*“Are you sure you’re ready to do this, honey?” Mom held out her arms to encompass the whole cottage that Harper and Drew had lived in for only two years. The one Harper had walked out of only six short months ago. To Harper, that day felt like a lifetime ago.
“It’s time, Mama. I can’t move on unless I cut my ties to this house.” Harper stood in the living room of her home in St. Clair Shores. Except for a coating of dust, and a few pictures missing from the walls, everything was exactly as she’d left it six months ago, right down to the decanter of port and small jewel-colored glasses sitting on the tall narrow table behind the couch. She smiled, remembering…
Drew had been so excited when he’d opened the lead crystal decanter she’d given him for his twenty-fifth birthday. He’d had a penchant for expensive knickknacks. Probably came from not having those kinds of things when he grew up. His dad had abandoned the family when Drew was five, and his mom worked days at a bank and nights at a grocery store to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Drew and his two older sisters and one younger brother had pretty much raised themselves. They’d had the essentials, but there wasn’t much left over for luxuries.
Joining the army post-high-school had been Drew’s ticket out of the declining neighborhood in Warren where he’d grown up. His sign-on bonus plus Harper’s savings had made a healthy down payment on their little love nest in St. Clair Shores, and before he’d been deployed that last time, the two of them had DIYed the whole house into the perfect home Drew had always wanted. Harper longed to fill the two extra bedrooms with kids, but Drew wanted to hold off on children until after his service time was done, so she’d made one into a guest room and one into a studio, where she lived while he was deployed.
She ran a hand along the polished walnut mantel in the beamed-ceiling living room, scooping up a fingerful of dust with a slight smile. Drew would’ve been appalled at the dust—he had been tidy to the point of obsessive, which Harper chalked up to his growing up in a house that was pretty much in a constant state of disarray and disrepair.
The warm welcome she’d expected to feel when she’d opened the door never materialized, not even as she wandered each room, picking up a tchotchke here, touching a throw pillow there. The house was still lovely, but it wasn’t home anymore. The neutral colors he had preferred in this house paled even more compared to the bright teals and reds and yellows in the apartment above Mac Mackenzie’s garage. That was home now.
“Did you check the real estate site?” her mom asked. “This place has really appreciated in value since you bought it.”
Harper nodded. “Nearly tripled. After the mortgage payoff, I’ll have some decent bank.”
Her mom’s brow furrowed. “Why do I get the impression you have plans for that money?”
“Maybe…” Harper hadn’t mentioned to a single soul what she wanted the money for, nor did she intend to. That was in the future and that future depended on so many factors coming together in exactly the right time and manner. “I’m going to sell this house furnished. It’s close enough to the lake that someone will use it as a vacation home.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“There’s nothing here I want, Mama.”
“Nothing at all?”
Harper glanced around. “My clothes and my art stuff and a few other things, but this was Drew’s house.”
Her mother followed her down the hallway into the primary bedroom. “How can you say that? You worked your butt off renovating this place. It was your dream house.”
Harper nodded toward the king-sized bed covered in a snowy white spread accented with beige pillows. “All this white and beige and ivory—that was all Drew. This was his dream house. For me, the dream was being with him.”
She opened the door to the walk-in closet and was immediately struck with the scent of Drew’s soap and aftershave. Citrus and sandalwood—his favorite. She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep inhale, and stepped inside. His shirts, all arranged by color. Well, what color there was in his wardrobe. Most of them were navy or gray or white and his pants were jeans and khakis, with cargo shorts in the same neutral colors. Even his sweats were gray or black. She pulled open a drawer under the row of shirts—how Drew had loved the built-in dressers in their closet.
Like those big houses in Grosse Point, he’d said, when she’d balked at the cost of a custom closet organizer. It had turned out elegant and tidy—just as he’d hoped. Boxers and T-shirts, perfectly folded, were stacked in the drawers and his shoes were neatly lined up on the shoe rack on his side while her side was always less than perfect. Drew had teased her about her messiness every so often, so she’d straighten the drawers, carefully folding her bras and panties, lining up and color-coding her blouses and skirts and pants. But they’d inevitably get chaotic again.
Before Harper left in May, she’d deep-cleaned the entire house, going from room to room, tidying, scrubbing, vacuuming, dusting, emptying trash cans, and tossing almost everything in the refrigerator and pantry. She didn’t know it at the time, but it was a catharsis. She’d been releasing the house and Drew, although her grief wouldn’t allow her to admit that. In some corner of her heart, she’d known she would never spend another night there, even though that hadn’t been in her mind when she’d driven away.
She’d metaphorically girded her loins as she and her mom had pulled in the short driveway, but it came as a surprise when the house didn’t make her sad. In fact, warm memories filled her up as she and her mom began packing personal items into the boxes Harper had picked up at the U-Haul store. She shared funny stories as she placed Drew’s clothes and shoes into large trash bags to drop off at the homeless shelter at the Unitarian church. A lot of her own clothes would go, too, since her closet space in the apartment was limited.
She packed up everything in her studio from paints and charcoal and colored pencils to her sketchpads, easels, and easel pads, her old laptop, and books, including all of the boxes from her classroom that she’d tucked away when she quit. She’d need those materials when she began teaching classes in River’s Edge. When they moved into the kitchen, Harper wrapped and packed the few pieces of colorful pottery from the top shelf of the dish cabinet and a couple of favorite mugs that had been gifts from students. The white dishes would stay with the house, as would the pots and pans, utensils, flatware, and glasses. She had all that at her apartment, and if she ever moved from there, she’d buy new of everything.
By midafternoon, they were done. They took one last tour through the house with Mom pointing out items and asking, how about this or what about that? Yes to the ivory afghan from Granny Higgins and yes to Drew’s guitar, but no to the stacks of white towels in the linen closet. Yes to her box of high school and college memorabilia, and yes to Drew’s Go Army hoodie hanging by the kitchen door. No to the table linens in the built-in corner cupboard in the kitchen. Mom felt in between couch cushions and peered beneath the wing chair by the fireplace, while Harper emptied the nightstand and end table drawers into a box for sorting through later.
When it finally felt as though she’d collected everything she could ever possibly want, she found her mother in the living room, staring at the decanter and glasses—the only spot of color in the otherwise pristine beige-and-white room. The sun shone through the red, green, blue, and purple cordial glasses, making them glow as if lit from within. For the first time since opening the door, Harper’s throat swelled.
“I bought that set when we were in Ireland. Remember? We took that week when he was stationed in Germany?”
Her mother nodded. “I remember. Didn’t you go to Paris, too?”
Harper chuffed a small laugh. “Not that trip.” She pushed the Paris memory aside. “Anyway, we were driving along the southern coast of Ireland and we’d stopped for lunch. We wandered this little town looking for a place to eat—I can’t remember the name of it now, but this”—she fingered the crystal stopper of the decanter—“was in the window of a tiny antiques shop, and Drew couldn’t stop looking at it. He was fascinated with the way the crystal caught the sunlight streaming in the window. At the restaurant, I told him I had to use the restroom, and I slipped out the rear door and went back to buy it. Sweetest old couple ran the shop. They wrapped it up and mailed it for me.”
Mom chuckled. “I remember. You had it sent to our house so Drew wouldn’t see it.”
Harper twisted her lips and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. With a determined set to her shoulders, she strode to the kitchen, pulled out her stepstool, and rummaged through the cabinet above the refrigerator. “Ah, here it is. I knew we’d kept the original box.” She dropped a white cardboard box into her mom’s waiting hands before getting down and putting the stool back in the tiny mudroom behind the kitchen. “I’ll have to pour out the port, I guess.”
Mom looked aghast. “Don’t you dare. Pack up the glasses. I’ll hold the decanter on my lap, and when we get home, we’ll pour it into a wine bottle or something.”
They loaded the last of the boxes into Harper’s SUV. She was struck by how little room her former life took up. The bags of clothes and other things she was donating to the shelter would stay in the house until she returned after the new year to find a realtor and put the house on the market.
Spine straight, she slowly went back up the walk, releasing a long breath as she stood on the stoop, key in hand. But instead of locking the door, she opened it and stepped back inside. Even though she hadn’t really removed all that much, the house already had an impersonal, unoccupied feeling. Two more steps from the ceramic floor of the foyer and she stood in the open living room. Closing her eyes, she spread out her arms almost as if to embrace the space. “Drew, are you here?”
She waited. There was nothing except the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of her own breathing. The sensation of him being close by, the feeling he was watching her—the one that had haunted her for so many months—was gone.
She dropped her arms. “I’ll always love you.” Her voice didn’t echo exactly, but it sounded hollow to her own ears.
She turned in a full circle, surprised that she felt … nothing. No sorrow. No sentiment. Only an overwhelming sense of relief. She turned back to the open door.
Hand on the knob, she whispered, “So long, Drew.”
*
Cam dropped like a rock onto his cot in the gym at Rice Junior High School just outside Mission Point, too exhausted to even remove his heavy boots. This school, which had suffered minimal damage, had been given over to reserves and National Guard units for showers and to catch a few hours of sleep if they could. Some gracious ladies had taken over the kitchen and had been cooking for them. Lots of eggs, bread, soup, and cookies had been served in the few days Cam had been there.
He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants—still no service, dammit. He ached to talk to Harper, even if it was only text messages. He’d texted several times and they were all there in his messages app with the note Sent under each one. He had no idea if she’d gotten them, but usually if they went through the note below the text changed to Delivered.
Carter perched on the cot next to him, sipping a soda and scrolling through his phone. “Anything?”
Cam sighed. “Nope. You?”
“Nope.” Carter tossed the phone on the blankets beside him. “Damn. It’s two days before Christmas. Felicia and the kids are making cookies.” Eyes closed, he lay back on the pillow. “Whole house smells like sugar and chocolate. Turkey’s brining. Felicia’s mom and dad have just turned up at the door with armloads of presents. Sweetness and Light are bouncing off the walls. I’d be in the basement on the phone making arrangements with my brother-in-law, the actor, to show up at the door on Christmas Eve dressed as ol’ St. Nick.” He sighed heavily. “Sure hope Felicia remembers to call him. What about you? What’s happening in River Town about now?”
Cam managed a grin. “River’s Edge,” he corrected. “Well, let’s see. We always gather at my house on Christmas Day because that’s where we all grew up. Mom and Dad sold it to me when they retired and started traveling all over the world. I’m sure they’re back in town now, though. Probably dropped their bags at their condo and headed straight for Deke’s Market to pick up the fresh turkey and the ham I ordered three weeks ago. Mom’s in my kitchen making yeast rolls and pies, Dad’s getting the smoker set up for the turkey.” He chuckled, picturing his father, wrestling the propane smoker from the other side of the garage and out onto the patio. “He’ll realize he forgot the wood chips, so another trip to Deke’s or maybe Noah might have a bag of hickory chips in his backroom.”
“Noah?”
“He owns the hardware store in town.” The scenes were so clear in his mind, he could almost smell pumpkin pies baking. “Mom’ll be digging her Christmas dishes and the red tablecloth out of the cupboard in the dining room, and she’ll holler for Dad to help her with the drawer that sticks. Hell, I never even cleaned that cupboard out when I moved in a few years ago. Figured we’d all be there for holidays anyway since my dining room’s the biggest. My table, too. With all three leaves, it seats fifteen. Eighteen if we squeeze in.” Cam’s throat thickened as he realized he was rambling, so blinking, he snapped his mouth shut. This year, Harper was going to be at his family’s Christmas dinner, but for the first time in his life, he probably wasn’t going to be there.
All the years he’d been in reserves, he’d never been gone at Christmas, and even though he felt strongly about doing his duty, he hated the thought of being away from home just now. He stared up at the high ceiling of the gym, wishing himself back in River’s Edge, sneaking a fingerful of cookie dough behind his mom’s back, helping his dad hook up the smoker.
Every muscle in his body ached. He needed a shower and about twelve straight hours of sleep. More than anything else, though, he needed to hear from Harper. Anything. Where was she? She’d started to tell him she was returning to Michigan, but they got cut off before she could say more. His practical brain told him that she was merely going up to spend some time with her family. That she’d be back to start her new job at the arts center. But the curl of dread nested in his stomach grew bigger with each hour that he didn’t hear from her. He squirmed to a more comfortable position, while next to him, Carter’s gentle snores lulled him into an exhausted, restless sleep.
He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when shouts at the door to the gym suddenly yanked him awake. Sergeant Major Morton stormed in. “Get up, get up! We got a problem.”
Cam sat bolt upright, rubbing his face and raking his fingers through his hair. He pushed up from the low cot. “Wha—? What’s happening?”
“Two transport trucks collided on the bridge—gotta get out there and help.” Morton paced up and down the rows of cots, tapping soldiers on the feet and nudging their cots. “It’s by the crash site. They must’ve been trying to avoid what’s left of the wreckage and hit each other instead.”
Carter stood up, too, bleary-eyed and yawning. “Anybody hurt?”
Sergeant Major Morton’s usually pleasant visage turned dark. “Two dead, four others injured. Men in the back managed to get out before one of the trucks exploded, but several guys ended up in the river. So we’re doing water rescue. Helos are up to light the river, but the damn news copters are up there, too. Be a miracle we don’t end up with a crash in the air, as well.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s hit it.”