Author: Kristan Higgins

“And why do you think that is?” he asked gently.

To my surprise, there were tears in my eyes. “I have no idea,” I whispered. “Really?”

“Well, I thought it sounded better than ‘People are f**ked up,’ you being a priest and all.”

He smiled. “Everyone’s messed up,” he said. “Note my editing, as I am a man of the cloth and only swear on special occasions. Speaking of that, I have to run. Giving a talk on the priesthood as a vocation.”

“And best of luck with that,” I said. “I’ll get the check, since you’re facing Mission Impossible and despite the fact that the Catholic church is the wealthiest—”

“Oh, stop. I’ve heard it all before,” he said, patting my shoulder as he slid out of the booth. “Thanks for lunch, Harper. Let’s talk soon.”

When I got back to work, where I’d been logging some serious hours since my return (much to Theo’s unadulterated delight), Tommy was standing in front of my desk like a kid about to be caned by the headmaster.

“Hey,” I said, hanging up my trench coat. “How’s it going?”

Tommy didn’t look at me. “I’d like you to handle my divorce,” he said.

I froze. “But—”

“She’s still sleeping with that guy. The night I came to your party, she hooked up with him. I’m an idiot, and I’m tired of it. So handle my divorce, okay, Harper? Because I just can’t take this anymore.”

And even though I knew this had been coming, even though I never had any faith in Meggie, even though I knew Tommy would learn from this and grow and hopefully find someone who deserved him…even so, my heart broke.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I hesitated for just a second, then went over to him and hugged him. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

For a long time, I patted his back as he cried, as if he were a little baby, even if he was six-foot-four and I was anything but maternal. All my lines—the heart needing time, the head knowing, the euthanization of a dying relationship—they just weren’t enough. Tommy had loved his wife, and she didn’t love him back the same way, and all the logic in the world didn’t make that feel better.

Later that day, I went into Theo’s office and closed the door behind me. “I need a word, Boss,” I said.

“Of course, my dear,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You have four minutes.” He was dressed in a lime-green polo shirt and eye-numbing plaid shorts.

“Hitting the links, are we?”

Theo smiled smugly. “Yes. Senator Lewis is in town, dodging the press.”

“What did he do this time?”

“Apparently he found his soul mate.”

“Oh, dear,” I said.

“Mmm-hmm. And she posted their special moments on the Internet. Over three million hits in two hours alone. A proud day.”

“Young love,” I said, though Senator Lewis was well into his seventies. Made one wonder just who those three million were and why they wanted to burn their souls by watching the withered shanks of a fat white dude getting it on with his former cleaning lady.

“So what is it, dear? Three minutes, twenty seconds.”

“Right. Theo, I’d like to branch out.”

“From what, Harper?” Theo took a club out of his golf bag and mimicked a putt.

“From divorce law.”

He looked up, horrified. “What? Why? No!”

“I’m a little burned out, Theo. I’d still do some, but…it’s taking a toll.”

“Not you! I thought you were different! You really get it! Sometimes our hearts just need time to accept what our heads already know. “

I inhaled slowly. “Right. But sometimes our heads are just full of crap, Theo.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “Well, of course, Harper. What’s your point?”

“I need to branch out. Or quit.”

He recoiled, dropping his putter or driver or whatever it was. “Don’t even speak the words! Oh, you evil blackmailer! Fine. Whatever you want.”

“Partner,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be partner, too.”

Theo sank into his chair. “Well, well. Would a raise suffice?”

I smiled, the first genuine smile in ages. “No.”

JUST BEFORE CAROL LEFT for the day, she popped into my office. “This came for you. Sorry. It was in with some other papers.” She handed me an envelope.

“Thanks,” I said, taking it absentmindedly while I clicked through my computer. “Have a good evening, Carol.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She closed the door behind her.

I finished with my email, then took a look at what Carol had given me. Hand-addressed, care of the law firm. No return address.

The postmark was from South Dakota.

All the air suddenly seemed sucked from the room.

Slowly, slowly, my hands shaking impressively, I slid the letter opener under the envelope flap and cut it open. Unfolded the letter very carefully, smoothing it out. A one hundred dollar bill fell onto my lap. I took a deep breath, held it, then let it out and looked at the letter. The handwriting was round and loopy, and despite not having seen it for so long, I recognized it immediately.

Dear Harper,

Well, I’m not sure what to say. You really surprised me the other day. I did recognize you, since of course you always did look just like me. I wish you’d given me a little warning—I wasn’t ready for a big scene, know what I mean? It was a shock to see you—how can I be old enough to have a grown daughter? Anyway, I looked up your name on Google and found you out there, still on that godforsaken island. At any rate, looks like you turned out great! A lawyer. You were always smart, I guess.

I suppose you want to know why I left. First, let me say that I’m great! Life has been one wild ride for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I never wanted to be tied down and really wasn’t cut out for motherhood or island life and all that. I toughed it out as long as I could, but in the end, I had to do what was right for me. I had a lot of plans back before you came along, and it didn’t seem fair that I had to stay stuck for the rest of my life. Sorry you got caught in the middle, but we had some good times, didn’t we?

Anyway, if you’re ever back this way, drop in and say hi. Just call first. By the way, I just didn’t feel right taking the money…I’m not the type who likes to be beholden, if you know what I mean. Buy yourself something nice and think of me when you wear it, okay? Take care.

Linda

I read the letter seven times. Each time, it became more repugnant.

Had to do what was right for me. Toughed it out. Wasn’t cut out for motherhood.

Holy testicle Tuesday.

Buy myself something nice and think of her? The woman who abandoned me, the woman who pretended not to recognize me after twenty-one years of being apart?

Looks like you turned out great.

“Actually, I’m quite a pathetic mess, Mom,” I said. My voice seemed overly loud in the quiet.

For a long time, I sat there in the lengthening shadows, the rain pattering against the windows like a thought wanting to be let in. And then something did creep into my consciousness, carefully, as if testing the waters to see if it was safe. Slowly, very slowly, a new possibility came into my mind.

I’d had enough.

My mother’s actions—her one action, really…leaving me—had been a choke chain on my heart…on my whole life…since I was thirteen years old. Enough.

Looks like you turned out great.

“You know what? Strike the previous comment, Ma,” I said. “You’re right. I am great, no thanks to you.”

Before I was even aware of moving, my raincoat was in my hand and I was running down the stairs, out into the small lot behind our building, into my little yellow car. I pulled out so fast the wheels flung gravel, but I didn’t care. Breaking every speed limit from Edgartown to Tisbury, I think I touched the brakes only when I veered into my father’s driveway. There it was—the house where I’d grown up, the place I’d avoided as much as possible my entire adult life since the second I left for college. I dashed out of the car and inside.

She was here. Looking older and worn out, no makeup today, which made her look oddly blank. She held a ciggie in one hand, and her hair was a couple of inches lower than her usual “closer to God” bouffant. When she saw me, she gave a tired smile.

“Here’s a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “How’s by you, Harper darlin’?”

“Hey, BeverLee,” I panted. The radio played some country-and-western ballad; static crackled the reception, but Bev didn’t seem to mind. She stubbed out her cigarette, knowing I hated her smoking.

“Have a seat, take a load off. Want something to eat?” She made a move to stand.

“No, no, don’t get up. I’m good,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Is Willa here?”

“Well now, she was, but she and your daddy are out in the woodshop, I think.”

Now that I was here, I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. I bit a cuticle, then put my hands in my lap.

“So how you been after seein’ Nick and all?”

I looked up sharply, getting a small smile in response. No one else had asked that question. “Um…I’m doing okay, Bev,” I said. “But I don’t…well, I’m not…How are you, Bev? How are you doing?”

“Well, now, I guess I’m doing all right.” She straightened the napkins in the holder, a hideous plastic molded thing depicting a royal flush, then looked back at me. “I heard you and Dennis split up, and I have to say, I was sorry to hear it. But I guess if y’all weren’t married after all this time, that said something. Your daddy and me, we only knew each other a week—Well. Maybe not the best example, since we’re partin’ ways and all.” She gave me a halfhearted smile and shrugged.

“Bev, about that. I have to tell you something,” I said. “I…” Well, crap. I had no idea what to say. I swallowed; Bev waited; the static crackled and rain hissed against the windows. Some familiar chords were discernible from the radio. “Sweet Home Alabama,” the famous Southern rock anthem.

“Oh, I just love this song,” Bev said, her eyes taking on a far-off look. “I got this cassette stuck in the tape player in my car, remember? This here was the only song that played all the way through.”

A memory drifted to the surface…me watching as Bev pulled into or out of the driveway, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s song like a soundtrack for her comings and goings.

“You never wanted to come with me if you could avoid it,” Bev said with a faint smile. “But there you’d be, standin’ at the window, makin’ damn sure I came back. Then you’d run off and hide in your room and stick your nose in a book and pretend you didn’t know I was home. Poor little mite. Always so afraid of someone leavin’ that you never let anyone get close.”

There it was, my emotional failings in a nutshell.

Enough. “Bev,” I said again. I reached out and gripped her hands in mine. “BeverLee, listen. I…” The lump in my throat choked off the words.

“What is it, sugarplum?” She tilted her head and frowned. “Oh, my Lord, are you crying?”

I just clutched her hand more tightly. BeverLee had loved me from the first day she saw me, a wretched, sullen teenager who viewed her as a joke. She thought I was brilliant, beautiful…she thought I was lovable. She thought I was the best, despite the fact that I’d done everything I could to keep her at arm’s length.

But twelve years ago, when I was a huddled mess on a kitchen floor in New York City, she was the one I called. And I’d known without a whisper of doubt that Bever-Lee Roberta Dupres McKnight Lupinski James would come through for me. And she had. Without hesitation, she’d driven five hours straight, through Massachusetts, Connecticut and New York, found her way to my apartment, taken me in her arms without one single question or recrimination and brought me home.