“Okay, more to the left—no, my left, not yours! Jesus Christ!”
I suppressed a laugh with difficulty as the guest yelled at Harry, who was re-positioning the entertainment unit. If only he knew just who he was yelling at. I didn’t think Harry was used to getting cussed out by fat old men who had no idea of his fame.
Now, he was straining with the massive shelving unit, his eyes narrowed in concentration, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead, his biceps visibly contracting beneath his shirt sleeves.
When the guest was satisfied, I heaved the LCD TV back onto its shelf, positioning it as he instructed me.
“I hope you’re not waiting on a tip,” the old man grumbled from his position on the couch.
Harry rested his hand on my hip and, with slight pressure on his hand, led me to the doorway. I was surprised at his touch but said nothing, following his lead. “Of course we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, sir. It’s been a real pleasure serving you.” I could hear the sarcasm in his voice, but I wasn’t sure the man could. “If you need anything else, make sure you ask for Andy and Samantha!” He bowed his head and ushered me out the door.
“He’s going to be pissed when he calls again and asks for two people who don’t exist!” I said with a giggle as we clattered down the stairs, heading back to the office.
“Yeah, well, it’ll make him put a bit of effort into something when he does,” Harry said, grinning. He’d let go of my hip, leaving me with a strange sensation that felt like longing. I ignored the feeling, though, remembering the angry Harry, or the moody Harry I’d seen two days ago. I wondered vaguely where that person had gone; he seemed to have vanished completely in favor of this friendly, hyper, fun-loving teenage boy.
Mr. Brokaw looked up when we entered, his expression disapproving. He didn’t like us having a good time, I supposed. “Good, you’re back. Harold, the ferry’s arriving in thirty minutes, so come with me to help her dock. Avery, go see Mrs. Dindorf in Sea Pine Sway. Something about a knitting needle and she’s half-blind. Then come back here and manage the till.”
I left Harry with Brokaw and headed out the main road to Number 10. Much as I hated the guests on this island, I did like helping with the ferry when it docked. It was pleasant to see certain guests leaving for good, and I never lost hope that the newer guests would be better than them. They never were, though.
I didn’t begrudge Harry having to make awkward small talk with Brokaw. However Harry was probably used to dealing with unpleasant people, whereas I could hardly contain my disdain. He was much better at dealing with Brokaw than I was.
An old woman greeted me at the door of Number 8, wearing spectacles as thick as tumbler bases. She explained that she’d lost her knitting needle and wanted help finding it, from “young eyes.” She puttered about the house, one of the largest on the island, mumbling to herself and pointing out places that she either couldn’t reach, or the lights were too poor for her to see, which basically meant there weren’t spotlights on them. I found the needle wedged between the seat cushions on the couch after about twenty minutes of following her around the house. She thanked me dearly, pressing a quarter into my hand as I left. How generous.
I could see the ferry pulling in as I made my way back across the island. Seeing it always filled me with wistfulness. Were that I were on board… the last time it had come in, dolphins were leaping about the bow until it slowed to dock. I’d freaked out and pointed them out to Brokaw, who was thoroughly nonplussed. I had watched longingly as the dolphins had swum away, every part of me wanting to be with them.
The shop was empty, as usual, when I walked in. I unlocked the register and stood behind it, ready for the new guests to arrive. After they docked they had to check in, and Brokaw liked me to play his receptionist. Twenty minutes later, he hurried into the shop, looking very red in the face. I was wondering why he was so flushed when it wasn’t even that hot out yet, when he took me by the arm, steering me into the office.
“What’s wrong with Harold?” he hissed. I stared up at him, confused. I’d never seen him so livid. “Your boyfriend! What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said loudly, “Now let go of me.” I pulled his arm off mine and took a step backward, alarmed at his behavior and our proximity.
“Well go find him, and tell him to get his ass back to work,” he spat.
“What? Where is he? I thought he was with you!” I was thoroughly confused.
Brokaw turned away from me, rifling through papers on the desk angrily. “I don’t know, but he decided, when the guests started arriving, to run as fast as he could the other way.”
The memory of him running away from me, in the rain, flashed before my eyes. He’d run away again? What kept setting him off?
I left Brokaw without a word, heading to Harry’s house.
I banged on the door when I reached the house, but there was no answer. I tried the door—locked. I fumbled with my keys, looking for the one that belonged to his house, thanking God that Brokaw had finally entrusted the spare set of keys to me. After four tries I finally found it, and let myself in, slamming the door behind me.
“Harry?” I called from the hall. Still no answer. “Harry, where did you go? Brokaw’s pissed—fucking hell!” I entered the kitchen and gasped.
Harry was slumped over the table, holding his head in his hands, visibly shaking. As I entered his right hand slipped, banging onto the table with a loud noise. My eyes fell on the small baggie in front of him, full of a small blue pills and an upended pill bottle.
“What the fuck is this, Harry? Jesus Christ!” I ran towards him, snatching the bag from the table.
“NO!” he shouted, making a grab for it. I held it away from him, pushing him away with one arm while I ran for the bathroom.
“Fucking—GIVE IT BACK!” Harry roared, chasing after me. He was bigger than me, but unsteadier, smashing into walls as I raced through the house to the bathroom. He tripped on a rug and went sprawling, giving me enough time to hurry into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I upended the baggie over the toilet, watching the pills flow out of the bag and plop unceremoniously into the water. Something large—Harry—pounded against the bathroom door and it flew open. He was wilder than I’d ever seen him, his eyes bloodshot and wide with rage. “NO!” he yelled again, seeing me holding the bag over the toilet. He raised his right arm as if to hit me.
“Harry, STOP! Fuck this! Look at you!” I quickly grabbed his arm and shoved my shoulder, hard, into his chest, knocking him backward. He stumbled over his own feet and went down, smacking against the floor.
“Look at you! About to hit a girl you just met! What the fuck, Harry! Tell me what the fuck is wrong!”
Pain seemed to have sapped his rage, or maybe it was my voice. In either case, he stopped thrashing to get up and lay still, eyes closed, his back against the wall and his legs splayed out in front of him. Then he drew his knees to his chest, crossed his arms over them and put his head down, which began to shake, then convulse in silent sobs.
My anger dissipated. I knelt down next to him, then turned around to sit next to him against the wall. I wasn’t sure what to do—I’d never been good with strong displays of emotion. I gingerly placed my hand on his back and slid it up and down the back of his t-shirt, which was damp from sweat. After a few minutes, he stopped shaking. Another minute went by and he finally lifted his head, wiping his eyes with his thumb and finger. He still didn’t say anything. I removed my hand from his back and he leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
“What was that?” I asked, as gently as I could.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Ghana,” he said.
“The…country?”
“Yeah.” He said nothing else, so I waited. He took a deep breath again, steadier this time, letting it out slowly. “We went—the boys and I went back in February. It was…God, it was hard. We were supposed to visit a children’s hospital for a fundraiser. It…just hit me really hard.”
I nodded. My aunt had been in the Peace Corps in Burkina Faso, and told me some intense stories about her trips. Harry stared at his feet and continued. “They asked us all these questions about it, they filmed us crying. They showed it to the fans and it raised some money, but then we just went back. And it went back to normal. And I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it anymore. The clothes, the flights, the screaming girls…all that money on us, and those kids are still back there. And there’s nothing I can do about it.” He said the last line with disgust.
I hurried to console him. “Well, Harry, I think you did a great job; you’re just one person. You brought awareness to it.”
Harry shook his head, blinking back tears again. “It’s not enough. All those kids…and none of the other boys seemed to think about it, when we got back. They just went on doing whatever.”
I cast about for something to say. “Well, maybe they just compartmentalize better than you,” I offered. “They’re not bad people.”
“I know they’re not,” Harry said, forcefully. “But I just couldn’t…” He drew a breath and started again. “You know, I gave one of those girls my cross, to keep her safe. But it’s all symbolic. It probably got sold so her family could eat. And then I’m on the red carpet, and they’re asking me what label my clothes are, how much I paid for them.” He closed his eyes again. “I couldn’t…keep doing it. I tried to forget. The coke helped for awhile, and then the Valium.” He took another deep breath. “Then it started affecting the band. We had rows all the time. Then Liam and I got in a fight, a bad one. And I passed out right before the show. So they shipped me off here, so I could air out where no one could find me.”
“Did they know you brought more?”
He shook his head. “I was trying to get myself off of it. That’s why I switched to Valium. But certain things would bring me back, hit me really hard… and I’d have to run back here and get a fix. That’s…that’s why I ran today. And the other day, in the rain.” He rested his head back against the wall, swallowing hard. “You dumped the last of it.”
“Harry, please don’t lie. Is that the last of it?”
He raised his head and looked at me, making eye contact for the first time since his initial explosion. “Yes, it is, Avery.”
I believed him. “So…what’s gonna happen next time you crave it?”
He shrugged, but he looked worried. “I dunno.”
I rested my hand on his back again. “I promise I’ll help as much as I can.”