by Leanne Davis
I flip over. Sunlight blinds me. I blink and sit up. Holden. Here. Last night. He’s gone. I rub at my eyes and then realize, no, he’s right there at the small table, staring at my computer. It’s on, and the image of him and Harper is right there. He stares at me. I stare at him. I simply flop back down. My brain can’t even wake up before we get right down to the true root of all of his problems and now all of my sadness. Harper. There it all goes. The night of no sex. The night of him coming here. The first night he’s spent with me. Holden comforting me when I wasn’t at my best.
Not even a ‘good morning.’ Or more brownies. Just Harper. Right here and now. I’m sure he’ll yell or cuss me out or leave.
Or maybe cry. After all, she’s his dead wife. How can I demand anything different of him?
“This is what had you upset?”
“I told you, you didn’t want to know.” I stare up at my ceiling, arms spread out, legs spread-eagle. Why be ladylike? Or sexy? It’s gone, hopeless, over. I should get up and go over to him and… and I don’t know, probably comfort him. Tell him I know. That I’m sorry about her. But I don’t want to do any of those things. I’m tired. And cranky. And tired of being Harper’s replacement.
“I’m tall. I’m red-haired. I’m big-boned. I’m loud. I’m from out of town. I’m a city-girl. I am her exact opposite, her anti-doppelgänger. I am exactly who you should have sex with to not accidentally call out her name.”
I don’t look to him, still focusing on my ceiling as though it’s the most captivating thing in the room.
After way too long of a silence his voice fills the room, “Anti-doppelgänger? Is that a thing?”
“It’s us. Harper to me, or me to her.”
“What do you want me to say to that?” I sneak a peek toward him. He’s staring with a sickening longing at her picture.
“Nothing.” I pull myself upright, and I slick my hair back and run my tongue over my teeth. “It’s me who should say something to you.” I turn toward him and cross my legs under me, folding my hands in my lap. “What can you say? That’s exactly what I am. Her opposite, so you can stand me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry your wife died. That she crossed a street while talking to you and a drunk driver hit her. I’m so sorry you think that you caused it because you forgot a coffee meeting with her. I’m sorry I didn’t know, and I said things to you that I should not have. I’m sorry. I wish she was here and not me. We would have passed each other in Lover’s Landing and never even been more than a thought to each other.”
He’s deathly silent. His color fades and his eyes grow haunted. He shuts the computer and turns forward, staring at his hands clasped before him. “Who told you?”
“Betty.”
“I’m surprised you hadn’t heard the whole story long before now.”
“You could have told me,” I say softly, pointing out what perhaps hurts the worst.
His expression morphs into surprise and puzzlement. He shakes his head. “It didn’t really occur to me, because honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone.”
“What?”
“Well, everyone here knows. There was no one to tell it to. It simply was. I just liked how you didn’t know or treat me like anything for it.”
“Five years. The love of your life, wife for three years, who made you a better man. You go to the place you met to relive what should have happened the day she died. Do I have all that right?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “It sounds bat-shit crazy when you say it.”
I shake my head. Stupid tears fill my eyes. “It’s not, you’re not. It’s haunting and beautiful that you try to fix it, sad that you can’t, and tragic that she died. But… all of that doesn’t change the fact that it’s genuinely not your fault even though you think it is. We can all talk until we’re blue in our faces, yet you won’t believe us. And you are still in love with her. That’s why I cried last night.”
“Did you think otherwise? I don’t mean to be a prick, but you sit with me while I hold a cup with my dead wife’s name on it, every single morning. Did you think I was over her or at ease or even casual about whoever Harper was?”
“No.” I shake my head. My temples ache with pressure. Oh, it hurts. Not because he’s being a jerk or caught up in his grief, but because he’s being so honest and his tone of voice so gentle toward me and… and because he’s not denying he’s still in love with her. “No. Of course not. You love her.”
“And I like you, Seattle.” He gets up and steps closer to me. I rub my hands together, his presence sending my heart scattering. He affects me way too much. He stands over me. “I guess, yeah, I should have told you more. But you didn’t press, and if you had I might have run off the other way.”
I press at my tears. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He sits next to me and pulls me against him. “I appreciate you saying that, but I feel like I did. I do still love her. It was five years. That’s a long time. My entire life revolved around her and my future was all her...” he fades off. He shakes his head. “I don’t mean to rub that in. It’s just the explanation I have.”
“You knew I’d leave. I was always safe.”
“You knew you’d leave. You knew I was safe.” He counters me. “Tell me, what did you think? You’d want to stay in Love with me?” He winces when he says it. He shakes his head and lets out a hollow laugh. “You were right, that damn name…”
It’s the wrong thing to do… but I start to laugh. Absurd as it is, he articulated what I am.
“Everything was always wrong with us. From my job to your job, where I live to where you live, and Harper. I always knew there was something tied up in that name.”
“You are the best thing that’s happened to me since she died.”
But not enough to heal him, or for him to begin to see himself moving forward.
“I’m not like her…”
He squeezes me to him. “No. Nothing. But you’re nothing like I first thought, either. You’re so damn intelligent, successful and intimidating. I might have been gruffer to you than I should have been because I was intimidated by your presence.”
I jerk upright and away from him. “What? Me? Really?”
He nods. “Really. And then I flipped out and thought I’d get you to leave when you didn’t get shocked at my sex offer. And then you did…”
I shake my head. “And sweet, innocent Harper and you didn’t do that, huh? Hook up with no strings. You must think me—”
“Wonderful. Warm. Kind. Caring. Strong and confident,” he interrupts, and I’m glad for it. “No, you’re nothing like Harper, but you do share many of the same traits. Maybe I have a type.” His gentle words soothe my stomachache.
“I’m glad you said that. I was going to point out you had sex with me, too, so whatever you thought of me, think of yourself.”
“That’s what I like about you.”
“What?”
“You’re strong and sure and right. You don’t take shit or double standards. No, you’re not like Harper, but that doesn’t mean you’re less.”
“But you love her.”
“Alicia…” his tone warns me. Back off.
I nod and immediately snap my lips shut. Shaking my head I ask, “What do I do with this?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t yet figured out what to do with it. Or you.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
He snorts. Then gives me a dirty look. “Oh, clearly, that’s why the first night you didn’t show up… here I am.” His sarcasm is thick.
I touch his cheek then and stare up at him. His grouchy answer even does the trick of making me smile. “You realize you aren’t sweet or innocent. You are, in fact, sarcastic, grumpy, and kinda… edgy, right?”
“Probably.”
“Maybe, just maybe, you were in need of someone who was strong enough to stand up to you. Give it back.” Maybe sweet and innocent wasn’t all he needed. Sure he revered it. Liked it. But our ease and our honesty? I k
now that isn’t easy to find. I should know. This is my personality, and most men don’t take to it as well as he has. I’m too confident. Sure. Strong. Outgoing. Whatever the adjective… I’m not soft and sweet and squishy. That’s always the complaint.
That’s why I’m so sensitive to realize Harper is all those things… and yet… in many ways, quiet, inner ways, I have some shared traits of Harper’s inside me. I just never feel safe enough to share them. Except I have with him because I’m not fake with him.
“Instead of the wife I lost? Don’t do that. Don’t try to compare. Or figure out why her and now why you. It’s too weird. And almost unrelated. I was a different guy then. I was twenty-four when I met her. A kid, really. I’m no longer who she knew; I’m who you’re starting to know.”
“But you don’t want to keep getting to know me.”
“I want to while you’re here. I don’t want to hurt you. To be honest? I didn’t think I could. At first, especially. You are… a brilliant jewel to someone like me. Honest to God, Alicia, I never dreamed I could hurt you. You’re too much for me, too shiny and bright and rich and brilliant.
“What do you want?”
“To feel better. When I’m with you, I do. But I’ll walk out of here now if that’s going to make you feel worse.”
“It does. But I don’t want you to go. Not yet.”
“Just when you go.”
I gulp. I’m committing to this. Totally agreeing. I’m pledging my heart to hell and hurt, I know this. But yet, I’m too compelled by him not to simply nod and say, “When I go.”
Chapter 7
ALICIA
“Alicia?”
I sit in the bakery, grabbing a scone as my unhealthy lunch. Upon hearing my name, I slip off my glasses and glance up to see an unfamiliar woman standing nearby. Who is she? A city council member? One of the local business owners I’ve spoken with but just don’t recognize? No, it has to be someone I don’t know. The middle-aged woman is well-dressed and has chin-length, blonde-brown hair that I’m sure I would remember if I’d met her.
I smile with polite disinterest. “Yes?”
“I’m Tammy McCree.”
I blink again—polite smile still present—so? Oh, these small towns. Maybe we met at some point, but her face isn’t ringing any kind of bells. “Oh. I’m sorry. You probably never knew her maiden name… Harper McCree was my daughter.”
I jolt upright. Oh, shit. Damnit. “Um… Hello, Mrs. McCree, please… please have a seat.” I wave at the empty chair across from me. But why? Oh why does she want to sit with me? She nods, tucking her purse against her stomach as she slides into the chair. I try not to fidget. I fold my hands over each other and keep my shoulders back, all but chanting, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not doing anything wrong. I didn’t kill Harper. I didn’t even know Harper. I didn’t steal her husband… he wasn’t a husband when I met him. So… why are my palms sweaty and heart thumping harder?
“I’m sorry to barge in on you. But I saw you here, and I knew it had to be you.”
“Oh?” My strained voice is obvious to my ears. She knew of me from whose description?
“Not many women have the shade of red hair you do.”
“No.” I have no idea where she’s going with this.
“My daughter’s death… it hit us all hard.”
I blink. There’s no transition. From my hair color to Harper’s death. Wow. Okay. I strap in to see where this is going. Is she going to throw my soda pop on my lap or start crying on my shoulder? I honestly can’t get a read on why she sought me out.
Compassion fills me. I can’t imagine her pain. I want to call my mother after seeing this woman’s grief-stricken face as she struggles over the word death. My mom is busy and interesting and kind of flaky, but she’s also my mother and I would never want her to feel this way. I just don’t know how I can help this mother. I’m sleeping with her daughter’s widow. Not exactly bonding material.
“I’m very sorry. I didn’t know the story until just recently…”
“Holden. Yes, I’m sure you’re wondering what I want. I don’t really want anything. It’s just we loved Holden almost as our own son and we lost him, too. I heard from Betty that you and he… well, I guess I wondered, is he okay?”
“He’s… not… not okay. About Harper. I think I just….” I gulp as I’m about to step into a pile of crap. And everywhere around me those piles dot—metaphorically speaking—whatever I might say.
“I think you give him relief from it. He turned from everything and everyone. No matter how we tried to reach out to him he just rejected it. He so heavily blamed himself, and it was just a careless slip up that morning. He never neglected Harper. He was a good husband. He just never saw it or believed it. He never saw he was smart enough, kind enough, or good enough for her. But he was. I’m her mother, and wouldn’t I know? He thinks of himself as Holden Thatcher, in that trailer, from the wrong side of the tracks. But no one struggled as hard as Holden to change and grow up and learn and be better. I didn’t want him for Harper at first… he was a hard man, drinking, swearing, and womanizing. Plus I never liked Dottie, his mother. This is the kind of town where we all know each other, so I knew him. But he seemed to realize these things about himself and he changed them… and now he’s our son-in-law and we can’t even speak to him. We lost them both that day. And it’s so hard. And that house we should be visiting sits empty…”
I want to say Holden Thatcher would have been good enough even if he didn’t change or get a better job or stop swearing. Sure, he should have stopped womanizing when committed to one woman, but the man I think I know, would have. I get the dynamics that he’s the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, and Harper was from the right side of them, with loving parents and wealth… well, they all swooped in and rose him up to her level.
Now that she’s dead, I think he’s sunk back into what they all consider… that behavior. Not good enough. I think… it’s just Holden. How he is. Who he is. And this is how he needs to cope. I don’t think he owes it to these people to be the grateful son-in-law they want. But I don’t say so to this woman. I see the spark in her eyes, her sincerity. She wants the Holden she knew as Harper’s husband back. Not the Holden that’s here now. Perhaps he’s very similar to the Holden Harper first met. But then again, he loved, got married, built a first home, and was part of this family… no, he’s not that same Holden. Or this lady’s Holden. He’s a thirty-year-old man now who’s gone through misery and tragedy. And… that’s okay with me. I wish it would be for this woman. But she’s just looking for something to feel better with and about, and I feel sick for her. But I still don’t see how I can help.
She pushes at the gold and diamond rings squished onto her fingers. “I’m sorry. You must wonder why you have to listen to an old lady’s rambling…”
“No. Not in the least. What your family has suffered… it’s understandable, and it’s clear to me you worry about Holden and simply want the best for him.”
She nods, tears slipping free of her eyes. “I do. I think… maybe you could convince him to come by and say hello to us. Or… or see his house… or just… oh… I don’t know. I haven’t known anything since… since…” She buries her eyes in a tissue and then shakes her head. “Forgive me.”
“No. Please don’t… I will. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Alicia.” She rises up. “And contrary to most others in this town, I think it’s admirable you’re a lady lawyer, and even if you’re here to build that atrocious park, it’s impressive what you do.”
I suck my lower lip in to keep the grimace, and the smile, caused by her backhanded compliment from showing on my face. “Well, thank you. And my best wishes to you and your husband, and again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Nodding, she turns and rushes out of here. I’m sure I’ve ruined her entire day, if not week. She’ll go home, reviewing everything about me; how I don’t look like Harper, act like Harper, and how
I can never be for Holden what Harper was.
I glance around. There’s a few sympathetic expressions when I make eye contact. No doubt, everyone in here surmises what this meeting was because of who I am. Not the town whore, for I’ve done nothing wrong, but this tall, brassy outsider, who is no Harper McCree. I think that’s the underlying reaction I’m receiving.
And of course, I’m that city-gal-lawyer working on that atrocious park. Yeah, maybe it would have taken a man like Holden to… to what? Sleep with me in this town. Date me. No, that’s not the label. I know it. Heart heavy, I gather my things. I do not want to go to Holden’s barn-room again. It’s all soured for me. I know what Holden and I had was never just for fun, but I was unaware of the attention we’d garnered because I’ve never been a part of a town like Love, Georgia, before. I didn’t know the judgement, the opinions, the comparison that must exist between me and a dead woman. A beloved, hometown girl, born and raised in this town. That’s who Harper was.
Though I didn’t know the full picture of Holden, perhaps I knew, instinctively, he was edgier, worldlier than many of the town’s people I’ve dealt with. Wrong side of the tracks and all makes sense. Is that really a thing? I can’t imagine. No one in Seattle really knows each other’s history. Not in any way that matters. To be honest, if Holden weren’t how he was, I doubt he’d have captured my interest, sustained it, and motivated me to make the effort to move from my table… to his… and Harper’s.
I never knew her, and yet I feel like I’m in a contest with her. One I’m losing. One I’m sorely unfit to contend in, and I imagine most around here agree.