Neither could believe how massive the whales were. “They were bigger than I remembered,” Harper said, her finger in the loop of Grace’s khaki shorts.
A few strides from Seasmoke, Grace dropped a bomb. “I have to go home tomorrow.”
“We probably should get back to civilization,” Harper said.
“No, I mean I have to go to Phoenix tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“I have to go home and deal with some things. Tie up loose ends. It’ll just be a few days. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“But you just got here.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll be a quick trip. I’ll be back Friday.”
Harper added up the nights. “Five days is a long time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you going?”
“I’ve just got a bunch of stuff to deal with,” Grace said, a kite gliding idly above. “Lawyers, the will and stuff.”
“Look What You’ve Done To Me”
Boz Scaggs
That night, Harper made a pot of her Sunday gravy and homemade fettuccini while Grace looked through scrapbooks.
When she got to the one Harper had put together in homage to her parents, she spoke up.
“Did you make this for the funeral?” Grace asked.
Harper shook her head. “Just for me.”
The album included photos from Ana and Blue’s time spent in Chile, even a picture of Ana waving from the plane before it took off. Inside, there were also clippings from the paper, their obituaries and shots of Harper scattering their ashes.
“How many places did you spread their ashes?” Grace asked, focused on Harper holding the urn on a cliff.
“Four. Machu Pichu, Zion, Popina Island and Sedona. All of their choosing.”
“What was that like?”
Harper peeled garlic cloves. “Surreal,” she said, smashing the cloves with her knife. “It’s all a blur now. I didn’t cry in the first few places. Peru, Zion and the island. In those places, it was more of a rush. Not until I dumped the remainder of their ashes in Oak Creek Canyon.” Harper started to choke up again.
“Once the urn was empty.”
Grace walked to the kitchen and put her arms around Harper.
She kissed her temple. “I’m so sorry.”
They left Seasmoke early the next morning to ensure Grace had time to pack before catching her afternoon flight.
On the road, Grace’s phone rang as they hit the Portland city limits. She dug around her purse until she found her cell.
Harper kept one eye on the road and one on Grace, who looked at the screen and hit ignore.
“Who was it?” Harper asked as Grace powered down her phone.
“Just Mummy. I’ll call her once I’m at the airport.”
Together, they made a quick stop at Grace’s new home, perched in the West Hills overlooking downtown Portland. It was a traditional three-story house with a grand open staircase and bamboo floors throughout. The For Sale sign was still in the yard. Grace gave Harper a hasty tour before she pulled out her suitcase.
“There’s still a lot I want to do,” Grace said, flipping on the hallway light.
As they walked through the gourmet kitchen, Harper noticed the answering machine’s light blinking. Grace did too, and just as quickly as it started, ended the kitchen highlights.
Harper made a mental note, but hadn’t thought much of it until she saw Grace’s wedding ring, a sparkling five-carat diamond with platinum band, in a dish in the bathroom like it had just been taken off to shower.
Harper tried to be cool and calm about things. Grace was going through a divorce and that was complicated, but she couldn’t ward off the ever-persistent voices in her head.
“So, what do you need to take care of at home again?”
“We’ve got a meeting with the family. That stupid will crap.
And I’ve got a bunch of divorce stuff to deal with too.”
“How long until that’s final?”
“It could take months.”
“You’ve filed, though?”
“Yes, Bella. I filed months ago. Almost a year now.”
“Why is it taking so long?”
Grace shrugged. “Lawyers.”
As they got closer to the Port of Portland, unease continued to stir within Harper. Stopping at the curb, Harper turned to Grace. She looked carefully into her eyes before saying goodbye.
“Who’s picking you up?”
“Daddy,” Grace said.
“And you’re staying with your parents?”
“Yes. For the third time.” She gave Harper a big hug, and was suddenly in a hurry. The kind of hurry that happens at airport curbs. “I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t even have time to miss me.”
Harper sat still, a pit in her stomach, and watched Grace wheel her suitcase inside.
Grace blew a quick kiss from the revolving door.
That night, there was nothing she wanted to watch on TV.
Lying on the couch in the same position, flat on her side with a throw pillow tucked under her head, Harper fitfully surfed the channels until her eyes got droopy.
In bed, she flipped on the lamp and picked up a novel she hadn’t gone back to in weeks, plowing through several chapters.
A momentary escape.
Grace called around ten. “I’m just getting to bed,” she said,
“I’m exhausted.”
“What did you do tonight?” Harper marked her spot in the book and set it on the dresser.
“Dinner at the club and then we had an event to go to.”
“Why are you whispering?” Harper asked, knowing the layout of the Dunlop house, knowing her folks were at least an acre away.
“I don’t know,” she said, raising her voice.
“What kind of event?” Harper asked.
“A concert.”
“For charity?”
0
“No, it was just a show. I’ve got to get to sleep. I’m so tired.
I’ll call you tomorrow?” Grace said, in a hurry again.
“Who’d you go with?”
“Mummy and Daddy. Why?”
“Just curious.”
There was a pregnant pause. “I’m going to bed. I can barely keep my eyes open,” Grace said, signing off.
Harper flopped around for hours, eventually watching more TV—an infomercial for the George Foreman grill and then an episode of Three’s Company. Jack in bellbottoms. Chrissy in short shorts.
As Harper lay there, staring at the screen and then the ceiling, she fought off images of Grace and Jamie at their wedding. Grace in her gown. Jamie fucking her in their hotel suite after the reception. From there came thoughts of Grace and that woman, the one she met at the Christmas party, going down on each other in the steam room at the club.
Finally, after enough torment, Harper got up and slid her laptop out of her leather workbag. In just her panties, she walked with the small Macintosh under her arm through the kitchen and then back up the stairs.
She had e-mail to check, gallery work to get to and an airline ticket to book. Maybe. She’d just peek. And see if she could get a good deal to surprise Grace the next day.
Sitting with her legs out straight, leaning against pillows she’d stacked between her and the headboard, she checked her Yahoo account first, then opened an Excel spreadsheet—July expenses—before closing it again. She wasn’t in the mood and it wasn’t really why she got her laptop out.
Then, Harper searched for a flight to Phoenix. The following day, there was a two o’clock flight with plenty of seats. A summer blowout special and prices were dirt cheap.
Without much thought, she booked it and fell asleep almost immediately. Grace was going to die, Harper thought. It would be a great surprise.
On the plane the next day, Harper’s second thoughts began: Was she doing the right thing? She hadn’t been invited, after all, and she worried Grace would be taken aback by he
r just ringing the doorbell. They’d just arrived at this great euphoric place and she didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.
Despite the little voice, Harper stayed buckled into her seat and read the rest of her novel.
Grace was crazy about her. And it would be a fabulous surprise, Harper kept telling herself.
Once she landed in Phoenix, she rented a car and drove straight toward the Dunlop’s house. Her hands were sweaty against the steering wheel; she wasn’t used to the desert heat or the nerves. A bank billboard she passed said it was 118 degrees.
When she arrived, there was no movement at the house, no activity she could see, so she pulled her rental car into the circular driveway and put it in park. Still, she wasn’t sure she should be there. She looked out the window toward the front door; the large brass Irish Claddagh ring still hung dead-center on the dark wood. She’d banged that thing so many times.
Harper checked herself in the mirror, put on one more coat of berry gloss, and then got out of the car.
She stood for a good minute before ringing the doorbell.
Even thought seriously about walking away, calling from around the block first. Instead, she went for it. From outside, she heard the bells chime throughout the house.
Taking a full breath, she waited. It could be Cilla. Or even Grace’s dad. She prepared herself, thinking about various scenarios. Then, there were footsteps at the door, someone fiddling with the lock.
And then her worst nightmare.
Jamie. Standing with his legs spread apart, wearing a Nike visor and a matching zip-up golf shirt.
Immediately, Harper heard her therapist. “You MUST let Grace go. She’s never going to be yours again.”
“Oh my God,” Harper said, flabbergasted.
“I’ll be damned.” Jamie laughed out loud. “I should’ve known.”
Before she could ask if Grace was there, she walked up behind him.“Harper. What…are you doing here?” From inside, standing next to Jamie and his small pooch belly, she pulled the door all the way open. Her mouth was gaping, just a hint wider than Harper’s.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Grace said.
“You sure didn’t waste any time, honey,” Jamie said.
“He was just leaving. He was just dropping off…” Grace paused, got a startled look on her face. “Go,” she said, pushing him out the door.
With his arrogant swagger, Jamie dug his hand into his pocket and walked out. “You girls have fun. I’ll be back at six tomorrow to pick her up,” he said, not looking back, still the world’s biggest prick.
Harper, in utter shock, looked at Grace.
“What are you doing here?” Grace asked, looking back into the house before pulling the door shut, nearly closed.
“I just”—she looked back at Jamie again—“wanted to surprise you.”
That was all Harper got out before tiny fingers, whose nails were painted bright pink, wormed through the crack of the door.
Grace followed Harper’s eyes to the child trying to get out.
“You should go,” Grace said.
“But, what…”
From inside, just on the other side of the door, a little girl yelled, “Mommy!”
“Can you give me a second?” Grace didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing into the house.
Just like before, Harper stood alone at the big wooden doors.
A quail skittled in the bushes under the Joshua Tree.
A child?
Harper pushed on the door, but it was shut this time. All the way. Stepping into the flower bed, she looked through the
decorative glass panels flanking the door. Craning her neck, she could see Grace inside squatting in front of a little girl, maybe three years old, who was crying. Grace held both her hands and was talking softly.
As she watched, Harper was overcome with emotion she couldn’t quite decipher, a fusion of irritation, joy and love. She didn’t know what or how to feel. Building like a wave crashing down on her, then pulling back out into the ocean, only to crash in again as she stood there watching a mother with her daughter.
Grace with her daughter.
Standing in a bed of flowers, Harper watched Grace send the little girl deeper into the house, pointing with her long arm toward the living room. Just then, Cilla came around the corner and took the girl’s hand, leading her away from the door.
Like she was sneaking out of the house in junior high, Grace slipped back outside and gently closed the door behind her.
With her arms crossed, Harper stood with her weight on one foot waiting for Grace to say something, anything to make sense of it all.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Grace said, her face pained like she had a migraine. “I hadn’t intended for you to see all this.
I’m sorry.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry.” Grace was awkward. Extremely uncomfortable.
Her eyes were lowered, narrowed.
“What was all that? Was that your daughter?”
“I’m sorry. But I can’t talk about it right now. Or invite you in. I’m sorry. You have to go.”
“Quit being so sorry and tell me what’s going on!”
“Please. Lower your voice…I’m begging you.” Grace squeezed her eyes shut, on the verge of tears. “Yes, that was my daughter. But I can’t talk about it right now.”
Shifting her weight to the other foot, Harper said, “Why didn’t you tell me about her? And what the fuck was Jamie doing here?” Grace was wearing her wedding ring and Harper looked at it as she spoke. “Are you guys really over?”
“YES. We are. But I just can’t talk about any of this right now. Please. Not here. Can I call you later?”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t you talk about it? I mean.
What’s going on?”
“I just can’t. Please. Let me call you later.”
With that, Harper angrily turned and stalked to the car.
“Harper. Wait,” Grace said. “I’m sorry.”
“The Old Songs”
Barry Manilow
After calling the airlines, Harper wasted no time getting to Ernie’s. She’d had enough pleases and enough I’m sorry’s to last a lifetime. What she wanted were answers.
All flights to Portland were overbooked for the rest of the evening. The earliest she could get home was the following day.
Ernie’s hollow door swung open easily, as it always had. The waft of smoky bar was a departure for Harper, but not a far cry from the reality she stood in at that moment.
Jamie.
The lies.
It had all started there.
At the door, she held on to the square handle and took another breath, a deeper one, and let it all come back.
The lingering looks.
The games they played.
And were still playing.
She sat at the bar. From a bartender in a Cardinals jersey, she ordered a Corona. She rubbed her temples. What a disaster.
As she sipped her cold beer, Harper looked around the room; it had seen some improvements since her last visit. The flooring was new, so were the chairs. The shuffleboard trophies
were still lined up on the same shelf, probably not dusted since Harper last played. It was a trashy place, Harper thought, seeing it more subjectively now, acknowledging that Cilla had been right all those years—it was a horrible place for them to hang out. Yet, despite the silk plants, the webbed glass behind the bar, and the old ashtrays, there was something endearing about Ernie’s, something comforting to Harper amidst her storm of confusion.
She set her cell phone in front of her and made sure the volume was high. Grace had better call soon.
Sitting at the bar, speckled Formica washed out from years of bleach, Harper envisioned Grace squatting in front of her daughter, their profiles so similar, their golden locks seemingly from the same head. She folded the corners of her cocktail napkin and watched traffic cruise by on Scottsd
ale Road.
And then, in her mind, she saw Jamie. He was still so callous, more malevolent than ever. The way he talked to Grace. His patronizing laugh.
There was no way they were still together. It was clear, Harper decided, thinking about it away from the chaos of the moment. But why was she wearing her wedding ring? It didn’t make sense. She needed answers.
Harper had seen the jukebox when she came in, only a few feet away from where she was sitting now. It was also new. The unit, which looked more like a poker machine than a jukebox, had a brown casing with six embedded speakers, three on the top, three on the bottom. It seemed too small for the corner, too small for the enormous space which held the musical catalyst for the girls years ago, when they were old enough to know better and too in love to care.
A child?
An episode of Southpark went by and so did two gin and tonics before Harper used the restroom. She dropped the phone into the back pocket of her Lucky jeans.
Not until she began walking did she realize the significance of where she was headed. It was a dirty, grimy room, but also a safe haven, the Garden of Eden—a sanctuary of forbidden love—one with a lock, where Grace and Harper could be alone,
even if for ten seconds, with no one else watching. Hard to pin a number on how many secret kisses were stolen in there. Twenty?
Thirty? Maybe more. She thought of the women who pounded on the door, eyeing them after they unlocked it, wondering.
That was back when things were simple, before the world began closing in around them.
At the door, Harper hesitated once more, knowing the smell of the room, just like the bar itself, would suck her deeper into the past. And it did. The grape flavored automatic deodorizer was still wedged in the corner. The stalls were in the same spot, but everything else had been replaced, repainted, recaulked. Even still, Harper felt an odd wave of safety in there. She stood with her arms crossed against the counter before washing her hands.
Jukebox Page 24