Chapter Nine

 

"Now her teacher says that Lydia will fail the whole class unless she finds her paper!" Em's mother wailed. "That poor, dear girl has looked everywhere, but they have no sympathy for her, Emmy. No sympathy!"

Em refrained from rolling her eyes, even though her mother would hardly know she was tempted to do so. "But if Lydia were a better student, this wouldn't be happening," she answered. "She never applies herself."

"Lydia is an excellent student! She's a clever girl, only these teachers are such sticklers for having all papers and tests completed, and they leave no room for judging her by her own merit."

"Ma —"

"And now they say it will cost her any chance at a scholarship if she fails! A few classes standing in the way of her future! It would only be a little better if poor Jane wasn't still struggling along. Why won't anyone hire her? There must be hundreds of jobs available — if only her degree wasn't something useless! Botany. What ever possessed her to choose that for her major?"

Lydia's choice for her future college major was fashion design, Em remembered.

"At least Mary's fellowship will keep her from piling bills on us," continued Mrs. Benton. "If only your father had believed in having a savings account, we wouldn't be struggling so. But he would be selfish and spend what little there was on medical bills and such."

Any savings her father might have bothered to accrue during his years at the financial firm would be long spent by now, Em knew. "Mama, I —"

"If it all crashes down, what will become of us? Then we'll only have you to look to, Emmy — the futures of three of your sisters practically ruined by your father's neglect!"

"Put Papa on the phone, please." Em held her sigh until her mother's voice was gone from the line.

The webpage for Harriet's progress had been updated with the latest video — footage of her happy lunch with Elton, followed by a sad voice-over announcing that any chance of romance budding from that scenario had already been dashed.

Harriet would have watched it by now, Em thought. She would be alone in her apartment, probably, feeling crushed, lonely, and depressed. Cuddling her stuffed animals, salt water tears staining the plush pillows embroidered with "love" in cursive.

She knocked on Harriet's apartment door three times on Sunday afternoon before giving up. Apparently, Harriet was somewhere else — but where? Em thought of the pictures on the shelf. Not the amusement park. There had been one of her and the sign-painting friend at a park, a photo of her at an office party.

Would she be with her friend Bobby? He would be the only one who wasn't privy to Harriet's humiliation at the office, after all. Would she have gone to her mother's? Not likely. Harriet wasn't the type to take her vacation days for anything which wasn't pre-planned.

The after-hours hangout where she first met Harriet. Of course. Em felt stupid for not remembering it in the first place.

Sunday afternoon at the bar Harriet and her coworkers favored was mostly empty, except for its regular crowd. When Em walked through the door, she noticed three or four of Harriet's office friends were there also. They were standing near the darts board, glasses in hand, talking. Elton was among them, Em recognizing his tall, blond self instantly. And Harriet was sitting alone at the bar.

It was evident from her posture that she was utterly alone and miserable. An empty bowl of nuts in front of her, a glass of something dark — rum Coke, Em suspected — which was untouched. Her former friends were evidently ignoring her, except for an occasional glance of mockery or contempt.

They were clearly talking about her. Elton must have told everyone how he truly felt about Harriet's crush on him, and let them cold-shoulder her out of their circle.

Elton was leaving now. As he passed by, Harriet turned her head with a half-hopeful, half-dreading glance in his direction. In Elton's gaze, Em saw pure coldness in response to the unhappy girl at the bar. With an eye-roll of contempt, Elton turned away, pulling on his coat as he exited.

The girls from Harriet's office were laughing — Em could see it in their faces. Harriet's shoulders hunched further downwards with defeat. Em's heart sank, a feeling of protection and pity washing over her.

With her lips set in a tight line, Em crossed the bar in Harriet's direction to go comfort her. The only thing which stopped her in her tracks was the sight of another person entering the bar. Colin.

At first, she didn't recognize him. No suit, no tie, no glasses. A dark blue shirt, an actual pair of denim jeans, an ordinary coat and scarf. Em wasn't sure what startled her more — that he was dressed this way, or that he looked so good in them. A completely unprofessional thought to have about the cold and eminent Doctor Ferris.

What was he doing here? She couldn't imagine, although she was glad he hadn't noticed her, dreading a repeat of their previous conversation. She watched him as his gaze traveled the bar, coming to rest on Harriet. He crossed the room, moving purposefully in her direction, it seemed. He still hadn't seen Em, who retreated from sight behind a cluster of standing customers.

Colin was at Harriet's side now. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked, sliding onto the stool next to her.

Harriet turned her head quickly at the sound of his voice. No jump of surprise, Em noticed, although surprise was written all over Harriet's face. "Sure," she answered, although she sounded uncertain about this idea.

"Thanks." He smiled at her. His smile almost seemed friendly from where Em was standing. She crept closer, staying partly concealed behind one of the room's support beams at the opposite end of the bar. "A shot of bourbon, please." This, to the bartender.

Em was close enough now to hear and see without being seen. She was careful to keep her face and figure stationed out of sight in the beam's shadow.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not good at it, either, you know." He looked at Harriet.

Harriet glanced at him again. "What?" she asked, mystified.

"Making friends. Connections, if you will. I don't have what you would call a — a gift for conversation, to begin with."

Harriet looked away, shrugging her shoulders. "I maybe noticed that," she admitted. A tiny smile formed on her lips.

"Other people have a natural talent for being open. They make it look simple. A smile, a conversation, a friendly exchange. I would be lying if I didn't admit it's still a mystery to me."

"You're not that bad," said Harriet. "Maybe sometimes. But you still seem like a nice person."

He smiled. "Not as nice as you, I'm afraid," he answered. "Blunt honesty has less appeal than friendliness. You possess a talent for kind manners. For smiling," he added, seeing her tiny smile grow a little more in response. "Even a little fearlessness in reaching out."

"You were right, though." Harriet's voice dropped low. "That's what made me vulnerable. That's why they can laugh at me over there right now, and it can hurt me this much."

Colin's face softened. "Perhaps you should ... think of it another way. Maybe you were only using your gift on the wrong people. Being open isn't a matter of simply being honest. Look at me — I've tried and made many of the same mistakes in pursuing relationships as you, and ended up alone afterwards. But you have real friends, friends who care about you."

"Bobby," admitted Harriet. "He's always been my friend. And Elyssa."

"And Emma," said Colin. "And you have me."

She glanced at him. "Really?"

"Yes," he said. "I realize I may not seem a friend by your definition, but I do care about what happens to you in this process, Harriet."

Harriet's expression changed as she listened. She no longer looked as if she wanted to cry, or sit miserably in one spot for the rest of her life.

"So what do you do about it?" Harriet asked, shyly. "Being closed off."

"I don't do anything," he admitted, with a faint laugh. "That's why I have as many problems with forming relationships as you do, Harriet. Maybe more."

"You're still having trouble calling me by my first name, aren't you?" she answered.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted.

This was the first genuine, normal smile that Em had seen on Harriet's face as she smiled at Colin's words. Perhaps the first true smile from Harriet since Em had met her. It was beautiful. And so was the one on Colin's face when he made his reply.

The girls from Harriet's former office clique were taking strong notice of Colin, Em couldn't help but see. She could see also that they didn't recognize him from the web videos. As they watched the two of them at the bar, their looks of contempt melted into glances of surprise and curiosity for this stranger and Harriet's apparent connection.

They couldn't hear a word that was being said, of course. And that made it all the better in Em's opinion.

"Thanks for what you said about wanting to help me," said Harriet.

"It was sincerely meant," he answered.

"See? Then you're better at being nice than you thought," said Harriet. "Because I'm pretty sure you find it hard to help someone like me be brave."

"Not as difficult as I make it seem. So you see that half of the disasters we've faced have been my fault, probably."

Harriet laughed. "That's probably not true."

"All right. A quarter of them," he answered. "But we'll try harder to make it fewer in the future. In the meantime, to the brighter, happier future ahead." He lifted his glass. "Skoal, Miss Smith."

"Same to you, Doctor Ferris." Harriet clinked her glass against his own.