Chapter 21.
882 Words
The house felt too quiet after the GTO’s roar faded into the distance. It was the kind of silence that usually made Harper’s head too loud, but the lingering scent of blueberry pancakes and the steady clinking of dishes in the kitchen acted as a temporary anchor.
"He’s a polite young man, Harper," Diane said, stepping back into the entryway. She was drying her hands on her apron, her eyes soft in a way that made Harper want to look at the floor. "A little guarded, maybe. But he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room that’s real."
Harper felt a hot prickle behind her eyes. "He’s just... he’s just the driver, Mom."
"Is he?" Diane smiled, though the corners of her mouth trembled just a fraction. "Well, since you're finally home and not asleep at Maxine’s, how about a game? I feel like I haven’t truly seen you in days."
"Calamity?" Harper asked, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips.
"Calamity," Diane confirmed.
They set up at the small circular table in the breakfast nook, the morning sun streaming through the bay window and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Calamity was a Brooks family tradition- a vicious, high-speed game, where the rules changed every three rounds and "mercy" was a foreign concept.
For the first hour, they played in a comfortable rhythm. The only sounds were the snapping of cards against the wood and the occasional frustrated groan when someone got stuck with a handful of high-value face cards.
"So," Diane started, her voice casual as she discarded a Jack of Spades. "Does Kane have a last name? Or is he like one of those old-world poets who only goes by one?"
"It’s Kane," Harper said, picking up the Jack. "And he’s definitely not a poet. Unless you count the way he talks about torque and fuel injectors."
"He seems... independent," Diane pushed gently. "I noticed he didn't mention his parents much. Just that he's looking forward to what comes after graduation."
Harper hesitated. She thought about the Senator’s aide, the high marble floors, and the monthly checks sent to buy a son’s disappearance. She thought about the boy who slept on dirt blankets because it felt more like home than a mansion ever did.
"His family is... complicated," Harper said, carefully sculpting the truth just as Kane had done earlier. "He’s been on his own for a while. He doesn’t really have the 'picket fence' life, Mom. He’s had to build his own world."
Diane stopped shuffling, her hands resting on the deck. She looked at Harper, and for a second, the mask of the "hopeful mother" slipped. The raw, jagged edges of her grief showed through- the knowledge that her daughter was fading, and that this boy, this stranger with the loud car, was the one walking her toward the exit.
"I just want you to be safe, Harper," Diane whispered. "I know this list... I know you’re trying to live a hundred years in a few weeks. But I worry that a boy like that doesn't know how to be gentle with someone who’s... someone who’s fragile."
"I'm not fragile, Mom," Harper snapped, the old fire flickering in her chest. "The illness is making me break, but I’m not fragile. And Kane? He’s the only one who doesn't look at me like I’m already gone. He looks at me like I’m dangerous."
Diane reached across the table, her fingers brushing Harper’s knuckles. "Maybe that's what scares me. I want you to have peace. He looks like he only knows how to offer a storm."
"Maybe I need the storm," Harper murmured, pulling her hand back to pick up her cards. "The peace is too quiet. It sounds too much like a hospital room."
They played for two more hours. The game grew cutthroat, the bittersweet tension of their conversation settling into the competitive spirit of the cards. Harper won the final round by a landslide, laying down a triple sequence that left Diane with fifty points of "calamity" in her hand.
"You cheated," Diane joked, though her eyes were glassy.
"I'm just better than you," Harper countered, leaning back and feeling the familiar, dragging fatigue begin to pull at her limbs. The drugs from the night before was finally, truly gone, leaving her body feeling like a hollowed-out shell.
The sun had shifted, the bright gold of the morning turning into the heavy, lethargic amber of the afternoon. The house felt heavy. The reality of the degradation was settling back into her bones like lead.
"I think I’m going to lay down for a bit," Harper said, standing up. Her knees felt weak, and for a terrifying second, the room spun.
Diane was around the table in an instant, her hand steadying Harper’s elbow. She didn't say anything about the dizziness. She didn't mention the paleness of Harper’s lips. She just walked her toward the stairs.
"Sleep, baby," Diane said softly at the bedroom door. "I’ll be down here if you need anything. I’m making pot roast for dinner."
"Thanks, Mom," Harper whispered.
- Writer
