Of Happiness

by Olivia Luck

  “He could have chased harder.” Sighing, I flop against the pillows. “I guess I’m just scared,” I admit softly.

  “There’s the truth. What are you afraid of?”

  “That I’m not just dating Harris, but Harris controlled by Claire. Every time things start going well for us, she pulls a string and he lets me go. He told me the road was clear, but that wasn’t the case as soon as Claire wormed her way in.”

  “Truth time?”

  I brace for impact. “Sure.”

  “He’s never run after you like that, Eddie. He left Claire behind to come after you. This piece weighs heavily; you need to acknowledge that.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. She’s right.

  “When you say you’re scared, it’s not of Claire, it’s Harris. You don’t want to be vulnerable or give him the power to hurt you. Opening yourself to that kind of pain is scary.”

  “Sarah,” I moan into the phone. “How did you figure that out before I did?”

  “Because I’m your best friend, and it’s easier to call the plays from the couch than on the field.”

  “Sports analogies?”

  “Sorry, Greg’s been teaching me about soccer.”

  My eyes pop open and as I expel a puff of air. “Okay, Dr. Mendel, what am I supposed to do now?”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, I’m glad you walked away from him on Saturday. A, it gave you a chance to start working things out with your dad, and B, he was a huge dick. He can’t have you back unless he makes it up to you.”

  “I want to be with him,” I whisper into the phone.

  “And you will be with him. We know he’s not letting you go that easily. Look, I’m not saying you should accept him with open arms, but I have a sense that he’s preparing to battle to win you back.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “You wait for him to come crawling on his hands and knees. The good ones always do.”

  After we’ve had breakfast, Dad and I wander through the antique store. I take photos and interview the owner for my blog, Your Perfect Place. When I’m done, I find my dad near the front of the store, peering into an open armoire. Suddenly, I can’t contain my curiosity anymore.

  “This is a rude question, but Dad, it’s very unlike you to splurge on an expensive hotel, taxi cabs, and cross-country trips.”

  “I didn’t hear a question in there,” he observes.

  Skirting around a paisley loveseat that needs a serious upholstery makeover, I move to stand next to him. “I helped with our family finances,” I remind him. “I’m so pleased to have you here, but it seems like a lot of money to spend on me when a phone call would have sufficed.”

  He closes the doors of the cabinet and fixes me with a serious glare. “No amount of money is too much to spend on my daughter when she needs me. And, yes, you took care of some finances, but not all. I made a lot of mistakes with you, but saving money in case of a rainy day was not one of them. I’d say you had a rainy day. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.” My heart smashed on the floor is pretty rainy.

  “And lastly,” he starts.

  “There’s more?”

  “Let’s talk outside?” he asks, giving a meaningful look to some of the other patrons.

  Tossing my camera into my tote bag, I follow him out into the bright sunshine. We stroll east on Belmont, a street in the Lakeview neighborhood, toward Lake Michigan. Dad swipes a hand through his hair, contemplating the buildings ahead of us. He looks ill at ease, wrinkles crinkling his forehead.

  “What’s the last point?” I gently prod.

  “It’s odd to think that I’d be afraid of my own daughter,” Dad muses.

  “Afraid of me?”

  “There was a malpractice lawsuit after your mother died,” he says quietly. “We won.”

  “And?”

  “The settlement awarded us a couple hundred thousand, but I was too stubborn. I kept it locked up in an account gaining interest when I could have used it to get you a car or buy you the latest clothes.” He sounds torn-up, his voice jagged.

  I try to stifle an external reaction of surprise. How many more large reveals would there be between him and me? By his remorseful expression it’s easy to spot the upheaval the secret caused him. When I gauge my reaction, I find I’m not upset. It was his decision to do what he felt right with the money. While I was growing up, he provided what I needed—shelter, clothing, food, water. It might have made our lives richer in material things, but wouldn’t have bridged the emotional chasm between us.

  “Dad.” I reach out and grab his elbow, causing us to pause on the middle of the sidewalk. “We lived in the city; I didn’t need a car. And you worked your ass off to keep me fed and clothed. I am so lucky to have a father who could provide for me.”

  After roughly clearing his throat, Dad continues. “I’d like to use the money to pay off the rest of your student loans. There should be some left over, and that’s yours to use as you see fit.”

  The air glides against my cheek; rays of sunshine beat down on me like any normal day. But it’s not normal to find out about stashed money that could eliminate some of my major financial burdens.

  “What?” I finally splutter. “No. No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “The money will sit in the account until you decide what to do with it, Ed. I’m giving it to you.” Shaking his head, he mutters to himself. “Should have done this a long time ago.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You have every right to be angry with me.”

  “Angry? You were twenty-one when mom died. It’s a miracle you didn’t blow the money on a sports car.” I try to break the uneasy mood with a slight teasing smile.

  “I’m proud of you, Edith. So proud.” For a second it looks like his eyes fill with tears, but I can’t analyze it further because I’m too stunned.

  This is the first time I can remember him calling me Edith.

  A vibrating from deep within my tote bag interrupts the moment and I quickly dig into the purse to retrieve the device.

  Mrs. Fletcher calling.

  Trying to ignore the ball of fear forming in my stomach, I tell my dad, “Have to take this one. It’s a client.”

  He nods, looking relieved, and rocks back on his heels while he waits.

  “Hello, Mrs. Fletcher.” My greeting is warm, despite my nerves.

  “Yes, hello Ms. Neff.” She sniffs. “I’m calling to cancel our meeting for this afternoon.”

  I must visibly deflate because my dad gives me a concerned look. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope everything is okay.”

  She sniffs louder. “Everything is fine with me, but not so fine with Amanda McDaniel. I’m afraid I can’t do business with someone who is having an affair with a client’s husband. Frankly, the thought of you in my home is disturbing.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, I force my voice steady. “Mrs. Fletcher, I’m very sorry to hear you were told that. Unfortunately for Amanda and me, it is not the truth. I understand I’ve lost your business, but you should know this: I would never have an affair with a client.”

  Her sniff turns into a snort. “Isn’t that what all the little harlots say? Claire told me that you were eyeing my husband, too. Stay away from us.”

  The line goes dead when she hangs up. Dropping my arm down, I stare at my phone in resignation.

  “Claire lied to another one of my clients,” I say glumly. There’s no surprise in my tone, because there’s nothing Claire could do at this point that would shock me. I’m starting to feel frightened. Another client fired me, my already-small income dwindling further.

  Dad eyes me warily. “Maybe it’s better to shed yourself of clients related to Claire Grant.”

  “Yeah.” My shoulders droop. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.”

  “Should we go out to dinner with Sean and Luke?” he suggests.

  “Okay.”

  “You still like sushi?”
<
br />   A small smile tips my lips because he remembers one of my favorite meals. “Let’s do that.”

  Naka Naka is a cozy restaurant in Lincoln Park, not far from Amanda and Peter McDaniel’s house. Sean, Luke, Dad, and I sit around a sturdy wood table on flat brown benches with pillows on the seats.

  Everyone at the table has been raving about the fish, but to me it tastes like sandpaper. The company has been entertaining, but I want to snuggle under the safety of a warm bed. If I’m honest with myself, I’d admit it’s Harris’ embrace I’d most want to be wrapped in tonight.

  “Let me get this straight,” Luke says, studying Sean. “You met our Edith by accosting her at a yuppie grocery store, and then the Merchandise Mart food court?”

  Sean rolls his eyes playfully. “Hey, I know a best friend when I see her. Aren’t you glad I found her?”

  “Thrilled to have met Edith, but horrified by your behavior. Didn’t you think he was a creep?” Luke asks me.

  “At first I was confused, but I thought his friendliness was a Midwest thing,” I contribute.

  Dad chuckles to my left and Sean bristles to my right.

  “But one minute into chatting with Sean, I knew we could be friends. Even though I was shocked that he found me in the middle of a busy food court, I was really happy to have met a new friend.” I finish quietly, dropping my gaze to my plate. Tears well up behind my eyes, and I blink rapidly to hold them in. My emotional state has been fragile at best these past few days.

  Sean leans over into my personal space. “Me too, girl,” he whispers into my ear.

  I give him a watery smile as I readjust in my seat.

  “Are you all right?” Luke asks carefully. Dad watches me with a worried frown.

  “Yeah, I just thought Harris would call or Mrs. Fletcher wouldn’t fire me. Either one of those would have been a win.” I shrug, trying to appear indifferent, but by the way my dad’s grim expression deepens, I can tell I failed.

  The waitress arrives holding a black check sleeve. She hands it directly to me with a wink. Dad quickly swipes it from my hands.

  “Um, she was definitely flirting with you,” Sean says. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with Harris, you can give her a call.”

  Now a real smile breaks out. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “What is this?” Dad asks, retrieving a white envelope. “There’s no check in here and this is addressed to you.”

  My eyes immediately fly to Luke, who looks painfully nervous. “What’s going on, Luke?”

  He starts chewing on his lower lip. “He asked me if we were going to dinner tonight. I didn’t know what he was going to do with the information.”

  Dad hands me the ivory envelope with Edith scrawled by a masculine hand on the front. Anxiously I slide my finger underneath the flap and carefully slip the paper open. There’s a thick card with Harris Grant embossed at the top in black.

  Edith,

  There isn’t enough space on this card to express how sorry I am for betraying your trust and disrespecting you. I should have done so many things differently. When I should have defended you, I froze. When I should have spoken, I was silent. For this, I will always be sorry. But as you may recall I’m a persistent self-admitted idiot. I don’t plan on letting you go. Tonight I don’t have the privilege of dining with you, but please allow me the honor of covering the bill. Next time, I will treat you to sushi and anything else that your heart desires.

  Baby, I’m so very sorry. Please forgive me.

  Harris

  My mouth must be hanging open because Sean gently presses a closed fist to my jaw to force my lips closed. “What does it say?”

  “Harris is sorry.”

  First he contacted his assistant to inquire about my well-being. Then he runs off at the request of my father, and suddenly now he’s sorry? The man is maddening.

  Sean rips the card from my hand and begins greedily reading the note.

  “Sean! Don’t you ever ask?” Luke moans.

  I barely notice their squabbling. “He paid for our dinner,” I tell them. “And now he wants me back.”

  Dad’s back in police lieutenant mode, watching my every movement through narrowed eyes. “What do you think?”

  Turning slowly, I give him my full attention. Luke and Sean go quiet waiting for my response. “He needs to talk to me in person. He’s hardly said ten words to me since Saturday night.”

  “He hasn’t earned back your trust,” Dad comments.

  “If we get back together, then he has to give me what I’ve already give him: honesty.”

  Sean nods. “That note didn’t mention slamming an emotional door in your face before letting his sister stomp all over you.”

  “The only way he and I will figure this out is by talking in person. But I think I’d like to wait until after my bonding trip with Dad is over.”

  “Speaking of the bonding trip, don’t you think we should go to open mic tomorrow?” Sean asks innocently.

  “I’d like to, if Ed’s on board,” Dad speaks up.

  “Okay,” I agree because even though a swarm of butterflies have taken flight in my stomach, this is the first time since I was a little kid that Dad specifically asked to hear me play the piano. It’s a momentary reprieve from the confusion over Harris.

  After Dad drops us back at Sean and Luke’s, I retreat into my temporary bedroom. I clutch Harris’ letter in my hands; I haven’t let it go since I stole it back from Sean.

  As usual, Sarah was right. Not more than two days since Saturday’s fiasco, Harris has sought me out. It would be so easy to call him and say that I’m ready to fall back into his arm. But (Sarah was right again) I am terrified of his ability to hurt me. Being vulnerable is harder than it looks.

  Not to mention his card didn’t recognize the way he shut me out. Sure, he apologized for the mess that Claire created, but Harris wouldn’t talk to me before that whole disaster.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I drop the envelope on my lap and pull out the letter. I trace his signature as a throbbing ache grows in my temples.

  I miss him.

  “Don’t be nervous, Ed,” Dad says when we seat ourselves at a four-top square table.

  I smile wryly at him. “Was I that obvious?”

  Tonight my roommates are meeting Dad and me at Rusty’s, the open mic bar. Until they get here, it’s just the two of us sitting in the low-lit pub. I’m more uneasy than the last time I was here. Peaceful sleep and I haven’t spent much time together since Saturday. Restlessness plagues me.

  My mood swings between exuberance and anxiety. I’m thrilled to play in front of Dad, but I’m awash with nerves because at last week’s open mic—it’s hard to believe only one week passed—Harris surprised me. His appearance at the bar was after the first time Claire pushed us apart. It didn’t take much convincing for us to reunite, and then she managed to wedge between us again.

  After reading his letter yesterday, I know he’ll track me down to hash it out in person. But when will I see him next? He’s constantly showing up when I least expect him. Then again his element of surprise has always thrilled me.

  “When she was pregnant, your mother would play for hours and hours until I begged her to take a break,” Dad reveals.

  The insight into my mother offers a momentary relief to the inner turmoil. “I really love it when you share things about her with me. I want to know everything there is to know.”

  “You will. Whenever you have a question, just ask me, and I won’t tell you no.”

  “What you just said reminded me, some nights I’d get so caught up in the music that I would stop, like, an hour before you came back from the night shift.”

  We share a smile at the memories.

  Like he promised, Dad demonstrated how devoted he is to making our relationship work. Today he came by Sean and Luke’s to hang out with me while I blogged and concocted a social media campaign. Over a lunch that I made us, old habits die hard, Dad revealed that he
read my blog, not daily, but caught up on posts when he wasn’t at the station or on his beat. When I suggested he write a post for Your Perfect Place, the stoic man actually blushed, and agreed to write about the top five things every man needs in his home. I’m sharing it on the blog next week.

  “Quick! Pull out your lip gloss,” Sean instructs as he drops into the open seat next to me.

  “What?” I laugh.

  He tugs my purse out of my lap and begins rifling through with frantic fingers. When he finds the berry-colored stick, he instructs me to part my lips.

  “What’s going on?” I mutter through my frozen facial expression. My eyes dart to Luke, who wrings his hands in his seat next to my dad.

  “Ponytail doesn’t have enough volume,” Sean says to himself as stretches behind me to tighten the elastic on my hair. Then he reaches forward and musses the fine strands around my face, giving a more messy appearance than I’m used to. “I guess your outfit will do.” I look down at my cuffed boyfriend jeans, gray muted leopard tank, and navy blue cardigan. The anxiety I had sort of forgotten about reestablishes itself firmly as a boulder in my gut.

  “Luke,” I say gravely. “Tell me.”

  “He insisted,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you first—”

  An inexplicable shiver rolls through my shoulders. The low murmur of my friends and the other patrons at Rusty’s falls away.

  Harris.

  He’s the only person who elicits this type of bodily response. I remain rigid and unmoving except for my sweaty palms which I place on my thighs.

  “Luke, my man! How are you?” A strong hand slaps Luke’s shoulder.

  “Matt, hey.” His worried expression eases into a cheerful one when he shakes hands with a man wearing a large, black boot cast. Next to Matt is the beautiful, caramel-haired woman, Jane, who was with Harris in his convertible.

  And then it’s him.

  Harris’ masculine scent surrounds me. He braces his arms on the back of my chair, overwhelming me with his physical presence. I’m swirling in a sea of Harris, unable to resist his pull. He dips closer and then his lips brush oh so gently against my flushed cheek. The intimate contact sends my heart into overdrive.