Harper

“Harper,” Luke whispers as the bed dips behind me. He’s been here, just like he said he would be. It’s been two days since I found out Sadie is gone. Two days of feeling numb. Two days of trying to get a grasp on this new reality. Two days of Luke assuring me that the things I’m feeling are normal—not in a therapist sense, but in a way, that makes me think he really does understand on a deeper level.

“Yeah,” I finally say, trying my voice out for the first time in a while. Luke stayed in this bed with me for the first night and most of yesterday, but since then, he’s given me some space. I’m not sure what he’s doing when he’s not in here, but I can still feel him, even when he’s not right beside me.

“I brought you some coffee and toast.” His voice sounds concerned and a little tired. “You need to eat.”

I’m sure I do. It’s been two days, but I don’t have an appetite. Rolling onto my back, I look up at him and see how much tenderness is in his eyes, and I want to at least try, for him.

Leaning on my elbows, I pull myself up and rest against the headboard. Luke hands me a plate of toast and then walks around to my side of the bed, setting a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand.

I watch him—watch his body as he moves in the low-slung sweatpants I know so well. I’ve always known how beautiful he is, but being here with him, seeing him like this, he’s even more beautiful than I realized. Maybe it’s the way he’s cared for me or the sweet words he’s whispered as I’ve cried. Maybe it’s the fact that he's cried too. Maybe it’s all of it. But he’s more beautiful to me in this moment than any of the moments from the past combined.

I take a small bite of the toast, but I think my taste buds are numb like the rest of me. Regardless, I continue to nibble on it, and Luke continues to watch me. The more I eat, the more at ease he seems to be. After I’ve finished half a slice, I reach for the coffee and take a sip.

“Can I make you something else?” he asks, perched on the end of the bed.

“No, this is good.” I smile, trying to reassure him that I’m okay. I’m going to be okay.

Sadie’s death came as a shock, but it shouldn’t have. Every time I got a call telling me she’d been picked up or had overdosed, I always assumed the worst. This last time she was in the hospital, I was sure that would be the end. But then she got better. She got to live. Maybe it was naïve of me to think this time would be different, but I guess I did. I saw her pulling away, but I thought it was because she was trying to be stronger. Now, I realize she was putting even more distance between us. She was trying to make it easier on me once she was gone.

I wonder how long she planned it.

I wonder what she was thinking when she did it.

The thought that continues to bring tears to my eyes is that she was alone. Was she scared? Was she sad? I’m assuming she was, because happy people don’t kill themselves. I try to take comfort in Luke’s words, knowing she’s no longer suffering.

I’m no longer suffering.

Even though she’s gone and I’m now without a parent, I do feel a sense of freedom in her death. That, in turn, makes me feel guilty, but the freedom is beginning to outweigh the guilt.

“How about a hot bath once you’re finished with your toast?”

I look up into Luke’s deep blue eyes, and now I want to cry for a completely different reason. I want to cry because no one has ever taken care of me like this. Maybe Layla on occasion, but that’s different. I don’t know why, but it is.

I nod my head and pick up the other piece of toast.

When I’m finished, I set the plate down, and Luke takes it, walking it into the kitchen. I feel like I should get up and do something, but I don’t have any energy. My body feels like it’s being weighed down. Luke walks back inside the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. A few seconds later, I hear water running.

“Come take a bath,” he says, leaning on the frame of the door with his hand outstretched. It’s not a question or a request. It’s more like a demand, but in a gentle way—a way that makes me want to comply.

Climbing over the bed and standing, I take his hand and allow him to lead me into the bathroom. I notice a fluffy white towel sitting beside the tub and a pair of gray sweatpants like the ones he’s wearing, along with a t-shirt folded up, sitting on the counter.

“I put a washcloth out for you...and a towel and some clothes…” His voice drifts, but he never takes his eyes off me. “I’ll be out here if you need me.” He points over his shoulder.

I nod and watch him close the door. I want to beg him to stay, but I don’t feel ready to bare my body to him. My soul and heart, maybe, but not my body, not yet.

Stripping out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for two days, I stick a toe in the water, testing the temperature, and it’s perfect. As I step into the tub and sink down, my body is slowly engulfed, and I feel ten times lighter by the time the water hits my chin.

For the first twenty minutes or so, I just soak as I stare at my reflection in the shiny faucet and let my mind go blank.

I feel like I’m in a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

A knock on the door startles me, and I splash water as I reach for the towel.

“Harper?” Luke’s voice comes from the other side.

“Yes?”

“Just checking to make sure you’re... okay.” He hesitates, but I know he’s still there because I can hear his fingers drumming lightly on the door. “Do you need anything?”

“No. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I drain some of the now lukewarm water and fill the tub back up with more hot water. Reaching for the body wash, I inhale it and close my eyes. It’s a little part of what makes up Luke’s smell, and I love it.

After I’m dried off and standing in front of the mirror in Luke’s clothes, I stare at myself. My eyes are tinged pink, and the skin under them is dark, but I’m still here.

Sadie is gone, but I’m still here.

When I open the door, Luke is there, and his arms immediately wrap around me.

“Sorry,” he whispers after a few seconds. “I just needed to be close to you.” I have no idea why he’s apologizing. I need this more than he does. It’s me who should be apologizing for making him put his life on hold to take care of me.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter against his chest.

“For what?” he asks softly.

“For keeping you from your job. I’m sure you’ve had to call in to work by now.” Even though I am sorry, it doesn’t keep me from clinging to him and greedily breathing him in.

“Don’t apologize. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

§

“Layla,” Luke says in a groggy tone, sleep thick in his voice as he hands me my phone.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, but I didn’t sleep well last night, which means Luke didn’t sleep well either. He sat up with me, listened to me, and comforted me until the sun rose behind the blinds. After breakfast, we snuggled back up in his bed and went back to sleep.

“I should answer. She’ll keep calling.” I take the phone from him and swipe my thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, Layla.”

“Thank God,” her relieved voice says from the other end. “Harper, sweetie…” She pauses, and I feel the emotions thick in my throat. “God... I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” I don’t know what else to say. Talking to Layla makes me realize that I’m eventually going to have to face the real world. I can’t hide away in Luke’s bed forever. I haven’t seen anything or anyone besides these four walls and him since Sunday.

“Come home,” she pleads. “I need to see you with my own eyes and know you’re okay. Please.”

“I will.” I need to. I know that.

“Is there anything I need to do? Anyone I need to call for you?” she asks.

There’s no one.

Just me.

I clear my throat to keep from crying. “Uh, no. Well, if you could let work know. I’ll email my professors. And I’ll have to go up and sign some papers at the rehab and pick up Sadie’s things, but that’s it.” I’ll also need to send an email to Mrs. Jackson too.

“Okay, well, come home and I’ll help you with all of it. Do you want me to come get you?”

I look over at Luke, and he’s watching me from his pillow. God, I don’t want to leave. Ever.

“No, I’ll...I’ll be home later today.” His eyebrows furrow, and I wonder if he needs me to leave sooner. “Or sooner, but you don’t need to come get me. I can make it home on my own.”

Layla sighs. “Okay, but call me if you change your mind or need anything,” she demands.

“Okay.”

“I love you. You’re not alone. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” I answer. “I know that.” I pause for a second, my eyes still on Luke. “Love you.”

Ending the call, I hold the phone in my lap and stare down at it. “I should go. I can’t hide here forever.”

“Yes, you can.” He sits up beside me and takes my phone, setting it on the nightstand and then takes my hands in his. “You can stay here as long as you want...days, weeks, months...years...forever.”

I look up at him, and there’s nothing there except sincerity. He bends his head down, locking his eyes on mine before taking my lips with his. The kiss is slow, not needy or desperate, but more like a promise.

He’s not going anywhere.

“I’ve gotta go home and see Layla. She’s worried.”

“I know,” he says, letting out a deep sigh and leaning his forehead against mine. “Will you at least stay for lunch?”

“Okay,” I reply, feeling my heart expand at the offer. Knowing he wants me here does things for me that I’ll never be able to put into words.

“Okay.”

Luke climbs out of bed and walks toward the bathroom, and once again, I’m mesmerized by the muscles in his back and the way they move when he walks, and those damn gray sweatpants.

“I’m going to shower, and then I’ll go pick something up. The only thing I could make us is ramen noodles, and I’ve eaten them for the last two days.”

I smile. It’s probably the first time I’ve smiled in three days ...and it feels good.

He disappears into the bathroom, the door closing behind him, and my mind races with thoughts of him being naked behind there. I’ve seen him. That’s no secret or mystery, but that was a long time ago, and it was under a world of different circumstances.

I want to see him without a window or secrets between us.

When I hear the doorknob on the bathroom twist, my heart pounds and my breathing picks up. He pokes his head around the door, not exposing anything but his bare chest. “You can watch television or go into the living room,” he says. “I know you’ve been cooped up in this bedroom for a few days. Might do you some good to see a different set of walls.”

I nod, and he closes the door again. A minute or so later, I hear water running and then the rush of the shower. My eyes go from the bathroom door to the door leading out to the rest of the apartment.

Slipping out of bed, I walk quietly to the door. As I open it, I peek my head out, taking in the space I memorized—the sleek lines, hard surfaces, cold colors. It’s everything this bedroom isn’t. It’s like this space represents the Luke he gives to the world, and his bedroom is everything he is inside...the Luke he’s slowly starting to give to me.

§

When the taxi pulls up in front of Layla and Connor’s building, I take a deep breath and reach for the handle. “If you need me, I’m only a phone call away.” Luke’s words soothe me, but I know I need to do this.

Life will continue.

The world will keep spinning.

I turn and look at him, putting on the best smile I can. “I will, but I’ll be fine. Promise. I’m going back to work tomorrow, so—”

“If you need more time, I can help you.”

I know what he means. He’d pay my rent or whatever, but I can’t let him do that. I can take care of me. I’ve been doing it for a long time. That’s a constant—something I can depend on.

“Thank you,” I tell him, cupping his cheeks and running my thumbs over them. “Thank you for taking care of me and for being here for me.” I swallow down the lump in my throat and kiss his cheek and then his lips, closing my eyes and breathing him in.

“Get some rest. I’ll call you later tonight.”

I nod, and he pulls me in for one last kiss. This one lingers, and I feel the want and desire coiling deep inside me. Luke’s breath becomes ragged as he pulls away, his fingers still laced in my hair. “I want you,” I confide, needing the transparency we’ve come to find.

Luke’s head tilts down and he presses his forehead to mine. “I want you. Don’t ever think I don’t, but I don’t think we’re ready for that, not yet.”

Closing my eyes, I let his words sink in. He wants me.

“I refuse to ruin what we have by rushing to the next level,” he continues.

I place another soft kiss on his cheek and then open the door of the taxi.

“I’ll call you later.” He calls out after me, his promise wrapping around me like a tight embrace.

Standing on the curb, I wave and immediately miss him, even though he’s still there. He doesn’t leave until I’m inside the building. My anxiety builds as I ride the elevator up to the apartment.

Layla must’ve been watching from the window because the door opens as soon as I step out of the elevator. She meets me in the middle of the hallway, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles. “I know Sadie wasn’t a good mom, but she was yours, and I know you’ve tried so hard all of these years to help her get better. You just wanted her to love you.” She sniffles and squeezes me harder. “She did. She loved you in her own way. She just didn’t know how to show it.”

I want to believe her. I want to believe Sadie loved me.

§

It’s been five days since Sadie died.

Five days isn’t enough time to grieve, but I’m back at work today. After hiding away in Luke’s bed for three days and then letting Layla hover over me for another day, I need this. I need normal. I need the library and people who don’t know my junkie mother hung herself without saying goodbye.

Layla and I walk arm in arm down the sidewalk like we’ve done on so many mornings, but for obvious reasons, this one feels different.

“Coffee?” Layla asks as we get closer to our coffee shop.

“Stupid question,” I tell her. I need coffee like I need air to breathe, like I need Luke. I’ve talked to him almost every few hours since he dropped me off on Wednesday, but I need to see him. I miss him. I miss the warmth I feel when he’s next to me.

Layla and I walk in, she orders for me, and then we shift down to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks. Her arm tightens around mine, and she leans her head over on my shoulder. “You sure you’re up for work today? Mia said she would give you some of her PT hours.”

“She doesn’t have to do that. I’m fine.” I sigh and rest my head on top of Layla’s. “I need work.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Besides, if Kyle was right, Mia will need all the PT hours she can get.”

Layla snickers beside me. “Oh, God. Can you imagine Mia as a mom?”

“Yeah, actually, I can.”

“Me too. It’s weird, but I can see her being a good mom.”

“Hopefully she loosens up a little, though. That poor kid will feel like he has a drill sergeant for a mom.” We both laugh, thinking of Mia and a baby. She doesn’t do well with messes. “But at least she’ll be there.”

“Yeah.”

That’s something Layla and I both know all too well.

Once we get to the library, Mia practically attacks me. Her light sob into my shoulder tells me that Kyle is definitely right. Mia isn’t a crier. “I’m sorry,” she says, sniffling. “You know how I feel about her, but she was your mom...and, well…” She sniffles again, and I find myself patting her back, comforting her. “She was your mom, and now she’s gone, and that sucks for you. Life sucks sometimes.”

“It does.” I squeeze her until she stops crying. The fact that I’m not crying is a huge step. Everything has made me cry over the past several days.

“Let’s get to work,” Layla encourages, handing Mia a tissue and keeping one for herself.

The three of us walk out into the library and fall into our normal routine, and it feels good.

§

Walking up the sidewalk of Fremont, I grasp Layla’s hand tighter. Just seeing the doors makes my throat tighten. I’m ready to be done with this place, or at least this task. Since Luke works here, I’m sure this won’t be the last time I grace these doors, but this will be the last time I come here as Sadie Evans’ daughter.

They called late yesterday to inform me that there are a few papers that need to be signed, and they have a box of Sadie’s belongings for me to pick up.

“You okay?” Layla asks.

“Yeah.” I nod my head and try to take deep, even breaths. “I’m okay,” I tell her, but it’s more for me.

When we pass through the front doors, Luke is standing there, waiting for us. He walks up and wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into him and inhaling deeply. “God, I missed you.”

“Same,” I tell him, planting my face in his chest.

“You ready to get this over with?” he asks. I nod.

He loosens his hold on me and looks over at Layla. “Hi, Layla.” This is the first time they’re actually seeing each other. I’ve wanted them to officially meet each other, but I didn’t expect it to be quite like this.

“Hi, Luke,” Layla greets, stepping in and giving him a hug. Layla doesn’t have a lot of boundaries. The gesture causes Luke to freeze, but eventually, he pats her back and awkwardly hugs her back. “Thank you for taking care of Harper,” she tells him, and his posture softens.

“No need to thank me,” Luke says.

Layla steps back beside me and takes my hand again.

Walking up to the counter, I give the lady my driver’s license. She directs me to a desk where a caseworker is sitting. I’m briefed over the paperwork, signing where she tells me, but basically zoning out as I go through the motions. After I finish with the paperwork, she places a small box on the desk between us containing all my mother’s worldly possessions.

It’s depressing.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” she asks.

“No.”

“Our number is in the file I’ve placed inside the box. It has Sadie’s doctor and therapist listed. Both of them would be happy to talk to you or offer their services for grief counseling.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, staring blankly at the box.

“Her ashes will be ready for you to pick up tomorrow. The mortuary will call you when they’re ready, but you can pick them up at your earliest convenience.”

I nod.

It all sounds so black and white, cut and dry. Sadie was anything but that. She was so gray. She was a mother, but she wasn’t. She was a wife, but not really. She was a daughter, but not for many years. I’m sure she was a friend to some. She loved, but she didn’t know how to show it. She wasn’t black and white or cut and dry.

Luke kisses my temple and whispers that he’ll call me in a little while. The look he gives Layla tells her that he’s worried, but I’m fine. I want to be alone. I want to go home and lock myself in my room and spend some time with my mother’s things. I didn’t get to say goodbye. She didn’t let me. So this is my closure.

§

Sitting in the middle of my bed, I take the lid off the box.

Folded neatly on top are a pair of jeans. They’ve seen better days and have worn spots on the pockets...and they’re small, too small. There are also two T-shirts and a sweatshirt. Nothing special or fancy. Under the clothes, there’s an old journal. The pages are worn, and the cover is tattered. A rubber band wraps around it to keep it closed.

I take the journal out and look into the empty box.

Four items of clothing and an old, dilapidated journal.

That’s it.

I hope, one of these days, when it’s my time to go, I have more to show for my life than this.

Opening the journal, I recognize the date at the top of the page as the first day at Fremont.

I begin to read.

The first pages are filled with angry, confusing words. I can easily recognize the ramblings of a detoxing Sadie. I remember how she was those first few days when I went to visit her. She was mad at the world; mad at me. She hated everyone. She hated the court for ordering her there, but after wrecking her car into a convenience store, it was rehab or jail, so she picked rehab. She hated the doctors for taking her beloved drugs from her. She hated herself for being weak. She hated me for existing.

Eventually, the hatred morphs into sadness, and it pours off the page. The words are those of a woman who saw no light in the world. The dark voices in her head were louder than any therapist, any doctor. She didn’t see a way out, no way to change or be different. The drugs were her. She was the drugs. Separating the two wasn’t possible. Without them, she didn’t exist.

There’s a part where I can see the therapy working. She writes about memories with my dad or as a dancer. It must’ve been a point in her recovery where she could appreciate the sober times, remembering what life was like without drugs.

She wrote about the words she spoke to me. She admitted to herself in this journal that they were all lies, and she grieved over hurting me. The words are splotchy from tears hitting the page, and a few of mine mix with hers.

The entry from the day she was transferred back to Fremont after almost dying in the hospital is the one that hits me the hardest.

 

I should’ve died.

I don’t deserve to live.

I want to die.

 

I think they make my heart hurt so bad because I thought those same words.

From there on, the journal is once again filled with darkness. It’s not the hate-filled words from the beginning, but more resolved.

 

Why do I use?

That’s the question I’m supposed to ask myself today. Why do I use? Where did it start? When was my first time? Those questions seem so easy to answer, but they’re not. Oh, I remember the first time, and I remember why, but remembering only makes me want to use. Remembering doesn’t make me want to do anything less than forget...or die. Since I can’t use to forget, I guess I’ll die. I tried, and they stopped me. I’ll have to be more careful next time.

 

I hiccup as a sob rips through me.

I want to reach through the pages and hug her. Instead, I lie down on my bed and hug the journal.

I watch as the minutes and then hours tick by on the clock, the blue lights lull me into nothingness. Pulling the journal out from under me, I hold it up and flip to the last part I read. There’s more, and I want to finish.

 

November 8th

 

My Harper,

I’m sorry. I know you’ve probably heard that from too many people by the time you read this, but I need you to know that I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that you’ve lived your life taking care of yourself. I’m sorry for every time you felt alone or unloved. I’m sorry for every tear you’ve cried because of me. I’m sorry for your struggles. You never asked for any of this, and none of it was your fault.

What you need to know and always remember is that you were loved. Your father and I loved each other, and we loved you. Sometimes in life, we don’t get to choose our paths. Your father wanted to save me, and I wanted him to so bad...for me, for him...for you. But we don’t always get what we want.

My one wish is that you do get what you want.

Luke loves you. I don’t know if he’s told you, but he does. He came to see me after my hospital stay and told me about his feelings for you. It’s funny, because I remember sitting in our first therapy session, and I thought if I could choose someone for you, it would be someone like him. I know he’s not perfect, but nobody's perfect, baby. If someone seems perfect, they’re hiding something. Always remember that.

This is hard. I know you’re going through a lot of emotions right now, and once again, I’m sorry. But it’s going to be better. You’re going to be okay. You’re the strongest person I know, so much like your father. And you’re good, Harper. You’re so good. Don’t let me ruin that. Don’t let me take away the good. Be better than me. Do more with your life. Love and be loved.

Thank you for the Kit Kat.

Thank you for being the best daughter anyone could ask for and more than I ever deserved.

I love you,

Mom