by Merry Jones
Nods and smiles. Platitudes. Empathy and embarrassment.
‘Well, you sure look good, champ. Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he look great?’
‘Maybe I should drop you on your head, George. Maybe then you’d get into shape like Hank.’
‘Good to see you back, man.’
Harper’s neck heated up, blotchy and mottled. ‘Let’s get some punch.’ She forced a smile and led Hank toward the tent. The little crowd dispersed; the buzz of conversation rose again. And, suddenly, Vicki came at them from nowhere, like a descending hawk, wings spread, flapping, engulfing Hank. Pecking at his face.
‘My God, Hank. Let me look at you.’ She checked him out, hugging him. Her nose was markedly shorter, must have been fixed by a plastic surgeon. ‘I was afraid you two wouldn’t come.’ She turned to Harper. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you for—’
‘Vicki. About my explosion.’ Harper had prepared an explanation. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘No. I understand. Completely. In your shoes, I’d have been mad, too.’
Wait. She’d broken Vicki’s nose, and Vicki wasn’t even mad? Maybe Vicki felt guilty about what she’d done. Well, she should. At least Harper wouldn’t have to explain about eating the drug-filled cake or the side effects of the drugs. At least not here at the party.
‘Well, still. I shouldn’t have hit you.’
Harper had half expected Vicki to have her arrested; instead, she wasn’t even annoyed.
‘I can imagine how you felt when you found out. But think about it. The way things turned out, what happened really didn’t matter. Nothing’s different than it would have been.’
Harper’s face reddened. How could Vicki talk about her affair with Hank right in front of him? Negating its significance. Did she think he was deaf? The woman deserved that punch in the nose, maybe another.
Vicki kept babbling, playing the hostess, fawning over them until, from across the lawn, Trent sauntered toward them. Silently, Hank broke away to meet his friend.
‘Excuse me—’ Harper left Vicki mid-sentence and took off after Hank. He hadn’t seen Trent since the accident, and she wasn’t sure how the reunion would go. Hank might be bitter that his friend hadn’t even once come to see him. Not to mention that Trent had received the tenured position that should have been Hank’s. She doubted that Hank would cause trouble and knew the two men needed time together alone, but her instincts wouldn’t let her. She stayed close, just in case.
‘Hank. It is! It’s really you.’ Trent swayed slightly as he approached, spilling punch on to the grass. ‘Finally. We meet again, old friend. How you doing?’
Hank didn’t even try to speak. He stood silent, facing Trent, eyeball to eyeball.
‘Sorry about the tenure, Hank. Don’t take it to heart,’ Trent rambled. ‘Under normal circumstances, this thing might easily have gone the other way.’
‘Screw.’
Screw? Harper looked at Hank, startled. He was cursing at Trent. Oh Lord.
Trent raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry?’
‘Vicki. Screwed. Win.’
Wait. Oh God! He wasn’t cursing – Hank was referring to his affair with Vicki! Lord, for some bizarre reason, Hank and Vicki had both decided to air their secret right there at Trent’s party. But why? Coming here had not been a good idea. Harper downed her glass of punch.
Trent smiled stupidly. Mutely.
‘Hank.’ Harper stepped over, taking his arm. ‘I think we should—’
‘Vicki screwed. Won. Not you. She.’
What was Hank’s point? In a twisted way, was he telling Trent that he hadn’t really won? That Trent might have tenure, but Hank had had sex with his wife? How could Hank announce that right in front of everyone? Harper pulled him away.
‘Let’s just go, Hank.’
Hank stood his ground.
‘I’m – I’m not sure what he’s trying to say,’ Trent stammered, grinning. ‘So good to see you, though. Both of you. Let’s get together soon.’ He started to walk away.
‘Roof. Trent.’ Hank declared, too loudly. ‘You. Pushed.’
Trent stopped walking, stopped smiling. Harper froze. Pushed? Trent? Was Hank accusing Trent of pushing him off the roof?
Again, Harper saw Hank falling, sliding, arms askew. She squeezed her drink, counted faces. Fended off flashbacks.
Trent and Hank faced each other mutely.
‘Look. No hard feelings,’ Trent finally offered. ‘It was an act of passion.’
What? He was OK with Hank and Vicki having sex?
Hank didn’t move. ‘Not OK. Pushed. You. Because fucked. Vicki.’
Harper translated: Trent had pushed Hank because of his affair with Vicki. She had trouble breathing. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why was Hank talking about his affair right in front of her, as if he didn’t care if she heard? She wanted to leave. Pictured herself running for the gate. Speeding home, packing. Leaving.
But Trent was talking again. ‘Hank. I don’t really get what you’re saying, but if it’s what I think, just forget it. It’s in the past. All of it. History. It was the heat of the moment. All is forgiven, pal. You didn’t mean it.’
Wait. Trent was forgiving Hank? For having sex with Vicki?
‘Frankly, if it was the other way around, if Harper had – if she’d done what Vicki did – I might have lost it—’
‘No.’
‘No,’ Trent agreed. ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t have done what you did—’
‘No. Hoppa would. Not. Do. Like Vicki.’
‘What’s that, Hank? Harper’s not like my Vicki?’ Trent’s smile was thin. ‘Too bad; I suppose your Harper isn’t as devoted as my Vicki.’ He turned to Harper. ‘Is that true?’
‘Is what true?’
Trent stepped too close to Harper. He smelled like booze. ‘Is it true that you wouldn’t devote yourself entirely to Hank, doing everything in your power to further his career?’
Harper stepped back. What was he talking about?
Hank said nothing. He stood perfectly still, watching Trent, who shifted his weight and forced a grim smile.
‘Hank, look, why don’t we put all this behind us? I’m not proud of what went on behind the scenes, so to speak. But, on the other hand, you tried to push me off a roof.’
Wait. Harper must have heard wrong. What had Trent just said? That Hank had tried to push Trent? Not the other way around? What? Someone grabbed her arm. She spun around.
‘Why did you walk away like that?’ Vicki demanded. ‘What have I done to make you so mad at me? We used to be friends, Harper. What I did – was it really so unforgivable?’
Harper strained to hear what Trent was saying. Something about ‘screw him’. No. Screw Jim? Jim? Who was Jim? Unless . . . Did he mean Jim Hayden, the head of the department? Why was he cursing out Jim?
‘Tell me, Harper,’ Vicki asked again, drowning out Trent’s voice.
OK. Why not, Harper thought. Go for it. ‘Vicki, cut the crap. You really think it’s no big deal that you had an affair with my husband?’
Vicki’s jaw dropped. ‘That I what?’ She actually laughed. ‘Oh my God. That’s what you thought? Lord, no.’
She took Harper’s arm and led her away from a cluster of guests. ‘No wonder you got so pissed. Oh, man. That’s why you punched me? You thought my affair was with Hank.’ She shook her head.
‘You all but admitted it, Vicki. You said you’d had an affair—’
‘And I told you it wasn’t with Hank.’
‘But I read your emails. “I love you and always will.” And “please don’t tell Trent.”’
‘Oh God.’ Vicki rolled her eyes. ‘You read all that stuff and you thought it was about Hank?’ Vicki looked over her shoulder, making sure no one could hear. ‘You’re so wrong.’
Harper folded her arms, unconvinced. She glanced at Hank, still arguing with Trent.
‘I wrote those because Hank found out about my . . . relationship. He accused me of using sex to get
Trent tenure and threatened to tell Trent about the affair. I wrote those emails begging him to keep quiet. I thought Trent wouldn’t be able to handle it. But Hank went to Trent anyway.’
‘Hank told Trent you were having an affair?’ Harper was confused.
‘Yes. Even though I begged him not to. As it turned out, though, Trent already knew. In fact, he’d known the whole time. And, worse, he didn’t care. It actually amused him. He thought the affair would help him get tenure, too. I guess Trent’s attitude made Hank even angrier.’
Harper still didn’t get it.
Behind them, Trent voice boomed, gracious and magnanimous. ‘Forget it, Hank. I forgive you. How about we call it even?’
‘Maybe I’m slow, Vicki. But I don’t see how your cheating on your husband could further his career.’ People wandered by with plates of potato salad and grilled filet sandwiches.
Vicki closed her eyes. ‘OK, I’ll spell it out. My affair wasn’t with Hank.’ She leaned over, whispering in Harper’s ear. ‘It was with him.’ She nodded toward someone across the lawn.
Harper followed the nod, spotting a group of women surrounding the department head, Jim Hayden.
Finally, she understood.
‘You had an affair with Dr Hayden.’
‘Never with Hank. I would never. Neither would he.’ She reached out and hugged Harper.
Slowly grasping the truth, Harper allowed, then returned the hug, elated.
Hank hadn’t cheated. Her friend hadn’t betrayed her.
Suddenly, Vicki let out a belly laugh. ‘You broke my frickin’ nose, Harper.’
Harper was giddy, silly, full of relief. ‘Yes, I did. I got you good.’ Her fist punched air, demonstrating. She was giggling.
‘And—’ Vicki bent over, cramping with laughter. ‘And it was all—’
‘All for nothing.’
‘For nothing. A big fat mistake.’ Vicki wiped her eyes, waved at a passing couple, waiting for them to move on. Finally, the laughter subsided. They stood catching their breath.
‘Well, at least I got my nose done.’
‘Looks good.’ Another round of laughing.
‘So,’ Vicki panted, ‘you’re not mad?’
‘Why would I be?’
‘The tenure thing. I mean, Jim’s head of their department. He has pull in deciding tenure. I told Trent I’d had the affair just to help him get it. I think he actually half believed me. He doesn’t know how close I came to leaving him.’ She met Harper’s eyes. ‘Truth is, I was head over heels.’
Yes, Vicki had been head over heels. But, thank God, she hadn’t been head over heels with Hank. Harper kept jubilantly repeating that fact in her mind. Hank hadn’t cheated. Hank hadn’t cheated. She could sing an aria with those lyrics. She shouldn’t have doubted him. And – God forgive her – she should never have been unfaithful either. She was appalled, mortified, ashamed, even though her behavior wasn’t really her fault, had been drug-induced. Must have been. But Vicki was talking, wanting to make a date for coffee, like old times.
Harper looked across the lawn at Jim Hayden, his broad grin and dark tan, his easy confidence. His charm. And his best quality of all: he wasn’t Hank. Of course she’d have coffee with Vicki. Like old times.
But behind them, Trent repeated his offer. ‘Even Steven. You don’t tell anyone about my dear wife’s indiscretions, and I don’t tell anyone how you came to fall.’
Harper finally understood. She pictured them, Hank and Trent on the roof. Hank accusing Trent of orchestrating Vicki’s affair to get himself tenure. Trent denying it. Hank furious, coming at Trent, maybe even trying to shove him. Trent dodging, Hank slipping.
And falling.
A few feet from Harper, Hank smiled broadly and put a hand on Trent’s shoulder, declaring, ‘Fuck.’ He paused, forming another word. ‘You.’
Trent furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Yeah? Well, fuck you, too.’
The two men faced each other, nose to nose, a staring contest. Vicki and Harper stood by, silent. Tension mounted. Suddenly, Hank swung, punching Trent’s shoulder, bending him forward, grabbing him with his strong arm, trapping him in a headlock. Helpless, his drink spilling into the grass, Trent waited for Hank to release him.
‘Hank.’ Harper tugged at his arm, trying to loosen his grip. ‘Let him go.’
Vicki gaped. Didn’t move.
‘Hank!’
For a long moment, Hank held on to Trent, and Trent didn’t struggle. He simply endured it. People noticed, but assumed two old friends were horsing around. ‘Don’t kill him, Hank,’ someone called. ‘He owes me for lunch.’
‘Go ahead and kill him,’ a second voice disagreed. ‘I want his office space.’
Hank finally let him go. Trent was red in the face and sheepish, seemed less tipsy. Maybe even sober. Hank put one bear-like arm around him, the other around Harper, who put an arm around Vicki. Connected at the shoulders, the four walked abreast back to the tent where they sat together, eating, drinking, laughing and talking. Almost like old times. It was a fine celebration, a feast, though Harper noticed that neither Trent nor Vicki spent much time with Jim Hayden. As the evening wore on, wine poured generously, and Hank’s colleagues began to seek him out, comfortable again, forgetting about his aphasia. Harper was relieved to see him mixing, rebuilding his life, and, for the first time in months, she allowed herself to relax. Not worrying or planning. Not being afraid.
It wasn’t until the end of the party, as she waited for Hank to say his goodbyes, that Harper noticed Sameh, quietly watching her from the shadowed corner of the tent. Harper took her time. She didn’t flinch, didn’t run for a lemon. Instead, slowly and deliberately, she met Sameh’s eyes and stared at them steadily until Sameh turned and walked away.
When Hank was ready, he looked refreshed. Even happy. Harper took his hand and smiled, ready to go home.