In Pursuit

by Luck, Olivia

  “He’s observant,” I say softly, thinking of the hydrangeas. “Then what happened?”

  “It was the same studly Harris but he was in the best mood. Luke’s worked there for less than a year, but it was the first time he saw Harris smile. But, um, later in the morning Claire shows up in a snit, completely bypasses Luke without saying a word. She slams into Harris’ office. It was so jarring that the liquid jiggled in the coffee cup.”

  “I’m familiar with the Grant door slams.”

  “Right. You can picture it. She lays into him, screaming obscenities. You haven’t been to the firm yet,” at this rate I probably never will, “but it’s completely high end. Thick walls, so Luke couldn’t totally make out the conversation. Ten minutes later, she storms out, ignoring my boyfriend again. Harris spends the rest of his day locked away, except for a couple of meetings, but he didn’t speak to Luke, either. That’s highly irregular.”

  The bubble of unease, that’s been brewing since Harris left me in his bed yesterday morning, multiples ten fold. “And then?”

  “Since then, he’s been a bull, snarling at anyone who comes in his way. He refused to leave his office for the rest of the day, making all of his meetings reschedule to suit his needs.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. I will tell you if he can get any other information, but Luke...”

  “Don’t,” I cut in. “I would never ask Luke to compromise his position as Harris’ assistant. You’ve already told me more than you probably should.”

  “We’re friends. I want to be there for you,” Sean responds gently.

  My lips tremble at the words. He’s right, we are friends, and that feeling is comfort for the fresh wound that the Grant siblings left.

  The bang of the front door closing startles me, and I almost drop the phone. “Sean, Claire’s home so I’ll chat with you later?”

  He signs off, making me promise to call him if anything evil happens (his words, not mine).

  “There you are,” I say hesitantly as Claire rifles through the fridge.

  She’s practically teeming with energy, her movements rapid and jerky. She yanks out a new bottle of white wine – it must be the housekeeper who keeps replacing them, because it’s surely not me ̶ and pulls out an opener from a drawer.

  “Hi,” she says, so coldly I almost need to pull my hooded sweatshirt tighter to keep me warm. With a deep sniffle, she scrubs the back of her hand around her red nose and begins opening the bottle.

  “Claire, I – are you feeling okay?”

  She scowls. “I’m fine, it’s allergies. Don’t they have pollen out east?” Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the wine.

  Cocaine, I realize gloomily.

  “Yes. Claire, I wanted to talk to you about something -” before I can finish, she hastily interrupts me.

  “Don’t worry about it, little mouse. I’m handling it.”

  “Handling what?”

  She barrels on as if I didn’t speak, throwing a cork stopper on the counter. Then she pulls two glasses from the cupboard. “I’m going out tonight, and from the looks of it, you’re staying in.”

  “Claire, what’s going on?”

  “So, yeah, I am pissed as fuck,” she snaps the word at me, making me recoil at the spite in her tone. Aggressively, she pours the wine. Good thing she hasn’t started chugging her wine yet. “But by tomorrow it will be over.”

  “Oh, um, okay.”

  With two stemless wine glasses in her hands, she forces one to me. “Get some rest, you look like you need it.”

  Then she stalks out of the room with a flourish, closing her door noisily behind her.

  Without drinking the wine, I scurry into my bedroom so I can hide. I am frozen, my back pressed to my door, breath heaving in and out. The hairs on my arms are standing at attention and it has nothing to do with the air conditioning.

  My phone taunts me from my bed. No messages from Harris.

  Screw this.

  I bound over to my bed and give it one more shot.

  Eddie: I’m here Harris, if you want to talk

  On Saturday, I rise from bed with a mission to punish myself for being caught in a funk over the past few days.

  Enough, I tell myself angrily as I strip off my nightgown and dress in my running gear. Feeling sorry for yourself because Harris disappeared isn’t helping.

  One look at the temperature on my phone tells me the weather wants to show its anger, too. It’s going to be a sweltering ninety-five degrees today, with a dose of thick humidity. I forgo a top, and stick to a pink sports bra and revealing pair of black running shorts. I strap my phone to the velcro case on my upper arm, and then make the journey outside.

  The weather application was correct. It’s barely eight in the morning, and the air reminds me of swampy Washington, DC. I turn the music up on my workout playlist, and begin to jog. When I hit the path along Lake Michigan, I head due north until I reach Diversey Harbor. My muscles cry out in protest, but I do not heed their complaints. I run to forget, to push my longing for Harris aside, because he hasn’t contacted me at all.

  When I get off the lakeside trail and start walking back toward my home, I’m damp with sweat and breathing heavily. Running on an empty stomach and with little water, other than a few breaks at nasty public water fountains, leaves me spent.

  It happens when I’m waiting on the corner of Chicago and Rush. A very expensive convertible cruises to a stop next to me. The car gets my attention because it’s a Bentley; one that my dad pointed out to me on the rare occasion that we ate dinner together outside of our home. It was a balmy, early summer night and we were eating burgers before my dad’s shift. It just happened that we ran into each other on the street, he invited me to join him to eat. A seductive purr of an engine captured our attention, and when the sleek black car drove by, dad mentioned that it could cost a cool two hundred grand for that fine automobile. At the time, I appreciated its splendor and moved on, just happy to dine with dad.

  Now, I notice the car again. First, because it’s just as eye-catching as before, but also because of who is inside, staring back at me.

  Harris.

  Wayfarers mask his eyes, so I’m unable to read his mood. One hand rests lazily on the top steering wheel, the other one hidden in the car. He’s not alone. Wavy hair pulled in a high ponytail, she’s in workout gear, a tight tank top, and drinking from a water bottle.

  In that moment I feel nothing but a strange, unfamiliar pain squeeze my chest. The crippling hurt makes me want to drop to my knees and sob.

  I have no idea who this woman is, but by their familiarity they could be dating. She grins at him, but I notice he doesn’t smile back, probably angry that his cover blew up. Even though he’s looking at me, I feel like he’s staring right through me because he doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

  Get out of here, get out of here, don’t do this to yourself. Fight or flight instinct kicks in instructing me to fly. I listen.

  The street is clear of cars and I take off, turning down Rush, in the opposite direction of his car.

  When I feel like I’m safe from his vision, I stop jogging and do something that I haven’t done in the last three weeks. I peel my phone out of its protective casing. My fingers do the work for me and I dial.

  “Hello?” Groggy, that’s how he sounds.

  “Dad,” I whisper into the phone. I walk another half a block, then collapse onto a random staircase outside of some office building.

  “Ed?” He’s confused to hear my voice, but covers it quickly. “How are you?”

  If we were together now, he’d be pushing back his already receding hairline with nerves. The thought makes me want to smile, but I can’t. I feel too sick from seeing Harris with the woman.

  “I don’t know if it was a good idea to move here,” I blurt out, blinking away the river of tears that form in my eyes.

  “Do you need money?”

  That manages to build a dam to the liquid quickly rimm
ing my eyes with redness. It’s a nice offer, but I wish he had faith in my career.

  “No, Dad, I’m actually doing really well professionally.”

  “Then, uh, is something else bothering you?”

  Using my hand to block the glare of the sun, I stare up into the cloudless blue sky.

  “I’m in over my head socially,” I mumble.

  And then it’s silent, the only noises I hear are his steady breaths and the noise pollution of the city blocks surrounding me.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he responds helplessly. Just knowing that he feels something towards me thaws a bit of the coldness in my chest.

  “That’s okay. I’ll be okay. I always I am,” I force a cheerful tone. Then I cringe when I realize the time. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

  He clears his throat roughly. “Sort of, but I took some time off, so I needed to get up.”

  Wow. He rarely took vacation days. “Good for you,” I murmur. “Well, uh, Dad, it was great to talk to you. I’ll call you again soon.”

  “Bye, Ed,” he says my nickname again but this time it sounds like there’s something stuck in his throat.

  When the call disconnects, I make a quick decision. I could sit on this step and wallow more, or I could make a game plan.

  “Hello, Mr. Personality,“ I say when he picks up. “Are you busy?’

  I don’t go home to change or shower, just head straight to Sean’s. He lives just a few blocks from where I’ve been running. We’re sitting on their small balcony sipping mimosas. Sean and Luke sit on either side of me.

  I relay my run in with Harris through wobbly words.

  “Oh, Eddie! That’s not a girlfriend. You must know I would have told you if he is seeing anyone,” Luke says.

  I gasp at a sudden thought. “Sean, did you tell him about Peter?”

  My thoughts turn to Amanda’s philandering husband and I don’t want to be caught spilling her private business around the firm.

  Sean shifts uncomfortably next to me. “I did, but – “

  “You can trust me, Eddie,” Luke says, covering my free hand with his for a moment. “Keep in mind, that I have to be a vault to keep my job. So, I know a lot more confidential stuff than that. Unfortunately. I already knew when Sean told me. The rumor mill runs rampant through the assistant network.”

  I nod in acceptance. Luke and Sean are both trustworthy. Then I remember what he said earlier. “How do you know it wasn’t a girlfriend?”

  “Because I booked the tennis courts when she called and asked me. It’s his friend Matt’s girlfriend, Jane. Matt works at the firm. A month ago, Matt tore his Achilles, and so Jane and Harris share a court occasionally. Not a thing to concern yourself.” His hand glosses over mine again, this time clutching for a beat longer.

  I slump back in the patio chair, my mimosa swaying back in my hand. Not his girlfriend, not his girlfriend repeats. A sigh of relief slips out of my lips.

  “That makes today a little better,” I admit.

  Suddenly I’m engulfed in a hug by the gregarious couple.

  “One day at a time.” Sean’s voice is muffled by the embrace and I sink into it.

  When we retreat from the hug, Luke has a confused expression. “You should have seen how happy he was, Eddie. I don’t understand how it could have changed so quickly. Usually, he’s surly, but it was bad. When I left at six, he was still locked in his office, never came out for lunch, and when I offered to get him something, he just grunted. It’s so unlike him.”

  I shrug. “If Claire can change his mind about me so easily, maybe I don’t want to be with him.”

  It guts me to say it out loud, but deep down I know I need consistency in my relationships and so far this one lacks that trait.

  We stay on the balcony for several more hours, talking about everything not related to the Grants. I tell them about my love of music and the songs I play. They make me promise to play for them. Maybe it was the time Harris overheard me singing, or knowing that these two care about me, too, but the idea sounds less daunting than it used to.

  Sean lends me a long-sleeved shirt (he doesn’t wear sweatshirts; too grungy for his design aesthetic, he says) to wear home. We hug goodbye and as I walk home I reflect on our interaction. I feel infinitely better after spending time with them. I creep into the apartment quietly, hoping Claire isn’t home.

  What I find shocks me.

  “Hey, little mouse! Welcome home!” Claire and some of the women I met at the Franklin & Smith summer party are strewn about the living space, sipping wine, watching Pretty Woman and devouring snacks.

  “H-hi,” I stammer, tugging at my shirt self-consciously. “I went out for a run and stopped by my friend’s house.”

  “Get changed and come hang out. It’s a girls day,” she trills.

  I wander into my bedroom, and begin stripping to take a shower. The door flies open and I jump, holding my bra to my chest to cover myself. It’s just Claire.

  Knock much? How quickly I’m learning to resent her.

  “Hey, I just want to let you know you don’t have to worry about Harris stalking you anymore.” Her eyes are lit up like she’s thrilled.

  How can I respond to that without flipping out?

  I don’t feel comfortable sharing any of my feelings about Harris, so I stick with a simple, “Harris hasn’t been stalking me.”

  “Look, I know he’s been so persistent and you just dated him because I said he’s lonely. But you don’t need to do that for me. I took care of him.”

  That would explain the shouting match in his office.

  She watches me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. Why are you doing this? I ask her silently.

  Instead, I avoid the confrontation. “I think I’ll take a shower now.”

  “Great! We’re going to have the best night,” she says emphatically. With a toothy grin, she flicks her long, long hair over her shoulder, and leaves my room.

  Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? I think angrily. The backbone I’m trying to grow is nowhere to be found.

  I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me, locking it so she can’t surprise me again. I finish undressing in there, and step into the warm water of the steam shower. Unease seeps under my skin. Claire’s behavior makes me want to move out yesterday, but what really makes me want to sink onto the floor of the shower stall and hug my knees to my chest is that Harris let me go so easily. Even if Claire told him not to date me, he would have fought for me if he truly wanted me.

  On Sunday, after waking up with a brutal Claire-inflicted hangover, I find myself alone in the apartment. A text from Claire says she has “family stuff” to attend to, and probably won’t be back until tomorrow.

  After I make myself a simple cereal breakfast, I spread out my laptop and work materials on the dining room table. It may be Sunday, but I don’t have anything better to do, so I decide to work. That’s the bonus of being your own boss – a flexible schedule. I enjoy my work, so it’s no burden to me to tackle a project today. I’m in the middle of researching fabrics for Mrs. Fletcher when a ringing phone jars my progress.

  Sarah. I nearly sigh with relief when I see her name on the screen. She’s back from vacation and we can finally talk.

  “Hey,” I croak into the phone, overcome with longing to see my friend face to face. “What are you doing?” I ask, maintaining our tradition.

  “Looking at pictures from our trip. What are you doing?”

  “Reviewing fabric samples for a client. How was it?”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice!" For the record, it’s been a little over a week since we spoke, but knowing that she misses me like I miss her soothes some of the scrapes in my heart. “The most relaxing trip ever. It would be perfect for a couple’s trip when you have a new boyfriend...”

  I let her trail off, not biting. “Tell me what you did.”

  She launches into a recap of the food they ate, the books she read, and how bronze her s
kin became from the omnipresent sunshine. A sigh of jealousy escapes. “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Enough about that. What’s going on with Harris?”

  Somehow, my voice stays even. “Pretty much dead before it even left the ground.”

  “What?” she shrieks. Sarah, overdramatic? A little.

  I quickly fill her in on the tumultuous past few days. Unfortunately, this recap also involves telling her the truth about my breakup with Jared. And my melodramatic friend bursts into tears after I explain Jared’s aggressive tendencies.

  “Is that why you moved?” she whimpers into the phone.

  “Oh, Sar, no. No. It sounds scary and awful – it was at the time – but I’m okay. My relationship with Jared wasn’t like that. Only once.” I clear the knot that lodged it’s way in my throat. “That night was a fluke that I didn’t want to repeat. I’m okay.”

  She sniffles, but this seems to placate her. The space from Jared and my life in DC definitely helps the situation, but I feel stronger since moving here. Before, I couldn’t stand to think about what happened with my ex, now I’m beginning to leave it behind.

  I change the subject and finish telling her about Harris. By the time I’m done with the run in on Rush Street, Sarah’s calmer and ready to dissect.

  “He said he doesn’t date much, right? Maybe he got spooked. Give him some time.”

  “Maybe. But there’s more to the story.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, you know what happened that night we went to the bar? The fight I overheard in the middle of the night.”

  She hums her acknowledgment.

  “After the first date, she told me that Harris isn’t right for me, and I should move on. I thought it strange at the time, but I ignored her. I figured that I would leave it up to Harris and I to decide.”

  “Of course. What does she have to do with your relationship with him?”

  I can count on Sarah to always be my champion.

  “But then, after I spent the night at his place, she was furious with me, or him, or I don’t know. Just scary angry. Then she told me that she’ll ‘fix it.’”