Winter Break (2 page)

‘Let her be, Honey.’ Lou put his arms around Vivian, intervening, giving Harper a half-nod, half-wink. Who the hell was he to intervene? To wink?

Harper let go, giving in, just at the moment Vivian conceded. The plate fell to the floor, shattering. The liver bounced, landed with a grayish-brown splat.

Damn. Harper knelt to pick up the mess.

‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Vivian yelped, grabbing Harper’s shoulder. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

‘Ma, it’s just a plate—’

‘No.’ Lou stooped, grabbing her hand as she reached for a shard. ‘We’ll take care of it. Go. You’re supposed to rest, aren’t you?’

Harper met his eyes and saw a spark. It was familiar; she recognized it, had seen the same spark before, in Iraq. In the eyes of a woman, Sameh – just before she’d set off an explosive device. So what was that spark doing in Lou’s eyes? Did it mean danger? Was it a warning? Oh God. Harper smelled fire, heard screams, saw a flash of white heat, felt herself flying – NO. She pressed a piece of broken stoneware into her palm, grounding herself with pain. Sent the flashback away. Reminded herself: she wasn’t in Iraq any more. She was home. The spark in Lou’s eyes was just that: a spark. Not a warning. Not defiance. She was safe in her own kitchen. Staring too long and too hard at her mother’s boyfriend.

In fact, both her mother and Lou were crouched beside her; her mother yammering about how difficult and stubborn Harper was being, lamenting the waste of food, the mess Harper had made, the broken plate. But Lou was silent, still watching her. The glimmering spark was gone. But she’d seen it, for sure. Who was this man?

He reached out to help her to her feet. ‘Come on, Doll.’

Doll again. What was that about? Couldn’t he remember her name?

‘Go lie down a while. Your mother and I will clean up.’

Really? Her mother would clean? He must not know her very well. But Harper didn’t argue. She didn’t take his hand, either; she simply stood. ‘Thanks,’ she breathed. ‘I think I will.’

And Harper dashed away, overhearing them as she fled.

‘No Christmas tree? Why is she so miserable? Can’t she see how it upsets me – she makes me want to start smoking again.’

‘Babe. She’s pregnant. She’s gonna be haywire. Cut her some slack.’

Harper flew up the stairs, down the hall to her room. Closing the door, finally alone, she let out a breath. Hank had been gone less than a week; would be away at least three more. No way she could survive all that time with those two. Just the sound of her mother’s gravelly tobacco-cured voice grated her nerves. Scraped them raw.

Harper ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. She walked across the bedroom to the window, then back to the door, then to the bathroom, then to the window again. Why was she so jumpy? She needed to calm down, ached for a Scotch, but couldn’t even think about it. Not for another five months. Five whole months? God. If only she could get on her Ninja and ride, but it was too cold out, too icy. She turned away from the window, surveyed the bedroom. Stared at Hank’s pillow. Felt a pang. Looked away, back outside. Damn, she was turning into a first-class wimp, needed to buck up. After all, she was Army. She’d survived the Iraq war. Not to mention Hank’s accident, a drug conspiracy, a psychotic student, a rogue soldier, a gang of artifact smugglers – if she’d gotten through all that, she should be able to survive a visit from her mother. Maybe.

Harper checked her watch. Almost eight. Another three hours until Hank would call to say goodnight. She stared at the phone on the nightstand, willing it to ring. Lord. Why had she let Hank persuade her to let her mother stay with her? She would have been perfectly fine on her own.

‘Rest.’ She could hear him insist. ‘Docta said for. Next. Whole trimesta.’ He’d manage to articulate trimester; his speech was improving.

‘I’ll be fine on my own,’ she’d insisted. ‘I can take care of myself.’ After all, she was a trained, experienced combat officer. And, despite her war-damaged left leg, she was in good shape.

‘Hoppa. I won’t go. If you’re alone.’ He’d been adamant. Had crossed his arms and steeled his jaw.

And he’d won. She couldn’t have allowed Hank to stay home and pass up his opportunity. For the first time since the accident that had damaged his brain and caused his aphasia, he’d had a chance to work in his profession. His friend Trent Manning had offered him a position assisting on a month-long geologic survey in South Texas. For a thousand reasons, it had been essential that he take it.

Still, Harper had tried to think of alternatives. ‘But Hank. You know how things are between my mother and me—’

‘Vivian loves. You.’ Maybe. But did he think that made up for all the rest?

‘Look, what if I promise that I won’t be alone?’ Harper had tried to negotiate. ‘I’ll have friends come by. Every day.’

‘Who?’ He’d frowned, his arms still crossed. ‘Friends are away. And whole month. You’ll need help to shop. Cook. Clean.’

As if her mother would help with any of that. Harper couldn’t even imagine Vivian cooking or cleaning. After her father had gone away, Harper as a young teen had done all the chores, taking care of her mother more than her mother had of her. But Hank had a point. It was winter break at Cornell, and every single one of her friends was traveling. Janet and Dan were skiing in Jackson Hole. Ruth was in Costa Rica. Even Vicki, Trent’s wife and Harper’s best friend, was going on a cruise. Harper, it seemed, would be the only living soul staying in Ithaca for the holidays. Still, there had to be some other choice – anybody but her mother.

Hank had scowled, waiting.

‘Look. I’m pregnant, not helpless. I’ll be fine.’ Harper had actually stamped her foot.

‘Hoppa.’ Hank had stepped over, placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Docta said rest. No strain. Listen to her. For baby.’

He’d been right; Dr Parsons had told her to not to exert herself. She’d been having early contractions, and Parsons had threatened bed rest if they worsened. So, Harper had relented. Her mother would stay for a month; Harper wouldn’t be alone and Hank would feel comfortable about leaving.

Neither of them, though, had expected her mother to bring a date. Not that Harper was surprised. In the fifteen years since her father had left, Vivian had been through dozens of relationships. Men were essential to her; without one, she shriveled, couldn’t survive. Harper had stopped getting to know them long ago; to her, the men blended into a long line of receding hairlines and too much aftershave. This latest one, Lou, was different; he had thick gray hair and no aftershave at all. But what was he doing in her home?

Never mind. Lou kept Vivian distracted; at dinner, he’d even been a buffer between them. Harper stopped fuming, began to let the tension out of her shoulders. And gasped at a sudden flutter in her belly. It wasn’t a contraction; this was gentler, deeper. More like a tickle – the baby? Was it moving? Kicking? Harper’s hands went to her tummy; her mouth opened, amazed. She wished she could call and tell Hank, but he had no cell reception in the field. Lord, she missed him. Harper held her belly, hoping for another flutter, picturing a tiny person swimming in her body, doing flip-turns. She concentrated, waited, but felt no more movement. Still, she stood at the window, gazing out, not giving up.

Outside, the street was deserted except for a sole black car, driving slowly by the house. The sky was starless, full of thick clouds that promised more snow. The ground was blanketed in white from the street back to the woods, and the fraternity next door stood dark, abandoned for intersession. The night seemed frozen; nothing moved, not Harper. Not the baby.

Harper was about to give up; the baby wasn’t cooperating. She moved away from the window, and noticed a flicker of light, coming from the woods. What? She stepped back to the pane, looked into the trees. No light. Nothing but the frigid stillness. Chilled, she stepped away from the window, and – flash – another flicker.

Harper pressed her face against the cold glass and peered outside, her breath steaming the pane. Through the darkness, she saw a flash among the trees, and then a rustle of foliage near the edge of the woods. Was it an animal? A deer? And the flashes – had they been from a hunter’s gun? Suddenly, a dim figure burst out of the woods, sprinting away, on two legs. Not a deer – a man. And he headed across the fraternity’s back yard to her driveway where the motion sensors Hank had installed in the fall picked him up and, suddenly, the whole area was bathed in light.

Oh God. Harper blinked. The guy was naked? She gaped, confused, as another figure dashed out of the woods, tackling the first, pinning him in the snow, punching him. The naked guy flailed and struggled, rolled onto his back, apparently dazed. But looking up, he seemed to see Harper in the window. His eyes widened, locking onto hers, and his lips moved, mouthing something. Was it ‘Help me’?

Before she’d even processed the words, Harper’s training kicked in. She grabbed a flashlight from the nightstand and rushed to the door, glancing back out the window to see the assailant flipping the naked guy over his shoulder and carrying him back toward the woods.

Harper’s weak left leg nearly buckled as she flew down the stairs, but she kept running. Through the hallway. Into the kitchen, toward the deck door.

‘Harper?’ Her mother looked up from her brandy.

Harper didn’t answer. She pulled the door open and headed out into the night. Vaguely, Harper heard chairs scraping, voices asking: ‘Where’s she going? What the hell?’ But she didn’t stop; she hurried out, off the deck, past the end of the driveway across the snowy back yard to the woods.

‘Harper!’ Vivian’s cigarette and whiskey baritone blared. ‘What are you doing? It’s freezing out—’

‘At least get a jacket,’ Lou called.

She heard them, breathlessly discussing how bizarre she was as they chased her, but she didn’t stop. Her socks got cold and damp as she crunched through ankle-deep snow, but she kept on going, heading for the spot where she’d seen the naked guy emerge.

‘What the hell, Harper?’ her mother croaked. ‘Are you crazy? You don’t have boots or a jacket or—’

Harper spun around, lifted her finger to her lips. ‘Shhh! Quiet,’ she commanded.

‘No, I will not—’ Vivian began, but Lou grabbed her arm, shaking his head while stepping slowly forward, indicating that they should humor Harper until they caught up to her.

But, despite her lingering war injuries, Harper was in far better shape than they, and by the time they got to the edge of the woods, she had already moved out of sight. All they could see was the intermittent beam of her flashlight.

Harper stepped over twigs and into ice-coated puddles, aiming the light forward, to one side, then the other. Her feet were soaked and freezing; her toes were numb. She stopped and held still, listening for sounds of struggling. Hearing only the persistent carping of her mother and Lou as they plodded after her.

‘She’ll catch her death – what can I do? She’s supposed to be resting, not running around barefoot in the snow. That girl will kill me, I swear.’

Harper moved deeper among the trees, looking for footprints. But here the snow was thin; the branches had caught most of it before it hit the frozen ground. And there was no clear path – just narrow spaces between trunks and stumps.

She paused several yards deep, thinking. Obviously, anyone out here would know she was coming. Would have seen her light. Would have heard Lou and her mother talking. She stopped, not knowing which way to go, how to proceed.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Who’s out there?’

She didn’t expect, and didn’t get, an answer from the men. But Vivian shouted, ‘Harper, come out of there right now. I’m freezing. Lou’s coming in after you – if he falls in the dark and breaks a leg, it’ll be your fault.’

Harper pictured Lou in a body cast, plastered to her sofa for months. ‘Don’t come after me. Go home.’ She rotated slowly, shining the light into the stillness, looking for movement or skin tones, or the steam of someone else’s breathing. In Iraq, she’d been able to sense the presence of an enemy, a tingle of alert. But now, the only tingle she felt was in her frozen toes. What was she supposed to do? What had those guys been doing out there?

‘Harper, I’m warning you. I’m calling Hank—’

‘No – don’t.’ Oh God. She would, too. Her mother would call Hank and leave him some frantic message and get him all upset. ‘I’m coming.’

Harper made her way back, stepping over stumps and sticks, frozen wadded leaves and icy puddles, favoring her weak left leg. As she approached her back yard, her mother barked, ‘L-Lou – g-grab her.’

Lou obeyed, wrapping an arm around her and holding on the whole way back to the house. ‘What the hell, Harper? You got more sense than this. This is nuts.’

Lou was shivering; her mother’s teeth were chattering. ‘Y-you p-probably gave us all pn-pneumonia. What’s wrong with y-you, running outside l-like that?’

Shaking with cold, Harper clenched her jaw, and kept walking. Maybe she shouldn’t have run out like that, without a jacket and boots. Or a weapon. What had she been thinking, going after a target unprepared? She looked over her shoulder at the dark hunkering woods. Nothing moved there, and no light flared.

When they got back to the house, Lou put on the kettle to make cocoa and pulled out jackets to warm them. Harper curled into a parka, shivering.

‘Feel my hands, Lou, how cold they are.’ Vivian put her fingers under his sweater. ‘What were you thinking, Harper? Lou or I could have had heart attacks out there. And what about my grandbaby? It’s not just you any more . . .’

Harper closed her eyes, trying to shut out the yammering so she could think. But her mind seemed stuck; her only thought was the face of a naked man, mouthing, ‘Help me.’

‘Got any marshmallows?’ Lou searched a cabinet.

‘Trust me, Harper wouldn’t buy marshmallows. Don’t even bother looking.’ Her mother’s voice was deeper than Lou’s, more weathered. As usual, she assumed she knew everything there was to know about Harper. Harper wished she’d had marshmallows just to prove her wrong.

Lou passed around mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of ginger snaps. Vivian asked for whiskey to spike her cocoa. Suddenly, it was a party.