I’m not an idiot, and in the end, I know nothing is going to take away the pain. Not even a DeLorean can fix my heart. I thanked him for stopping by and made small talk about his family. His brother is still living with him in our old place and his parents still ask how I’m doing. He made a point of telling me he saw Ben and Norah’s marriage announcement in the newspaper online. I wanted to ask if he was stalking it to see when I married Ben. I kept the catty thought to myself. I smiled, acted like I was happy for Ben, and excused myself back to Martina.
He hasn’t come back since. I got a research job that pays well and he stayed at the college as an assistant professor. Martina heard through the grapevine he may head back to the northeast when his contract is over. I hope he does. The chapter is over and dead. Even as I closed the door on him, my cheek burned like fire, reminding me I made a good decision in stonewalling him. Martina is over again this morning before work. She’s helping me make some final decorating decisions, and I think she’s worried about me being here by myself.
“We’re going to fix you up with our friend Matthew,” Martina says, taking a sip of her coffee and tearing a page out of the Z Galleria magazine. She puts it in the stack with the other saved photos. “The chair in that one,” she explains, pointing to a chaise. “That was a definite. Buy it for the sitting room.”
“I love that one,” I admit, taking the page for a closer look. “I’m not ready to date. God. The word is even scary. I don’t know men. I’ve only known one,” I tell her. “I didn’t even know Marcus after all those years of dating.” I’m starting to think I have something fundamentally wrong with me. I questioned myself in college, but now that I’m past that phase in life and should be on another level, I find myself floundering still. “Who’s Matthew?” I ask anyway. The prospect of having male company is appealing. I haven’t had sex since Ben, and I don’t want to think about that for fear of weeping in loss, or singeing from my toes up.
She gives me the basics on Matthew, and he seems harmless enough. “I have dinner on Sunday at Ben’s parents’ house. They’ll both be there this week. I wonder how opposed he’d be to going out to dinner with me tonight or tomorrow and then accompanying me on Sunday.” I’m getting ahead of myself, but that’s a testament to my lack of dating.
“I gave him your lowdown. I bet he’d be more than happy to accommodate. He’s a nice guy.”
Nice. Those guys finish last. I don’t know any nice guys, so it’s probably time to try one out. I’m attracted to men who hit me and tear my heart into shreds by means of giving me everything one second and then stealing it away the next.
“You have to be completely open, Harper. You’re ready?”
“I have to be, don’t I?” I ask.
Martina looks sad as she glances at me and then back at the magazine. She nods.
I’m fine. “Give me his number and I’ll give it a go.” She opens her cell, scribbles his number on the corner of the magazine, and rips it out. “I’ll call after nine,” I say, looking at the clock. “He’ll know who I am?”
“He’ll know,” she says, smiling. “This will be good for you. I hate the idea of you being by yourself so much. Come over for dinner tonight?” She stands, grabbing her purse. “You can help me make that recipe you were telling me about last week. Your mom’s.”
“Yes,” I say. “That sounds perfect.”
Martina hugs me, kisses my cheek, and leaves. I set my house alarm and head into the garage to leave for work. Only true, blue adults have coffee dates with friends before work because they wake up so damn early.
My phone buzzes in my hand.Marcus.He’s not a person who uses his phone to make phone calls. He’s a text person. Answering quickly, I can tell by the pitch of his voice when he says ‘hi’ that something is terribly wrong.
My heart sinks.
++++
There’s always a first day and there’s always a last. I remember the last day in vivid clarity because it was my fault.
After Marcus called me and asked me to come to the hospital I went. I’m not sure why, maybe I was feeling nostalgic after talking to Martina all morning. Perhaps it was the destruction in his voice, or pure stupidity for caring when I shouldn’t any longer. Instead of driving to my office in the city, I turned to go in the opposite direction. He didn’t give me any details on the phone, but no one can mistake terror when they hear it and Marcus was terrified. Darren was in an accident. That’s as much as I caught.
There’s a hollow sort of feeling that accompanies tragedy. Even when it’s not your own. If you wear the empty like armor, you have a thin layer between you and destruction. It’s there for a reason even if you don’t realize it at the time. The day the attacks happened I had this same empty feeling. When my father told me my aunt died, I remember nodding, like he was telling me what he cooked for dinner. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, I cared deeply, but all my shock was used up. I cried myself to sleep the next night, and for a month after that, too. It was an emotional delayed response.
The hospital is buzzing when I walk in—an unfamiliar destination that I try to avoid at all costs. After stopping by the front desk for a visitor sticker and a security screening, I head to the floor and area that Marcus directed me to. If the phone call was my first indication of how bad this situation is, the second is the heavily armed police officers standing outside of the room I’m supposed to be visiting.
In an effort to do something wise, I text my mom and Martina that I’m at the hospital and give them the basic information Marcus gave. Marcus exits the room and has to wedge himself in between the officers guarding the room. His eyes light, if you can even call it that, looking as horrible as he does, when he sees me.
“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call,” he says, swallowing and stopping when he’s a few feet from where I’m standing. At least he’s wise enough to not overstep my imaginary boundaries. “It’s bad, Harp. So bad,” he says, eyes glassing over. “I didn’t know who to call,” he repeats.
I let my gaze flick to the officers and back to him. “Looks like an attorney, Marcus. What happened?” I ask.
He looks over his shoulder and then back at me. Shaking his head, he motions to the sitting area I passed on my way here. “Not here. Will you sit with me for a bit?”
Nodding, I turn and walk slowly to the seating area, my heart pounding out a warning. Why is he pulling me into this?Because he truly doesn’t have anyone else to call on this coast. And it’s my fault he’s in this state to begin with.My inner guilt is having a field day.
Marcus sits in a chair in front of me, his back to the hospital door that’s just out of sight.
“Is he okay?” It seems we’re in some sort of intensive care unit. Doctors are buzzing around, and nurses with grim faces and tired eyes carry charts and push carts loaded with technical equipment. “He’s okay, right?”
Marcus breaks down, his head in his hands. Shaking his head, he cries, “Even if he lives it’s not good. He messed up. He was drinking,” he admits, raising his head to meet my confused gaze. In the past Marcus has been very forthcoming with information and storytelling. I nod for him to continue, or at least give me a little more to put the pieces together for myself. “He was drunk.”
“This early in the morning?” I wrinkle my brow. All the years I’ve known Darren, a drinking problem wasn’t something ever mentioned. Sure, I’ve seen him drink on one occasion or two, but not more than any other single man his age.
