Chapter 12
Harper
Iwoke up to the sound of nothing at all—a stillness so complete that for a second I thought maybe I’d died in my sleep.
Then I remembered: I was in Jess’s apartment, in a comfortable bed, wearing a t-shirt that didn’t have Steiner’s scent clinging to it.
For a dizzy heartbeat, I didn’t know what to do with the absence of threat.
My brain pinged the usual danger zones—the door, the window, the closet—but there was nothing lurking.
No monster waiting on the other side. Just a breeze, just the day.
My body felt like it belonged to me for the first time in months.
There was an ache deep in my hip, a couple twinges in my back, but they were plain old aches, nothing like the panic-clenched nausea that had lived in my gut for three years.
I lay there a moment, listening to the hum of the fridge and the way the blinds rattled when the HV/AC kicked on.
In the time since I’d last had a safe place to sleep, I’d forgotten the luxury of small sounds.
I sat up and looked around. Jess’s place was the same as when I’d gone to sleep: clinical, almost, but not unfriendly.
Everything was squared off and in its place.
The comforter was tucked with a hospital corner I’d never bother trying to replicate.
On the nightstand, next to a phone and a bottle of water, was a slip of paper.
A note written in his rigid, all-caps hand:
HARPER- MEETING THEN GOING FOR A RUN WITH THE GUYS. BACK LATER. HELP YOURSELF TO ANYTHING. J.
There was a pen line beneath my name, as if he’d almost written more but then stopped himself. The thought made my chest feel fizzy.
I shuffled to the edge of the bed, wincing a little at how tight my thighs had gotten.
The floor was cold. My feet left little sweat halos on the hardwood as I walked to the bathroom.
In the mirror, I hardly recognized myself.
My hair had dried wild and full, frizzing out in every direction.
My eyes were puffy, but not nearly as wrecked as I expected.
The bruises on my arms had gone yellow and green overnight, making it look like I’d lost a paintball war.
The cut on my lip was almost healed. The only real difference was my face: it looked…
softer. Like my skin wasn’t being pulled tight by terror anymore.
I splashed water on my face and remembered, with a start, the duffel bag that had been left for me. It was on the dresser, right where Jess had dumped it. I tugged it open and peered inside.
It was like Christmas. New underwear, still in the Hanes bag; jeans with the tags attached; a sky-blue tank top and a pale pink sweater. New clothes that normal people wore. There were even a pair of white tennis shoes and a bag of hair ties. I nearly laughed out loud.
I changed into the jeans—they fit, mostly, if I rolled the cuffs—and pulled the tank over my head.
It felt like wearing hope. The sweater was light and soft, not the cheap acrylic I was used to.
I did a little twirl in front of the mirror, just to see if it was real, then made a face at myself. What a dork.
I rummaged through the bag and found a small cosmetic case.
Inside was tinted moisturizer, eyeliner, some mascara, and a nice quality tinted balm.
The sight made my eyes sting. I hadn’t put on anything but stage makeup in so long that I’d forgotten the ritual of it, the way it could make you feel like a person instead of a product.
I dabbed on the moisturizer, traced a thin line of black along my lashes, and brushed the mascara over the tips. My hands didn’t even shake.
I added the lip balm last, careful to keep from reopening the cut. The cherry scent was pleasant enough. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection, then grinned. I almost looked alive.
I grabbed my toothbrush and gave my teeth a good brushing.
I was rinsing my glass when there was a knock at the door.
I froze, every muscle going wire-tense. The old habits didn’t die easy.
I slid to the wall, heart hammering, and peered through the peephole.
My brain took a second to process what I saw.
It was Parker, bouncing on the balls of her feet, wearing a tie-dyed hoodie and bright blue yoga pants.
She was flanked by a tall, dark-haired beauty in a sundress and denim jacket.
The brown-haired girl had her arms crossed and was watching the hallway like she expected to be mugged by a Girl Scout.
I exhaled and opened the door. Parker grinned. “Well, well. Look who’s up before noon.”
The blonde gave me a big wave. “Hey. I’m Maddie. I brought you some stuff.” She held up a paper sack, the logo from Buttercream the awnings matched the doors.
There was even a tiny bandstand in the center of town, decorated with crepe paper streamers.
Parker drove like a woman who’d never seen a speed limit enforced.
We rocketed ten miles between the pack compound and Buttercream & Blessings in under 15 minutes, her fancy sports car humming every mile.
Maddie rode shotgun and played DJ, flipping through local country stations until she found one with an actual yodeler.
The song sounded like a coyote being drowned, but nobody seemed to mind.
When we pulled up outside the bakery, the first thing I noticed was the light.
Aspen’s shop was painted the color of lemonade, with a yellow and white awning and flower boxes bursting with actual marigolds.
The sign was hand-lettered, no stencil, with the name in curly script and a tiny prairie dog painted beneath it, wearing a monocle and bow tie.
Maddie hopped out first and grabbed my hand. “I know you’ve met Aspen, but you’ll love her more and more the longer you know her,” she said. “She’s like, the opposite of me. Where I’m all a bull in a china shop, she’s made of sugar and optimism.”
Parker snorted. “You’re both dorks.”
We ducked through the front door, and I was hit with a wall of smells: vanilla, melted butter, and just a hint of lemon.
The shop was empty except for Aspen. She wore a pale blue swing dress with white daisies and white tights, her black hair pulled into a high ponytail.
She looked like a retro pinup, if pinups came with flour up to their elbows and a dishtowel slung over her shoulder.
She glanced up, and her smile was so bright it made my teeth hurt. “Y’all! I thought you’d never make it!”
Aspen’s accent was pure Georgia, the vowels stretching out like a hammock. She swept around the counter and hugged me first, wrapping both arms around my ribs like she’d known me forever. For a second, I almost cried again.
“Good to see you again, Harper. Welcome!” She pulled back, eyes sparkling. “I got the table all ready. Maddie, Parker, go get the pot of tea. I’ll show Harper the spread.”