by Lindy Zart
Beth didn’t announce her presence. She took off her jacket, hat, and boots, and marched to the laundry room. Opening the linen closet, she found cleaning supplies and a wood polishing agent. Logic wasn’t necessarily a factor in what she had planned, but it didn’t matter. Even as she understood why it was the way it was, the trophy room was no longer going to live in disharmony.
She knew that making a shrine out of his past wasn’t the way to go. The awards he’d earned weren’t him. They were a reminder of what he’d once been, who he’d been. Harrison wasn’t that person anymore, and that person had never really been Harrison. He was more, deeper. He was all the stars, and all the galaxies, and everything beyond; held in the hand of all the worlds. Secret rooms, unknown floors, whispered passages. Beth wanted to discover them all.
Following that train of thought, he was more than the person he was being. He said he wasn’t hiding, but he was. Harrison was hiding from himself. He gave the disease power over him, just as she gave Ozzy power over her. It wasn’t the same, she knew, but power was power. And no one and nothing should have it over another.
As she entered the room, dust swirled around her like tiny dancers, and she blinked against it. Juggling in her arms the bottles of disinfectant and whatever else she’d grabbed, she moved to the center of the room and dropped everything on the floor. Beth closed the door and then moved to the window, unlocking it and pushing it open. Cool, new air wafted in, and she closed her eyes as she popped her head outside and inhaled deeply.
Beth tightened the ponytail on the top of her head as she turned from the window, tugged her pink tee shirt back into place, and eyed the daunting task before her. The room appeared unending, filled as it was, but in reality, it wasn’t all that big. The task was not unmanageable.
“Don’t think about it,” she told herself. “Just do it.”
Sliding her cell phone from the pocket of her black leggings, Beth found a playlist of fast-paced music and turned the volume as high as it would go before she started moving all of the trophies and awards from shelves and desks to the floor. Beth coughed as she worked, sweat forming in the small of her back and in the hollow of her neck. Her fingers were covered in thick gray matter that made her nose wrinkle.
‘The Sound of Silence’; remade by Disturbed, came on as she set the last trophy on the hardwood floor. Beth swept loose strands of damp hair from her face with the back of her hand and went still to better appreciate the music as she waited for her tired limbs to rejuvenate. As the singer’s voice swelled and reverberated through the room and in her, Beth closed her eyes and did a lazy pirouette with a smile on her face. The music wasn’t loud, but it didn’t have to be to pulse with her heart. Ballet, tap, jazz, and hip-hop—she’d learned as many of the different forms of dancing as she could as a kid. This was a haunting song that deserved to be savored.
She sprayed wood polisher on a desk and wiped circles onto it as she shook her hips back and forth and bobbed her head to ‘I Am’ by AWOLNATION. The wood gleamed back at her and she moved to the wall shelves. Beth spun and dipped backward, her arms loose and flowing as she surged left and right, turning the cleaning into a performance. By the time she was done with the woodwork, it shone back at her like a shiny penny. Beth grinned and turned, her ponytail swinging with the motion, and reached for the first of the trophies.
The music shut off, the silence stinging in the wake of the song. Beth’s head shot up, and she was met with the formidable being that was Harrison. The black of his shirt mirrored his expression. He stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the woodwork. The pose was casual, deceptive. Because his eyes leaked menace, as well as pain. Beth’s hands unconsciously loosened and she dove for the trophy before it hit the floor, landing on the floor with it.
“Why are you always turning off music?” she grumbled, not knowing what else to say.
“What are you doing in here?” The measurement of his words was off, thicker.
Beth put down the trophy and stood, wiping her hands on the front of her pants. “Dancing. And cleaning.”
“Why?”
She shrugged and twisted her hair around her hand, letting it go when her scalp stung. “Just because this part of your life is over, that doesn’t mean you have to pretend it isn’t there, or hide it away. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
It took him a tense minute to respond, his eyes penetrating hers, taking her breath. “I am proud of it, but I also don’t want to look at it.”
“Fine. Don’t.” Her heart beat in her ears as Harrison stepped into the room and looked around. “But in case you ever decide you want to, it’ll be here.”
“It’s a mirage. Looking at this reminds me of what I once was, and what I now am. My own body is fighting me, Beth.” His eyebrows pinched together, and he lowered his eyes as his throat worked to swallow. There he was, the real Harrison. She was seeing more and more of him, and she’d give anything to keep him here, but not at the price of the hurt he was experiencing.
“Fight back,” she whispered.
“I can’t.”
Anger lashed through her, and Beth slapped her hand on a desk, pain slamming through her palm and into her arm. “Yes, you can. Fight back!”
“I can’t!” Harrison shoved his face next to hers, his eyes black with fury. His mouth was nothing more than a slice of pink against white. “Look at me. Look at me.”
Beth looked into the tormented eyes of a man brought down by something no one ever should. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “I am looking at you.”
Bloodshot eyes stared back; a fine layer of sweat covered his skin. His eyes were fevered, wild with hopelessness. “I am a disease.”
“No. You’re not. Don’t say that, don’t think that,” she told him, shaking her head. “You are not defined by this. You said it. You said it and you have to believe it.”
“I try to. Sometimes I try to.” Harrison swallowed, covering his eyes with his hands as if to stop seeing the reality awaiting him. He let his hands fall away, revealing the splintered pieces of his soul in the brokenness of his expression. “When I’m with you, I forget. But then, like yesterday, I am reminded. Again and again I am reminded.”
“It’s okay to have bad days, Harrison. You’re having a bad day, that’s all.” Beth reached for him, and he stepped away.
“It’s not okay to hope. It’s not okay to pretend. It’s not. It’s not okay,” Harrison muttered and showed her his stiff back.
He paced near the trophies and awards. He paused with his profile to her, and his hand trembled as he swiped it across his mouth. Harrison stared through the window to outside, looking at a freedom he couldn’t feel. He glanced at her, his mouth contorted with anguish, and then he moved again. Back and forth. His steps jerky, his body wired with discontent.
“You don’t have to lie to me, or to you.” Beth followed the movement with her eyes, aware that Harrison’s composure had cracked at some point during the time from yesterday to today. That look in his eyes, that desperation, it killed a tiny part of her. “You’re right, you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to act like you’re okay when you’re not. I’m here. Let me help you.”
His footsteps halted, and he stood, bared and open—an unbeatable man struck down by the lightning of chance. The slope of his shoulders hinted at his desperateness, and Harrison’s eyes cried, though not a single tear appeared. “Every day I breathe is a lie.”
Beth’s eyes stung, her head shaking to deny his words. His life was not a lie, but a truth. Harrison’s confession was not a weakness, like he believed. His breakdown was not something to feel shame over. It made him stronger to Beth, because even the strongest of individuals fell at times. What made them strong was that they got back up, every time.
“It’s okay,” she said in a choked voice. “It’s okay to be scared, but it’s not okay to let the fear take away everything good.”
Craters of pain fell upon his being, demolishin
g the light. Creating holes that couldn’t be filled. Pushing him back, and back. Back to the darkness. Back to the bleak world he didn’t have to live in. Beth could see Harrison struggling against them, and she could see him wondering why he was. She was losing him. Beth couldn’t let him go back there.
“I can’t go forward, and I can’t go back. You know what I do? I go through, straight ahead. I don’t think about the past, because it hurts. And I can’t think about the future, because that hurts too.”
“Let me help you,” she offered again, placing her hand, palm side up, in the space between them.
He lowered his eyes to her hand, stared at it like he didn’t know what it was.
“Let me help you.”
Harrison’s throat bobbed, and he lifted crystalline eyes to hers—onyx awash in tears, glittering with beautiful tragedy. He extended his hand to hers, and his fingertips brushed across hers. Beth moved with the care of someone who approached a spooked and scared being, gradually closing the distance. She pressed her thumb to his hard cheek as a tear dropped from his eye. A single tear to symbolize a thousand.
He tried to wipe it away from her skin, and she retracted her hand, the warm wetness dissolving into her skin, becoming part of her. “Your tears can’t hurt me, Harrison.”
A broken sound left him, and he hung his head. Maybe he had to break to see that he could let her in through the cracks. Beth could fill the holes. She could patch him up with her light. She wanted to do that for him.
“I’m not here to write your book anymore,” she whispered. Beth would write it; she needed to, and she thought Harrison needed it too, but it was second place to them, not first. “I don’t think that’s ever really why I was here. I’m here for you.”
The truth was in his eyes when he raised them to hers.
Beth swallowed and looked away, unable to stare into that whirlpool for too long. If she did, she could see herself jumping headfirst into him. Drawing back her shoulders and attempting a brisk tone, she grabbed a spare cloth and tossed it at him. “Either help me clean this mess or get out. We’re wasting daylight.”
She picked up the nearest award, smiling to herself as Harrison slowly reached for another. Beth didn’t look at him as they worked. His nearness heated up the room, filled it with tingles of energy, like little invisible sparks littered the air.
“I read the ten pages,” Harrison said softly.
Beth went still and then forced herself to move. She grabbed another trophy and wiped the cloth around its edges and smoothness. “Oh?”
His eyes touched on hers and strayed. “You made me sound better than I am. My hair really isn’t that nice of a shade of red, and my jawline is weaker than you described.”
She smiled. “I only wrote what I believe. Besides,” Beth added. “It’s only the first draft. It’s subject to change.”
He snorted. “Does that mean there’s a chance it will be less complimentary toward me when the final draft is ready?”
Her lips twitched. “I guess that depends on you.”
A dozen minutes passed before either of them spoke again, and it was Harrison.
“Straight through,” he murmured as he set a newly shining trophy on a shelf.
Beth nodded, her arm shooting forward. “Straight through. With me beside you.”
NINE
THANKSGIVING WITH HER family was strained, because all the while she was interacting with her parents and siblings, she was thinking of Harrison. He’d assured her his mom and dad would be spending the day with him, but Beth had doubts. Each time someone had to repeat her name to get her attention, overwhelmingly hot shame colored her face. She should be enjoying her time with her family.
It was as the dishes were being cleared from the table that her oldest brother, Benny, tugged on a chunk of her hair. “What’s going on with you?”
Beth picked up the large ceramic bowl of mostly eaten mashed potatoes and walked with it to the counter. The heat of the kitchen, mixed with the other various food smells, including the melted butter and garlic scent of the mash potatoes, made Beth cringe. She’d eaten too much, and now her stomach was revolting.
“What do you mean?”
Blue eyes a tad darker than hers locked on her, telling her she couldn’t fool him. Benny and Beth looked the most alike out of the Lambert kids, favoring the same coloring and similar features. Seven years older than her, Benny acted more like a father figure than a big brother. He was a beast of a guy, tall and stocky with more muscles than Beth thought was necessary. Her oldest brother said he lifted weights so he could enjoy his beer in peace. Beth told him he was a disgrace to computer nerds everywhere.
Her brother set a clear square storage container on the counter and began emptying the mashed potatoes into it. “You barely said a word to Whitney, and whenever someone tries to talk to you, you’re off in your own little world. And you look funny.” At her frown, he added, “Like something is bothering you.”
“I’m sorry. I just…I have a lot on my mind. I’ll make it up to Whitney. Maybe I can steal her for a little bit on Saturday.” Beth’s eyes found her eight-year-old niece through the doorway that led to the living room. She looked like a mini-version of Beth, a fact she took great joy in. Whitney sat with her grandparents on the couch, telling them a story with loud sound effects and giggling.
Beth smiled faintly and looked at her brother. “I’m just distracted.”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “I did notice that.” He paused. “Mom says you’re writing a story for some old hermit who lives in another town and doesn’t want anyone to know who they are.”
She knelt down and rustled in the cupboard, finding the green lid that fit the container. “Something like that.”
“How’s that going?” Benny scraped the last of the potatoes into the container.
Beth avoided his piercing eyes as she stood. “Good. Really good. I’m a quarter of the way through the story.”
“Everything normal with that? Your employer’s decent?”
She tilted her head, trying to remain calm even as her pulse sped up. He didn’t know anything. No one did. “Yes. Why?”
Benny shrugged his broad shoulders. “Why don’t they want anyone to know who they are? Why the mystery? Seems weird.”
“They’re private, that’s all.”
Benny’s broad features darkened and his eyes blazed, his large body taut and bristling with anger. “Mom also said Ozzy isn’t taking no for an answer. I never liked him. Thought he could do whatever he wanted, and he could, because he always got away with shit. He was a punk as a kid, and he’s still a punk, only now he’s old enough that he should know better.”
Beth handed her brother the lid. It was interesting how everyone had an opinion on her and Ozzy now that they were no longer together. “Ozzy just has to figure out things on his own. It takes him a while to accept things aren’t always the way he wants them to be.”
She hoped that was all it was. Beth’s fingers curled. She’d talked with her landlord, and he’d assured her Ozzy wasn’t given a key, and for now, Beth would trust that. She told herself she must have left the door to the garage unlocked, like Ozzy said, but a twinge in her conscience kept her from entirely believing it.
“That’s the way a kid thinks, not a man,” he stated.
There was no disagreeing with that.
“Benny, you need a beer?” Jake called from downstairs. He liked to whine that he was the neglected middle child who couldn’t even share the same letter in his first name as them.
“Yeah. I’ll be right down,” he replied, his eyes unmoving from Beth’s. “Something’s going on with you, and you can deny it all you want, but I see it. You’re unhappy about something.”
Benny snapped the lid into place and handed her the container. “You don’t have to do anything on your own. Whatever is going on, everyone in this house loves you and will support you. I got your back, Beth. We all do.”
She wanted to confess it all—her fea
rs over Ozzy, Harrison’s identity and how she was overwhelmed by her feelings for him, and even more so, terrified of the disease living inside of him. The dream of writing a bestselling novel that seemed too far out of reach. The uncashed check from Harrison sitting on her dresser that was more money than she normally saw in half a year and that she didn’t deserve—how being with Harrison made her sad at times but being away from him was worse, that she was also hopeful, and inspired, and strong in his presence.
But none of that could pass her lips.
Instead, Beth set the container down on the counter and hugged Benny, hard and tight, and when she inhaled the laundry detergent and cologne smell of her brother, she felt safe.
“Mom said something similar last week,” she admitted as she pulled away.
“Who do you think taught me to be the way I am? Well, and Dad, but more Mom. She’s tough as nails.” Benny grinned, showing off a crooked canine. “And you—she taught you how to be too.” He pointed a blunt finger at her collarbone. “Be it, little sister.”
Beth good-naturedly slapped at his finger and put the mashed potatoes in the refrigerator. “I’m trying.” She nodded to the doorway that went downstairs. “Go drink your beer with Jake and Dad. You’re out of place up here.”
She smiled as her brother jogged across the room and stomped down the stairs. Beth was lucky to have such a caring family. After cleaning the last of the few dishes and wiping off the counter and table, Beth hung out with her sisters-in-law, niece, and her mom for an hour. She laughed and talked about movies and music with Whitney, her eyes continually finding the clock on the wall. She didn’t have plans to see Harrison; there was no reason for her to be anxious to leave.
But she was.
When Beth felt sufficient time had passed, she got to her feet and let them know she would be back Saturday. Her blood streamed through her veins, telling her to hurry to a destination she did not have. Beth didn’t think she’d be at ease until she next saw Harrison. With a hug and a smile aimed at her family, Beth packed on her winter gear and headed out into the cold night. Her breaths left her in wisps of white and Beth tipped her head back to admire the blanket of twinkling lights in the dark sky.