Author: Kristan Higgins

“Snap out of it, Harper,” I said aloud. A woman about my age gave me a look, then glanced down to make sure her daughter was safe. “Talking to myself,” I explained.

“Oh, you betcha. I do it all the time,” she said kindly. Midwesterners. So bleepin’ nice.

Time to return some phone calls. I had the usual slew of messages. Tommy, Theo, Carol, BeverLee (my heart clanged at the thought of poor Bev; I hoped the divorce wouldn’t drag out), Willa and ah! Kim. Just what I needed. A girlfriend. I hadn’t talked to her since Sunday night, which felt like an eon ago.

“Kim, it’s me.”

“Who’s me?” she asked. “Gus, stop biting your brother! Stop it! Stop! Thank you! Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Harper.”

“Well, holy ovaries, Batman, it’s about time! Where are you?”

“I’m in a Laundromat in North Dakota.”

“Fascinating. Is your ex around?”

“He’s at a meeting, actually.”

“And tell me, what would Dr. Freud say about the fact that you two are still together? I mean, sure, you’re in the middle of nowhere, but there’s got to be a plane somewhere, right?”

“Actually, I’m in the capital city, and it’s quite lovely.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you’re still with what’s-his-name.”

“Nick.”

“Right. Gus, do I have to put you in a cage or something? Because I will! Don’t push it, mister!”

“As an officer of the court, I feel obliged to speak up and tell you that child imprisonment is against the law,” I said.

“Right. Well, then, I’ll take that as your offer to babysit all four of my precious angels when you get home.”

“Then again, cages can be very comfortable,” I said and smiled. Kim was all talk. She could barely stand to have the kids lose dessert, let alone shut in the dog’s crate (which, it must be noted, the boys used as a fort).

“So, back to you. Have you done it yet? You and the hot ex-husband? Nick?”

“How do you know he’s hot?” I asked.

“Isn’t he?”

“He’s…um…yes,” I admitted, rolling my eyes. “But no. Nothing’s happened yet.” Then, hearing myself, I quickly added, “And nothing will. We’re just…see, the flight was really—”

“Right, right, no need to make excuses. So what are you doing with him?”

I sighed. “Not sure.”

“But you want something from him, or you wouldn’t be washing his shorts.”

“I’m only washing my own stuff, just for the record.”

“God, you’re a master of evasion, Harper! You called me. Spill. Make it quick. The twins are gnawing on each other.”

“I’m just…I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll bring the boys something sharp as a souvenir. Gotta run.”

“Bye, you coward,” she said amiably.

My next call didn’t go through—Willa was out of range. I had a momentary pang of anxiety, remembering my brush with the grizzly bear. Why people camped was beyond me. But Willa’s last call had been this morning, when Nick and I were out in Harold, so chances were good that she was still alive.

Next on the list of people to call: BeverLee. “Sugar baby, how are you?” she answered.

“Hey, Bev,” I said. “Where are you guys? Still in Salt Lake City?”

There was a pause. “No, sweetheart, we…we came home.” Another pause. “Listen, Harper, darlin’. I’m real sorry to tell you this over the phone, but your daddy and me…looks like we’re partin’ ways.”

Her voice was steady and gentle. Horribly so. “Bever-Lee, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice surprisingly husky. “You okay?”

“Well, now, of course I am! You know me! Land on my feet, that’s what I do.” But her usual exuberance was muted.

“Sure. Right.” I bit my lip. Where would she go? Would she want to stay on the island, a displaced Texan in the heart of New England? What about money? “If you need anything, just say the word,” I offered, immediately disgusted with the lameness of my words.

“You bet, sugarplum. You wanna talk to your daddy?”

“Um, that’s okay, Bev…oh. Hi, Dad.”

“Harper. Everything okay?”

“Oh, sure. I’m just…taking the circuitous route to the airport, seeing this great country of ours.”

“Nice.”

“So Dad…everything okay there?”

“Yep.”

“BeverLee doing okay?”

“Yep.”

“And how are you, Dad?”

“I’m fine.”

How could he be fine, divorcing his wife of twenty years? And people thought I was emotionally constipated. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. “Okay. Take care, Dad. Hey, have you heard from Willa?”

“Here. I’ll put you back on with BeverLee.”

There was some whispering on the other end, then BeverLee’s voice once more. “What’s up, sweet knees?”

“Just wondering how Willa’s doing.”

“Oh, she’s fine! She and that handsome hubby of hers, they’re just havin’ the time of their lives!” This may or may not have been true, of course—it was BeverLee’s nature to assume the best until the facts kicked down her metaphoric front door…and even then, it might be hard to get her to change her mind. Case in point: Clifford “Jimmy” James, my dear old dad. “It’s just so beautiful in Montana, don’t you think? Seems so small back here by comparison. Not that I’m complainin’, of course, I just love being a Yankee—” Her voice broke off abruptly, as if remembering her status in the Northeast was now tenuous.

“Well, I’m in North Dakota,” I said to cover the awkward silence.

“Oh, that’s nice. What’s it like?”

“Flat,” I said. “Pretty.” I closed my eyes. “Let’s have lunch when I get back, okay, BeverLee?”

“That’d be real nice,” she said softly.

“Take care.”

“You too, sweetheart.” She hung up, and a wave of absolute panic seemed to wallop me out of nowhere. There was something horribly final about her voice…Damn it! Why did people have to split up?

Asked the divorce attorney.

Right. Right. There were excellent reasons to divorce. And plenty of reasons not to get married in the first place.

I felt a flash of gratitude for Dennis’s reluctance to marry me. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. The memory of my list made me cringe in shame. Once you’ve fulfilled my requirements, Dennis, I’d be happy to let you marry me. Nice, Harper. Dennis, with his big heart and good soul, deserved someone much better. Someone who thought of him as the love of her life. Not someone who handed him a list.

At least he got off the hook.

I called two clients next and rescheduled for the following week, then called the office. My cell battery was low, and I hadn’t been able to find my charger in my suitcase last night, so I had to make it quick.

“Hi, Carol, it’s Harper. Put Tommy on, okay?”

“Well, good flipping morning to you too, Harper!” she said, slapping me on hold before I could apologize for my shortness.

“Harper! Hey! How’s it going?”

Tommy sounded much improved, that was for sure. “Tommy, hi. Things are fine…just, um, I’m just taking a little side trip.”

“Theo’s having kittens,” he said.

“Well, kindly tell him I’ll be back in another day or two, remind him that I must have at least two months of vacation accrued and let him know I’m working when I can…my schedule’s pretty light this week, anyway. How are you?”

“I’m great!”

Oh, dear. He sounded sincere. My doom-o-meter fired into the red zone. “Great?”

There was a meaty pause. “Meggie and I are back together!” he said joyfully. Oh, crotch.

“We talked the other day, and it was just like old times, Harper. I mean, it was great! And she’s really sorry and stuff and she wants to move back in!”

I took a breath, held it, then proceeded with caution. “Tommy.”

“Isn’t that great, Harper?”

“Um…Tom. Couple things. Counseling immediately, okay? And don’t—do not—put your money back into the joint account. Promise?”

“Why?” he asked. “I mean, we’re really past the bad stuff.”

“You already did, didn’t you?” Visions of LOL Kitty Man (and every other naive spouse I’d dealt with) danced in my head. “Okay. Get to the bank and put everything in an account with only your name. Okay? Just trust me on this one.” My phone beeped, signaling the end was near for my battery (and Tom’s marriage).

Tommy didn’t answer for a second, and when he did, his tone was decidedly frosty. “Look, I know it’s your job to be cynical,” he began. “But Meggie and I, we love each other.”

“Well, that’s…interesting,” I sighed.

“And I’m capable of forgiveness. I ran into Dennis, by the way. He told me you guys broke up. Sorry, boss. So I understand if you’re feeling a little…down on love these days.”

“Down on love? Tommy, I’m not down on love, I’m the voice of experience. If she moves back in with you, her claim on the house will be stronger. And that house has been in your family for how long? I’m not saying it won’t work, buddy—” but it wouldn’t “—I’m just saying to take things slowly here.” Because Meggie will clean you out faster than a cat can lick its ass, I thought, borrowing one of BeverLee’s favorite phrases.

“Gotta run, Harper. Is there anything else?”

I took a breath. “Yes, please. Reschedule Joe Starling, tell him I’m sorry, make it for Tuesday, okay?” Beep.

“Want me to send you the depo notes for the Mullens? You have Wi-Fi, right?”

I paused. “Sure…actually, no. I’m in the middle of nowhere right now. That can wait till I’m back. Oh, and would you send Carol some flowers for me? Have the card say ‘Sorry you work for such a pain in the ass, love Harper.’ Okay?”

“Sure, boss,” he said, chipper once more. “Have a great trip home. Gotta go, Meggie’s on the other line.”

I hung up and rubbed my forehead. Well, this sucked. Tommy would be out his life savings any minute now, not to mention a claim for half the value of the house built by his great-great-grandfather. Once again, he’d have his heart stomped on by Meggie and her trashy shoes.

Tom was the poster child for why divorce could be a good thing. My father and Bev…that was another story. BeverLee loved him, even if she viewed him through rose-colored glasses. Granted, her endless chatter could match a Republican filibuster, and her unique blend of Cinnabar, Virginia Slims and Jhirmack could cause black lung, but BeverLee…she was okay.

I sighed and got up to switch my laundry. The mother and daughter were folding their laundry at the wide counter. The mom passed the little girl dishcloths and hand towels, praising her for being such a good helper, and the little girl smiled smugly, as if well aware of her prowess at laundry. They talked amiably about the girl’s upcoming birthday party and how important it was to thank everyone for coming.

I guess I was staring, because the mother caught my eye. She gave me the smile of a woman content with her life, aware of her child’s wonderfulness, rock solid in her devotion.

I’d always thought my mother felt those things, too.