with all the glass from the broken bottle.
When she came back to her senses again, Wyatt was propped up on an elbow and staring into her eyes. “What did you say at the door, Harper?”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said.
“No, that wasn’t it. You said we were both in pain and for me to come on in, but before that you said something about our daughter. Were you dreaming or just drunk?”
“All of the above,” Harper answered.
“You had a baby?”
“I did. A little girl that I gave away.”
“Why?” Wyatt asked.
“Because my mother said I couldn’t come home if I didn’t, and then I got to thinkin’ about what a horrible mother I would be. I was only sixteen and you were just a kid, too, and it didn’t seem fair to her to . . .” She stopped to catch her breath and then realized she was out of words.
“It was my baby, right?” Wyatt asked.
She nodded.
“And you didn’t even tell me?”
She shook her head.
“Why?”
“We were sixteen, for God’s sake, Wyatt. Were you goin’ to slap on your shinin’ armor and marry me? We weren’t old enough to do that, probably not even with parental consent. I chose her adopted parents carefully. I’m sure she’s been in a good home, but today is her birthday and the guilt trip is . . .” A fresh batch of tears rushed down her cheeks like a river, dripping onto his shirt this time. “The family offered to send pictures to me or even to let me see her, like on her birthday, or be a part of her life, but I couldn’t, Wyatt. I just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her and then having to say goodbye.”
“I’m so sorry.” Wyatt’s voice cracked. He held her so close that their tears mingled together. “I don’t know what I would have done. Probably freaked out, but I had a wonderful grandpa who would have helped if he’d known.”
“Mother said Granny Annie would hate me, and I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I didn’t even tell her.” Harper bounced off the bed and barely made it to the toilet before the Jack Daniel’s came back up.
Wyatt followed her and held her long blonde hair back, then washed her face with a wet cloth. “It’s okay, darlin’. You’ve got every right to drink. Let me hold you and ease the pain.”
“She was your daughter, too, Wyatt. Why in the hell aren’t you mad at me?” Harper bent over the toilet and dry heaved.
“I’m numb,” he said.
“When that goes away, you’ll be angry and hate me.” She tried to stand, but her knees were weak.
He slipped an arm under her knees and one around her shoulders and carried her back to the bed. “I’m stayin’ with you tonight. We’ll mourn together.”
“She’s not dead. She’s happy and riding a pony that her parents gave her for her ninth birthday,” Harper argued.
“I’m sure that they are good parents.” He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tightly. “But we don’t get to buy her that pony or take her fishin’ or sing songs to her or read books to her before she goes to sleep, so we’re goin’ to mourn that.”
“You don’t hate me?” she asked.
“You were only thinkin’ of me and of her, so how could I be mad at you, darlin’?” He brushed her hair away from her eyes, his fingertips feeling like a feather on her skin.
“Some first date, huh?” she whispered. “Your friend passed away, and I unloaded all this on you.”
“I’m here and I’m with you. We’ll get through this together.”
“Her name is Emma Joanna. They let me pick her middle name.”
“That’s beautiful.” Wyatt held her even closer. “Shut your eyes, darlin’, and let this day pass on. I’m not going anywhere, and everything will be better when morning arrives.”
For now, she thought. But she’d take that much right then. She snuggled in so close to him that light couldn’t find its way between them, and in that moment some of the pain and guilt finally floated away.
Zed poured two glasses of blackberry wine and carried them across the floor to the recliners. He sniffed the air as he set them on the table between the chairs. “You’re fading, Annie. I don’t see you in the chair as clear as I did here at first, and your perfume is getting so faint I have to imagine it. I can’t have that happenin’.”
He padded barefoot across to the bed behind the chairs, opened the drawer in the bedside table, and took out a small bottle of perfume that he’d intended to give her for her next birthday. Giving it a quick spray toward the chair, he inhaled deeply. “There you are. I feel like you’re in the room again now. I got to have your spirit with me tonight, Annie, so I can tell you about today. I know what happened that summer with Harper.”
One glass of wine later, he’d finished telling the whole story about how broken Harper was. “I just felt my heart breakin’ for that child, Annie, and I could almost feel your tears dripping on my shoulder. Bless her heart, what are we goin’ to do to help her get through this?”
He wrapped his veined hand around the other glass and brought it to his lips. “Oh, so you think I’m handlin’ it okay, do you? Well, darlin’, I’m feelin’ like I need more time than I’ve got left to get them all straightened out.”
He popped the footrest up on his recliner. “Maybe I can at least get them to open their hearts to each other, but Annie, I’m gettin’ tired and weary of this old earth. I really want to go on home with you, so if you could just help me out with all this, I’d sure appreciate it. Don’t fuss at me. I promised I’d see to it that they became a family, and I’ll do my best.”
He finished off the second glass of wine, reached across the table, laid his hand on Annie’s chair, and inhaled deeply. “Oh, Annie, life ain’t worth a damn without you beside me.”