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I waved, and Cam waved back and then turned. He disappeared into his house, the screen on his door swinging slowly shut even after the big wooden door had sealed, tracing a graceful arc on its tension spring, silently settling back into its frame.
And then the night was still once again.
* * *
I watchedCam leave for work the next morning, standing in my front window feeling sad for no real reason as his silver truck pulled out of the driveway.
I needed to get to work myself. And I should check in with my dad. One of these tasks was less enticing than the other, so I dressed for work and made plans to head over to the Inn to meet my new boss, Michaela Grayson. There was something I liked about a woman who went by a man’s name, and I was curious to meet Mike. Dad hadn’t told me a lot about her, and though I’d spoken to her once on the phone—an interview, really—I didn’t know much about her.
As I smoothed the pencil skirt I put on after my shower, I could hear my phone ringing downstairs, and I contemplated not answering it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to chat with whomever was calling, my hesitation was mostly a safety concern. Pencil skirts could hinder walking on flat surfaces. Stairs were another matter entirely. I gave it a shot, gripping the railing for dear life and doing my best to descend without ripping the skirt or sending myself flying, and I picked up my phone from the coffee table on its final ring.
“Hey Wind!” I was happy to see it was my best friend calling, and I might’ve answered a little too loudly, my voice breathless from the mad dash down the stairs.
“Strings, is that you?”
My best friend Chelle had questioned my odd name when we first met—changing it immediately to Strings, as if I wasn’t actually named Harper but maybe people called me that because I played the instrument. In retaliation, I’d chosen another group of instruments from the scattered memories I had of middle school orchestra, where I had actually played strings, but not the harp. Chelle, as it turned out, didn’t actually play a horn or flute of any kind, but the names had stuck and she’d so far refused to take flute lessons, though I kept telling her it would better legitimize the nickname situation.
I felt immediately happier. “Hi!”
“How’s podunk, California?” Chelle had been upset when I left New York, and had tried to convince me to stay, though losing one’s job and apartment made it difficult to remain in a place like New York City for long. She’d accepted it eventually and had connected me with her cousin, who was setting up the event company in Austin.
“It’s so freaking quiet, Chelle. I can hear myself breathing here. I wake myself up.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Not at all. I’m renting this place—”
“A cabin, right? You told me you were renting a cabin, so I’ve been picturing you in this tiny little shack out in the woods, maybe a wood-burning stove...I totally can’t picture you roughing it like that.”
“You don’t need to.” I looked around me at the state-of-the-art house in which I sat. Appliances gleamed from the kitchen, the flatscreen glowed against the wall before me, and the plush carpet I pressed my feet into wasn’t exactly roughing it. “This place is nicer than Annabelle’s apartment.” Annabelle was a mutual friend—a trader who had amassed a fortune in the late nineties and who lived in a penthouse loft in Tribeca. She was older than we were, but she liked to nurture what she called ‘her flock’ of young professional women with upscale parties and well-timed advice. Her advice to me after everything went down had been ‘get out of here and start over where no one knows you.’ I was taking it.
“Really?” Chelle sounded disappointed.
“Don’t sound so happy for me.”
“Well, you don’t sound very happy. What’s going on? See your dad yet?”
“Not yet. Planning to today.”
“Making up?” She knew the whole story.
“Kinda doubt it.”
She made a disappointed noise, then her voice softened. “You doing okay? You’ve been through a lot...and a lot of quick changes. How’s your head?”
I sighed. “Not great. I catch myself slipping into crazy self-pity sometimes. It’s just...it’s hard to believe this is how it all ended up, you know?” I hadn’t let myself think about everything that had happened in New York since I’d gotten on a plane and left the city. “Like, why did I have to leave, when I was the one who tried to do the right thing? Why is it my life that got fucked?”
“I’d say Andrew’s life is pretty fucked too.”
“Maybe.”
“He might be going to prison, Harper.” She almost sounded sorry for him, but Chelle had always liked my ex. Hell, I’d liked him too.
“For committing a crime. That’s called justice.” I paused, thinking about the trial, about the way Andrew’s eyes had turned steely and hard when he looked at me. “But he won’t serve. He’ll get some stupid community service or something.”
“Probably.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
