Winter Break

by Merry Jones

  Leslie?

  ‘Will you? Call Leslie. See Leslie.’

  Wait. Hank was telling her to call her shrink? ‘Why? You think I’m overreacting because I’m pregnant—’

  ‘Not saying that—’

  ‘Seriously, I’m pregnant, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be taken seriously—’

  ‘HOPPA.’ Hank stopped her. ‘Listen. I’m. Not there. Vivian no help. Nobody. With you. That’s why Leslie. Trust Leslie. See her.’

  What?

  ‘So you. Aren’t all alone.’

  Oh. Tension began to ease from Harper’s muscles. Hank wasn’t doubting her; he was trying to find her an ally.

  ‘I’m okay, really.’

  ‘Being careful?’

  Damn, he knew her too well. ‘Of course.’ Unless she counted sneaking around the woods and the fraternity house, or snooping through Lou’s things. Or answering a strange phone to find that hit men might be stopping by.

  ‘Baby?’

  ‘The baby’s busy. Moving.’ She remembered her last contraction twisting the air out of her, wondered if the baby had felt it, too.

  ‘How about dissertation?’

  Harper rolled her eyes. How was she supposed to write about Pre-Columbian symbolism with the upheaval going on around her?

  ‘Work good for you. And ask doctor. Maybe you can exercise. Some.’

  Really? How could she exercise when she couldn’t lift anything and could take the stairs only a couple of times a day? She knew that Hank was only trying to help, offering suggestions to help her feel less trapped and closed in. But Harper was bothered by far more than just her close quarters. Maybe she should open up, tell Hank everything that had happened.

  But that wouldn’t be fair, dumping all those worries on him.

  Harper held onto the comforter, missing him.

  ‘Promise, Hoppa. See Leslie.’

  Harper promised. And she agreed to ask the doctor about exercises. After they hung up, she pulled the comforter up around her neck, refusing to cry. Yes, she would see Leslie. But keeping secrets from Hank made her feel as if she was doing something wrong. As if she couldn’t really open up to anybody. As if she were utterly alone.

  When a cloud of buttery sweetness drifted into her room, Harper looked at the clock. Almost eleven. She’d been lying there, staring at shadows, feeling glum for over an hour. And oddly, at this late hour, her room was filling with the aroma of baking goodies. Obviously, Lou was in her kitchen again. Taking it over, without as much as asking.

  So what, she told herself. So he’s making cookies. Get over it.

  Except that it wasn’t just that Lou was making cookies in her kitchen without even asking. It was also that he had a gun and a wad of cash in the guest room.

  But she wouldn’t have known that if she hadn’t snooped. And he’d explained that he was holding that for his friend.

  But Lou might have lied about the friend. He might really be that guy Ed Strunk, who might have hit men after him.

  Maybe she should go downstairs and ask him.

  As if he’d tell her the truth. As if anyone would believe her story about him if he did. Oh Lord. Harper didn’t want to confront Ed, didn’t want to think any more. She rolled over, grabbed the clicker, switched on the television. The news came on and her phone rang simultaneously. Probably Hank again, calling to make sure she was all right. She grabbed the phone, anticipating his voice. But the caller wasn’t Hank.

  ‘I just got a call from your husband.’ Leslie didn’t bother with ‘hello.’

  ‘Hank called you?’ Harper sat up and bent her legs, winced as her left knee protested the bending.

  ‘He’s worried. He thinks you’re too alone.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ Leslie’s concern felt like a hug.

  Again, Harper’s eyes filled. What the hell was wrong with her, crying so much over nothing? She’d never been a sap, never a whining wimp. She tried to answer but choked on a sob.

  ‘Harper?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ She reached for another tissue. Blew her nose.

  ‘What’s going on? Talk to me.’ Leslie’s voice was like silk. Or flannel. Or fleece.

  Harper took a breath. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Don’t lie. I’m your shrink.’

  Harper sniffed, dabbed her eyes. ‘Okay, maybe not entirely fine.’

  ‘Flashbacks?’

  ‘Not really.’ Not if she didn’t count the ones about Hank’s fall.

  ‘Let’s make an appointment. Tomorrow at ten?’

  Tomorrow at ten seemed a long way off.

  ‘Fine, yes.’

  ‘Good. I’ll come by then.’

  Harper agreed, but sat fuming. Lord. She couldn’t even drive ten minutes to Leslie’s office. She was a pathetic shut-in. Felt like a prisoner. She looked at the walls of her room, ached for a hatchet. Then again, swinging it would be too much exertion. She couldn’t even trash her own house. Damn. Harper’s fist clenched, she picked up a pillow and punched it once, then again.

  Finally, needing to move, she swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand. She stopped, though, when she heard the news anchor mention Sebastian Levering. According to the report, there was still no sign of him. A reporter interviewed his mother, who cried, pleading for him to be home before Christmas.

  Outside a car door slammed. Harper stood and went to the window. In the glare of Lou’s Christmas lights, she saw a pickup truck in the fraternity’s driveway, and Sty coming around it, removing a large box from the back. Evan got out the passenger’s side, walked through the snow to the front door. He had something in his hands, too. What was it – a gun? She leaned closer, squinting to see it better. No, not a gun. A blow dryer? What were those two doing? Why would a couple of guys need a hair dryer?

  Sty followed Evan into the house, carrying the carton. And the heavy wood carved door closed behind him.

  Harper stood at the window for a while, thinking until she couldn’t stand it any more. Besides, the aroma had grown too tantalizing, and it tugged at her, nagging until she gave in and let the scent of warm sugar pull her down the stairs.

  The cookies were cooling and Lou was gone. Harper fixed a tray of milk and sugar cookies. Comfort food. Brought it back upstairs and crawled into bed. Fell asleep with the television blaring and crumbs sprinkled over the mattress.

  She woke up early, hearing voices. Realized they came from the television, one of those cheerily annoying early-morning shows, people smiling and blabbing just to fill airtime. Snapping off the television, she showered and dressed, preparing for her appointment with Leslie, and just after nine a.m., she went downstairs, carrying her empty glass and tray. Halfway down, she heard Vivian’s deep voice braying in the kitchen. Her gravelly laughter. And then male laughter, joining in. More than one man’s laughter. Not just Lou’s.

  Harper stopped on the stairs, listening, trying to identify the voices. But the only voice was Vivian’s, and it was talking about her.

  ‘Ahh. The Ninja Lady? Really? That’s what all you boys call her? Very funny. Harper will love that—’

  ‘Ma?’ Harper came into the kitchen. Her mother was perched on her chair, across the table from Evan and Sty.

  ‘Good morning,’ Vivian beamed. ‘We were just talking about you. Harper, these are members of the fraternity next door. This is Evan, and that’s Sty—’

  ‘What are you two doing here?’ It sounded more unfriendly than she’d intended.

  ‘Harper?’ Vivian’s jaw dropped. ‘These are our guests—’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Jennings. The truth is we came over because you gave us a scare last night.’ Sty leaned back and crossed his legs. ‘We came by to look in on you, make sure you were okay. And your lovely mother was kind enough to invite us in for some coffee.’

  Vivian looked at Harper, confused. ‘What’s he saying?’

  ‘That’s right. You seemed pretty wobbly when you left.’ Evan leaned forward on his elbo
ws, eyes twinkling.

  ‘When you left where? Harper?’ Vivian frowned, looked from face to face. ‘Will someone explain?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Ma.’ Harper brought her tray to the sink, rinsed her glass.

  ‘Actually, she’s being modest.’ Sty spoke to Vivian but watched Harper. ‘Your daughter is an active and concerned citizen. That’s why she came over to the house last night—’

  ‘What? She did what?’

  ‘Ma. It was nothing.’

  ‘No.’ Sty’s smile was crooked. ‘It certainly was not “nothing”. It was, in fact, a prime example of civic responsibility. So many people these days witness wrongdoings and do nothing. They don’t get involved. But not your daughter. She had an indication that something in the house was amiss – so she summoned the authorities and followed through, investigating personally.’

  Vivian’s mouth was a gaping hole.

  ‘But while she was there,’ Evan added, ‘she almost passed out. We thought she was having a seizure or something.’

  The hole aimed at Harper.

  ‘I had a contraction, Ma. That’s all. It was—’

  ‘So you really went out? You went over there? Why? Without even telling us?’ Vivian stood, gestured with her coffee mug. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ She turned to Sty. ‘She’s having a difficult pregnancy and that’s why I’m here, to help her while she’s supposed to be resting. But she never listens to me. She keeps overexerting herself. Going out in the ice and snow, looking for God-knows-what in the woods or, now, trekking over to your house. You know what? It’s no surprise she had a contraction. She’s lucky she didn’t go into labor.’ She turned to Harper again. ‘What were you thinking?’

  Harper glared at Sty, then Evan. Sty shrugged, smirking. Evan glanced away, at the door to the deck, which was swinging open. Lou came in, shaking snow from his boots, looking around the room.

  ‘What is this, a party?’ He unbuttoned his coat, stepped over to give Vivian a kiss hello.

  ‘No, it’s not a party.’ Harper still hadn’t accepted that she had no control of what went on in her house.

  ‘Of course it is – these nice young men dropped by to look in on Harper,’ Vivian was practically singing. ‘They live next door—’

  ‘Yes. I’m Sty, and this is Evan.’

  Sty held up a platter. ‘Care for a poppy-seed muffin?’

  They were still there, in the kitchen, having coffee and munching pastries when Leslie arrived. Harper excused herself to answer the front door, but the guests wouldn’t let her make the effort, and Sty was on his way before she’d gotten to her feet. Harper protested, but he scampered ahead, welcoming Leslie and offering to take her coat as if he lived there. As if he were hosting a gala.

  ‘I’m here to see Harper.’ Leslie kept her coat, looking past Sty at Harper who was standing in the hall, holding her belly, looking pale.

  Leslie rushed to her. ‘Contraction?’

  Harper nodded, breathing through it.

  Sty approached, crowding them. ‘Oh God, another one?’ He spoke too loudly.

  ‘Another what?’ Vivian called. Her chair scraped the floor as she pushed back from the table. ‘What’s wrong?’ She rushed to the hall, saw Leslie holding Harper’s hand, Harper leaning against the wall, Sty hovering over her.

  ‘You should get off your feet.’ Leslie’s eyes held Harper’s.

  Vivian crowded them, blocking their way. ‘Should I call the doctor?’

  Harper shook her head. ‘No, Ma. It’s okay.’ She moved slowly away from the kitchen, hanging onto Leslie’s arm, whispering. ‘Hank’s study.’

  Vivian followed. ‘It’s a contraction? Lou – she’s having another contraction—’

  ‘Should we go to the hospital?’ Now Lou was in the hall with them; it was a parade headed at a snail’s pace toward the study at the end of the hall.

  ‘Harper? Should we call an ambulance?’

  ‘She’ll be fine.’ Leslie’s voice was strong, commanding.

  ‘How would you know?’ Vivian’s hands were on her hips.

  ‘Ma!’ Harper bellowed, squeezing Leslie’s arm. ‘Back off.’

  Vivian covered her mouth, and Lou put an arm around her, shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t talk to your mother that way – you’ve hurt her feelings.’ He turned to Sty. ‘I’m sorry you had to see this.’

  ‘No,’ Sty insisted. ‘I have a family, too.’

  Evan wandered over, taking up the rear.

  ‘Please. Everyone.’ Leslie turned to face them. She raised a hand. ‘There’s no need to follow us. Just go back to whatever you were doing – Harper’s going to be fine. She and I are going to sit a while and relax and talk. By ourselves.’

  Vivian stood still, eyes wide, her hand now at her throat; Lou whispered something to her and guided her back to the kitchen. Sty, though, wouldn’t back off. ‘So you’re certain that she’s fine? Are you a doctor?’

  That was enough for Harper. The contraction had peaked; she had breath enough to talk. She pivoted, using her officer’s bark. ‘Sty. Go.’ She pointed to the kitchen.

  For a nanosecond, their eyes met, exchanging sparks. Then Sty grinned. ‘Just a concerned neighbor, trying to help.’ And he turned away, joining Lou, Evan and Vivian.

  As she and Leslie went into the study, Harper heard Lou telling them not to run off. ‘Wait, boys. I just baked these sugar cookies. I’ll wrap some up; take some home with you.’

  And her mother apologizing for her daughter’s behavior. ‘She’s not herself. The pregnancy and all.’

  The study smelled like Hank. Well, not like him physically. But like his stuff. Old leather and books. A hint of whiskey. And something spicy, almost but not quite like cloves. The room hadn’t been changed since he’d left, but without Hank, his possessions had shifted; the room felt altered and abandoned. His big leather easy chair and ottoman reached out, offering – maybe needing – comfort, and Harper responded, planting herself on them, letting the big leather arms and oversized cushions embrace her. Briefly, she scanned his desk, his mementos. His sofa and overflowing shelves. His absence. But even without him, she was safe here, on Hank’s private turf, guarded by his photos and papers and periodicals and books.

  ‘You all right?’

  Harper clutched the fat arms of the chair, nodding.

  ‘So who are those guys?’

  Harper leaned back, pulled an afghan off the arm of the chair, snuggled under it and began, ‘Just guys from the fraternity—’ But she stopped, started over.

  ‘You know what, Leslie? I’m really not sure,’ she began, and then she went through all of it. The fight she’d witnessed, the late-night police search of the woods, the key she’d later found and tried in the fraternity house lock, the incidents involving strange flashes of light and moving curtains in the supposedly empty fraternity. Last night’s visit there with Detective Rivers, during which they’d encountered Sty and Evan, who shouldn’t have been in the building, much less in her house this morning when she’d come downstairs.

  ‘I don’t know what they’re into,’ she concluded. ‘But I doubt they’re there moving furniture.’ Then she talked more about the SUV that had been cruising the neighborhood, the money, IDs and the gun she’d found in Lou’s room, his lame explanations about why he had them, the dead rat in the package, the telephone call warning of a hit against Ed Strunk, Lou’s odd late-night wanderings. When she stopped talking, her head ached.

  Leslie watched her from the sofa, her expression soft, her green eyes glowing warm. She hadn’t made a single comment, just sat still, letting silence blanket them.

  ‘What?’ Harper was confused. After everything she’d told her, didn’t Leslie have anything to say?

  ‘How have your flashbacks been?’

  Flashbacks? Why was Leslie changing the subject? Had she not even listened to what Harper had just said? Didn’t she believe her? ‘Okay. Not bad. Why?’

  More silence.

  Wait. ‘What are
you saying? That everything I just told you – that my impressions of what’s happening around me are like flashbacks? You think I’m losing touch with reality—’

  ‘Whoa. Slow down. I didn’t say any of that, did I?’

  ‘No. But then, you didn’t actually say anything at all, did you?’ Harper crossed her arms, shifting in her seat. ‘Lately, nobody takes a thing I say seriously, so you have plenty of company. Detective Rivers thinks I’m imagining things because I’m suffering from too much rest, cabin fever and sensory deprivation. My mother and Lou say I’m too hormonal and stressed by Hank’s absence to know what I’m talking about. Hank thinks – hell, I don’t know what Hank thinks – he’s so far away, it feels like he’s been gone forever. And as soon as I gave a single hint that I was upset, he dodged and called you. Referred me to my shrink. So bottom line, everybody I talk to finds some reason to avoid what I’m saying. What the hell, Leslie?’ She stopped talking because her voice was thick again, but she refused to give in, swallowing away the urge to cry.

  Leslie waited a few beats, then got up off the sofa and walked over to the easy chair, sat on the ottoman beside Harper’s legs, leaned over and took her hands. The tenderness at first infuriated Harper, but Leslie’s warm eyes steadied her. And gradually, the tension and anger began to fade.

  Finally, Leslie spoke. ‘I don’t think you’d confuse reality with flashbacks, Harper. Besides, none of your typical triggers have been involved in the events you’ve described. And you’ve said that lately your flashbacks have been minimal.’

  Their eyes locked. Harper waited. After a moment, Leslie continued. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what’s going on, Harper. I trust your observations and your instincts, but I can’t explain what those two frat boys are up to or what kind of dude your wacky mother is dating. And frankly, I don’t care all that much, except that they affect you. Because you are the person I’m concerned about. And you are clearly miserable. So, for a minute, let’s put aside all the reasons you’re upset – the fight, the boys, the dead rat, even the gun – wrap them all in a mental package and set it aside for now. We’ll deal with that package later.

  ‘The more pressing issue is that you’re emotionally stressed and tense. And being emotionally stressed and tense can take a toll on you, your health and your pregnancy. Agreed?’