What You Leave Behind (17 page)

Clare lives in a pale yellow house on the other side of town, which isn’t actually a far distance from Austin’s, but as Harper finds out, feels like it takes an endless journey to reach when it’s 40° and raining and she’s not wearing pants. Between Austin’s front door and her truck parked around back, the thin t-shirt and all of her exposed skin falls victim to the downpour and even with her truck’s heater on full blast, there’s no end to her shivering. Going home would be faster, closer, but she can’t turn up in the state she’s in. Instead, she parks her truck in Clare’s driveway, so thankful to find her car parked there as well, and runs barefoot through the icy rain to the covered porch, trembling as she rings the doorbell and waits.

“Har—what in the fuck? Where are your pants? Get in—come inside.”

Clare ushers her in quickly and immediately grabs two throw blankets from her sofa. She wraps them around Harper’s shoulders, her hands rubbing over Harper’s arms in an effort to speed up the spread of warmth as she looks on with worry lines crisscrossing her forehead. Harper shakes her head erratically, the shiver that overtakes her hindering her ability to do so in a normal capacity, and for a while, they just stand in the entryway, Harper shivering against Clare and getting her cashmere sweater all wet with rainwater and tears.

“Let me get you some dry clothes,” Clare says softly once Harper begins to tremble less. “Stay right here.”

Clare returns with various clothing items, none of them matching, and Harper notices how unlike her it seems, but it’s such a trivial thing right now. She nods in thanks and takes sweatpants and a waffle-knit Henley from the pile, changes right there in the foyer, all modesty disregarded in favor of warmth. When she’s done, she pulls the cuffs of the shirt over her hands and folds her arms across her chest as the shivers lessen, come in slow waves.

“What’s going on?” Clare asks when Harper’s teeth stop chattering.

“Austin—” As she says his name, she feels a shiver flare through her. “We’re—it’s not going to work out. Which you’re probably—I’m sure you’re heartbroken about that.”

“I am, if you are,” Clare tells her, sincerity clear in her tone. “I was only so hard on him the other night because of what he did and how it hurt you—not because I don’t like him. It’s hard not to like a guy like him. Rough around the edges, but with a big heart, and the way he was so—”

“Please don’t—” Harper lets out a long breath and blinks back tears. “I know what kind of a guy he is.”

“How about I make you some tea?” Clare asks, but it sounds more like an apology than an offer, and before Harper can reply, she heads for the kitchen, gesturing for Harper to follow.

Slowly, Harper ambles after her, Clare’s too-long sweatpants causing her to slide more so than walk across the wooden floor. When she reaches the kitchen, Clare motions toward the cozy breakfast nook and Harper wastes no time crawling into the bench seat that spans the length of the bay windows. The sun has already set, but she looks out over what she can see of the spacious deck, which affords expansive views of the valley, mountains, and Grizzly Peak in the light of day.

“So,” Clare starts minutes later as she hands Harper a large mug of chamomile. “Why aren’t things going to work out? And feel free to explain why you showed up here without pants at any point in time, if you’d like.”

“I showed up without pants because my clothes are at Austin’s. Hard to explain, but I waited for him to get home, dressed in his clothes and reading his book, and when he got home he—he ultimatum’d me. Him or Liam. Which makes no sense because—obviously, it makes no sense. But it’s because we—last night we almost had sex. Like, so close it should count. And the only thing that stopped us was me—I couldn’t and I don’t even know why. And he—he thinks it’s because I still have feelings for Liam. Which I guess is a part of it maybe, because I—right before, I thought of him. I wouldn’t be thinking of Liam, if I was ready. And Austin—he explained it so perfectly today and at the time, I couldn’t agree with him, but it’s been two weeks and just—just look at us. We’ve done nothing but fight and kiss and cry and yell and avoid each other. It’s been one giant mindfuck. Even if I want to be with him—and I do, I really do—maybe I’m just not ready yet.”

“Okay,” Clare says, dragging out the word as she processes Harper’s winding explanation. “Okay, so let’s say you aren’t ready. Rather, you don’t have feelings for Liam and you aren’t ready. How do you think you’ll know when you
are
ready? And not just to sleep with Austin, or anyone. What has to happen for you to feel you’re ready?”

Harper shrugs and wraps both of her hands around her mug, takes a long sip in hopes that Clare will answer her own questions. She doesn’t though, and the questions just sit there between them until Harper says, “I don’t know,” just to break the silence.

“Well, maybe that’s where you start. Maybe you need to figure out how to get some closure.”

“I cremated our fucking relationship’s carcass.” Harper snorts out a bitter laugh before her features are overtaken with solemnity once more. “What more can I do? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to ask Liam.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Harper and Clare pull into the lot behind Barnes Drug and Beauty, and Harper angles her truck in beside Sly’s sedan in one of the two tenant parking spaces. It’s an old habit. The spot was known as hers for the span of her relationship with Liam, and it feels a little strange to her to look up at the familiar brick façade of the building, knowing Liam isn’t within its walls. Harper cuts the engine and stares through the downpour at the spot where her headlights illuminate the brick. Everything looks the same, but everything has changed.

“Are you coming?” Clare asks, poised to pop open the door and dart through the rain. Harper clears her throat and nods resolutely, but still doesn’t move, and Clare thinks they’re about to circle back around to the hour-long
do I
or
don’t I
showdown Harper had with herself in Clare’s kitchen. But when Clare prompts her with, “Come on,” Harper swings open her door, and the relief is apparent on Clare’s face.

They skirt the dumpsters and rush up the back stairs, Harper just a little slower in Clare’s too-big boots, as the rain pelts them with icy droplets along the way. There’s no awning at the top of the stairs and Harper, out of habit, slides her key into the lock of the metal security door, eager to get them out of the rain. Though she finds that it works, she pauses, remembering, and she locks the door again as she presses the buzzer beside the threshold. They’re getting soaked, despite Clare’s best efforts to cover them with her raised coat, but it isn’t her place to just let herself in anymore and Harper knows it should only take seconds for Sly to arrive and pull open the interior door.

“Harper,” Sly gasps when she comes into view. A warm smile etches itself onto her face and her eyes gleam, despite the darkness. Harper doesn’t look away this time, and the blues looking back at her are unblinking all the while. It happens in a span of seconds, but to Harper, it feels like she’s spent hours stranded in the sea of Sly’s eyes. She’s rescued from the endless waves and dragged to shore when Sly pushes open the security door, quickly grabs her and pulls her out of the rain and into a tight hug, not caring that Harper is dripping all over her expensive pantsuit. With her chin on Harper’s shoulder, she comes face to face with Clare, who is hunched behind Harper in the doorway, the rain still beating against her back.

“Oh, Jesus. Come in, come in,” Sly says hurriedly to Clare, releasing Harper and moving aside.

The girls step out of the cold and into the dim back hall of the shop, maneuvering around boxes of inventory and an array of housekeeping items. Harper leads the way, more than familiar with the layout of the place, and winds them around a stack of boxes and into Sly’s office. It’s a homey and inviting space, with dark woods, pastel paint, and a plush-looking chaise in the corner. Harper looks over the room carefully to see if anything has changed. When her gaze slides to Sly, she’s the same impeccable woman she’s always been with the same flawless taste. The only thing different in the whole room is the soft, sad look in her eyes.

“So, I suppose you’ve heard about Liam,” Sly says from the doorway, motioning for the pair of them to sit on the tufted chaise lounge—the only seating in the room aside from the desk chair. Harper hesitates, knowing full well how uncomfortable the chaise is from many of Liam’s breaks spent tangled up with him upon it, but Sly’s words have her distracted and she clumsily drops onto the sofa.

“What do you mean?” Clare says, less thrown by the words, as she sits much more delicately beside Harper. “What about him?”

“Oh,” Sly says, looking flustered. “I had—I assumed that’s why you’d come.”

“I want to talk to him and I—” Harper fidgets with her hands in her lap as Sly sits across from them and levels her gaze on her, nods slowly as if encouraging her to continue. “I figured you might be able to tell me how I can do that.”

“If you wait a day or two, you can do it right here in Ashland. Dan went to go get him.”

“Dan went to what?” Harper sputters.

“Get Liam,” Sly repeats. “He left for Arizona last night.”

“Can you—where is—”

“Could you possibly give us a phone number or an address? I wouldn’t want you to betray your own son, but I think given the circumstances, it would be the right thing to do,” Clare translates, reaching over and taking Harper’s hand. “We’ll drive through the night, if we have to,” she says more to Harper than to Sly. “Just tell us where to point the headlights.”

“It isn’t a betrayal. They’re already on their way back, though, and I don’t know where exactly, so I can’t give you an address, but I know they’re breaking up the drive, stopping somewhere in California for the night, so point them south. And try calling Dan’s cell, if you’d like. He’ll be able to help you much more than I can.”

Sly looks genuinely distraught by having to deliver the news of her son’s homecoming, and she watches Harper carefully all the while. There is nothing about the girl that sits before her that resembles the Harper she once knew. When she saw her at the butcher shop, it was from afar and very briefly, but she got a hint of it then. Every part of Harper looked more angular than it was before, and her waist seemed narrower than she remembered it being. Her red hair lacked its usual luster and her brown eyes had their warmth removed. She looked distant and cold, hollow. And now, Sly notices the how on edge she seems. Harper was always sure of herself and her words, always composed and eloquent and never hesitant to speak—something she got from Hilary, and now it’s as if her mouth is narrating her racing thoughts without restriction and no part of her is at ease. It saddens Sly deeply to know that her son did this to her, changed her so drastically—and not for the better.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes,” Clare says, standing and drawing Harper to her feet as well, as Sly nods warmly. “We appreciate it.”

“Harper?” Sly asks softly before they reach the door, and Harper turns slowly at the sound of her voice. She stands and moves to them, taking both of Harper’s hands within her own, her thumbs rubbing over the backs of them. Her mouth turns up in a sad half-smile, one so similar to Liam’s, and as she leans forward, as if to tell Harper a secret, her ink black hair falls into her eyes, but she doesn’t release Harper’s hands to brush it away. “I hope you know that we—Dan and I—we don’t approve of what he’s done.”

“That means a lot,” Harper replies softly, her throat swelling with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” Sly says, letting Harper’s hands fall just as Harper tugs them away at her words. “On his behalf and on my own. I thought we raised him better than that.”

Harper wants to tell her, “It’s okay,” and, “Thank you,” and that she appreciates her kindness and all those other niceties, but the words don’t come as her mouth falls open. Though Sly means well and Harper knows she truly cares for her, she can’t find it in herself to indulge anyone who can bring themselves to apologize on Liam’s behalf. Liam hasn’t even apologized on Liam’s behalf, and as Harper realizes this, she decides that an apology is what she is after—the final piece she needs. She needs to hear it from the source, from him. She needs him to see what he’s done to her and she needs to see remorse in his eyes. Sly’s blues might mirror Liam’s but they aren’t the same, and none of the answers Harper is searching for can be found there.

Without another word, Harper turns to leave, dropping her key to Barnes Drug and Beauty just inside the entryway as she heads out into the night.

The rain is unrelenting and it makes the drive slow-going, turning Harper’s gently rumbling truck into a rocking cradle and the pattering of raindrops into a lullaby. As Clare drives, Harper sleeps soundly. She fought Clare on doing the driving, but Clare knows how little she slept, given the timeline of events Harper relayed regarding the night prior, and the keys were easy to pry from Harper’s tired grasp. Ten miles south of Ashland, Harper stops fighting it off and falls into a deep slumber and Clare pulls a hand from the wheel to pat herself on the back.

It’s a straight shot down I-5 into California and as Clare crosses the state line, she wonders if she’s driving along the same path Liam took out of town. Out of Ashland, it’s either I-5 north or south, if you’re going anywhere far, and given that he ended up in Arizona, Clare is willing to bet this is the way. She wonders what it was like for him—leaving. Was he so consumed by emotion that he had to pull into the rest stop and wretch onto the ground beside his car? Did the thin white lines disappear behind his tears? Did he even look back at the night in his rearview as he left so much destruction in his wake?

The miles pass in darkness and with them the minutes turn to hours. Mindlessly, she lets the road disappear beneath the chassis of the truck, weaves through curves and drives by endless stretches of land, miles of nothing. The further she drives into the night, the less certain she is of where they are and where they’re going. When she comes to an exit after so much of nowhere, she veers off the highway to fill their nearly empty gas task and grab coffee, unsure if the truck will make it much farther.