by CD Reiss
Fitz was about to continue, but I interrupted. “That’s the longest sentence ever.”
“It’s two sentences,” Fitz said, pointing at the screen. “Look. There’s a period right there.”
I should have been sleeping, but I was too nervous. “You can’t just make one sentence into two by putting a period before a conjunction. That’s a bullshit fake period.”
“It tells me when I need to pause.” Fitz had a manly face despite the red hair, but when he was full of shit, he sounded like a teenager trying to get away with something.
“You paused after ‘but,’ not before.”
“You think your speeches are so perfect?”
“My speeches are awesome.” They were. I’d pitched QI4 hardware and software all over the world, selling triple our projections, building the choke on supply I was counting on.
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“Because you need the practice.”
Fitz knew I was lying and closed his laptop.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot called over the intercom, “we’re starting our descent. It’s a short strip, so if we don’t make it the first time, don’t panic. We should be landing outside Barrington safe and sound in eleven minutes.”
LXVII
If I rubbed my palms on my pants one more time, I would leave sweat marks. I clutched a handkerchief instead, switching it between my right and left hands like a fucking neurotic. When I’d met the prime minister of the UK, my palms were as dry as her sense of humor. When I’d asked Fitz if he was interested in a partnership an hour after he got off a sailboat, I was half-drunk and easygoing. I’d taken calculated risk after calculated risk in the past month and never lost sleep over it.
Now, in the limo with Fitz, Deeprak, and Raven, my body was in complete revolt.
I wasn’t able to eat, and I felt as though I wanted to puke. My mouth was dry, and my skin was wet. I couldn’t sit still.
“Keaton’s meeting us there,” Raven said, swiping her finger across her phone. “They want to know if we need anything.”
“We” included Fitz’s team, who rode in the car behind us. They’d seen the factory floor, drawn the plans, moved the money, negotiated the zoning, and brought in the utilities at the speed of Everett Fitzgerald’s signature.
“Water,” Fitz said, projecting without shouting. “The coming water shortage is a global risk that must be addressed immediately. You, people of Barrington, are at the cusp of rev—”
“Cusp?” I asked. “You’re really saying ‘cusp’?”
“What’s wrong with cusp?”
“It’s weird,” Deeprak agreed. “‘Edge?’ Can you do ‘edge’?”
“I can’t. It needs to be cusp.”
“It amazes me,” I said, “that you can invent and commercialize a system that combines hydrogen and oxygen molecules but you can’t replace the word ‘cusp.’”
“When you buy me out,” Fitz said, “your speech can have all the words that make you happy. But at this moment, it’s my signature that got us the money to buy this monstrosity, so I’m—”
“I paid the back taxes.”
“Oh my God,” Raven said. “Here we go.”
“I’m going to use the word ‘cusp,’ the word ‘boondoggle,’ and I might throw a ‘natty’ in there to pretend I’m English.” He straightened his jacket cuffs. “Actually, since you’ll be squatting on half this property, you should give half the speech.”
“Squatting?”
“Until you pony up.”
“And you get the hell out.”
The plan was for H(two)O to develop the commercial water creation system in half of the Barrington space then move to a bigger location as the operation expanded. By then, the theory went, QI4 would need the entire building. I’d buy him out—with a shot in the arm for interest.
“Keep it clean on your side,” I said. “It’s mine.”
“Squatter.”
“Guys,” Deeprak interjected, “really?”
I could see the roof of the Barrington mansion as we pulled up to the gate in front of the factory. The arm was up, and the parking lot was full. Bickering with Fitz had passed the time, but as soon as I was forced to pay attention to my location, my heart started pounding again and I had to switch my handkerchief to the other hand.
The car stopped, and the door opened immediately, as if someone had been waiting.
“Holy shit,” Kyle said when he saw me. He was in a cheap suit jacket and jeans like the rest of the welcoming committee. “Does she know you’re here?”
I got out, straightened my jacket, then straightened his tie. “No.”
She doesn’t know.
Because she doesn’t want me.
And she hasn’t answered my letters.
Or calls.
And she doesn’t need me.
The air brought me back a month to her ozone scent. The memory of infinite possibilities.
“I think I ought to tell her,” Kyle said.
“Aw hell!” Butthead’s voice boomed, and I was almost knocked over in an embrace before I realized who it was. “Where you been?”
“All over,” I said. “Trying to figure out a way to buy this shithole so you can get a decent suit.” I flicked his tie.
“Harper’s gonna flip.”
Was she?
Was that good or bad?
He was smiling, so maybe it was good?
I was the only one with an unplanned, dedicated two-man greeting committee. The rest of the party, including Fitz’s team, was already being guided by what I’d have called “everyone else,” which included Damon, Reggie, Juanita, Pat, and Johnny, looking like a sourpuss even from behind.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Kyle asked. “We coulda set something up.”
“Told the sisters at least,” Butthead broke in.
“You don’t like surprises?”
“Man,” Butthead said, “the last time we saw you…” He shook his head.
I patted him on the shoulder. “I’m not going to flip out on you again.”
It was a statement. Not a promise. I had no idea what I was going to do when I saw her. I had some words I’d put together. Nothing with random periods or the word “cusp,” but something just this side of begging.
The yard was clearing out as people went inside. There was going to be a ceremony, a handover, a lunch with handshaking and greetings, and last, a speech where Fitz promised a ton of shit I really hoped he could deliver.
The events would take all afternoon, and I couldn’t wait that long. My need to see Harper broke through my worry over what she’d do.
“Where’s Harper?” I asked.
“Funny you should ask.” Kyle ran his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah,” Butthead added. “Today of all days.”
Between the shore of seeing her and the bank of not seeing her was a river. I was getting pulled away in it. “Guys. Where is she?”
“She had to go today—” Kyle started.
“Or she wasn’t going to make the…” Butthead snapped his fingers at Kyle as if he couldn’t remember but his friend might.
“Trimester—”
“I think they’re on quarters.”
“Semester, maybe?”
“Where?” I shouted.
“Stanford,” they answered together.
“Who the hell gets a midyear acceptance to Stanford?!”
From their shrugs and expressions, they had no clue.
“Is she there yet?” I could take Fitz’s car back to the airport right then and haul ass to Stanford.
“Leaving today.”
“You might catch her.” Butthead pointed over the reeds toward the Barrington house.
She was here. I could run. Catch her. Bury my face in her neck in the next ten to fifteen minutes.
I grabbed Butthead’s cheeks and kissed him on the lips.
“Jesus,” Kyle laughed.
I heard Butthead behi
nd me say, “Is that blueberry ChapStick?”
But I couldn’t answer because I was already on the path through the reeds. Four steps from where the toxic stink began then hopping the chain, hauling ass over the bridge, through more reeds, trees, grass—Jesus, was it always this far?
The thorn bushes were gone except for a few charred rose bushes around the edge of a little family cemetery. I didn’t have time to take in more than that. I threw myself against the back door.
Locked.
“Harper!”
Down the steps and around the side. I pulled on the screen door and yanked the handle of the wooden door.
Locked.
“Harper!” I looked up at her room, backing to the other side of the side drive. No light, but it was afternoon. “Harper, are you there?”
Her car was in the front, but she was flying out, so she wouldn’t take her car. Everyone was at the factory, so she couldn’t get a lift.
“Harper!”
Gone. Was she gone?
Up the front porch to the door. Locked, of course. I pounded on it. Jammed the doorbell repeatedly.
They didn’t even lock the doors on a regular day. Why were they locked now?
Because she was inside.
That was why.
I leapt off the porch and stood in the middle of the front yard where I could see a third-floor window. “Harper! I know you’re in there!”
A green-and-white car came down the driveway.
Car service. And luck of all luck… a Middle Eastern dude with a short beard leaned out the window.
“Hey,” he said. “I remember you. Going to the airport this time?”
“Ahmed.”
“Yes, yes. I can help you with your bags.”
He started to get out, but I put my hand on the door.
“Listen”—I took out my wallet—“I need you to wait at the end of the driveway, on the main road.” I gave him two hundreds.
He took them. “How long?”
How long would it take to know if she’d come back to me?
I was sure I’d know right away.
“Half an hour.”
“Okay.” He rolled up the window and backed out.
“Hey!” a voice came from above. Harper, leaning out the window from the waist, the heels of both hands on the sill. Golden hair draped on either side of her face. Thrust forward like a woman who wanted things and was going to find a way to get them. “Stop!”
Ahmed had closed his window all the way against the early-winter chill and didn’t hear her. Or two bennies had made him hard of hearing. Her eyes swept over the front yard, and she saw me.
I tried to look confident and attractive. Like a guy she’d want to come back to or a guy she hadn’t wanted before but maybe, just maybe, she could want now if she was interested in a man who felt humble and insignificant most of the time.
“Hi,” I said.
She went back in the room and slammed the window closed.
That wasn’t an answer, and I needed answers. I stood on the porch between the steps and the door. I would wait for half an hour. Then Ahmed would return. She’d see him and have to go through me to get out.
I’d let her go—but not without trying to stop her first.
Half an hour didn’t pass. Sixty seconds went by before the door opened. She stood on the other side of the screen. My Harper. Even seeing her veiled by the screen, my purpose was clear. She was the last piece of my puzzle.
“Taylor, did you send the cab away?”
“It’s nice to see you.”
The screen was a sensory barrier. Did her cheeks flush? Did she swallow hard? Take a breath?
“It’s…” Her hand went to her lower lip, folded it, then snapped back. “I want to say it’s nice to see you too.”
“So say it.”
Her lips disappeared between her teeth. “I knew you were coming.”
She wasn’t supposed to. My involvement had been hidden so she couldn’t avoid me.
Which was exactly what she’d tried to do, wasn’t it? That hurt. I had to call Ahmed and get him back, but…
“How?”
“I hacked you.”
“Of course.”
“And I found out you bought the factory too. With Fitz.”
“That was a secret.”
“Why?”
Why indeed. She was still behind the screen door. I could have punched through it and ripped it to shreds. I could have ripped it off the hinges.
“Come out here, and I’ll tell you.”
“No.” Her answer came before I even finished the sentence. She snapped the lock.
“If you knew I was coming, why did you hide? All you had to do was answer an email and say, ‘Sorry, I still don’t want you. I never wanted you and never will.’”
One of her hands pressed against the screen, going white, bubbling like the bottom of an eggshell carton. “I couldn’t.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips between her teeth again. “I saw what you were doing, and I knew why. I knew you bought the factory to reach out to me, but Taylor, I’m not for you.” She choked back a sob. “I’m always going to be connected here, and you’re going to…” She couldn’t finish.
I went to the door.
“No!”
I stepped back. “Harper, please…”
“I’m going to drag you down. You’ll never be what you want as long as I am who I am. I’m a loser. You’re not. My God…” She was fully crying, and I couldn’t get near her. “Please tell me you didn’t blow everything on that pig of a building. You can’t lose it all for me.”
“Open this door.”
She just sniffed, crossing her arms.
Fuck it.
I pulled the screen door handle. Once. Twice. The third time, the little lock snapped apart the jamb and the door swung open.
The screen had hidden the extent of her anguish. Her face was red and slick with tears. Her shoulders slumped. I went to put my arms around her, but she dodged me.
“I’m protecting you, you dumb shit!” she choked out.
Halfway in and halfway out of the house, I knew something for sure that I hadn’t known before. Maybe it was her vulnerability or the weakly guarded posture or seeing her with fresh eyes.
“You got into QI4,” I said. “You won the challenge.”
“Don’t be stupid! You would have seen the breach.”
“You were close. Close enough to know you could.”
She didn’t answer but cried harder.
“You backed off.”
I was right. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t shake her head or wave her hand to deny it.
“Why?” I asked.
“I wanted you to win.”
She took a folded piece of paper from her pocket. It flopped halfway open to reveal the code I’d mailed to her.
“This?” She held it toward me like a weapon. “I read it every day, and I remembered everything you ever said to me. I used you again. This code gave me the confidence to apply out of here.” She opened the paper and read from it. “‘Execute memory = thorn bushes ; lessons ; spoons in bed ;’ God, Taylor, the spoons… when I needed you, you were there, and I threw you away. I said, ‘Don’t call him, don’t call him.’ Because you forgot the last IF function. If call script runs… if I call you and you come to me, you fail. Do you understand? There are things bigger than us. And if I’m with you, you won’t have those things.”
“Harper.” I put my hands out and went toward her. “Harper Barrington, you are working with so much bad data.” I got closer. She didn’t back away. “Sorting it out is going to take me a lifetime of loving you.”
“How are you breaking me down?”
“I’m irresistible. Can you come here, please? Admit defeat, and let’s get on with it.”
She fell into my arms as if she couldn’t hold herself up for another minute. She shook and cried while I held her as tight as I could. We collapsed on the foyer floor together. I wiped her face
with my crumpled cotton handkerchief. She took it and wiped her nose, holding it close as she leaned back on my chest.
When the car came around front, she was just about slowing down.
“Are you going to Stanford?” I asked after Ahmed tooted the horn.
“I got an early decision for fall.”
“That’s in eight months.”
“I figured I’d get a job.” She looked up at me. “I just couldn’t face you.”
“You’re lying.” I touched her nose.
“No—”
“All the schools in the world? Stanford? It’s in my backyard.”
“Your damn ego.”
“You wanted to be near me.”
“They accepted me. No one else did.”
“You applied because you were hoping to see me. You know it. I know it. You would have been in QI4 reception before the year was out.”
“I’m not working with you. You’re a jerk, and I’m getting a business degree.”
I kissed her forehead. “Can I send the cab away without you?”
“Yes.”
Gently, I got up to deal with the car. She sat on the floor with her knees bent, wiping her face and pulling away the hair that had stuck to her eyes.
“This smells like you,” she said of the handkerchief.
“I’ll wash it.”
“Never.”
Outside, as I approached the cab, I could hear the celebration and announcements at the factory.
“Thanks for coming back,” I said, leaning in the open cab window.
“You need me?”
“Nah.”
“Let me give you the money back.”
“Keep it,” I called over my shoulder.
When I got back in the house, she was standing by the staircase. Her elbows were bent, and her head was tilted a little forward. Her weight was balanced on the balls of her feet.
She looked ready to spring.
The innocent sexual enthusiast was gone. She was a fearsome and majestic animal.
We leapt at each other at the same time, lips crashing, hands clawing, fabric ripping. My tongue ran along hers, tasting salty tears and sweet hope. Our fingers explored places that hadn’t forgotten each other. She was soft, yielding, insistent, and when her hand touched my cock, skin to skin, I pulled away before I exploded.
