Harper

My first thought as I wake to the sun coming through my window is, please let this all be a dream. Or nightmare, rather. I feel like I’ve been watching my life unravel before me, wanting to push pause or eject, tell myself to stop and turn the other way, but it keeps going...and getting worse by the second.

Yesterday, after I took things from bad to worse and kissed Luke, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. What if I ruined his career? What if he gets fired because I acted on carnal desires? I feel so selfish, so humiliated. I shouldn’t want to see him again, but I do. I need to have one last chance to apologize, to try to explain, and then I’ll go like he asked me to. But I can’t live the rest of my life wondering if he hates me. Hell, I might even hate me.

The thought of having him tell me to leave again makes my chest hurt, but if I don’t get rid of some of this guilt I’m carrying, it’s going to bury me alive.

I thought a lot about everything last night as I lay in bed staring into the darkness. The way he looked when I told him the truth. How it felt when my lips touched his for the first time. It wasn’t the way I had fantasized. He didn’t take me against the window like I had imagined. I claimed him. The second he wrapped his arms around me, I knew his touch wasn’t going to be enough. I had to have him, taste him. I wanted to consume and be consumed. It was all me. All my fault.

And then Sarah walked in.

I saw the second Luke changed. He’d been giving back, giving me what I wanted, but then he shut down. He went from hot to cold. The last words he spoke as he walked out the door cut like a knife.

I’m done.

And I know he is, but that doesn’t change my need to apologize.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I put my feet on the cool wood floor. As I look toward the window, I feel the pull to go to it, but since that’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place, I refrain. I know what I need to do.

After a quick shower, I put on some clothes and pull my still damp hair into a ponytail.

On my way out the door, Mr. Chan calls my name. I look down at my phone and see it’s a little after noon. I have a few minutes, so I turn around and walk back to the door that leads into the restaurant.

“Hi, Mr. Chan.”

When I peek around the corner, the old man is chopping vegetables behind the counter.

“How’s your mother?” he asks, keeping his head down as he works.

His question throws me straight back into that room, hearing her raspy voice say she’s tired of this shit and knowing that by shit, she means me. “She’s uh, getting better, I guess.” It’s crazy that after everything she's done and all that she’s said, I still can’t talk bad about her. “She’s had some bad days, but it takes bad ones to get to the good ones, I suppose.”

He looks up from the vegetables and squints his eyes until they’re almost shut, examining me. “You need to do what’s right for Harper,” he says in his thick accent, pointing the knife in my direction. “Mother need to take care of herself. It be good for her.” He nods his head and then goes back to chopping. “Have good day, Harper.”

I can’t help the small smile that forces its way onto my lips. “Thanks, Mr. Chan.” Somehow the simple words of a wise old man make me feel a little better. They might not change my circumstances, but they confirm what I was already feeling—that it’s time to let my mother do things on her own. I can’t want it enough for her. If Sadie is going to be sober, it’s going to be on her own terms and because she wants it. I’ll just have to be okay with whatever the outcome is.

I put on a brave face as I begin my walk down the sidewalk and push thoughts of my mother to the back of my brain. I can only handle one fucked up situation at a time, and right now, I’ve got to make things right with Luke, or at least make an attempt to do so.

When I climb the steps to the big wooden doors, I take a deep breath before going inside. I know this is a free place of worship and anyone can enter, but I also feel bad because once again, I’ve taken the liberty of inserting myself into Luke’s life by knowing things about him that he hasn’t freely given.

I silently promise myself that this is the last time I’ll cross these boundaries.

After letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the foyer, I peek through the window on the door, taking inventory of the pews, looking for a specific head of untamed hair. I only pull the door wide enough to slip in, trying not to draw any attention to myself. Keeping my hand on the door, I allow it to shut behind me silently. Once inside the nave, I hear something that sounds like angels singing. It must be a recording because I can’t see a soul in the giant choir loft above the altar. The music is beautiful, and I want to pause for a moment to listen, so I slide into the very last pew on the right side.

The wood creaks as I sit down, but not one head turns. The twenty or so people who are seated in front of me must be deep in prayer or meditation.

I look around for Luke but still have trouble making out identifiable characteristics. As my eyes roam the expanse of the room, I relax into the hardwood, allowing myself to just breathe and reflect. The colorful painted windows cast a unique light into the old building and make it easy for me to forget my problems, if only for a minute. I can see why Luke comes here.

Maybe the priest would let me move in.

Now that I think about it, I see no reason to stay in the city anymore. I came here for my mom, and she doesn’t want me. I would stay here for Luke, but he doesn’t want me either. I don’t have anything waiting on me in Middletown, but it seems like the logical place to go. Maybe I can get my old job back.

As I’m mulling over my future, a tall form rises from one of the front pews, walks down the side, and disappears into a confession room.

I know it’s Luke, so I wait.

A few minutes later, when he reappears, I watch him as he pauses for a moment at the back of the pews. When he exits the large oak doors, I follow him.

The afternoon sun practically blinds me, and I block it with my hand, searching for him on the sidewalk.

“Luke,” I call out when I see him getting ready to cross the street.

He stops immediately, his back stiffening. I hate that he has that reaction to me. Slowly, he turns around, shoving his hands down into the pockets of his jeans. “Harper?”

“Hi.” I know I sound stupid, but I didn’t rehearse this.

“Did you follow me to church?” he asks, tilting his head.

“I, uh…” The truth, Harper. If I’m here to apologize and somehow make amends, I’ve got to shoot straight. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I actually followed you here once before.” I bite my lip and turn my head, trying to keep myself from running. His beautiful blue eyes are so confused, so frustrated. I can’t bear to look at him. “I just needed to tell you how sorry I am.”

There’s an awkward pause. I’m hoping he’ll say something, anything to make me feel like I’m not a complete idiot for coming here today, but he says nothing.

“I know you think the worst of me, and I know what I did yesterday—kissing you—was a big mistake. I hope I didn’t cost you your job, because you’re really good at what you do, Luke.”

“You’re not completely to blame,” he says coldly. “I led you on, made you think there was more when there wasn’t, when there couldn’t be.”

I nod, willing myself to not be hurt by his words. “Yeah, well, I’m also sorry about watching you.”

“Stop, Harper,” he pleads quietly.

“No. I need to tell you that it’s not as bad as it sounds.” My voice cracks. “Can we go somewhere besides here and talk?” I ask, not wanting to do this in the middle of the sidewalk.

“There’s a bench over in the cemetery.”

He takes off walking in the opposite direction, and I follow him.

When he gets to the bench, he sits down and rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. I sit on the opposite end and wipe my now sweaty palms on my jeans.

I start to question myself, asking why I even thought this was a good idea, but then I remember I haven’t been acting very smart lately, and then there’s that runaway train thing that I can’t seem to get off of.

“What did you need to say?” His tone is bristly, not the smooth comforting sound to which I’ve grown accustomed. I can tell by the way he lets his head hang down and his eyes remain closed that he’s losing patience with me.

I’m losing patience with myself.

I let out a deep breath and start telling him everything—how the binoculars were in the apartment when I moved there, how lonely I was when I first moved to the city, how I didn’t just watch him when he was having sex, how I became attached to the man behind the window, and then later, how I became attached to the man on the other side.

“And lastly, I’m sorry for invading your privacy and maybe more importantly, for not being upfront about what I knew about you. But in my defense, if you don’t want people watching, you shouldn’t fuck women in your open window.”

The last part comes out a little more defensive than I had planned, but I can’t help it.

“You’re right,” he says, finally lifting his head but still not looking my way. “But it wasn’t just that someone was watching. It was that you were watching.”

I nod, trying to figure out what he means by that.

“But you need to know that we can’t be friends anymore, Harper. I overstepped my boundaries with you. It could be worse than losing my job. I could have my license revoked and never be able to practice again. If it had been anyone besides Sarah that had walked into that room, I wouldn’t have a job right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. So am I.”

We sit in silence for a moment, letting the truth wash over us. An idea pops into my mind, and I struggle to keep the hope out of my voice.

“What if Sadie wasn’t your patient anymore? Could she be reassigned or something? There wouldn’t be an ethical problem then, right?”

“I don’t do relationships, Harper. My job is stressful. What you’ve seen in that window is my way of dealing with that stress. Some of my co-workers overeat to deal with the strain of the job, while others drink too much or gamble. I fuck my stress away. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s part of who I am.” He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath and then exhaling. His hand claws through his hair, gripping the ends.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask, needing some kind of reconciliation. I don’t know if I can walk away from him. He’s seeped so deeply into me that I crave him—his nearness, his companionship. I miss his warmth and hate that I’ve caused it to go away.

“Nowhere,” he says quietly, and I feel the last ray of sunlight go dim.

“So, nothing then?” My voice trembles as my resolve slips. “Not even friends?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, keeping his eyes forward. “Not even friends. Trust me. It’s for the best.”

I want to kick and scream and throw myself on the ground, because it doesn’t feel like what’s best. It hurts, and I’m angry he’s pretending like he doesn’t feel anything. He was starting to feel for me what I felt for him. I saw it in his eyes, and I could feel it in the few times we touched. He wanted me. Yesterday, when I kissed him, he kissed me back, and there was more passion in those thirty seconds than I’ve had in all my life. I want that. I want him.

“Take care of yourself, Harper.” Still not looking at me, he stands and takes long strides to the gate of the cemetery.

For a split second, I hate him. I want to go back to when I didn’t know he existed, because then I wouldn’t know how bad it hurts to watch him walk away.

I sit on the bench until the sky turns to gray, mocking me. And then the rain starts, and I let it hit my face, willing it to wash away the sadness and regret. After my clothes are drenched and the water’s soaked into my skin, chilling me to the bone, I begin walking back to my apartment.

When I pass his building, I don’t look up. I keep my head down and continue walking down the saturated sidewalk. Mr. Chan greets me as I walk through the door of the restaurant, admonishing me for walking in the rain and demanding I take some soup to eat. I decline and slowly take the steps, feeling pulled down by my soggy clothes and everything that’s happened the last couple of days.

Unlocking both deadbolts, I shuffle into the dim room and plop down on the edge of my bed, staring at the blank wall until my apartment goes dark.

I can’t stay here.

I’m not sure if I’m moving back to Middletown or starting over in Timbuktu, but I can’t stay here. Everything about this place reminds me of him and my mother and everything that’s wrong in my life.

Finally, I force myself off the bed and shed my damp clothes. After tossing them into a pile beside the bed, I pull on an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants, trying to warm myself up.

I lean over and turn my lamp on, taking inventory of the small drab apartment, and I’m reminded that I have nothing to occupy my time. I glare at the window and curse it under my breath, hating the pull I feel toward it, wanting to feel close to him one last time.

A minute later, I’m perched on the window sill, binoculars in hand. As I zoom across to his apartment, the pin is pulled on the grenade that’s been rolling around since the first day I saw Luke Walker, and my world explodes as I watch him.

His palms press forcefully into the glass.

His body tenses as he thrusts.

His hair is damp with sweat.

Instead of looking at the raven-haired woman beneath him, his eyes, angry and cold, stare straight into my soul, crushing me from the inside out.

For once, I know without a shadow of a doubt, he’s doing this for me.

I should turn away, save myself from the pain that’s now radiating through my chest, but I can’t. When he’s finished, his hand reaches up to the corner of the window, and a sheet of fabric covers the glass, effectively shutting me out.