Go It Alone

1 “How are you feeling about it?” Clyde asked down the phone. Sitting on the window-seat in her childhood bedroom, staring out at the vast backyard her mother was so proud of, Harlow Sweeting couldn’t decide how to answer her former colleague’s question. It wasn’t that she didn’t know her feelings, but articulating everything that had been going on inside her was impossible. There wasn’t a language that could do her emotions justice. The words just didn’t exist. The sensation of being adrift wasn’t new. It had been her normal for three months. “I guess I knew it would happen eventually,” she said. There was a smile in Clyde Flaxman’s voice when he spoke again. “That wasn’t really an answer to what I asked.” She sighed. “I know.” “It’s been three months since Ryske died. You didn’t even pause to pack or say goodbye. You left the city and went back to your parents that night. You’ve been holed up there ever since.” The night of Ryske’s death was a blur. After puking in the ambulance bay outside the hospital, Harlow had fled from Bale’s side and hadn’t looked back. “I called you. I said I was sorry for disappearing like I did,” she said, tracing the edge of the glass pane between her and the world. Being so close to freedom and yet separated from it was an apt representation of how her life had been since losing him. Harlow had all the comforts her parents’ detached home could offer. With five bedrooms, separate dining and den spaces, the residence was beyond satisfactory. Having seen what some people had to endure, she had nothing to complain about when it came to living conditions. Yet, it all felt so wrong. “I waited two months for that call,” he said and quickly followed up. “I’m not asking for another apology. You gave me an apology. Not that you had to. I told you then that you didn’t need to apologize. You went through a trauma, I understand that. But what you’re doing isn’t healthy. You barely leave your parents’ house. You won’t see a counsellor… How can you think that you’re ready to start dating? Have you asked about your old job? Is there a possibility that you can get it back?” Closing her eyes, Harlow let her head fall against the wall. “I told you I’m through with social work.” “What about your criminology degree? You were so close to finishing. Have you picked it up again? You mentioned teaching.” Once, when he’d cornered her in a conversation. “I don’t know what I’d have to offer students.” “A unique perspective,” he answered like it was obvious. Because she’d fallen in love with a criminal and lived as a part of his world for a brief flicker of time? Those weren’t experiences that she was in any hurry to share. “Teaching would mean moving back to the city,” she said. “There’s nowhere to teach out here.” “What’s wrong with moving back? I told you before that you can stay with me until you get on your feet. You’ve got to do something. You can’t just stay home for the rest of time.” Career seemed like a ridiculous aspiration given what she’d been through in the last few months. Her whole perspective on everything had changed. Harlow just hadn’t figured out how to focus yet. “Rupert never moved out of our old place,” she said. “He’s still there.” Silence followed for a score of seconds. “And you think you should move back in with him?” “It was what Ryske wanted.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t like to talk about him with me, with anyone, I get that. I do. But the guy I knew, the one who decked me for sitting beside you, did not want you moving in with another man. Especially one who didn’t make you happy.” “How do you know Rupert didn’t make me happy?” “Maybe because we’ve been talking on the phone several times a week for a month and I’m getting to know you. In every call you mention either Rupert asking you out or your mother encouraging you to go out with him. Each time it comes up you make it sound as though dating your ex again would be equivalent to having a root canal. You left the guy once. You didn’t just leave him, you broke an engagement and moved away; you changed your whole life. People don’t do that because they’re happy.” “Yeah? And look how that turned out,” she said. Another silence. “Harlow, I’m not saying your life is a picnic now or that it ever has been. But it’s never smart to make life-altering decisions or big changes when you’re grieving. You’re not at the acceptance stage yet.” She was so sick of everyone telling her what she was or wasn’t, and what was best for her. “You don’t know what stage I’m at,” she snapped. He took her outburst in his stride. “No, I don’t. Sometimes I think you’re bargaining, sometimes I think it’s depression… other times I’m not sure you’ve moved past denial.” Sitting up, she clutched the phone tighter. “I’m not going to slot into the cycle for your convenience,” she said. “I was trained on the stages, same as you. You know what else I know? He’s dead. Ryske is dead and there’s nothing bringing him back. How’s that for in denial? You know what? Maybe you’re right. I do have to move onto the acceptance stage and I can’t possibly do that if I’m still hanging on to things connected to the life I had with him.” “Harlow—” “Goodbye, Clyde. Don’t call here again.” Hanging up the phone, she threw it onto the bed. It bounced and clattered to the floor, but Harlow didn’t care if the device was broken or not. Grabbing the pillow from her back, she squashed it against her face and screamed out loud; something she’d done a lot since returning home. Harlow was still screaming into the pillow, telling herself that the anger was better than the tears that had paralyzed her for the first few weeks, when there was a knock on her bedroom door. It was already opening by the time she lowered the pillow to her lap. Her mom peeked around the edge, wearing a familiar meek smile that Harlow knew was a total con. The woman didn’t care if she was intruding or not. “Did I hear shouting?” Something about being home forced Harlow to require a concerted effort not to revert to petulant teenage defiance. “No, Mom,” she droned. “It sounded like I did.” Inhaling, she turned, sliding her feet off the window seat to put them on the floor. “What do you need, Mom?” The question gave Jean Sweeting all the invitation she needed to make herself at home. Scurrying into the room, she wasted no time in doing just that. Coming over to sit with her daughter on the window seat, Jean cast a quick curious glance at the phone on the floor, but erased her confusion to smile Harlow’s way. “I’m glad you used that turn of phrase,” Jean said, stroking the back of her daughter’s hand. There was an excitement shimmering around her mother that made Harlow nervous. That anxiety rose when Jean leaned in. “A little bird told me you have finally come to your senses.” Sliding her hand from her mother’s grasp, Harlow curled her fingers around her own wrist. “Let me guess, that bird was called Rupert and he told you I agreed to go out with him.” Her mother’s smile was exuberant. “You’re making the right decision, sweetheart.” Jean tried to touch her face, but Harlow ducked back and then stood up. “I agreed to go out with him. I didn’t agree to marry him or move back in or pick up where we left off.” It was crazy. She’d just implied to Clyde that moving back in with Rupert was a possibility then a few minutes later found herself arguing with her mother that it was a ludicrous idea. Breaking up with Rupert after six years together had been an easy decision. She wouldn’t say that aloud to anyone because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Rupert was no monster; he was a decent guy. The truth—that Harlow was only now ready to admit—was that she’d never wanted to accept his proposal in the first place. Harlow had called the engagement a trial, but Jean and Rupert’s mom had run with the idea as soon as the ring was on her finger. After being engaged for a year, the prospect of a wedding was becoming too real for her to keep ignoring. As soon as Rupert had declared that he wanted her to leave her job and be a stay at home mom, Harlow had the excuse she needed to put an end to their relationship. Both families had been devastated. She’d tried to stick around for a while to make amends, but the freedom of no longer being with Rupert had opened up possibilities. Though all she knew at that point was what she didn’t want from life. Until their breakup, Harlow hadn’t been free to think about what she did want from it. That thought process had led to her leaving a suburban social work team and moving into a rough city district to take up a post. After dealing with an emergency situation during one particular on-call shift in that new department, Harlow had been walking home when a bleeding man crashed into her, sending both of them to the ground. She might have been responsible, in part, for saving his life that night. But it hadn’t mattered. Instead of standing in front of the armed assailant who’d been ready to take his victim down, Harlow should’ve just let him shoot. The bleeding man had been destined to die anyway. Two months on from that fateful first meeting, after she had fallen in love with him, the bleeding man had been gunned down in front of her and lost his life. Ryske. Her Crash. Dead. “I understand that you want to take your time,” her mother said as she had frequently since Harlow had returned home. She didn’t believe it any more now than she had then. Part of her felt sympathy for her mother’s naivety. Harlow herself had once been unaware of what really living could feel like. Ryske had showed her that… before he was cruelly taken away. Crouching in front of her mother, Harlow gathered their hands together. “Mom, I’m never going to love Rupert like you want me to.” “Sweetie,” Jean said, touching her jaw. “You can be content with him. He’ll look after you.” Keep her safe. That was what Ryske had said. Content. A safe existence. A safe life. That was all he’d wanted for her. “I don’t know if content is enough.” “What is it that you want? Love? Love is rare, sweetheart. Of course your father and I want you to have everything that will make you happy… But you have to be sensible and you can’t wait forever. Do you want to waste your life waiting for a love that you might never find?” Sinking down to the floor, Harlow crossed her legs and slipped her fingers under the leather bracelet on her wrist. She’d had love. She’d found it and squandered it. Harlow couldn’t even remember what had held them back. Three months ago, she’d been in his bed, in his arms, in his life and now… Love wasn’t what she was looking for. Not only was she sure she’d never find anyone to feel love for again, but she was sure that she didn’t want to. Ryske was her love. Her great love. Whether they’d consummated that love or not didn’t matter to her. The only things that made her feel anything were connected to Ryske. Her love for him. Her grief that he was gone. Her anger at those who’d stolen him from her. Anything else, everything that wasn’t him, left her numb. Clyde pushed her for answers she couldn’t give; her emotions hadn’t reordered themselves yet. Though, her friend was probably right about how ready, or rather unready, she was to begin dating. Rupert had asked her out several times; her answer was always no. The last time he’d asked, Harlow hadn’t had the energy to make an excuse. Dating and relationships didn’t even register on her priority list. It didn’t matter who she was spending time with when she couldn’t spend it with Ryske. Still clinging to her bracelet, she felt the weight of her mother’s expectation. But Harlow was used to it. Tipping her head back to smile, she showed her mother what she wanted to see: a settled, compliant daughter. “I said I would go out with him. Isn’t that proof I’m willing to give it a shot?” “Excellent,” Jean said, cupping her face. “This weekend will be the perfect chance.” Dinner conversation around the family table wasn’t always easy to follow, mainly because Harlow had developed the habit of phasing it out. Nothing anyone said meant anything. It was all inconsequential, unimportant, uninteresting… Yet, Harlow had a vague recollection of… “Daddy’s SweSec thing?” Harlow asked, wrinkling her nose as she tried to think about why her mother would want her at a corporate event. Discussions often went on around her. Bits and pieces filtered through. Something must have gone in because Harlow knew her father’s company, Sweeting Securities, was hosting a networking reception at a hotel this Saturday. “The company’s annual event, yes,” Jean said. “You should go with Rupert. It will be filled with existing and potential clients. It’s a perfect opportunity for you to get to know people.” Her spine began to curve in a slouch; anxiety bubbled in her gut. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all those people, Mom,” Harlow admitted. The idea of sitting alone at a table with Rupert in a restaurant filled with others hadn’t been appealing. Socializing at a busy event could be beyond her capabilities. Dealing with a crowd, being surrounded by people who were drinking and partying, could make her flash back to that night in Floyd’s when she’d watched Ryske sink to his knees. He’d never got up again. Never been on his own two feet again after that. A lump grew in her throat. That image was burned into her mind. The blood on his fingers, on his shirt. The realization in his eyes. The moment he knew he’d been felled… They’d all been powerless to stop it. In her nightmares, she lived through losing him over and over. Her body remembered the weakness in his fingers when she’d put them to her throat. The weakness in his voice… The words he’d whispered to her before he faded away. “Harlow.” The note of urgency in her mother’s tone made Harlow think that maybe Jean had said her name more than once. Being caught not paying attention didn’t surprise her. Disappearing into her own thoughts had become a regular occurrence. “I’m sorry, Mom,” Harlow said. “What were you saying?” “You’ll be safe at the event,” Jean said, curiosity in her gaze though she wouldn’t dare give it voice, probably fearing it would lead the conversation down a path she wouldn’t like. Jean Sweeting was the queen of ignoring what she didn’t want to see. “And there will be plenty of distractions.” Something else occurred to Harlow. “Isn’t the SweSec event in the city?” Her mom nodded. A spear of dread pierced her. Harlow hadn’t been back to the city since she’d fled it on the night Ryske died. “Your sister will be there, and your father and I, of course,” she said. “And if it’s too much for you, Rupert will be happy to bring you home… He still lives in your old apartment.” Not so subtle. Nothing would make Jean or Harlow’s father, Brysen, happier than if things were to go back to the way they once had been. “I know that, Mom,” she said, burying a groan in the back of her throat. “Can you put that out of your head? Please?” The last thing she needed was extra pressure. “I won’t be going home with him. I don’t want you to think that one date is going to take us back to exactly where we were. It won’t.” Clutching the engraved panel on her bracelet, she looked down to read the words etched in it and touched the black star that she’d had tattooed on her wrist just days after coming home. She may have drifted into her own world again or maybe not. The concept of time was lost these days. Her mother’s fingertips touched the underside of her chin to lift it up. “Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve you.” Jean could be accused of having a blinkered view on life. The woman had her own priorities and knew them well. Often when she was in pursuit of her own goals, Jean lost sight of things like common courtesy. But, in the times it wasn’t directed at her, Harlow often admired her mother’s tenacity. It wasn’t a bad quality to emulate either. In Jean’s rare moments of consideration, when she looked beyond her typical boundaries, her mom could display remarkable insight. “He did deserve me, Mom,” Harlow whispered, trying not to let her tears overtake her again. If they did, she might not win the renewed battle to contain them. “I didn’t fight hard enough to make him see that.” Concern creased Jean’s brow. “Married?” A blub of a sob came out of Harlow, though it was sort of half laugh. “If only it had been that simple.” She’d have put a knife in the ribs of her competition and taken her man if it had been that straightforward. If Harlow had the choice, she would do anything to have Ryske back. In the nights when she lay awake whispering to him, Harlow talked out different scenarios. If death hadn’t been the thing to separate them, she speculated on what the future may have held. Although Ryske had told her to go back to Rupert so she could be safe, she wondered now if he would have stayed away. Could her Crash have left her in the bed of another man while he lay in his own imagining Rupert doing the things to her that he wanted to do? He’d said he loved her. Ryske had said it. Maze’s previous assertion that his friend felt that way had perplexed her; she couldn’t deny that it had messed with her head. Ryske’s misfit crew of Dover, Noon, and Maze knew her love better than anyone, and they’d sensed something between the couple from early on. But it wasn’t until she’d heard the words from Ryske’s lips that Harlow could understand their truth. He was in love with her. He hadn’t taken her up on her “offer” in the closet because he couldn’t trust himself to let her go. That was the only sense she could make of it. If Ryske had made love to her, he wouldn’t have been able to conceal the truth of what he felt. Maybe he would’ve said the words. That would’ve changed things. As long as she resented him, and believed he’d used her, she would walk away. If he’d confessed the truth and depth of his feelings, she would’ve fought for him. Ryske had asserted that leaving the city and going back to Rupert was in her best interest. But if they’d crossed that final line with each other and had s*x in the closet during their last argument, Ryske might not have been able to let her go. That’s how it played out in Harlow’s mind anyway. Jean kissed each of her daughter’s cheeks while saying she had to go check on dinner. Harlow didn’t move as her mother left the room. Being alone didn’t bother her. If anything, she was more at peace when she didn’t have to put up a front for anyone. Alone seemed right. She wanted to be alone. Alone with thoughts of Ryske. Crash had once told her he would shield her from anything that could hurt her. It turned out he hadn’t been able to shield her from the one thing that would hurt the most: losing him. Harlow couldn’t see how she would ever bounce back.