ANNE moved absentmindedly about the house, tidying up already tidy rooms while she waited for Desmond to finish his Sunday night rounds at the hospital and return to his family. An educated, once-world-traveler, Anne found it comical that of all her life experiences, she enjoyed the domestication of her life the best. In college, Anne would have thought daft any person who tried to tell her that she'd give up her jet setting lifestyle for an apron and the title of 'mommy'. But as she picked up one of Maddie's dolls from the living room floor, Anne felt fulfilled, without a doubt, by who she was and what she did.
A stirring from Harry's bedroom brought to the forefront of her mind the afternoon she had spent with him and Bree. Harry had insisted upon accompanying her to lunch with Bree. Anne didn't pass up an opportunity to spend time with Harry, but she wasn't delusional enough to believe that her presence had anything to do with his request. As of late, Harry couldn't seem to get enough of Bree Hanson.
That notion both thrilled and concerned Anne. Over the course of lunch, Anne learned a lot about Bree, more from her observations than what Bree actually said. And she didn't say much. Verbally, Bree revealed what the entire town of Lockridge Falls already knew: that she lived only with her father, the former Chief of the Lockridge Falls police department. She also had no qualms about expressing her hobbies of reading and cooking, with an occasional dabble into photography.
However, it was the non-verbal disclosures that peaked Anne's concern. The most obvious fact, that Bree lived only with her father, meant that Bree lacked the daily influence of a mother figure in her life - and also the very watchful eyes of one. A girl could get away with a lot when she had a quasi-absent father who thought nothing of going away on a weekend fishing trip while leaving his young adult daughter home unattended.
But perhaps the most glaring red flag of all was how Bree and Harry interacted with one another. On the surface, any mother would be pleased to have such a well-mannered, docile girlfriend for their wild and directionless son. But Anne knew her son and she knew how long Bree had been in his life...but to watch the two of them together, one would guess that they'd been acquainted with one another for years instead of months. And of those months, it had been only mere days since their relationship took on less of a covert tone, and more of an obvious one.
What was obvious, however, was that the two teens sitting before Anne had bypassed the awkward squeamishness of a new relationship and had plunged head first into a symbiotic symphony of oneness. The way they moved around one another with flawless grace; the way they looked at one another in silent communication, as if they possessed their own language; and their touches - soft fingertips brushing the back of a hand or the cusp of a shoulder; it was all sweet and sensual at the same time. Anne felt like an intruder.
It was for this very reason that Anne felt the need to wait up for her husband.
It had been a long day and exhausted didn't even begin to cover the way Desmond felt as he made the short journey from the garage to the mudroom of the house. Anne must have heard him pull up, for she was in the mudroom waiting for him with a glass of iced tea. He could tell by the look on her face that she wanted something. Still, he humored her with small talk until she finally got around to letting him know what was really on her mind.
"I had lunch with Harry and Bree today," she began cryptically.
"Oh yeah? How'd that go?" Desmond asked with genuine interest.
"It was good. Bree is a very sweet girl," Anne hedged.
"She is," Desmond agreed. "And I can't pretend not to be relieved by the calming effect she's had on him. He hasn't hardly been in any trouble since she came on the scene."
"I know...and it has me slightly worried." Anne frowned.
"The fact that Harry hasn't been in any trouble has you worried?" Desmond laughed softly.
"No, not that," Anne corrected. "It's just the profound effect she's had on him in such a short period of time."
"Anne, honey, he's a teenaged boy. That's what happens when they meet teenaged girls. Trust me. I once was one."
Anne shook her head, adamant that it was more than that. "Desmond, you didn't see them together. It was like...like their souls had met in a previous life and we're just now seeing the physical personification of it."
"I'm canceling your subscription to the Mysticism channel," Desmond continued to poke fun.
"I'm being serious," Anne nearly stamped her foot. "I'm worried, Desmond. Bree seems like such an innocent girl and Harry...well, we've talked to his caseworkers. We know how much...physical experience he has."
"This is about sex? You're worried about him having sex?"
"I'm worried about too much too soon. And Desmond, if you had seen the way they interacted with each other this afternoon, you would be worried, too."
"Oh, Anne," Desmond sighed. He put his arms around her in hopes to soften what he was about to say. "Sweetheart, Harry feels...inadequate. Bree makes him feel whole. And we have no idea if he fills a void of some sort for her, but if he does, then that is exactly how their relationship is going to seem to them - like they're each others life preservers. And since Harry has had sex before, yes, he probably will want to do the same with Bree. We can try all we want to, but we probably won't be able to prevent that."
"You need to have a talk with him, Desmond. He needs to be responsible. His life is just barely on the right track. I'd hate to see him derail it by getting Bree pregnant."
"I'm pretty sure Harry knows all there is to know about sex. Hell, he could probably teach me a thing or two," Desmond's laughter stopped abruptly when he saw the look his wife was giving him. "I'll talk to him."
* * *
Monday morning met Bree with both excitement and fear. It had seemed like she and Harry had experienced half a year's worth of events, yet here it was, only Monday - a mere three days since Harry had officially coined her as his girlfriend. Over the weekend, they had been in a bubble of happiness, in a game of love where they were the only two players. Now they were thrust into a world where others would take notice of them. Where it would not go undetected that things had changed between Bree and Harry. Bree welcomed the change. She worried that Harry would not.
Their last words to one another had been last night when Harry had called her to ask her if he'd left something at her house...headphones or something. Harry had never brought headphones to her house and Bree realized he felt that he needed a reason to call her, beyond the fact that she was his girlfriend.
They'd talked a bit and Harry made fun of the fact that he could already hear Bree's mood music station playing in the background. She'd laughed at him before asking if he'd like her to pick him up for school the next morning. He'd hesitated before saying no. And that was when Bree knew that it was possible that everything they'd achieved over the weekend would be undone once they set foot on the school grounds.
So Bree immediately felt catapulted back to square one as she marched to her locker and heaved her backpack into it. The semester was winding down and she had less of a need for it. Soon her schedule would change and she'd happily say goodbye to a few of her less favorite classes. Unfortunately, she'd have to trade her English Literature class in for an economics class...which meant she'd be trading in her class with Harry.
Bree trudged into her first class of the morning and took the first seat available. She busied herself doodling things on a blank strip of paper so as not to look available for conversation. If there was any class that Bree didn't want to appear available for conversation in, it was this one. Jocelyn Grey was in this class and, to put it mildly, Bree didn't know which one of Jocelyn's personalities would be in control of her today. It was hard to keep track of who Jocelyn really was. One minute she was being a total bully, the next minute she was trying to be friendly and complimentary and the next minute she was fawning over Harry.
Perhaps it was that last one that bothered Bree the most. Harry made it seem like Jocelyn was just a girl who couldn't get over a crush, but Jocelyn acted like it was more than that. So badly Bree wanted to ask Harry about what she'd overheard Jocelyn tell Connie in the restroom that day, but she was afraid. She was afraid that Harry would confirm her fears: that he had done something with Jocelyn - something Harry probably enjoyed. Something Bree didn't know how to do.
Connie sighed loudly as she entered the doorway of her history class. She absolutely hated when Jocelyn wasn't at school. Especially in classes that she didn't have any other friends in. And of course Connie was late because Tom had insisted upon stopping at the convenience store first for a package of powder donuts. There were only two empty seats in the class - one on the front row directly in front of the teacher's desk, and one in the middle of the class. There was no way Connie could finish the note she was writing to Tom if she sat in the front row, so she headed for the middle desk, her backpack smacking unsuspecting peers in the process.
Out of the corner of her eye, Connie noticed Bree directly on her left. Connie decided not to make eye contact. She didn't feel like making nice. It was too early in the morning and she wasn't in a good mood. Besides, Bree made Connie nervous. Nobody had ever made Connie nervous...well, unless you count Mac Arthur in the third grade. But he was an overgrown oaf with two first names - anybody would be nervous.
Before the class got underway, the phone rang and Mrs. Kenner stepped over to answer it. As soon as she did so, a girl Connie recognized as Lauren stepped over to Bree and dropped a note on her desk.
"It's from Derek. He told me to give it to you," Lauren stated.
"No," Bree held the note back out to Lauren before she could depart.
"No?" Lauren looked as if she didn't understand English.
"Yeah, no. I don't want any notes from Derek Crowley. You can tell him I said so," Bree stated.
Lauren frowned. "Tell him yourself." She began to walk away.
Bree knocked the note on the floor and it slid a few paces in front of where Lauren stood. "I hope he's not too upset if it gets in the wrong hands." She said with a shrug.
Lauren rolled her eyes and sighed loudly before bending over and picking up the note. She tossed it in the garbage can on her way back to her desk.
"Good one," Connie whispered to Bree.
Bree smiled to herself and made fleeting eye contact with Connie. "He can't seem to take a hint," she said.
"Well, I'm sure Lauren will pass along the message...embellished though it will be." Connie whispered.
"Fine by me." Bree shrugged.
She was unpretentious, Bree was. Connie felt a little bit uneasy about how at ease she felt around the girl. I'm so glad Jocelyn isn't here right now.
Without really needing to, Bree trudged to her locker after her first class. She had more than enough time to spare and the last thing she wanted to do was sit in an empty classroom waiting for monotony. At least that is what her conscious mind told her. Subconsciously, she had to give Harry an opportunity to find her.
And find her he did.
With the essence of James Dean in a movie from a far away time, Harry leaned against Bree's locker. All that was missing was a cigarette.
"Hey," he offered her a slow smile.
"Hi," Bree tried to hide her excitement as she failed to make obtaining her backpack from her locker look casual. Once in her possession, Bree slung it over her right shoulder and put one foot in front of the other, guiding Harry to follow her.
They fell into step beside one another on the way to the only class they shared. Bree's left hand dangled listlessly at her side as she walked. She pretended not to notice Harry's right hand in much the same position. She made no move towards it and they walked in silence.
Suddenly the minuscule hairs on the back of her palm stood to attention as Harry's hand slowly neared hers. Without looking, he slid his hand over hers and Bree embraced the gesture, clasping his hand tightly. She stole a glance at him - his eyes were forward, on where they were going, but he wore a smug smile on his face, as if he were Quasimodo holding the hand of Cleopatra.
Harry was pleasantly surprised that the whole girlfriend/boyfriend thing wasn't as unpleasant as he'd previously thought. There were no anti-couple regimes waiting to tar and feather him for his change in attitude, no mockers, no hecklers...just curious on-lookers and covetous stares. And if Harry was being honest, he kind of liked the envy rolling off Derek Crowley and Max Anderson.
Still riding high on Bree's touch, Harry led her towards the table in the quad that he often occupied with his friends. He noticed Jocelyn's absence and decided it was only a plus.
Harry sat and slid down, making a spot for Bree. He casually reached up and removed a piece of a fallen leaf from her hair before settling his arm around her waist. He acted like it was the most normal thing in the world to parade Bree in front of his friends, instead of it being the very first time for anything of its caliber.
"So, party this Friday. You in?" Tom rushed to fill the awkward silence.
Harry looked over at Bree, as if checking with her. Connie noticed the exchange and assaulted Bree with her eyes.
"You said you'd come," Connie told her.
"Said she'd come where?"
Everyone at the table turned to see Jocelyn's approach. Harry noticed Bree's body stiffen underneath his arm and Connie's expression became flighty.
"Where have you been?" Connie didn't bother answering Jocelyn's question. "Aren't I supposed to get some kind of warning when you're not going to be here?"
"Looks like I'm the one who needs a warning," Jocelyn looked pointedly at Bree before turning towards Connie. "And I overslept."
Harry trained his eyes on Jocelyn, daring her to impart the visual venom that she seemed to be working on the girls. She never met his eyes, but he noticed her caustic glances at his arm draped around Bree. Oh well. He had nothing to hide.
"I have to go find Rebecca," Jocelyn began to walk away. "You coming?" She asked Connie over her shoulder.
Connie seemed to communicate a silent message to Tom before she picked up her bag and followed after her friend.
Jocelyn's existence was really beginning to bother Bree. It was one thing to get a bad vibe about someone, to not like their attitude or they way they spoke or carried themselves, but Jocelyn hadn't witnessed enough of anything about Bree to size her up in the manner that she had. It was obvious that it had something to do with Harry. There were feelings there...a history, perhaps. But Harry wouldn't answer a direct question about it, which alerted Bree to the fact that something had happened between them, and the fact that he wouldn't tell her exactly what that was bothered Bree more than she was actually ready to admit to herself.
It wasn't until Wednesday after school, when they were at Harry's home that the subject came up again, in an indirect way.
Pretending to do homework, Bree and Harry sat on his bed with her books spread out between them. Bree pulled the scrunchie from her hair, releasing her ponytail and letting her long locks rest freely about her shoulders.
"I like your hair down," Harry commented.
Bree didn't know if she should say 'thank you' or take his words as a statement instead of a compliment. She did neither.
"It gives me a headache if I keep it in a ponytail too long." She said instead. "I have a lot of hair."
"You do have a lot of hair," Harry said in a gravely tone which made Bree look up at him. When she did so, she caught the devious look in his eye. "You have a lot of hair down there, too." He pointed between her legs.
"What?" Bree instantly crossed her legs as if she'd been naked. "What's that supposed to mean?" The pitch of her voice rose and her movements became disjointed as she stacked and restacked meaningless papers.
"Nothing," Harry shrugged, amused by the effect his words had on her. "I'm just saying that you have a lot of hair."
"So!" Bree's voice was sharp. She lowered it with her next question. "Is that bad?"
"No. It's not bad. It's just...different."
"Different from whom?"
Now it was Harry's turn to get uncomfortable at Bree's words. "I'm not talking about anyone in particular," he hedged.
"Then how do you know it's different?" Bree cornered him verbally.
"Nothing...forget it," Harry said, realizing that Bree was getting upset but not understanding why.
"Is it because I'm not like Jocelyn?" Bree hinted at the subject that had been bothering her since that fateful day in the girls' bathroom.
"Bree, this has nothing to do with Jocelyn." Harry said.
"What happened between you two?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"Fine. I'm lying."
"Are you?"
"You just told me I was."
"Harry, why won't you just answer the question?"
"Because it's none of your business."
"It's none of my business? But I'm your...girlfriend." Bree whispered the last word, afraid that Harry would take it away from her.
"That doesn't give you the right to judge me for what happened before I even knew you." Harry responded defensively.
"I'm not judging you. I just want to know." Bree kept her eyes on the bedspread.
"Why? What difference is it going to make?"
"It's not going to make a difference."
"Then fuckin' drop it."
Harry's expletive stung Bree and before she could stop it, her eyes filled with tears. She wiped at them quickly, instantly angry with herself and the situation for overreacting.
"I have to go," she quickly began stuffing her backpack.
"What the hell," Harry seemed at a loss. "Are you fuckin' crying? Because I won't tell you some shit that doesn't even matter?"
Bree wanted to tell him to stop cussing at her, but she knew if she opened her mouth, the only sound that would escape would be a sob.
She ran out of his room and out to her truck as fast as her feet would carry her.
Harry paced around his room trying to absolve himself of the guilt he felt at Bree's outburst. Though he didn't understand her insatiable desire to know of his past exploits, he did feel responsible for her tears. He hated himself for making her cry. Why didn't he just tell her what she wanted? Why didn't he just make something up?
Who was this Harry that didn't want to be dishonest?
He had been wrong before. This girlfriend/boyfriend shit was hard. In frustration, Harry swiped his hand across his desk, landing everything that had been housed there on the floor. With a loud sign of anguish, Harry hurried down the stairs and out of his front door, thinking he wouldn't be too late to catch Bree.
He was.
Anne pretended not to hear the frustration of her son being taken out on inanimate objects in his room. She sat at the dining room table and allowed Maddie to help her stuff goodie bags for Maddie's upcoming birthday party.
"Daddy!" Maddie ran up to meet Desmond when he walked into the house.
"Hello, princess," Desmond greeted Maddie with a kiss before bestowing one upon his wife.
As soon as Anne's eyes met his, they heard a loud thud coming from overhead.
"I'm afraid to ask how you day went," Desmond said, his eyes staring above him.
"It was fine up until a couple hours ago. Bree appeared very upset when she left and he's been like that ever since." Anne explained.
"He had a fight with Bree?" Desmond mused. "Already?"
Anne shrugged. "I haven't talked to him. I figured it was a time when a boy needed his father."
Desmond had been putting off the talk he knew he needed to have with Harry, and now it looked like he may be late dispersing wisdom Harry could have used.
After a shower and a quick bite to eat, Desmond climbed the stairs towards Harry's room. A quick rap on the door was met with silence.
"Harry?" Desmond asked firmly.
"What?" Harry's brusque voice came through the thick wooden door.
"Can I come in?" Desmond invited.
"What for?" Harry returned.
"I'd like to have a word with you."
"I didn't do anything."
"I didn't say you did."
"I don't want to talk about Bree."
"We don't have to."
It took Harry two and a half minutes to find his way to Desmond at his door.
"What?" Harry asked once he'd finally opened it.
Desmond peered into Harry's room and almost laughed at what he saw. Most everything was still in order, save for a heap of turmoil near Harry's desk and what seemed to be a few drawers worth of clothes strewn about. For all the noise Harry had been making, Desmond had expected things to be completely obliterated. Desmond stared at Harry long and hard, already tired of his attitude. But something in Harry's eyes touched Desmond and he felt a sense of empathy for something yet unknown.
"It was a minor argument, then?" Desmond's eyes were laughing, but he was not.
"It wasn't even an argument!" Harry raised his voice, already forgetting his rule about not talking about Bree.
"Oh...well that's good then. Minor misunderstandings are unavoidable in the beginning of any relationship." Desmond continued to look around before his eyes landed on Harry's. "Want to take a ride?"
"I thought I wasn't allowed to go out on a school night," Harry quipped.
"It's all right. I know the warden," Desmond motioned to the door and followed after Harry when he'd finally walked through it.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked with a forced disinterest as Desmond maneuvered his BMW through the streets of Lockridge Falls.
"I want to show you something." Desmond said mysteriously.
"What?" Harry pressed.
"Well if I could tell you, I wouldn't need to show you, would I?"
Harry seemed irritated by Desmond's enigmatic behavior, but he quieted down for the remainder of the ride.
Desmond didn't make another sound until he pulled into a neighborhood a few blocks away. He slowed to a stop in front of a house that Harry didn't recognize and pointed in the direction of a covered carport.
"What do you think?" he finally asked.
"Of what?" Harry squinted into the fading light, as day became night.
"That beauty."
Desmond looked dreamily at a shiny, gray 1973 Nova that sat slightly revealed under the waning light.
"The car?" Harry asked. "For you?"
"For you," Desmond looked over at Harry. "When Anne was doing laundry a couple days ago, she pulled your temporary permit out of your pants pocket."
"Oh...yeah." Harry said as if he'd forgotten. "I passed the test."
"Why the secret?" Desmond asked. "That's a big deal, Harry."
"A big deal for me, you mean."
"It's a big deal in every guys life. You're on your way to a driver's license. That's a rite of passage like none other." Desmond said excitedly.
Harry rolled his eyes at the excitement, but Desmond saw the pride dwelling underneath.
"You don't have to be so secretive, Harry," Desmond continued. "No one wants to see you succeed as much as your mother and I. Let us be there for you."
Harry shifted uncomfortably under the emotion the words held. He played with the latch on the door as he eyed the car across from him. "Can we get out and look at it?"
"You bet," Desmond was out of the car before Harry was.
They kept their voices low so as not to disturb the owners of the home, since they had come unannounced.
"This is fu- freakin' awesome," Harry finally let on how he felt about the car.
"Aw man, you aren't lying," Desmond let out his inner teenager. "This was the car I wanted so badly when I was your age."
"It's sweet," Harry agreed as he ran his hands over the hood. "I hope an alarm doesn't go off."
"I doubt it." Desmond glanced at the front of the house.
"How much does something like this cost?"
"A reasonable amount, I'm sure." Desmond's double speak had returned.
"Man, I'd have to save up for like...years," Harry said in a low whisper.
"I told you I'd buy your first car," Desmond's eyes twinkled.
The enormity of the situation finally came into view for Harry and he looked between Desmond and the car.
"Did you already buy this?" Harry pointed at the car.
Desmond smiled.
"Are you shittin' me?" Harry stared incredulously. "This car?"
"Unless you don't like it."
"Who wouldn't like this car?"
"Someone who doesn't deserve to be on the road." Desmond was encouraged by Harry's enthusiasm.
"Oh...man!" Harry exclaimed. It was the first time Desmond had been allowed to see Harry truly happy. There was one other time, a few weeks back, when Desmond had witnessed Harry's joy, though he wasn't an invited spectator into the emotion, nor did he know its cause.
"Now you can practice driving in your own car. By the time you take the driving test, you'll know it like the back of your hand." Desmond explained.
"Wow. Thanks...Desmond," Harry stammered, as if he wanted to call Desmond by a different name.
"You're welcome, Son." Desmond put his hand on Harry's shoulder and steered him back towards the BMW. "It'll be delivered to the house tomorrow. You can spend all the time you want fawning over it then. But as for now, it is a school night..."
Harry's excitement began to diminish as he realized one less person he could share his newfound joy with. The car grew silent under his melancholy until Desmond spoke to berate himself for taking a wrong turn.
Harry looked up then, to access how long it would be until they made it home. They were on a familiar street. He turned and looked at Desmond frantically.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"Just a small detour. We'll be home in a minute." Desmond kept his eyes on the road.
Harry fidgeted unnecessarily as the car neared the last place on earth he wanted anyone else to know he yearned to be.
When Desmond's car neared Bree's house, he didn't stop, but he did slow to a cautionary speed.
"It's a little early for lights out," Desmond muttered aloud. "Makes for a long night."
Harry simply looked over at him before returning his sights to the house that was growing smaller through the side view mirror.
"Did you call her?" Desmond asked.
"No," the indignation returning to Harry's voice. "She walked out on me."
"All the more reason, Son. All the more reason..."
Harry was quiet for so long that Desmond figured their bonding moment had passed and their time together had ended. He maneuvered his car into the garage and turned off the ignition. Harry's stillness caught his attention and when he turned to look at him, Harry spoke.
"Did you tell Mom everything you've ever done with other women?" Harry asked.
"No," Desmond answered, as if it was an absurd question.
"Has she ever asked?"
"Are you kidding? No woman wants to know that."
"Bree does."
"She asked you? She asked you to tell her everything you've ever done with other girls?"
"Well, not like that." Harry clarified. "She asked about one girl. She keeps asking about it."
"And you won't tell her?"
"I shouldn't have to."
"Harry, I'll tell you something my dad told me when I was fourteen years old: you can always be right but you'll always be lonely."
"So that means I have to do stuff that doesn't make any sense?"
"It means that if you want to keep the girl, it's not always about being right. Sometimes you'll do things just for her and sometimes she'll do things, just for you."
Harry pondered Desmond's words for a moment, but he still didn't like the idea of talking to Bree about Jocelyn.
He looked at the clock in the dashboard; it was after nine o'clock.
"I need you to do something for me, Harry," Desmond said suddenly.
Oh here it comes. I knew there were strings attached to that car.
"What?"
"Your mother thinks I talked to your about sex and being responsible, so do you know how to use a condom?"
"Yeah." Harry laughed.
"And you know where to get condoms?"
"Yeah."
"And you know to always use condoms, no matter what?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Good talk." Desmond patted Harry on the knee before exiting the vehicle. Harry hustled up to his bedroom for the beginning of his long night.
* * *
Bree was glad to be alone in the darkness where she could try to assess the events of the day without the scrutinizing gaze of her father.
Johnny had been after her all evening to tell him what was bothering her. She kept telling him that she was fine, but he insisted that she wasn't acting like herself. He wanted to know what she was keeping from him - sure that he could help her in some way. It was infuriating to Bree that he was so relentless. Probably because he should be able to take the hint that she didn't want to talk about it. Probably because he shouldn't presume to have the answer to all of her problems. Or probably because Bree knew that she was being just like him in her insistence that Harry tell her everything that happened between he and Jocelyn.
Bree lay in her bed listening to Rod Stewart croon out 'Forever Young' on KXXO 96.1 FM - the permanent residence of her radio dial. It made her hopeful for the future. But when Hootie and the Blowfish began to tell her how they 'Only Wanna Be With You', her tears began to flow freely and she wondered aloud what she'd done.
It had been an unbearable evening the minute she'd walked out of the Styles home shortly after four o'clock. As Bree had jogged to her car, she'd criticized herself for the girlie desire of wanting Harry to run after her. Denying herself to have that desire realized, she moved at lightening speed, starting her truck and taking off before even taking the time to buckle her seatbelt.
Anger had held Bree willful and devout in her refusal to communicate with Harry. But now, under the cloak of darkness and the lyrics that so defined how she felt about her man, that anger was dissipating into despair. She drew her knees up to her chest and shuddered into her solitude.
"I'm sorry," Bree whispered to no one.
It was after nine o'clock before Bree had the overwhelming urge to call Harry. It was risky. What if his parents heard and she got him in trouble? What if he didn't answer? What if he did answer? What if he hung up?
By the time U2 was serenading her with 'With or Without You', reminding her that in a relationship you "give yourself away", Bree had dialed half of Harry's telephone number. She would have dialed the rest if her telephone hadn't started ringing on its own.
"I'm sorry," Bree said instead of hello.
Harry was silent for a split second, taken aback by Bree's instant apology. He hadn't been expecting it.
"For what?" he asked.
"For starting this crap in the first place. I shouldn't have walked out." Bree said.
"Why did you?" Harry's voice was low and steady.
"Because...I didn't want you to see me cry." Bree admitted. Her voice was shaky by comparison.
Harry was frustrated at the ignorance her admission made him feel. Why would something like that make a person cry?
"Why would something like that make you cry?" he wondered out loud.
"Well, first of all, I hate it when you swear at me," Bree said.
"I always swear."
"But not at me. Only when we fight. And I hate fighting with you."
Harry could hear that she was on the verge of tears then, so he quickly said something to distract her.
"Is there a second of all?"
"I don't like it that you keep stuff from me."
"I'm not keeping stuff from you!" Harry paused to get control of his voice. "I just...I don't think it's...It's not good for you to know."
"Why?"
"Because if I tell you, then I'm giving Jocelyn exactly what she wants. And I'm not going to do that."
"What does she want?"
"She wants you to think that I felt the same way about her that I feel about you when I ..." Harry remembered what Desmond had said in the garage and cringed through his next words. "I went to a party one night and got wasted. Jocelyn followed me up the stairs and I vaguely remember kissing her and then she went down on me and then I passed out. Everytime she tells the story, it gets a little more exaggerated, but that's basically what happened. And before you ask, yes, I'm sure I didn't have sex with her. Passed out guys usually can't get vertical."
"That's it? Just that one time?"
"More or less."
"More or less? She definitely acts like there's more."
"That's her problem."
"I just...
"Bree, I'm with you, not Jocelyn."
"Why is that?"
"Are you fuc- freakin' serious?"
"She's pretty."
"She's okay. But she's no Bree Hanson. She's not who I want."
Harry could almost feel his face warm by Bree's blush on the other side of the phone. She giggled and Harry felt himself relax for the first time since she'd walked out on him.
"Can we stop talking about girls that don't matter now?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," Bree laughed quietly.
"We're gonna be so tired tomorrow." Harry said.
"Do you wanna go?" Bree asked.
"No."
"Me either."
"My dad bought me a car today."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah. It's so fuc- awesome."
"I can't wait to see it."
"Come over tomorrow. It should be here."
"Okay."
"Then we can...uh...go to that party, if you want."
"I want."
"Cool."
Harry could have talked to Bree all night and he planned to, but he heard a soft knock before Desmond stuck his head into his bedroom. Harry immediately hid his phone under his pillow.
"It's late," Desmond whispered.
"I know," Harry answered.
"Okay, well tell Bree goodnight," Desmond revealed that he knew what Harry was up to and that he had momentarily allowed it.
Instead of answering Desmond, Harry put his phone back up to his ear. "I have to go," he said.
"Okay."
"Goodnight, beautiful," he whispered once Desmond had shut his door.
"Goodnight," Bree giggled. "Oh, do you want me to pick you up for school tomorrow?"
"Yeah... I can't wait to see you."
"Me too."
The end of the conversation felt unfinished in some way...like it needed something to solidify the feeling of the moment. But Harry couldn't bring himself to think it, let alone say it. All he knew was that it had been a long time since something had scared him like Bree had when she'd walked out on him earlier. He'd do whatever it took to keep that from happening again.