Page 17

ELEVEN

The leaves were long gone by the time I let myself think about Harper again. I wasn’t ready before that. Grief doesn’t run on a schedule and neither does planning. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. County records, obituaries, court filings. I mean, they were ‘public’ records for a reason. The records proved that he wasn’t dead. He just didn’t want to be found. Patsy had been in Hurricane her whole her life. If anyone had heard a whisper, it was her.

The incandescent lights shine softly in the clinic, casting a harsh glow on the white walls and the stack of patient charts on the counter. Patsy leans against the nurses’ station, sipping from her coffee mug as she flips through one of the folders. Her hair, a mix of black and grays, pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her tired face.

“You look like you could use a week off,” she says, glancing up at me. “Hell, maybe a month.”

I chuckle lightly, settling into the chair across from her. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You know I’m right.” Patsy takes another sip, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “You’ve been running yourself ragged lately. Everything okay?”

I nod, giving her a faint smile. “Just… long nights. You know how it is.”

She raises a brow, closes the chart and sets it aside. She leans forward on her elbows. “So, what’s on your mind? I can tell there’s something. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“The one where you’re thinking about something but don’t want to say it,” Patsy replies, smirking. “Spill.”

I hesitate, twirling the pen in my hand. Patsy’s always been observant. But she never really pushes me, which at the moment I don’t mind. I need her to give me what I can’t find on my own.

“You remember Dennis Harper?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

Patsy tilts her head, her brow furrowing. “Dennis Harper? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Why are you bringing him up?”

“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “I just… thought about him the other day. Wondered whatever happened to him.”

Patsy leans back in her chair, her fingers drumming against her mug. “Dennis Harper,” she repeats as if tasting the name. “Well, last I heard, he moved out of Hurricane. Years ago. Probably for the best, considering… well, you know.”

I stiffen slightly but keep my expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

Patsy gives me a knowing look. “Oh, come on, Lydia. Everyone knew he was in trouble. Always getting into fights, running his mouth, causing problems. I mean, he didn’t have the best role models growing up. His dad was no saint, and his mom… well, she wasn’t exactly stable.”

Her words hit something bitter in my chest. Trouble. That’s what they always call people like Dennis, isn’t it? Trouble. And what do they do with trouble? Push it toward God, hand it off, like faith is supposed to fix the rot. But let’s be honest, more times than not, it’s the bad egg that poisons the whole flock. Always has been.

Later that afternoon, I find myself at Wolfe’s Market, the bell over the door jingling faintly as I step inside. The store feels emptier than it should be, the aisles sparse and quiet. Mrs. Wolfe isn’t here. She hasn’t been since her husband disappeared, but her absence hangs heavy in the air. I wasn’t lying to Virgil when I told him how his store is suffering.

I grab a basket and head toward the back, my steps measured as I scan the shelves. Peggy Smith stands near the bread aisle, a basket over her arm. She’s moving slowly, not really looking at anything, simply scanning the items in front of her. Her dark circles tell me she hasn’t been sleeping. Why is she still here? Her husband isn’t even buried here. He’s back in his hometown, laid to rest in his family’s plot. She should be closer to him. Then again, maybe that’s why she’s still here. She wants to be further away from him. Her wedding ring catches the light when she finally reaches for a loaf of something and my chest pulls tight.

She doesn’t know what her husband was.

She just knows he’s gone and that fact alone makes her sad.

Maybe if she knew.

I turn away before she can see my face, but it’s too late, the memory starts…

He was four years older, which felt significant at the time. Dark hair that curled slightly at the temples when it was damp. Hazel eyes that knew how to hold yours just long enough to make you feel seen. He was the first man who made me squirm. Well, not the first man, but the first who made me squirm in a good way. Bryce Smith had arrived in Hurricane six months before his practice opened. He passed his time working at the same clinic I worked at. His wife Peggy was finishing up her contract in Roanoke, so he spent most of his time at the clinic. He was new to town and a temporary bachelor. He was the kind of man Hurricane welcomed with casseroles and committee invitations. He was fresh meat for all the church ladies, ushering him into the congregation. Each taking credit for the new parishioner.

He was different than the other men in town. Maybe it was because he didn’t know better. Maybe because he didn’t really know me. The months he worked at the clinic, things started to change inside of me. The once dead part began to awaken. I looked forward to the shifts when he was present, and I dreaded those when he wasn’t. This was the first time I had ever felt this way. When I talked, he listened. Not only did he listen, but he asked questions and he seemed thoroughly interested in what I had to say. If it didn’t pertain to work, no one asked me. I was deemed a lost cause a long time ago. The sad thing was, I was the only one who knew the reason.

I was on my overnight shift the night it happened, the halls quiet except for the hum of the vending machine and the occasional call light chiming down the corridor. He had been in town for eight months by then. His practice was up and running, but his agreement with the clinic was that he would do rounds several nights a month. That night was his last round for the rest of the month, and unless I made an appointment to have my yearly, I wouldn’t see him for another month. But we had become friends, and other than Patsy, I didn’t have many. So, I did what friends did, and I brought a fresh store-bought pie into his office.

It was the look he gave me that did it. I felt vulnerable right then and there. He looked at me and saw me. No one in my life had ever done that. I made the first move. I leaned in and once our lips touched, he took just as much as I gave. It was kissing, then groping, then pulling clothes over heads and down legs. It was thrusting and moaning. It was giving and taking. It was the best moment of my life, until it wasn’t. Until the lust cleared from his eyes, as his cum was leaking from between my legs. I was heaving, coming down from my first ever male-induced climax while he was stumbling back, zipping up his fly, telling me he had made a mistake.

Rejection. It does something to a woman. Especially a woman like me.

His shifts at the clinic only happened on the days I was either off, or the opposite of mine. He would be leaving when I started my shift, or he would make it a point to be anywhere else but near me when I was leaving and he was starting. It drove me insane. To have another man in my life use me for what he needed, my feelings be damned. This kept on for weeks before I hit my breaking point. I didn’t want to be like the men from my past and use threats to get what I wanted, but I was desperate. I didn’t expect him to leave Peggy. They had a history. A foundation. He moved here to start their life and I knew that I wasn’t the type of girl to do that with. But I mattered. What we had mattered. It mattered to me and I thought it mattered to him. He was just scared. He had every right to be. He had everything to lose and I didn’t.