Chapter 5: The Argument

Harper's POV

Dolores's hand stopped on her apron. She looked at me first, then turned her face to Clay, with that look I know from a market stall sizing up goods — the sound ones first, then the bruised.

"Clay," she turned the name over in her mouth. "Clay what?"

"Clay Hayes," I got in ahead of him.

"He has your name?" She pressed both palms flat on the apron and lifted her head, and something behind that look had already shut, like a door latched from the inside. "Harper. Did you call off that party tonight for this man?"

"Mama."

"Don't you Mama me." Her voice didn't rise; it dropped, low enough to chill your back. "Answer the question."

"I didn't leave that party because of him."

"Then because of what?" She finally raised her voice. "You explain it to me."

I opened my mouth and my throat felt stuffed with gauze. The kitchen was quiet enough to hear the water dripping at the sink, one drop, one drop, on the stainless. I heard myself, voice dry as paper. "I saw the two of them in the dressing room. Together."

Dolores didn't move. Her face didn't even change. "Who?"

"Liam and Blair." Saying the names out loud, I found them lighter than I expected. "I said it at the party. They were all over each other. You didn't hear a word of it."

I thought at least she would sit down, or put a curse on that man's name. But she only pressed her mouth shut and held it a long while, and then asked the question that emptied my head: "Couldn't you have pretended not to see?"

I stood there.

"Couldn't you keep it up for one night." Her fingers worked at the corner of her apron. "Your father would go off for half a month at a stretch and I raised you by myself, and how many times did I pretend not to see? There's no shame in it, Harper. That's called living."

"Mama, he didn't even stop when I was standing right there! And you're telling me to pretend?"

"And it would still be better than what you did tonight." She spoke fast, the way people do when slowing down would finish them. "One word of this gets out and that telephone rings until sunrise. Can you explain it away? No, you cannot. And from now on, wherever you go, the only thing anybody remembers will be that Hayes girl who had her man taken off her at her own engagement party."

"That's still better than swallowing the sickness down and pretending nothing happened — and I'm the one who didn't do anything wrong!"

"No, Harper, you don't understand at all. Their talk always ends up on the woman."

"Mama, why are you afraid of them?"

"Harper, the way people talk can push you into a pit sometimes. And your debts, the coffee shop — those are still sitting there. Everything costs more every month. And now you've found yourself a man who can't help you. So what happens to you? Are you going to throw me over? Because I'm a burden?"

"Mama, you have never been a burden. I have never once thought of throwing you over."

"Then if I asked you to leave this man, would you do it?"

"Mama, you know how unreasonable that is."

I don't know why she holds to it this way. Is it that I haven't given her enough to feel safe on? The money I put in her hand every month already covers everything she spends.

Her eyes filled with something I couldn't read, as though she knew I wouldn't give ground, and she gave up on persuading me and turned for the door.

The door opened, and shut.

I didn't move. I waited until the old Buick's engine had gone down off the porch and out of hearing, and then let out the breath I'd been holding.

She won't give up. I know how fixed she is on seeing me married.

Dolores was gone and the room was heavier for it. She had emptied all of her feeling into this room and walked out, and it was mine to carry.

I turned my back on the living room and ran the tap, cold water over the backs of my hands, once, again. Too much had happened tonight; my head was overloaded and would not take in anything else.

But the anxiousness she'd handed me stayed where it was. I could see my own hand trembling under the water — not badly. It just never stopped.

Footsteps behind me, stopping at the kitchen doorway.

"When your mother left," he said, slow, "I heard what she said at the door."

"Ignore her."

"She said I can't even tell you where I'm from." He looked down at his own hands like a man checking something that isn't his. "She's right. So I want to ask you one thing, and if it's out of place, I'll leave it alone. Did you pull me in off that porch tonight just to shut her up?"

The water was still running. I shut it off and the kitchen went quiet but for the heat ticking.

I turned around. The light came down from the side and lit half his face and left the other half in shadow. I meant to say no. At the tip of my tongue I stopped.

"I'm sorry," I said.

His chin came up a little. I could see from his eyes that he didn't follow.

"What you're feeling is real." I wiped my wet hands on the apron twice and still couldn't get them dry. "Tonight, when I pulled you in off that porch, it's true I didn't want that woman asking me one more word. If that sits badly with you, I'll call the deputy in the morning."

The room went quiet for a while. I thought he was going to take me up on it.

Instead he came over and took the cup out of my hand and set it on the counter, steady as anything.

"Your hand is shaking," he said.

"It isn't."

"Then the cup is." He poured fresh hot water and pushed it toward me. "I'm not accusing you of anything. It's only that if I'm of some use to you, I can stand in this house with more under my feet — instead of being a useless man taking charity."

I didn't move. He took the old cloth off the hook by the stove, came over, stopped an arm's length off and held it out without touching me. I took it. It was worn fuzzy at the edges and he must have noticed, because he pressed it into my palm and stepped back half a pace and stood where he wasn't in the way.

"And if you do mean to make use of me, then go on and use me. I don't mind. At least it would mean I'm not left with nothing at all."

I looked up. He said it watching me straight, flat as a man stating something he found unreasonable. Something struck once in my chest, light, like a knuckle rapping from the inside of a door.

"Sit down," he said, nodding toward the living room.

"I don't want to sit alone."

"Then I'll sit with you," he said.

I leaned back against the couch with my knees drawn up and my forehead on them. The low yellow light fell at our feet and took the weariness out of the room, and nobody in it was waiting on an answer from me. My breathing came down. The tightness that had been ringing in my back all night loosened a notch.

Beside Clay I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. My sight went soft at the edges, warmth closed around me, and just before I went down into the dark the last thing in my mind was this: tomorrow, find a lawyer, talk about the lease, get the property tax straightened out, pick it all up one piece at a time.

Tonight, just get this breath out.