Splitting Harriet

by Tamara Leigh

  “It is starting to get da-ark,” Maria singsongs.

  “All right, you can walk me to my door.” As in D-O-O-R, ladies! And wipe that smirk off your face, Chip Gairdt!

  Maddox turns to the youth pastor. “Thank you for the run-through. We’ll talk more about your ideas later.”

  They shake hands, then Chip gives a thumbs-up. “Have a nice evening.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You too, Harri.”

  As he swaggers down the corridor, I stare at his backside and fight the urge to chase after him and yank up his droopy waistband that’s allowing his hems to drag.

  “Shall we?” Maddox asks.

  Over my shoulder, I say, “Good night, ladies.”

  “’Night, Harri, ’night, Maddox, ’night, Mr. McCray,” they call.

  Maddox pushes open the door that leads outside, then the murmuring and twittering start. Great!

  I step past Maddox into the softly lit night to traverse the sidewalk that borders the courtyard.

  He comes alongside. “Nice night.”

  Easy for him to say. He’s not the one being talked about behind his back—Well, okay, he is, but it’s different for a man.

  “Smell the irises, Harri?”

  There’s something very wrong about that question. “Irises?”

  He nods at the courtyard. “You don’t smell them?”

  “No.” And he does? This former rebel who’s more often surrounded by the smell of leather and motorcycle exhaust?

  He grasps my forearm. “Stop and take a whiff.”

  Knowing the sooner I humor him, the sooner we can move on, I draw a breath.

  “Smell them?”

  “Yep. Smells good.” I start to resume my course, but he holds me there.

  “What do they smell like?”

  “Flowers, okay?”

  He imitates a game-show buzzer. “Wrong. They smell like grapes.” His hand drops from me. “Don’t you ever stop and smell the roses?”

  “I thought I was supposed to be smelling irises.” I start down the path toward the mobile home park.

  Maddox follows but doesn’t speak again until we enter the park. “You’re upset.”

  So he can read body language.

  “Is it something I did?”

  And he’s perceptive.

  “Harri?”

  I quicken my pace, but he lays a hand on my arm again. “What’s wrong?”

  I jerk around. “You’re what’s wrong. You and your lousy timing. Those ladies think I turned down a date with Stephano because of you. That I have eyes for—”

  Lord, tell me I didn’t say that.

  Maddox’s lids narrow. “So he did ask you out. And you did turn him down. Because you have eyes for me.” Though darkness is falling, there’s no mistaking the curve of his mouth.

  I stamp my foot. “I do not!”

  “Well, it’s that or you’re afraid of dating. Which is it?”

  I pull free and continue down the street. “Good night, Mr. McCray.”

  “Of course, I’d prefer that you have eyes for me.”

  As I turn onto Red Sea Lane, he comes alongside again.

  Spying the pink flamingos that line the walkway of the guest mobile home, I sigh. Twenty yards and I’ll be able to shake him… eighteen… fourteen…

  “It’s not a sin to feel attraction, Harri.”

  I halt, and Maddox’s momentum carries him beyond me. When he turns, I’m ready for him. “I know exactly where stuff like that leads. And so do you, Motorcycle Man!”

  Surprise lowers his jaw. Then comes laughter.

  I skirt past him. “Thank you for walking me home, but I can take it from here.”

  He lets me go, but not without a parting shot. “Let me know when you’d like to try out my motorcycle.”

  Ah! That…he…I…

  I force one foot in front of the other and, all the way down the lane, feel his gaze. When I reach my mobile home, it’s shrouded in shadow. I need to pick up a bulb to replace the one that burned out in the security light months ago. Not that I have anything to worry about; the park is safe. No burglars, no Peeping Toms, no—

  A low, stuttering growl sounds as I start up the stairs.

  —monsters?

  I peer at the landing. Something’s there. I take another step, and once more a growl issues from my uninvited guest. Placing it, I lurch back. “Oh no!” He wouldn’t do this to me. He doesn’t hate me that much.

  “Harri?”

  I jerk my head around to see Maddox speeding down the lane, as if to rescue me from some evil creature. I sure hope he’s up to it.

  In his haste to reach my side, he nearly collides with me. “Are you all right?”

  I point to the landing. “There.”

  “A snake?”

  “Worse.”

  He moves forward, only to halt when a porch light comes on across the street and illuminates the landing. “It’s just a cat in a carrier.”

  I shudder. “That is not ‘just a cat.’ That’s Dumplin’, one of my mother’s cats.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t understand. That beast hates me. He—”

  A screen door squeaks behind us. “Everything all right, Harri?”

  I glance over my shoulder at where Lum and Elva have come out onto their porch and am horrified that they might think an unwelcome advance is responsible for the disturbance.

  “Harri’s fine,” Maddox calls. “She just came home to an unexpected visitor that goes by the name of Dumplin’.”

  “Oh dear, that’s right.” Elva nods. “Your brother dropped him off a couple hours ago.”

  Thank you, Tyler. You could have warned me. Of course, then I would have had time to come up with an excuse. This way he could get in and out without being subjected to a stilted conversation with his prodigal sister. As always, I experience a pang over my inability to reconcile with him. I’ve tried to get back to a semblance of where we were before my rebellion—big brother/little sister—but he rebuffs my efforts. Not that I blame him. My parents weren’t the only ones who suffered fallout from my rebellion.

  I force a smile. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, Lum… Elva.”

  “No problem. We’ll get back to our program.”

  I raise a hand. “Good night.” In the next instant, I catch my breath. Program! The Coroner is about to come on. Must get rid of Maddox. But what about Dumplin’?

  I meet the hostile yellow eyes that stare at me from the carrier. Is it possible to feed and water the beast through the bars? It could work. At least, until he needs to relieve himself.

  Right. Litter box. Yuck.

  Maddox sighs. “I should get home.”

  “No!”

  By the glow of the porch light, I catch the rise of his left eyebrow.

  “Uh…” I glance at Dumplin’, who’s watching me, plotting to pounce the moment he gets me alone. “Do you like cats?”

  Maddox’s right eyebrow joins the left.

  “I mean, I’m sure it’s lonely being away from home without family or—”

  “Not at all.” He looks at the carrier. “So you’re scared of a cat named Dumplin’.”

  “Hey, don’t let the name fool you. That is one mean cat.”

  “Doesn’t seem mean to me.”

  “Trust me, he’s mean. And he growls.”

  Maddox starts to smile. “Can’t say I’ve had much experience with cats, but I’ve never heard one growl.”

  “This one does. And he bites. And scratches.”

  He strides to the porch. Dare I hope he’s going to come to my rescue? Be my knight in shining armor—uh, leather—and spirit Dumplin’ away to his castle—er, pink-flamingoed mobile home?

  He ascends the steps and hunkers down. “Hey, Dumplin’. How you doing?”

  You know what that scheming, no-good cat does? Rubs against the bars!

  “Hear that? He’s purring.”

  I hear, all right. Sounds like a big, fat bumblebee with a stutter. But
he’s not fooling me. I know all about that stinger of his.

  As Dumplin’ butts against the bars, Maddox pushes a finger through and rubs his head. “Nice kitty.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “So you’ll take him home with you?”

  “Sorry, Harri, but cats aren’t my thing.”

  So much for my knight…

  “There’s a note for you.” He loosens a piece of paper from the carrier.

  “Gee, thanks.” I move forward and narrowly avoid contact with his fingers.

  “And he left you a litter box.” Maddox nods toward the corner of the porch. “Complete with a fresh supply of litter.”

  No doubt of the ultraclumping variety. I unfold the note.

  Harri,

  Two cats are one too many. Too much litter, too much shedding, too much scratching at my new furniture. Time for you to step up to the plate. Take good care of Dumplin’. Mom will appreciate it.

  Tyler

  Just… Tyler. Not that I have the right to expect anything more, but would it hurt to add Sincerely? Not Fondly, not Warmly, just Sincerely? “He could have at least left me Doo-Dah.”

  “What?”

  “My mother’s other cat.”

  Maddox rests his forearms on his thighs. “I gather you and Doo-Dah get along?”

  I ascend the steps and drop down beside Maddox. Harriet Bisset, what do you think you’re doing? I have no idea. It just seemed the natural thing to do. Natural?! You. Maddox. Alone. At night. In the dark. Well, there is the light from Lum and Elva’s porch… Yeah, and in case you haven’t noticed, that’s your leg brushing his.

  I lurch to the right.

  “I don’t bite, Harri.”

  I jerk my chin around, only to have my gaze land on Maddox’s mouth. “It’s not biting I’m worried about.”

  I gasp at the words that could only have come from me. Again a movement across Red Sea Lane draws my attention. Though Lum and Elva’s living room curtains appear still, I’m certain they are checking on us.

  “Bad timing all around,” he murmurs.

  I’m unnerved by his smile. “Yeah.”

  “So what have you got against Dumplin’? Or should I say, what has he got against you?”

  Much safer topic. I lower my sewing box to the porch. “A series of unfortunate events that started with neutering.”

  Maddox’s eyebrows rise. “You’re not going to win my sympathy with that one.”

  “It wasn’t my doing. At the last minute, something came up and my mom couldn’t take Dumplin’ to get him fixed, so I took him.”

  “And he hasn’t forgiven you.”

  “Nope. Then there was the shower incident.”

  “Cats and water don’t go well together, Harri.”

  “No kidding. Dumplin’ got skunked, and I was enlisted to do the tomato juice thing.” I shudder. “Never again. But what sealed the deal was when I was taking out my parents’ garbage and didn’t see him sunning on the steps. I tripped on him. He went flying, I went flying, and I landed on him.”

  He pushes his fingers through the bars again. “Poor guy.”

  I scoff. “I’m the one who ended up with a limp.”

  “Still, I’m sure it was traumatic for him, especially considering your history.”

  Great. Sympathize with the cat.

  Maddox lowers his gaze to Tyler’s note. “So now you’re stuck with Dumplin’.”

  I hand him the note. “What do you think?”

  He reads it. “Obviously, he’s not happy with the situation.”

  “Nah.” I force a smile. “He just doesn’t like me much.”

  “Your brother doesn’t like you?”

  Oh dear. I’m responsible for this turn of conversation, aren’t I? “Though Tyler tolerates me, he hasn’t forgiven me for playing the prodigal so well.”

  “Because you haven’t forgiven yourself?”

  My forced smile dissolves. “What?”

  “It’s hard to forgive a person who hasn’t forgiven herself. Hard to trust someone who doesn’t trust herself. Maybe that’s how it is with Tyler. He sees the goody two-shoes existence you live and knows it’s not you. He wants his sister back, but not a sister who hardly resembles the one he remembers.”

  I asked for that—opened the door and ushered him into my personal life—fangs, warts, and all. I really need to watch myself around this man. I push to my feet and reach for the carrier. “I should get Dumplin’ inside.”

  As I curl my fingers around the handle, Maddox settles a hand on mine. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Well, you’re not.” With a huff, I lift the cage, and he has no choice but to release my hand. “Good night, Maddox.” I drag the screen door open, turn the knob, and struggle to fit myself and the carrier through the doorway—at which Dumplin’ takes offense and lets out a rumbling growl.

  Ha! I jerk my chin around. “Tell me that wasn’t a growl.”

  Maddox nods. “That was a growl, and one to which I can certainly relate.”

  Ah!

  The last thing I want is Maddox’s assistance, but he rises and pulls the screen door wide. A moment later, I step into my mobile home and close the door—not in his face, but close. Breathing harder than the exercise warrants, I cross the living room and lower the carrier beside the sofa table.

  Dumplin’ looses another growl, this one punctuated by a hiss.

  I prop my hands on my hips. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  A knock sounds, and I stomp to the door and throw it open.

  Maddox holds up my sewing box. “Trade you for the Jelly Bellys you owe me.”

  I reach for the box.

  “Uh-uh. First the Jelly Bellys, then the box.”

  “Fine.”

  Shortly, carrying the Ziploc bag I retrieved from my kitchen counter, I push through the screen door and find Maddox with his back to me.

  “Have you ever tried counting the stars, Harri?”

  “No.” I hold out the Ziploc.

  He continues to stare at the night sky. “It puts things into perspective. How small we are… how mighty God is… how alone we are without Him…”

  I glance at the pinpricks of light starting to show and am swept by a memory of lying on my back in the grass, staring at the dark sky, holding hands with a hairy-knuckled guy by the name of Harley, sighing out a breath of pungent smoke—

  Ugh! “Sorry, but you’re too deep for me, Maddox.” I give the baggie a shake. “By special request.”

  “Thanks.” As he takes it, his gaze finds mine and I’m jolted, not only by how different this night feels from that other night, but how different this man is from that boy-trying-to-be-a-man. No props. No rebellion-fueled emotions. Only Maddox and me and stars too numerous to be numbered. And somewhere in there a kiss waiting to happen. Which leads to you know what!

  I step back and look at the little porch between us while the imaginary kiss fades until it disappears altogether.

  “A series on dating,” Maddox says, as if coming to a decision.

  “What?”

  “For single women—a series on dating. Perhaps a Wednesday night offering to balance the Old Testament Bible study the older women attend.”

  I scoff. “You honestly think there’s a need for a series on dating?”

  “I know there’s a need.”

  “And how do you—?” He’s talking about me.

  “Good night, Harri.” As he walks away, he slips the bag in his back pocket.

  “Hold up!”

  He turns. “Yes?”

  “I want to see you eat the Jelly Bellys.”

  There’s no mistaking his upwardly mobile mouth. “Do you have a fetish I ought to know about?”

  That did sound wacky. “I just don’t think anybody eats those flavors.”

  “Why else would I ask you to save them for me?”

  “To mess with me.”

  He considers me, then pulls the baggie from his pocket, picks out a bean, and pops it in his mouth. �
��Mmm. Licorice.”

  No grimace, no hard swallow, just an expression of enjoyment that bothers me straight down to my toes.

  “Satisfied?”

  Fine, so he likes licorice, but that’s not the worst of it. I cross my arms over my chest. “Keep going.”

  He pops another, only to go suddenly still and spit it out.

  “So you like mango, do you?”

  “That was no mango. That was cappuccino.”

  Oh. Forgot I tossed that one in as well. “Sorry, I figured that if you like licorice and mango, you’d like the other one I can’t stand.”

  “Hardly.” His grimace is replaced with a grin. “Though I suppose that means we’re compatible, hmm?”

  I narrow my lids at him. “What about that timing problem, hmm?” Oh. My. Word. I just let him know that at another time, another place—I swing away and yank at the screen door.

  “Harri?”

  I look over my shoulder.

  He holds up something. “Mango.” Then he’s chewing the bean for all it’s worth.

  I blow a breath up my face. “Good night, Maddox.” I close the door and, at long last, am wonderfully, blessedly alone.

  Wrong, as evidenced by a bloodcurdling growl.

  “Great. I suppose you need to use the litter box, hmm?”

  Rather than rub against the bars as he did for Maddox, Dumplin’ arches his back and hisses.

  I heave a sigh. “Okay, I’ll grab your litter box, then let you out. But no funny stuff, or you’re back in there.”

  A half hour later, I stare at my darkened bedroom ceiling, awash in loss at having missed the first rerun of The Coroner. And it’s Maddox’s fault. Everything, including Dumplin’s rejection of the litter box in favor of my kitchen floor, is his fault.

  Harri’s Log: • 1 day until the next showdown between Bea and the invaders

  • 6 days until the “Oldies but Goodies” miniretreat

  • 6 days until the next rerun of The Coroner (must learn how to program the VCR due to the miniretreat)

  • 21 days until Jelly Belly replenishment (save licorice and mango)

  • 205 days until the completion of Bible #8

  He has not treated us as we deserve for our sins or paid us back for our wrongs. As high as the heavens are above the earth—that is how vast his mercy is toward those who fear him. As far as the east is from the west—that is how far he has removed our rebellious acts from himself.”