What You Leave Behind (23 page)

Austin is there before sunrise, either beside Harper in his bed on her days off, or leaning up against the railing of her mother’s front porch with a Starbucks Happy Shot in his hand. They open a whole hour before Meat and Eat, and Austin has figured out that if Harper has coffee, she’s more inclined to invite him to have lunch with her when she kisses him and jumps out of his truck. Today, her mouth tastes like Cinnamon Dolce, which means it’s Thursday—the third of which he’s done this. On the morning of Christmas Eve she tasted of peppermint, caramel on New Year’s Day—a sign of sweet things to come. Thursdays are his favorite though, because the hint of spice lingers on her breath and makes her words taste illicit when she tells him to come by at noon.

They spend lunchtime with Dylan and Clare—mostly just with Clare, since Dylan does the cooking—eating family style, with plates of food sprawled out at the end of the bar. Clare has taken to color-coding the progression of Austin’s healing bruises—eggplant, heliotrope, bruised apple, burnt asparagus, margarita—and it usually marks the end of their daily conversation. However, today, his cheeks are finally free of bruises and Clare says, “You’re lookin’ good, kiddo,” instead, and passes him a milkshake for the road.

Harper and Austin take their time walking the quarter mile between Rhodes and Meat and Eat, stealing kisses and sips of strawberry shake at crosswalks and in the tiny alcoves of the storefronts along the way.

“You really are lookin’ good. I like your face when it’s all put together and stuff,” Harper says in one of these alcoves, her hand tangling in his slow-growing hair as their mouths meet over and over between her words. The strands are just long enough to fully cover her fingers when she rakes them across his scalp, but it’s still quite a few inches shy of how she likes it best, still too short to get a good grip on, and she misses that. “Though, I wish your hair would grow back already.”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around a little longer, huh?”

“Always,” she whispers, tugging him by his coat until they’re lip to lip again.

The bell to the door they unintentionally block chimes, as if to politely ask them to move out of the way. They scoot aside at the sound, spill onto the sidewalk and laugh against each other. Their smiles quickly vanish at the sight of Dan as he steps through the same door. It’s the first time Harper and Austin have seen him since September—let alone together. It’s easy to avoid a pediatrician when you’re in your mid-twenties, living on the other side of town, and making a genuine effort to not run into him, but there’s no dodging him now.

Austin stammers out a hello.

“It’s good to see you two—Harp, Aus,” Dan says like old times, juggling the shoeboxes he holds beneath one arm to clap a hand on Austin’s back. He winces at the contact, but not from pain. He misses that—the paternal gesture, the father figure. “You doin’ alright?”

“I’m doin’,” Austin tells him noncommittally.

“Seems like you two are doing just fine.” Austin expects the words to be biting, but they come out with nothing but warmth and sincerity, and he sees Harper smile graciously in his periphery. “Things good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Austin says, his voice picturesquely calm and carefree as he pulls Harper to his side. His arm trembles against her as it rests across her shoulders, in direct contrast to the ease of his words, but her expression gives nothing away—she keeps smiling, even through the worry his actions bring on. Behind the scenes, she presses a hand against the small of his back, a reminder she’s there with him, that he’s welcome to whatever strength she has, just as he did for her so many weeks ago. She feels the smallest bit of tension release from him, and as it does, he asks, “What about you, you good?” almost as an afterthought.

“Good. Everything’s good.”

All three of them know this isn’t quite true. Harper and Austin have heard about Liam losing his internship at Ashland Community. They’ve also heard about him pilfering pills from Barnes Drug and Beauty after hours, the resulting arrest, and his continued downward spiral. News has been quiet as of late, though, and if Dan’s jovial disposition is any indication, Liam is doing better. In any case, they give him the courtesy of not pressing the issue, just as they’ve done for each other for weeks—no one wants to talk about Liam.

Dan shifts the duo of boxes stacked beneath his arm, reaffirming his hold on them, and Austin tenses again. His mouth presses into a stiff line as his gaze follows Dan’s down to the cardboard. Harper strokes her thumb over his spine, but it doesn’t help, and when Dan notices the change in Austin, he nods to himself and says a quiet, “Well, I should probably get going.”

“It’s not like you to skip a pun, Dan,” Harper says quickly, calling attention away from Austin’s behavior and allowing them to segue into once-familiar territory, easy conversation. “No,
I’ve got to run
? I mean, you’ve got two boxes of shoes, man.”

“They’re rafting shoes, but if it makes you happy: I’ve got to run,” Dan echoes with a wink before he turns and walks down Main toward North 1
^st
Street.

“It really is a shame,” Harper says at the sight of his retreating back. “I miss that guy.”

“Me too,” Austin sighs, emotion blatant in his strained voice. “Me too.”

They begin the walk back to Meat and Eat, the last few steps taken in heavy silence. When they reach the frosted glass windows of the shop, Harper leans against them and pulls him to her, wraps her arms around his middle. He’s still stiff, but relaxes against her, and she finds gratification in the way he unravels beneath her touch.

“I wish things would get back to normal,” she murmurs against him.

“Normal?” he echoes the word back at her, mouth twisted as if he’s tasted something bitter.

Normal, to him, implies a time before—a time with more Liam and less Austin. The mere thought of her wanting such a thing unnerves him. Austin already worries that Harper still longs for Liam on nights he can hear her whisper his name like a secret in her sleep. It’s why he’s installed himself as a permanent fixture to her morning routine—a constant reminder of the present in the midst of so many still-lingering relics of her past.

It isn’t that he’s insecure.

He’s just terrified.

“You know what I mean,” Harper says quickly, realizing too late how her words were interpreted. She tightens her hold on him, hoping her firmness will ground him like it did in front of Dan, but he only grows more rigid beneath the feel of her contracting arms.

“I kind of don’t,” he admits bluntly, pulling out of her grasp.

“Austin, don’t be like that. I didn’t—”

“I have to go. I have to get back to work, Harp.” Austin’s jaw flexes tightly after the words are out. “I’ll see you later.”

“Will you?” she asks, taking a step toward him, but he’s already backed away from her, his feet taking him north toward Pioneer. “Austin?”

“We’ll see, okay? Just—” Austin tugs on his hair as he lets out a long sigh and turns on his heel. Over his shoulder, he repeats curtly, “I have to go.”

She calls after him as he begins to jog up Main, but the only reply she’s met with is the wind as it tumbles south and whispers nothing. 

The midday rush of patrons distracts Harper from her worries, but once the shop grows quiet and her hands lie dormant at her sides, her stomach begins to churn with uncertainty. She envisions every possible combination of words she could have said to Austin other than the ones she used, and wishes she could go back and press her mouth against his instead of speaking. She can’t though, and as she takes her mid-afternoon break and wanders up Main, following the ghosts of Austin’s footfalls, her thoughts shift to all of the apologies she’ll give him, instead.

I’m sorry.

It was a stupid thing to say.

I didn’t mean it.

Forgive me.

I love you.

I don’t love him.

She sighs out Austin’s name and sits on the wall that he normally occupies outside Rhodes. She didn’t intend to go there, but it’s where she ends up, and she runs her fingers across the rough surface, looking for any trace of his warmth that might be stored in the lifeless brick. Her hands pull away cold and she fists them in the pockets of her coat, knowing she has to find her own heat—his won’t come so easily this time.

It’s the first fight they’ve had since they gave themselves something to lose on the very same wall three weeks prior. Though neither of them has mentioned it, they’ve both found a bit of pride in how well things have been going, especially given Liam’s return. They’ve been lucky to avoid him since the bruises first appeared, lucky enough to avoid confrontation of all kinds, but Harper suspected it was only a matter of time. They would eventually see him out again or she would order Austin’s burger without pickles, the way Liam liked it—
something
would happen. She just hadn’t imagined it would be something as simple as a single word that would bring them here.

She stares absently out at the grey afternoon sky, as the feeling within her changes from worried to wronged.
Normal
. It didn’t take her long to figure out how Austin perceived it, and now it seems to take even less time to feel offended not only by his assumption, but also by his overreaction. Still, she knows she’s had her share of illogical breakdowns and because of this she’s not only willing, but eager to apologize.

It’s only a few minutes past three o’clock, and she knows he’ll be sitting on the tailgate of his truck, smoking a cigarette, and maybe even drinking a beer if Mr. Thorne isn’t around the yard. Beer or not, she knows he’s parked far enough away from the commotion of the warehouse to hear his phone ring in his front left pocket. It’s only a matter of whether or not he’ll answer it.

When he does, Harper is flooded with relief, one step closer to reconciliation.

“I’m sorry,” she says in reply to his gruff, “Hello.”

“I didn’t mean what you thought I meant,” she continues as the flick of a lighter on the other end of the line punctuates her words. She can hear Austin take a drag of his cigarette and pauses briefly to see if he’ll talk on his exhale, tell her it’s okay and that he’s sorry, too. When he doesn’t, she says, “I just meant—I don’t even know, but I didn’t mean
him
.”

“I know,” Austin admits, his voice low on the line. She hears the distinct creak of his truck’s tailgate, then the slam of it, signaling he’s up and pacing. It isn’t the angry kind she’s seen before though, and she can tell that simply by the defeated way he says, “I know what you meant.”

“Then why did you get so upset?”

“Honestly?” Austin asks rhetorically, the word distorted by the sound of an inhale. “Did you notice the shoes?” Harper doesn’t at all see where he is going with this until he says, “Size twelve. Dan’s a ten.”

“Liam’s—”

“Yeah. He’s a twelve, just like me. And I know those rafting shoes sure as shit weren’t belated Christmas presents for me.” Austin bites out a sullen laugh. “You know this is the first year since I was six that Dan didn’t give me a dad gift? He always gave me a baseball glove or a guitar or Trail Blazers tickets or even this fucking truck,” his boot connects roughly with the side of it, “…something we could do together.”

“So, this isn’t even about what I said? Is this about—”

“No, it is.” Harper deflates at the words, and even further at the way she hears him try to mask the emotion in his voice as he says, “It’s about before. Before—before was you and him and dad gifts and summers at the lake and all of these things, and I know that I miss some of that –it’s obvious, especially today—and I’m just worried that you miss it, too. More than you let on. That you miss it enough to—I’m just waiting for you to realize how much better you had it. You’re going to—Liam is going to get his shit together and you’re—you say his name in your sleep and—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. I wish I was. Do you know how that feels, though? And now you want
normal
,” he spits the word like a curse. “Is that what you want?
Him
? Because I’d like to—”

“Stop it!” She shouts the words, trumping his quickly rising volume. He stays quiet, his labored breath crackling across the line. A minute ticks by, then another, and as she listens to Austin’s breaths level out, Harper finds her nails digging into the brick as best they can—a losing battle. They splinter and the nail beds go white, and by the time Austin grows nearly silent, they start to ache. “This has gotten way out of hand,” she says gently, slackening her grip on the wall. “I’m sorry and I love you, but I’m not going to feed into your fantasy of me leaving you for him. I’m not going to leave you.”

“That’s what everyone says, until they’re gone,” he replies flatly, and then the line goes silent.

She sits for a while, dazed as the tears well in her eyes and obscure her view. Part of her wants to call him back just to prove him wrong, but the other part wants to give him space. She decides to text him—
I’ll see you at 5:00
—and trusts that covers both ends of it, giving him hope and time, while giving her peace of mind. Then, with tears dripping down her cheeks, she kisses her fingers and presses them to the brick as she staggers to her feet.

Strong hands catch her at the waist, and she knows the feel of them, the length of the fingers and the way they press into her skin. She cries out then and tries to twist away, but his hands are firm. He pulls her to him, to his chest, and she cries against the soft leather of his jacket.

“Harper—”

As he says her name, her heartbeat crowds her ears—Austin,
Liam
, Austin,
Liam
.

“No, Liam. No.” It’s an all-encompassing no and she says it firmly as she pushes away from him, staring him dead in the eyes. She takes him in for a moment, noting his eyes are back to the bright blue they used to be. His hair is neat and combed and he’s dressed in a button-down and loosened tie. He is not the same Liam who spilled blood on the floor of the bar weeks prior, but he is still the same Liam who left, so she says, “No,” once more.