Where I Belong

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Riding in the back seat of Joe’s Explorer, Harper wondered if prisoners being escorted to the electric chair felt the way he did. Anger, fear, and regret all competed for his attention as they drove the few miles to his mother’s house. The fiercely negotiated plan started with lunch at his mother’s house. The only guests were to be his immediate family which apparently now included Joe and Milo. For everyone else, Harper’s visit would be disclosed on a need-to-know basis and his father was definitely not on that list.

As they pulled up to the front of the house, Harper was astonished at how many of the landmarks of his life looked the same after ten years. Ridgefield seemed to be the town that time forgot. Half way up the front walk a petite, fuchsia blur bolted out of the house and captured Harper in a tearful clench that would have done any pro-wrestler proud. This was not what he expected and his startled response was to hug her right back.

“Mama. Oh, God. Mama…” Harper hugged her a little tighter.

“You’re here. You’re really here. My boy came home…”

“I couldn’t stay away…knowing…oh God…Mama…”

They both stood there on the front walk unwilling to let go. Eventually, Milo interjected, “If y’all don’t want the whole town to find out Harper’s here, we should move inside soon.”

Charlotte was unwilling to relinquish her grasp on Harper, so she climbed up the front steps onto the wide porch while holding tightly to his arm. It was only at the top of the steps that Harper took a good look at her. She seemed so small and fragile. He knew he’d grown since he left home, but it felt wrong for his mother to be so tiny. Her hair, still dark without any gray, was styled into a layered pixie-cut making the most of the hair that had grown back after her last round of chemotherapy. But, she was still too thin and he could appreciate how exhausted she was. A small part of him already wished he hadn’t stayed away so long.

“How are you feeling Mama?” he asked as they stepped from the foyer into the living room. Growing up, Harper and Meg were barred from the front room unless there was company in the house. Never more aware that he wasn’t family anymore, Harper waited for his mother’s answer.

“Good days outnumber bad. The good ones aren’t quite as good as they used to be, but I’m doing okay. The doctors are hopeful, but I’m dying, just more slowly than before.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I wish things were different. For all of us.” Harper scratched at his neck as he forced the tears back.

“I know. I should have gone looking for you sooner. I always hoped you’d come home on your own.” Charlotte sighed before looking up at her handsome son.

Harper needed to gain a little space to breathe. “Oh Mama. I’m being selfish, but can we not do this right now. Let’s enjoy lunch and get reacquainted. We’ll have time to talk and maybe make amends soon, but not yet. My own memories are too much for me to handle right now, please.”

“Whatever you want, baby. I just need to sit and stare at you for a while. You’ve grown into quite a man, Harper. You look so much like my daddy. Do you remember him or the pictures of him in the big album?”

“I don’t, but you can show me.”

“Milo, honey, where are you?” Charlotte called.

As he moved into the living room from the front hall, Milo answered, “I’m right here, sweetheart. I went to check on lunch.”

“Harper, you remember Milo Novak from school. He’s…a dear friend.” Milo was a handsome man in his mid to late fifties with graying hair and a gentle spirit which seemed to compliment his mother.

“It’s okay, Mama. Meg told me he’s your boyfriend. You don’t have to pretend for me. Hi, Mr. Novak. It’s good to see you again.”

“Please call me Milo. I haven’t been your teacher for a long time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Meg told us you still play guitar and sing. I hope we have the opportunity to hear you perform while you’re in town.”

“We’ll see. I’m not a professional anymore, but I sing at a friend’s bar once in a while. I can’t seem to stay away from it for long.”

Piping in from the peanut gallery, Meg sighed. “He says he doesn’t play ‘professionally’ but more than a hundred people showed up to hear him play on a Sunday night at a small bar in Fort Collins. He’s being entirely too modest.”

“Meg, knock it off,” Harper grumbled. The conversation went on around him for a minute and he had a chance to peruse the room. On the bottom shelf beside the fireplace rested eight hardcover books, in order of copyright date. Unable to help himself, he stood up and crossed the room to verify they were first editions of every novel published under the name Scott Harper. He spun around to gape at his mother. “Joe Friday, over there, missed it, but my mother the librarian figured it out. You didn’t tell anyone?”

“The book club I led at the library read Swordfish when it first hit the bestsellers lists. The author’s voice felt so familiar and your pen name seemed like a lot of coincidence. Still, I didn’t have any proof and I assumed hiding behind a pen name meant you didn’t want anyone to connect the dots.”

Harper snapped a little. “I have plenty of good reasons to hide. How long would it take the media to find out about Scott and what happened if I used my real name? Can you see Karen Thornton reveling in being interviewed on the evening news railing about the faggot who killed her son? I don’t want what happened to ruin my life again.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“Really? That’s exactly what she did in front of the whole town at Scott’s memorial service. What’s the difference?”

Joe mercifully intervened. “Hey, everyone simmer down. Let’s not ruin things in the first twenty minutes.” Harper truly appreciated Joe’s calm demeanor and voice of reason.

Meg, Joe, and Milo moved into the kitchen to set lunch out on the sideboard, leaving Harper alone with his mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Everything’s riding too close to the surface right now. I’m a guest here, I’ll behave. I promise.”

Charlotte put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. I understand. Let’s eat. We made all of your favorites.” Indeed they had and he swallowed around a lump in his throat when he saw the spread—ham, cornbread, sweet potato pudding, chopped salad, deviled eggs, green beans, and there was even fresh peach ice cream from the local creamery for later. Harper snickered to himself remembering the feeling of being on death row earlier and he surmised this would be what he would choose for his last meal.

Conversations rolled around him while he answered questions and listened to the chatter. His family sounded like strangers awkwardly making small talk in an elevator, but it was enough. Nothing had been resolved and nothing had been forgiven, but a few shards of hope floated amid the wreckage. By the time afternoon sunk into a lazy summer evening, Harper thought he might just survive his visit.