Unlikely Friends

by Sahar Abdulaziz

  “Officer?” shouted Regan, tapping on the other side of the door. “Excuse me, Officer?”

  “Yes, Miss Vanhorn?”

  “Irwin…um, I mean, Mr. Abernathy…he also works here.”

  Officer Moore shrugged. “I bet he does.”

  “But not today.”

  “Right.” The office’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t get paid enough for this,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “But I called him a short time ago, and he’s on his way.” Regan checked her watch. “Matter of fact, he should be here any minute.”

  The officer rubbed his tired eyes. “And what, pray tell, does Mr. Abernathy have to do with any of this?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” growled Irwin, trudging onto the scene.

  “Irwin?” called Regan. “Is that you?”

  Irwin sighed.

  “Come to the door, and I’ll let you in,” said Regan.

  Irwin rolled his eyes then glanced at the officer, seeking for his permission to enter.

  “Go ahead,” said Officer Moore. “Good luck.”

  “Wait a damned minute,” demanded Darren, now back at the door with a vengeance. “I’m her father. Why does this guy get to go inside and not me?”

  “Because, sir,” declared Irwin, unfazed, “I am her librarian.” Neither Irwin’s face nor eyes revealed even the slightest hint of irony.

  “Her who?” asked Darren, perplexed. “What the hell is going on here?”

  “For the second time, watch your mouth,” chastised Janice from the far corner, covering her own ears.

  For the next five minutes, further mumbling and arguing ensued, much of which neither Regan nor Harper could make out with their ears pressed to the door until they heard Irwin’s voice rise above the fray. “Stand aside. I’m going in.”

  From inside the bathroom, Regan signaled Harper to scoot over, but even then, she couldn’t open the door nearly wide enough for Irwin to pass through comfortably.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” grumbled Irwin when his coat pocket caught on the door handle. “Who the hell are you pretending to be?” he barked at a squinting Regan. “An MI-5 agent or something? Open the damn door!”

  Regan pulled the door open slightly wider and tugged Irwin in by the shoulder. Then she poked her owl eyes out. “Uh oh,” she yelped. Everyone outside the bathroom door stood gawking at her with stunned open mouths. “Sorry,” she screeched then slammed the door shut.

  Irwin huffed and clasped his hands. “I’m here, and this had better be good,” he said, face glowering. “I’m missing out on a perfectly defrosted chicken pot pie for this.” Irwin glared down at his feet where Harper sat crossed legged. “Kindly explain to me why I have been summoned.”

  Harper rose to her feet and crossed the bathroom. She was just about to start talking when she cracked up hysterically laughing.

  Irwin recoiled. “I’m sorry, but how is rousing me from the comfort of my home to deal with your personal issues the least bit funny?” he declared, slightly put off.

  “I’m sorry,” Harper giggled, holding her belly. “But your outfit…” Harper waggled a finger at Irwin’s attire.

  “What about it?” he asked gruffly.

  Harper glanced at Regan, and they both giggled, which soon turned into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

  Brow furrowed, Irwin appeared confused until he peered down at his ensemble. With as much dignity as he could muster, he began to pluck a few cat hairs from his sleeve. “I was in a rush,” he mumbled, using one hand to smooth wrinkles that didn’t exist.

  “In the dark?” teased Regan, still yukking it up.

  “And that hat!” Harper giggled, clutching her stomach. “Who was the poor, unsuspecting beaver trapper you mugged for that ugly thing!”

  Regan abruptly stopped laughing, frantically signaling Harper to be quiet, but Harper, not comprehending the urgency in Regan’s hand signals, just shrugged.

  “A friend gave it to me,” Irwin grumbled, none too happy. He tugged his hat off and shoved it into his pocket.

  Regan cleared her throat and wagged her fingers in the air like Tweety Bird. “Um, excuse me, but since Irwin’s here, I can leave, right?”

  “Yes,” agreed Harper.

  “No!” yelled Irwin louder.

  Regan glanced rapidly between the two, looking baffled as to who to listen to.

  “Miss Vanhorn will remain,” said Irwin, leaving no wiggle room for further discussion. “For propriety’s sake.”

  Harper shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Whatever,” mumbled Regan, leaning back on the edge of the sink. “Oh, darn it all,” she screeched, slapping her now-soaked butt, drenched with splattered water and soap suds.

  The door handle jiggled. “Hey! Is everything okay in there?” inquired the officer.

  “Yes,” shouted all three in unison.

  “Just give us a few minutes, officer,” said Irwin, shooting Regan a death glare. No interpretation necessary.

  Outside the door, Harper’s father could be heard bombarding the officer rather brashly with his account.

  “I just wanted to talk to her is all,” complained Darren.

  Harper rolled her eyes. “He’s such a freakin’ two-faced liar,” she said.

  “No. I have no idea why Harper’s acting like this. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Oh, please,” scoffed Harper. “You hear him? He’s lying through his yellow, nicotine-stained teeth,” she said, clearly not amused.

  “Ignore him. I want you to tell me what’s the truth,” Irwin said, “and I want to hear it from Harper—not you,” he said jerking his head slightly at Regan.

  Harper slid back down onto the tile floor. She pressed her back against the wall. With both elbows resting on her knees, she clasped her hands and peered up. “I don’t feel like talking about it.”

  Irwin exaggeratedly blinked twice, not sure he’d heard right. “I’m sorry, what?” He stared down at the girl like she had lost her mind. Harper played with the zipper on her jacket.

  Irwin threw his hands in the air. “You know what? That’s fine,” he said. “Have a nice life,” and he reached out to open the door.

  “No! Don’t go!” cried Harper, leaping to her feet. “Please don’t go.”

  Irwin paused.

  “You don’t understand…”

  “Then make me.”

  Harper clenched her hands into tightly balled fists. “Darren—the guy outside—he’s my sperm donator. To be honest, I don’t really know him.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because he’s been away a long time.”

  “For how long?” countered Irwin.

  “Five, almost six years.”

  “You said away. Away meaning?”

  “Prison.”

  “And now he’s…?”

  “Out. Sort of. On Parole.”

  “What did he do to get sent away?”

  “Drugs, assault, child endangerment. In general, being a degenerate lowlife jerk.”

  “And he lives with you?”

  “No, he’s staying at a half-way house for now, but that’s what set this whole thing off.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” said Irwin, tucking his crossed hands under his armpits.

  Harper ran her ringed fingers through her tangled mop. Voice low but steady, she began to explain. “Darren got released a few days ago. He decided to come over to the house uninvited to inform, not ask, my mother that he’s moving back. Claims on a stack of hotel bibles that he’s clean, but he’s a liar and not right in the head.”

  “Is that your opinion?”

  “It’s the truth. I don’t want him around, especially near my mother. She’s not…strong enough around him.”

  “Speaking of your mother, where is she and what does she want?”

  Harper’s eyes flashed a disconcerted fusion of fear and rage. “She’s still home, I guess, I don’t know. That’s where she was when I left. Conc
erning what she wants? She doesn’t have a clue. Likes to tell me she can handle things now.” Harper made air quotes. “That she’s changed.”

  “And by that you mean you don’t believe her?”

  “I believe she believes what she’s saying, but I’m not convinced she can follow through. Things have been rough for her, and I think she’ll slide right back into trouble the minute Darren barks. I don’t get it. What does she see in him? He’s such a loser; everyone knows that, but he has some kind of hold on her. It’s hard to explain.”

  “You’re doing fine. Continue.”

  “When I was smaller, they both got heavy into drugs. I mean really bad. Hard stuff too. Back then, he used my mom’s drug habit to control her. Got her to do whatever he wanted.”

  “And why is that?”

  Harper pursed her lips and stared straight into Irwin’s eyes. “Because she’s scared of him.”

  Irwin nodded. Insightful, but still, why involve him? “And so, you decided to lock yourself in a library bathroom and call me. Why?”

  “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t know who else to call,” said Harper, her wet eyes affixed to Irwin’s face. Neither one of them said another word.

  Irwin’s eyes dropped first, his fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his sweater, deliberating on his choices while attempting to ignore Gilly’s voice yelling in his head. Besides Dakota’s situation, he knew any involvement with this girl and her family dysfunction would only bring trouble. Trouble he certainly didn’t want or need.

  “She needs your help,” insisted Regan, poking Irwin hard in the arm. “And remember, Irwin, a little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference.”

  Harper shrugged. “Huh?”

  “Winnie The Pooh,” Irwin clarified. “Ignore her.” Irwin directed his long-suffering attention back to Harper’s situation. “What exactly do you think I can do to help?” he asked.

  Harper gathered her belongings. “Well, for starters, could you arrange safe passage out of this bathroom for me?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Olivia

  Swollen ankles or not, Olivia took off in search of her daughter. She threw on a coat and slipped her bloated feet into a pair of scruffy sneakers, locking the front door behind her. She assumed Harper had headed to her safe place—the library. She plodded along, hoping to beat Darren there, but with a gimp and no car, Olivia seriously doubted it. Darren had been in full form after he left the house, yelling and blaming Olivia for turning Harper against him.

  “I should have known you’d badmouth me to my own kid,” accused Darren, his fists clenched tight. “I rotted behind bars for close to six years in that stinkin’ prison, not knowing a thing about what was going on out here. Not once did I receive a single letter from you. Hell, you even refused my collect calls. You’re evil. You know that, Olivia? Pure evil.”

  “You want to talk about evil?” countered Olivia, her voice shaky but determined. “You left me for dead six years ago, lying in a puddle of puke.”

  Darren leered, but Olivia kept talking. “Harper was the one who found me. Can you imagine? A nine year old had to find me like that. On top of that, they took her away from me. I had to get clean so I could fight to get her back—all by myself. Who knows what Harper endured in those foster homes?” Olivia seethed. “And you know what? Since then, she’s never been the same. Since then I have been making it up to her any way I can, but where were you all that time I detoxed, went to court, dealt with social workers, huh? Speak, Darren.”

  Darren bit his bottom lip.

  “Oh, that’s right. How could I forget? You were probably holed up somewhere, drugged out of your mind, beating and robbing the elderly for their pocket change.”

  Darren lunged for Olivia, but she anticipated his move and had already snagged one of the pillows from under her feet to block him. “Go ahead, I dare you,” she seethed. “Let’s see how fast they throw your ass back in jail.”

  Darren tried tugging the pillow away, pulling Olivia’s wrists to release her tight grip, but Olivia refused to relent.

  “I’m not afraid of you anymore, Darren,” she cried from behind the pillow, attempting to put up a strong front. “You can’t do to me what you used to.”

  “You lying bitch. I didn’t do a damn thing to you that you didn’t want done.” Darren lifted his leg and snap-kicked a nearby chair, causing it to fly across the room and topple over on its side. “And you better keep your mouth shut and stop spreading your lies.”

  Olivia, knowing better than to drop the pillow from her face, glimpsed Darren scanning the room for something else to destroy.

  “Always blaming me for everything,” he grumbled, head twisting left, then right, then left again.

  Olivia caught Darren’s eyes register the bouquet of flowers. She watched in horror when his lips sneered.

  “NO!” she screamed, but she was too late. Darren tore the flowers from their holder and flung them on top of her head. Stems, petals, and droplets of water scattered and landed in every direction.

  “I’m out, Olivia. Deal with it.” As Darren headed for the door, he passed Olivia’s handbag. With a calculated, cruel smile plastered across his face, he swiped the bag and began to rifle through its contents, pocketing a chapstick, a pen, and the few dollars left in Olivia’s wallet. “Thanks,” he said, folding the bills and stuffing them in his jacket.

  “Just take what you want and leave,” she threatened, sounding braver than she felt.

  Darren turned to face her. “I’m going, but remember this—Harper’s my kid, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to change that.”

  Olivia’s eyes drew into killer slits. It had been six long years, and the self-serving bastard still never missed an opportunity to hurl threats at her.

  “Leave her alone!” hollered Olivia, her body racked in fury. She understood all too well the vile game he was playing. Access to Harper would be the ticket he needed to regain control over her, his way forcing her back into compliance. “I’m warning you, leave her alone. Harper’s been through enough hell because of us, and I won’t let you hurt her again.”

  Darren cackled. “Why look at you, Olivia. All big and bad, and thinking you can threaten me,” he taunted. He held his hands high in the air in mock surrender. Darren sauntered back into the room and over to the coffee table, taking aim for the glass vase.

  Olivia leaped to her swollen feet, trying to snatch it away, but Darren, who had her by a good four inches, held it above her head and laughed, taunting her while using his free hand to cuff her in the face every time she reached out to grab it.

  “Don’t!” she implored, arms flailing. “That was my mother’s…”

  “I know.” Darren pulled back his arm and launched the family heirloom smack at the wall, shattering the vase and, with it, all of Olivia’s hopes, into a thousand, fragmented pieces.

  ***

  After a painful and arduous hike, Olivia limped up to the library’s front desk, ready to inquire about Harper, when she heard a loud commotion taking place around the hall’s bend, closest to the bathrooms. Without missing a beat, she limped over, favoring her left ankle over her right.

  Rounding the bend, she glimpsed Darren pouting. She laughed after realizing that he had his back pinned to the wall, seemingly being lectured to by an older, irate woman wagging a finger riotously in his face. On Darren’s other side stood a much younger man with a head of shaggy brown hair, slumped over and gripping his head as if fighting back a migraine. Down the hall by the bathrooms, Olivia spotted her daughter standing with both arms crossed over her chest, flanked by a police officer, a younger woman, and a tall, older gentleman.

  “Harper!” Olivia called, rushing down the carpeted hall the best she could.

  Everyone stopped mid-sentence.

  “Mom,” sighed Harper.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Ma’am, I’m Officer Moore.�
�

  Olivia, eyes darting between the officer and her daughter, gave him an uncommitted nod.

  “Glad you’re here,” said Officer Moore. “I was about to contact you.”

  “What happened?” Olivia pushed through the group and wrapped a protective arm around her daughter’s slumped, unresponsive shoulders.

  Darren approached from down the hall and sent Olivia a clear warning to tread carefully. His non-verbal threat may have gone unnoticed by the police officer whose back faced in the other direction, but it hadn’t gone unobserved by the tall, older gentleman.

  “Harper,” said Officer Moore, “I’d like for you and your mother to stay here with me, while Miss Vanhorn and Mr. Abernathy, please wait at the tables over there.” He pointed.

  “I hate to run, but I really have to get back to work,” said Regan in a slight, shrilled panic. “Pamela, our other children’s room assistant, called out sick today. Supposedly the flu. I told her two weeks ago to get her flu shot, but did she listen to me? No, of course not. Nobody listens to me, and now there’s no one to man the children’s area.”

  Irwin groaned, his hands cupped in supplication. “Officer, please dismiss Miss Vanhorn. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  The officer side-eyed Irwin before addressing Regan. “That’s fine, Miss Vanhorn. If I have any further questions, I know where to find you.”

  Irwin cleared his throat and pointed his finger in the air. “If possible, I would also like to take my leave, so I can go home to feed the neighborhood feral cat my now ruined, cold dinner.”

  “No, stay!” interrupted Harper, reaching out to grab Irwin’s sleeve. “Please stay,” she added.

  Olivia frowned and leaned into her daughter. “Who’s he?” she whispered loud enough in Harper’s ear for Irwin to respond.

  Irwin drew in a long, tortured breath. “Irwin Abernathy, ma’am. Resident librarian. Nice to meet you.” He offered a slight bow of his head instead of reaching out to shake Olivia’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she said, embracing Harper even tighter.

  “Ma’am,” said Officer Moore. “Your daughter locked herself in the bathroom, pretty upset. Miss Vanhorn, the lady who just left, and Mr. Abernathy agreed to stay with her until she felt ready to come out.”