THE flash of the red and blue police lights still stain the back of my eyelids the next morning. The memory of Nick's bruised face and the sight of his car—abused beyond repair—bang against the inside of my skull, begging to be given attention. But there are so many other things clanging around up there that I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to sort it all out to form a single coherent thought.
"I think it's clean, Scarlet."
Looking up from the front counter I find Lauren standing beside me, the coffee pot in her hand and an amused look on her face. She gestures to the counter. "You've been wiping that for the past ten minutes."
I look down at the bench, and then up at her again. I blink a few times, trying to erase the images from my memory.
"You okay?" Her hand rests gently on my arm and she tilts her head to one side, her eyes full of concern.
Something about a friendly face makes me want to let everything tumble out of my mouth. Instead, I press my lips together, pulling the pieces of myself together tightly and tucking them away somewhere safe.
Nodding, I lift the corners of my mouth up and into something that resembles a smile, hoping to appease Lauren. "Of course"—I toss the cloth into the trash and wipe my hands on the front of my apron—"just daydreaming."
Both of us turn to look as the bell over the front door jingles, and one of the regulars strolls in.
"Hey, Bill!" chimes Lauren, leaving me to gather my thoughts and get myself together.
Harry had been asleep when I got home the night before, the blanket I'd left for him pulled up over his legs, the TV still flickering with an old black and white movie. Like the coward I am I'd ignored the questions screaming to be answered. Instead, I'd curled up in bed and tried to sleep, the whole time thinking about the guy sleeping just feet away from me and wondering if he's capable of the things I think he might be. If, somewhere beneath those green eyes, lurks something a little more dangerous.
I don't know why, but as stupid as it is, the idea of Harry doing something like that has ignited something dark inside of me—something vindictive and possessive, something so close to lust that I almost feel ashamed of it. But then the guilt of thinking that someone like Harry, who has done nothing but help me, would do something so calculated sends another wave of shame over me until I'm nothing but a twisted knot of confusion and guilt. Needless to say, sleep did not come easily.
"Scarlet!" The service bells rings loudly and I jump. Pete is snapping his fingers at me in an attempt to get my attention. "Service up, I said," he says impatiently.
I frown in embarrassment. "Sorry."
The rest of the afternoon is a blur. One minute I'm taking lunch orders, the next I'm punching out and walking to my car. As I reach for the car door my phone starts to ring, and I just know that it's buried somewhere deep in the abyss of my handbag. Cursing, I dump the bag on the ground and crouch down, rifling through the junk as the phone continues to ring.
"Hello?" I almost yell, so sure whoever it is has already hung up.
"Scarlet?"
I stare at a spot on the ground, trying to pin a familiar face to the voice. "Uh huh?"
"It's Jon."
"Oh!" Oh. "Hey, Jon, what's up?"
He sniffs once, a habit he has. "Have you seen Leah?"
Standing, I open the car door and toss my now refilled bag onto the passenger seat. "No. Sorry."
It's totally out of character for Jon to call me, and the strangeness of it makes my mind go blank. Other than Tania calling about work, I really don't socialize with anyone outside of work—especially not Jon.
He's silent for a good ten seconds before I realize that maybe this isn't a social call. "Why?" I ask hesitantly. "Is something up?"
The silence on Jon's end is long, and I can feel the pent up tension rolling through the phone line. "Nah," he says, trying to sound flippant but unable to disguise the distinct edge in his voice. "I haven't seen her since Saturday. Was hoping you'd seen her or something."
"Oh." I frown at the steering wheel, trying to remember the last time I saw Leah. The days all seem to blur into one lately, so while it might have felt like yesterday it could easily have been a week ago. "I haven't seen her since Saturday either."
I try to remember if she said anything about taking a vacation or some time away, but all I can think about is her argument with Nick.
Jon is silent again, and I'm not sure what to say to make it better. To be honest I don't know if there is anything I can say. It's not unlike to Leah to drop off the face of the earth for a few days, but usually it includes Jon, a stash of powder and pills, and three days without sleep. If she's disappeared without him, maybe it's for a reason.
"Have you checked with Tania?" I ask. "Maybe she's covering a spot in Vegas this week?"
Jon sniffs again. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe." He doesn't sound convinced. "She usually tells me shit like that. Her stuff is here."
I rub my fingers beneath my hair tie, pressing at the spot where my head aches. "Oh, well… maybe she just forgot."
He mumbles something in answer, and I can tell he's still not convinced. But it's getting late, and I'd like to miss the school traffic on the way home with Cody. Luckily, Jon decides I'm no use and mumbles something like a thank you and hangs up.
But, as I drive across town my conversation with Jon continues to niggle at the back of my mind. Sitting at a set of lights, I reach across and fish my phone out of my bag.
The call goes straight to voicemail, sending a cold finger of fear down my spine.
"Leah, it's Scarlet," I say, shouldering my phone as I shift gears. "Jon just called me looking for you. He sounded kind of worried. To be honest I'm kind of worried too. Call me, girl. Please?"
I hang up, but keep the phone in my lap in the hope that she calls.
She doesn't.
That night when I arrive home with Cody, Neda corners me, practically begging me to let her take him for a few hours before dinner. I'm tempted to say no, sure that she'll fill him full of sweet things, but Neda and Amun are the closest thing Cody will ever have to grandparents, so I can't deny him a little time with them.
Plus, the idea of a few hours on my own is too good to pass up.
The thing is, though, without Cody the apartment is too quiet. I turn the TV to a random station, hoping to fill the silence. I change out of my work uniform and hang it, ready for the next day. I get a can of soup out for dinner, and even go so far as to pour it into the pot, ready for heating. After that I've exhausted my list of things to do, and it takes maybe fifteen minutes before my thoughts begin to drift a few doors down.
I think about calling Harry, but after last night I need to see him. I need to see his face when I ask him about Nick. I need the truth, and the only place I'm going to find it is with Harry.
Wound tight like a ball of nerves, I procrastinate for another twenty minutes, practising what I'm going to say to him over and over in my head. Finally, after i'm sure i've worn away the carpet with my pacing, I give in.
I stand outside his apartment for too long, staring at the brassy numbers on the front of his door. When I finally work up the nerve to knock, my body tenses up in anticipation. I wait, but there's no answer. So I knock again a little louder, my courage waning. Still nothing.
My hand drops to my side. I hadn't even entertained the idea that he wouldn't be home, and the feeling of disappointment is knee-weakening. I'd wanted answers, I'd wanted to be able to put to rest the mess of questions in my head, but more than anything else, I'd just had the overwhelming urge to see him.
Back in my apartment, I sit my phone beside me on the couch as I try to take my mind off of him with reality TV. Normally, I would relish the chance to sit and watch a show without Cody climbing all over me, but tonight nothing seems to be able to settle me. I find myself glancing at my phone more than once, wishing for it to ring, or willing myself to have enough courage to call.
I curse myself for not keeping hard liquor in the house, because what I wouldn't give for one drink right now. With one hand clenched tightly in a fist, I suck in a deep breath as the other reaches for the phone.
Do it.
Just do it.
I type out a quick message, hoping it sounds casual even though I'm a mess. I type it out again. I erase it. I retype it for a third time and then stare down at the text, considering each letter of each word. I erase half of it and press send before I go completely insane.
With my phone in one hand and the TV remote in the other, I sit and wait. And wait.
Impatient, I get up and tidy Cody's room a little and wash the breakfast bowls. I pay the utility and rent bills, an instant headache forming as I see what's left in my bank account afterward. I slide my work bag out from underneath my bed and pull a few outfits from it and, while I'm still waiting for the trill of my message tone, wash the delicate pieces in the bathroom sink.
I'm wringing out a pair of thigh-high stockings when I hear it. I lunge so quickly for my phone that I knock it clean off the bathroom bench. With wet, wrinkly hands and my heart in my throat, I pick it up and tap through to the text message.
Harry is out of town for a few days. He doesn't say where or why, just that he'll be back on Thursday. The disappointment that had earlier been such a shock is now just a heavy feeling in my stomach, almost sick and achy, like there's something cold and hard lodged in my gut.
I pocket my phone, wring the stockings out, and continue with my washing.
Two months ago I would never have believed I could be so caught up, so utterly spun, by a guy. I'd thought I had everything I needed in Cody. And I don't doubt—not for a second—that he is by far the most important thing in my life, and that no matter what, he'll always be my first priority. But being around Harry and spending time with another adult has made me realize there are things my son can't give me.
I wring out a gauzy negligee, squeezing hard.
I can't expect a four-year-old to be a confidant, to be someone I can turn to when things get tough. I love him with every single fiber of my being, but still, something inside me feels like it's woken up. A familiar, but long forgotten energy is waking up inside me and searching for the kind of feelings being around Harry gives me. And the resurgence of this energy, this all-encompassing feeling of being attracted to and falling for someone, is addictive. I've had a little taste of it, and like an addict I want more.
The rest of the week plays out much the same, but in slow motion. The days at the diner are long, and every night when Cody and I get home, I find myself glancing toward Harry's door, listening for movement and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. By the time Thursday rolls around I'm a complete wreck. I spend the whole day waiting for him to appear, to call, to find his car sitting outside, but by six o'clock, as I'm trying my hardest to concentrate on cooking Cody's dinner, I still haven't seen him.
By seven fifty-five I'm done waiting. As soon as Cody is asleep I throw a hoodie on over my diner uniform, lock the front door and check it twice. My hand is raised before I even reach his door.
As soon as I knock it's like all the courage drains out of me, and I realize I have no idea what I'm going to say anymore. My mind has gone wind-tunnel empty. Of course as soon as I realize this, the door opens, and I'm left standing in the hallway with a blank expression and a blank mind.
Harry looks almost surprised to see me standing there. I watch as a handful of emotions ricochet over his face before he reins it in, settling for that soft but passive expression he wears so often. "Hey."
"Hi." I pause, trying to make up a reason for turning up at his doorstep unannounced. "How are you?"
He pulls the door closed a little, standing between it and the frame. "Good," he says with a nod. "How are you?"
His voice is like a balm on my frayed nerves, and it feels familiar and welcomed as it sinks into the space between my ears. "Fine," I reply, my stomach twisting. "Cody is asleep, so I won't stay long. I just wanted to say hi, and uh… to see if you still wanted to come to Cody's birthday next weekend?"
Harry straightens a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You still want me to come around?"
I smooth my hand over my bangs, feeling a little shy under the weight of his eyes. I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek to stop from blurting out everything that's tumbling around in my head. "Cody would like that." I swallow hard. "I'd like that."
He gives me a long, thoughtful look and then nods. "I'd like that, too."
I have to bite my lip to stop from smiling too hard, and when he gives me a half-smile back I have to look away. There's an undeniable shift in the air around us, like the air between us hums with something electric. Sometime over the past week something has changed, and we both know it. Even with the time spent apart, I can feel us settle into that comfortable rhythm we have.
"So, Nick got jumped the other night," I say, surprised that the words actually come out of my mouth. "He says some guys knocked him out and trashed his car."
Harry doesn't look surprised. "Oh, yeah?"
I nod. "They didn't mess around."
Harry crosses his arms over his chest and leans, ever so casually, against the door frame. "Sounds like he got what he deserved."
A wry smile works its way across my lips as I think about how much I'd wished I could have been the one to give him the black eye. "Yeah, I guess so."
Harry's eyes are piercing but sincere, like they always are when he's listening, but there's something soft in them tonight. Something that tugs on the centre of my chest like it's drawing me to him. Something that makes me want to fall into him and press my face to the space between his neck and shoulder and disappear.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask," Harry says. "I might not answer."
"Did you give him the black eye?"
He shakes his head.
"But you know who did."
True to form, he doesn't answer—not that I'd expected him to—but his silence says more than I could ask for.
Standing in front of him finally, seeing the way he looks as me, I find that I don't care what his answer might be. I don't care where he was on Saturday night, or where he's been for the last few days. All I care about is that he's here, right now, standing in front of me and looking at me like he's afraid that I'm the one who's going to disappear.
"So, I'll see you tomorrow night?" I ask, backing up a step, pulling myself out of his orbit and out of the pull of his eyes before I do something I might regret.
Harry nods, and the very slight upward curve of his lips is the last thing I see before I turn away.
The next night, as I'm pulling baked potatoes out of the oven, he turns up on my doorstep, just like he said he would.
He's just in jeans and a T-shirt, but there's something so effortlessly comfortable and cool about him. His thick leather jacket looks soft and worn, and the thin cotton of his T-shirt is enough to make my mouth run dry and my heart race. I can't take my eyes off of it all through dinner, and it makes me feel like such a pervert, but every time he shifts I see the outline of something dark press against the underside of the shirt. I can't make out what it is. But like everything else about Harry, what's underneath his careful exterior is a mystery I desperately want to solve.
As I stand to clear the table, I yelp as something hard and pointy stabs the underside of my foot and my arm shoots out as I lose my balance. Harry steadies me with a hand on my arm, and my hand instinctively reaches for him as I right myself. Sucking in a breath through my teeth, I use him to balance as I lift my foot, plucking the piece of blue Lego from between my toes.
"Ouch," I whine, hopping around a little. "Stupid Lego."
"You okay?" he asks, looking a little concerned, but mostly amused as he watches me hop around with my foot in my hand.
I nod, straightening up. It's not until I drop the Lego piece onto the table behind him that I notice Harry's hand is still resting lightly against my shoulder. It's as if we both notice at the same time, and he immediately removes his hand, letting it drop to his side.
It doesn't escape my notice that this is the first time he's touched me. I don't think he realizes it, but he's so good at keeping me at arm's length that the quick brush of his fingers against my arm is the closest we've been since we met.
Although, from the way his fingers clench and unclench at his side, maybe he does know it.
Work that night is a blur. For hours on end it's as though I can feel his fingerprints burned into my skin. I keep expecting to look down as see my skin blackened and charred where his hand was. The only thing that works its way through my scrambled brain is the realization about halfway through the night that Leah still isn't at work. I ask around a little, but most of the girls don't have a clue, and Tania is nowhere to be found either. I call Leah's phone while I'm on break, but it goes straight to her voicemail again. I don't bother leaving a message this time, but send her a text, checking in to make sure she's okay.
When I walk through my front door at four a.m., with thoughts of Leah still running through my brain, I'm so tired I barely notice Harry until I switch the lamp on. Yellow light floods the living room, and my breath catches in my throat as my eyes take in the scene. Something deep inside of me clenches so hard I feel tears spring up behind my eyes.
Harry is asleep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, with a sleeping Cody curled up in his lap. Cody is tucked under the blanket with Harry, his little blond head resting against Harry's shoulder as the two of them sleep.
I'm not really sure what to do. I don't want to wake either of them, but I also can't leave Cody there for the night. It's a strange feeling, seeing Cody curled up in Harry's arms. It's indescribable because it's a thousand feelings mixed into one, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I drop my bag at my feet quietly, and when I look up again Harry's eyes are open, realization alighting his features when he sees what I see. With what I hope is a reassuring smile, I reach my arms out for Cody. Harry just stands, effortlessly lifting him in his arms. Trailing close behind, I watch as he sits Cody gently on the bed before stepping out to let me tuck him in.
I reach over to switch the nightlight on and pull the thick bedding up over Cody's back before leaning in to kiss him goodnight.
Harry is standing by the couch again, his hair a mess from sleep, but his eyes sharp and clear, intense even in the dark of my apartment. The way he stands, the way his eyes soften and his breath slows, I know he wants to come closer, to close the space between us, and I can't deny I want him to.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Raking a hand over his hair, Harry shrugs. "He said he couldn't sleep. I figured I'd put him back in his bed once he did, but, uh…" A soft smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and even beneath the hair on his face I can see the spots of pink appear on his cheeks. "I guess we both fell asleep."
I walk him to the front door, stopping just a few feet away. "I really don't mind." I tuck my hands into my back pockets. "It's… it's nice to see him comfortable around you, I guess."
Harry rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and I catch a glimpse of the underside of his bicep, where even more ink creeps over his skin. "Yeah. Well. He's a good kid. It's easy to like him."
I nod, unable to keep the pride-filled smile from my face. "He is a good kid. I don't know how it happened."
The shyness slips from Harry's features, and he lifts his head to look me in the eye. "He gets it from you, Scarlet."
My skin prickles as my name slips from his mouth, and the phantom burn of skin against mine from earlier reappears. "Cody is…" I exhale slowly. "Cody is all of the best parts of me. Even the parts I can't find anymore."
Harry is quiet, his eyes assessing me. I reach for the door handle, kicking myself for so effectively putting a dampener on our conversation.
He turns to me, just as I'm about to open the door. "I know you see his dad when you look at him," he says quietly. "You see your mistakes. You see the things he doesn't have. But all I see when I look at him is you. The best parts of you. Even if you don't."
He's so close I can see the pulse beat in the spot between his collarbones and the all of the colorful ink that covers his throat. I try to look anywhere but right at him. Instead I look down at his hands, at the way his fingers work, his thumb pressed against their backs until they pop.
When I look up and he's looking at me with those eyes that really see me.
I've always wondered what he sees when he looks at me, but right now, right here, with his words lingering in the air between us, it's plain to see, and the intensity of his expression is enough to seize my insides and make my heart jump.
Harry sees me when he looks at me. Not a stripper. Not Rose. Not Mommy. Not even the Scarlet I wear for everyone else, but me. I feel exposed, flayed open and vulnerable like I've never felt before. It's exhilarating and frightening and exciting.
And that's when I know that this is it. There's no turning back. This is the moment I screw everything up. This is the moment I put everything out there for him to see. It's now or never.
I count to three, digging deep to find the courage I know is down there somewhere. I ignore the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the sheen of moisture that's appeared on my palms. I press forward on my toes, lifting my lips to his, and I kiss him.