“Who’s this?” Lindsey was holding a picture that had come dislodged from Harley’s wallet.
“Don’t!” Harley seized the picture as if the girl’s touch was poison. When she saw Lindsey’s lower lip tremble, tiny pin-pricks poked at Harley’s soul, and she cursed herself for feeling and acting like a witch. Her mother would have been disappointed, and Harley was ashamed by her own ill humor. “I’m sorry. It’s just very personal.”
Jennifer and Karen had flocked to Lindsey’s side. Karen gasped when she saw the picture of Harley and John standing in front of a sculpture in City Park. “Wow, who is that? He’s a dream.”
Harley met her gaze. She wouldn’t lie, but she’d never discussed John with her colleagues. He belonged in a separate compartment of her heart. “Jo-John was my husband.”
“We never knew.” Jennifer cleared her throat and looked down.
“Let’s go home, ladies.” Harley placed the picture in her purse, headed for the door with the other teachers in tow, and flicked off the lights in the room. She pressed back the hot tears springing to her eyes and strode to the parking lot, not looking back at the women staring after her.
Saturday before Memorial Day
“Think about it. What could it hurt?” Donna sipped her iced tea and grinned at Harley.
They sat together at Juan’s Flying Burrito on Magazine Street. The restaurant was one of the city’s most popular Mexican eateries, offering many of the vegan-friendly dishes Harley loved.
“What do you mean by such an obtuse comment?” Harley cut into her spinach tostado and gazed at her old friend from their high school years. Harley had been there for Donna during her divorce and subsequent remarriage. Donna had helped Harley through John’s death.
“Why not indulge the girls and put your profile online?” Donna took a forkful of Mexican rice and grinned broadly.
Harley grimaced as her blood raced inside her veins. She fought the urge to smack Donna hard. “Why not? Because they are nothing more than a bunch of adolescents who just like getting into other people’s business. I don’t indulge the fantasies of adolescents. I never did. Not as a teacher and not as an almost administrator.”
“Oh, yeah, how is that going?” Donna bit into her taco. Thick cheese, beef, and grease oozed from the sides.
Harley cringed as Donna bit into the dead cow as if she’d found nirvana. Harley wondered how in hell Donna stayed so damned thin. Donna was as statuesque and willowy as she had been in high school. Harley shrugged and bit into a mouthful of lettuce and feta cheese. “What do you mean? My possible role as disciplinarian for next year? I haven’t heard anything definite yet, and I won’t. The old bat Sr. Elizabeth doesn’t like me, not really. She doesn’t want me in administration. Acting as a department chair is one thing, but it’s not real administration.” Harley waved a hand dismissively.
“Sister Elizabeth doesn’t like anybody. Old bitch stares at me like she’s seen the devil every time I show up for some event that involves my niece.” Donna took a sip of Merlot. “Besides, maybe she’s right. Never thought I’d say that, but I can’t see you doing that job. Do you really want to spend your time disciplining kids? You were a dynamic classroom teacher.”
“You never saw me teach. You’re a sculptor, praise be to God. What do you know about teaching?” Harley laughed, took a sip of shiraz, and shook her head.
“You’re the only human being I know who has a group dedicated to your teaching on Facebook. Oh, the kids say good things about you, not bad. Some teachers have a hate group set up by nasty kids. Shit, you have a fan club.” Donna raised her eyebrows. “John’s been gone a long time. It’s time you had some sex and didn’t just write about it.”
“Jesus, D! Lower your voice.” Harley hissed and looked around. She steeled herself for what she knew was coming. An intense loneliness gripped her breast, but she forced herself to ignore the tightness constricting her lungs. “Nobody, and I mean nobody but a select few, know about Susan Weber.”
“Maybe it’s about time they did. Hell, the stuffy Archdiocese of New Orleans needs something to rock its center.” Donna motioned to the waiter. “We’d like two coffees and your famous cheesecake.” She turned a kind smile on Harley. “I’m sorry I brought up John. I know it still hurts, but you have to move on, honey. John wouldn’t want you moping around.”
“I know. I know.” Harley waved her hand dismissively, feigning a lightness she didn’t really feel. She ignored the heaviness coiling around her insides. “Besides, I’m more worried right now about keeping Susan Weber under wraps. I don’t make enough to support myself on writing alone.” Harley sighed and smiled as the waiter arrived with their coffees. “Maybe one day, but until then, I don’t want anyone at the school in my business.”
“Hell, woman, you were an adventurer. You and John traveled the world with backpacks. You sent me postcards from London and Tuscany.”
“Then John was killed, and my mother got sick.” Harley’s voice was ragged. The knife twisted inside her heart. John’s death was a dull ache that never went away. Eden’s death was a raw wound still bleeding. Eden had been Harley’s best friend, and she often called her mother by her first name as she grew older. When Eden was alive, Harley had occupied herself helping her mother and concentrating on her writing. Now, only the writing remained, and while she loved it, Harley too often felt empty and alone.
Donna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Your mother still wanted you to travel. You even told me that when she was dying she thought you should take a trip to Europe. John would want you to move on as well.”
“People always say that.” Harley suppressed the tears threatening to betray her. She fought to control her quavering voice. John’s loss had hurt ten years ago, and her mother’s death removed the scab from the still throbbing wound. She now cried for both of them and her father. Harley barely heard her own voice when she spoke. “Who can know what the dead want?”
Donna motioned with her fork and replied vehemently, “John asked us to look out for you. When he deployed, your sweet husband wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. He didn’t want you sitting at home when he was in that godforsaken place.”
That godforsaken place! Harley cursed war and its cruelty. It killed the bodies of those in the way of bombs, but it also murdered the souls of any left behind. Eden had kept her focused, but now, Eden was gone. Harley wiped away a tear that slid down her eye and clasped the wine glass so tightly that her knuckles went white. Her heart threatened to burst inside of her. “I know he wanted me to be happy, but his death took a lot out of me. Hell, I was only thirty, and then, my mother was sick for so long. Sometimes, I wonder if anything can reawaken my joy. Maybe I died, too.”
“Christ, life is unfair, I know.” Donna pretended to check the messages on her cell phone. “All you got was a box with a flag draped on it. Then, your mother . . .” Her voice trailed off briefly before she frowned at Harley and said emphatically. “You still have to move on. You’ll feel alive again.”
Harley looked away and swirled the wine in her glass. Gazing out the window, she concentrated on a black bird nibbling on some creature’s dead carcass. Memories now haunted her dreams. She awoke screaming from the same dream. A man in uniform pounded at the door. The images then faded to a roadside in a desert country. An insurgent, no more than a boy, approached a group of soldiers. The dream then floated back to the policeman telling her and her mother that her father was dead. Harley tried to scream, but she couldn’t awaken. The vision moved back to the desert. With one tug at his jacket, the baby-faced kid blew himself and the soldiers to pieces. Her father gone, John gone.
Harley’s skin turned to gooseflesh at the memory of the dream. She was thankful that she still had some wine in the glass. She took a greedy sip. Without looking at her friend, she said softly, “I still have the dream.”
&n
bsp; “For God’s sakes, you need to see a professional about that.” Donna shook her head, frowning. “Hell, even a priest.”
“It wakes me up, and when it does, I go into the den, turn on the computer, and type away. It’s therapy and inspiration.” Harley shrugged and hoped she sounded carefree. She’d told Donna about the dream years ago and had cringed when she’d seen the pity in her oldest friend’s face. Donna was quiet for a long time. The waiter then brought their dessert, two slices of cheesecake.
Harley poured cream into her coffee. She swallowed and took a breath, casting a quick glance in Donna’s direction, hating the sympathy she saw there yet again. She swallowed again hard before saying the next words and averted her gaze. “Birds around the house hold her spirit. Eden’s trying to tell me something.” Harley empathized the words through clenched teeth. “I’m not crazy.”
“I never said you were, but birds? Oh, sweetie, you have to deal with this unresolved issue.” Donna placed a hand on Harley’s and searched her face, frowning. “I know you think I’m a nag, but I don’t want you falling apart.”
“Look, I’m okay. I can deal with it.” Harley snatched her hand from Donna and took a sip of coffee. When Donna remained silent, Harley laughed softly. “D, don’t look at me like that. I’m not nuts.” Harley sighed deeply.
Donna looked around to see if any other diners were listening then softly said, “I didn’t say you were nuts, but birds sometimes are just birds.” She smiled at Harley. “You might want to see your ob/gyn. The last thing you need is the moustache that comes with menopause.”
“Nico senses something about the birds, too.” Harley ignored Donna’s attempt at humor and wiped her mouth. She realized how she undoubtedly sounded to her friend and fought a brief wave of despair. God, Donna must think I’m a psycho on the edge. Shit. She herself wouldn’t believe anyone saying this crap. She sounded like a nut job.
“Well, Nico can’t exactly bear witness to that, can he?” Donna rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Something’s preying on your mind, Harley. Look, I’ll try not to act like your mother, and I’ll shut up now.” Donna smiled gently. “Though I think you’re losing it and need help, I still love you.”
Harley shook her head vehemently. “No shrinks.” Before Donna could protest, Harley held up a hand. “Definitely no head shrinks. Besides, I know the problem. My mother is pissed that I spend so much time in isolation. She’s sending me a message.”
“Okay, then, you have your answer. We’ve come full circle. It won’t hurt you to post your picture and a profile. You might meet some interesting people. Don’t you want to appease your mother’s spirit?” Donna took a bite of the cake and cast an encouraging glance at Harley. “It would do you a world of good to go on a few dates. Besides, you don’t want to live in a scene from a Hitchcock movie.”
Donna grew serious. “Harley, do this, okay? Remember what happened to you after John died? You really went off the grid.”
Harley was about to bite into her cake. Her fingers went slack and her fork fell to the floor. The waitress rushed to pick it up. Harley smiled faintly at her and leaned into the table so no one but Donna would hear. “Yeah, I thought I saw him everywhere. That’s not uncommon with people who are experiencing grief.”
“That is exactly my point. You’re grieving. Distractions in the form of attractive men might help.” Donna grinned mischievously and motioned with her fork.
“Well, the quote-unquote help I received when John died almost got me addicted to prescription meds, for Christ’s sakes. You remember that part, don’t you?” Harley arched her eyebrows and grinned. Donna’s cynical good-humor was always infectious. “Besides, what makes you think they’ll be so damned attractive? I may meet old dudes with warts and nose hair.”
Donna raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Okay, let’s look at it your way. Maybe Eden is trying to communicate. Like I said earlier, give her the thing she wants. See somebody. Live a little. She always loved it when you dated. Make that little birdie dance. Even if you don’t meet a soul mate—”
“I had my soul mate.” Harley barely heard her own voice.
“I know you did, honey. I know.” Donna smiled gently. “That’s my point, though. Even if you don’t meet your next husband, you can still have some fun. It will get you out of the house.”
“I’m busy, you know. There’s my job and the editing of the manuscript.” Harley suppressed a moment’s irritation, forcing herself to maintain a lighter mood. She put her tongue out at Donna. “I’m not some old lady sitting around knitting.”
“I know. I know. We’re not there yet, and you hate the domestic crap.” Donna was Harley’s senior by three days. They often compared notes on aging. “Like I said, beware the moustache of menopause. Sex might keep you from aging.”
“Is it keeping you from aging?” Harley leaned back in her chair and grinned. “Define interesting. For some people, that happens in a good way. For me, it means meeting a psycho.”
Donna threw up her hands and laughed. “I still think you should do it. Hey, you can have kinky sex. It’ll provide good research for your next book.”
“My next book is about a female pirate.” Harley rolled her eyes as she applied lipstick.
“Okay, you can have kinky pirate sex.” Donna leaned in and whispered, “Think Johnny Depp and Keith Richards.”
“You’re obscene.” Harley motioned for the check.
Donna laughed while searching in her purse for money. “I know, but you love me.”
Two hours later, Harley had paid for six months of Internet dating with VoodooMatch.com. Donna, ever tech savvy, walked her through the intricacies of the program. She insisted upon placing photographs of Harley riding a horse, writing at her computer, and waving enthusiastically on the back of a motorcycle. Most of the pictures were of a much more youthful Harley. Harley was wearing a leather jacket she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Harley was flashing a peace sign at a Rolling Stones concert. Harley groaned when she watched Donna scan the picture, thinking. What was I, sixteen? Harley cringed and protested. Donna laughed with good-humored satisfaction as Harley rolled her eyes and wondered who in hell would buy this profile.
Sunday before Memorial Day
When Harley checked her e-mail the next day, her profile had twenty-five hits already. “Thanks, D.” She shook her fist in the air and sighed in exasperation. “All these guys think I’m some exciting siren.”
Harley ignored the e-mails and ‘winks’ for most of the day. She had edits to complete. Jill had sent her electronic galleys. Harley enjoyed this stage of the process, and she couldn’t afford the distractions of men while she edited. Of course, editing no longer took as long as it once did. By noon, she checked her e-mail and found over ten alerts from VoodooMatch.com. Maybe Donna was right. This would be an adventure, but Harley wasn’t sure she’d like this undertaking. She didn’t want the wrong kind of excitement.
Chapter 3
Harley agreed to meet the first interested party the day after Memorial Day. He was already sitting at a bar on St. Charles when she arrived. She heard Donna’s voice echoing in her subconscious. “Meet them in a public place first.”
From his dating website profile, “Mark” wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Harley thought that this might not have been a mistake. Match #1 was well built and of average height with dark, close-cropped hair. “Mark” stood when Harley appeared in the restaurant’s doorway. Instinctively, Harley knew he was waiting for her. The man extended his hand. Mark was a nice name. He had a big, toothy smile and firm grasp. He had maybe too many teeth for Harley’s taste, but no one was perfect. Harley smiled, took his hand, and let him help her onto the barstool. She told him she was a teacher, and Mark immediately showed interest.
Harley was thrilled that she’d connected with a man who actually showed interest in what she said. She asked
about his background and profession. His lips formed one thin line. “I’m an accountant. My wife left two years ago.”
Harley’s heart contracted with pity. She’d been there. She instinctively placed a hand on his arm but withdrew it quickly when he continued with a vehement hiss that made other patrons turn and stare. “You see, my son died in a terrible school bus accident. It was the school’s fault. Then, Linda couldn’t cope and disappeared. We think she’s dead.”
Harley recoiled as if she’d touched a hot iron or an electric current. She wished she could find a hole somewhere in the floor and disappear. Harley remembered the tragic case. The boy’s sister had attended St. Cyprian’s High School. So tragic and heart wrenching. Within an hour, Harley heard about the negligence of his son’s school in letting a drunk drive a bus filled with kids, the local’s priest’s collusion with the Archdiocese, and his wife’s despair over the desertion of friends and church.
“I make sure the school never forgets what it did to my family. They have to offer a scholarship for my son. I show up every year to make sure that happens and sit in the first row so I can stare at Fr. Gregory.” Mark jabbed a finger in the air at some imaginary adversary. “My boy was the only one killed in the accident. He went through the windshield.” The man’s voice caught.
“Have you ever thought of moving?” Harley asked softly, hoping he would follow suit and keep his voice down.
“Why?” The man gazed at her with a wide stare.
Harley swallowed. A person in mourning had to do something to break the cycle of depression or risk losing him or herself. She pitied him, but her own losses were too raw to risk being drawn into a black hole of pain. She couldn’t help someone else when she was still so crippled. “Don’t you want to forget the bad memories? I mean, why go to that school every year?”
The Doctor and the War Widow Page 2