Chapter 16
Lark
“Yes, sir.”
Harbor tugs at the collar of his crew neck T-shirt and then loosens the jacket he’s wearing, his nerves getting the better of him.
It’s funny seeing him sweat being face-to-face with my dad.
If asked a week ago, I would have said Harbor Westcott doesn’t sweat over anything.
I grin, knowing that he’s nervous because he wants to make a good impression.
He cares about me, or he wouldn’t give a dang about seeing my dad again. And he calls me the sweet one.
I give him a wave from behind my dad. When he sees me, relief eases his shoulders. I nudge the back of Dad’s boot and clear my throat. Hint. Hint.
“Are you coming in?” my dad asks, his tone as unwelcoming as the invitation.
Stepping around him, I push the screen door open and fill the doorway. I hold out a hand, and say, “Come inside, Harbor.”
His grin says it all. I’m happy to see him as well. “The steps are cracked,” I warn since night is falling, and he might not see how crooked they are. He comes up and takes my hand. I pull him inside, where my dad has moved into the kitchen. “Something to drink? Water? Tea? Beer?”
“I’m driving, so I’ll stick with water.”
The sound of the tap running gives me a quick second to lift on my toes to kiss him. “What are you doing here?”
“I stopped by your place, but Amanda said you were still here. Since it’s getting dark, I thought you might want a ride home.”
“That’s nice of you.”
My dad returns, and we take a step back from each other. I saw Dad wasting time in the kitchen to give us some time alone. He’s good like that. He hands a cup to Harbor and says, “Have you been watching this game?”
“No. I was out at my parents’ house visiting with them.”
“You’re lucky.”
“So I’ve been told.”
My dad doesn’t catch his response, but I do. Dad just carries on, bothered by the loss, even though he doesn’t care about either team. “It’s a shit show on that field.”
Harbor widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest as he stares at the TV .
. . well, I assume the game on TV, but I’m now remembering how beautiful his family’s home is, where he just returned, compared to this home where I grew up.
Nothing’s newer than ten years, if not double that in age.
Even the cup he set on the coffee table was free from the school carnival when I was in fourth grade.
It’s a good cup that’s held up, but not the same as what he was most likely drinking out of an hour ago.
He asks, “Who are you rooting for?”
My dad laughs, kicking back in his chair. “For baseball to return. I just pass the time with this nonsense.”
I say, “We’ve always watched sports together on Sunday night. Whatever season it is, that’s the sport we watch. Unless it’s the Yankees, most of the games are just background noise while we hang out and eat.” I signal toward the back. “Want to see my room?”
“Only if you’re going to show me embarrassing photos of when you were younger.”
I’m already walking toward the hallway. Shrugging, I call over my shoulder, “I would, except I don’t have those. I was always an adorable kid.”
Strong arms grab me from behind, wrapping around my waist and lifting me. I burst into laughter but quickly remember my dad is less than twenty feet away, and I don’t know how kindly he’ll take to Harbor carrying me into my bedroom.
Wriggling free just outside my door, I turn abruptly and put a finger to my lips. “Shh,” I mouth. I know my dad too well. He’s probably in the living room pretending to watch the game while secretly plotting how to get Harbor back in the living room and out of my bedroom.
Boys are never something he had to deal with when I was growing up since I was too shy. This is all new to him. And I’m guessing if he hears a door shut, he may jump out of his skin, so I opt to leave it open. That way, he’s not forced to come investigate.
As Harbor stands in the middle of my room, I start to feel a lot like I did last night, introducing him to another part of my life. This room is more of a flashback and a homage to my childhood than who I am these days.
He circles the room, giving it a once-over before homing in on a corkboard above my desk. “You won so many awards.” Too many to display.
“I knew I had to be the best at everything if I wanted to get out of this town one day.”
Glancing back at me, he asks, “Is that the plan? To get out of Beacon as fast as you can?”
“Nothing about my journey has been fast. I even went to the university here because it gave me the best shot of having my school paid for.” I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands resting back on the mattress, and let him explore.
“I would have gone wherever I got the best offer. It just so happens I got a four-year scholarship, including supplements for books and cost of living. That part of it doesn’t cover anything but my supplies, but I wouldn’t be going if I hadn’t gotten it for academics. ”
Taking a seat at my desk, he spins in the chair to face me. “I knew you were on scholarship, Lark.”
My hands go out. “That obvious?”
He shakes his head, though. “My sister actually found you on the university’s website. You’re featured on the scholarship page.”
“That’s odd. Why was she looking for that page? I’m not trying to make judgments, but it seems like your family probably doesn’t need scholarship money.”
“She wasn’t looking up scholarship information. We’d never qualify for needs-based assistance anyway.”
I’m trying to connect the dots, but they aren’t coming together for me until I read between the lines. I’m not sure how to feel about being a research project. I sit up. “She wasn’t looking up scholarships. She was looking for me?” My arm flies out. “Did I pass your background check?”
“No. You’re misunderstanding,” he says in a calming voice. Maybe that’s his serial killer voice . . . I really need to lay off the podcasts.
“Am I? Because it sounds a lot like you were digging up information on me online.”
Sliding the chair across the floor, he stops in front of me and leans forward to rub my legs. “It was innocent on her part. I promise. After seeing us together at the gas station, she knew I was attracted to you and wanted to help me find you again.”
My hackles lower. “I didn’t even know she was there.”
“She’s the reason I stopped. She wanted a soda.”
“The soda I bought for you?”
He nods. “It was for her.”
I get up and sit on his lap. Wrapping my arms loosely around his neck, I ask, “Why were you worried I’d be upset?”
He shrugs, resting his head to the right. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how you’d react to hearing that my family looked you up online.”
“It doesn’t sound like you were in on the plan, and what she found is there for everyone to see. It doesn’t bother me. I’m grateful for the scholarship.”
Money doesn’t set me apart simply because my dad and I have never had any.
I could serve at the Dime Diner at thirteen and get enough tips to pay for a bill or two, and then have some left over to save for college.
Debt isn’t something my dad or myself want to be buried under.
We’ve been close to losing everything a few times, and I hope to never experience that again.
Tightening my hold on him, I ask, “Was anything else said about me?”
“I may have told them you’re my girlfriend.”
Whoa. “You did? You told your family about me?”
“It just came out.”
Okay, I can handle this confession one of two ways.
I can swoon or tease him mercilessly. “Right out of your heart?” I never claimed to always take the high road.
Since I’m already swooning over this man, I choose to joke with him instead.
I love the way he laughs, instantly knowing I’m giving him a hard time.
With his arm wrapped around me, he brings me closer and gives me a kiss. “It sure did.”
“Save room for Jesus.” My dad’s voice reaches the bedroom.
Harbor’s eyes widen, and he stands, lifting me with him and setting me on my feet. He whispers, “Is your dad religious?”
“Not at all,” I reply, laughing. “But that line always worked.”
Resting back, he stretches out his legs and smirks. “Are you telling me that you had a lot of guys in your room?”
I get up, laughing. “I think you already know the answer to that based on what I told you last night. And I have a feeling you can’t tell me the same about your room.”
“You’re right, but we don’t need to get into the weeds of my sex life.” He pushes off the floor, laughing, and slides back over to the desk. “Trust me, nothing is interesting about that until last night.”
I walk to my closet to peek in. It’s been a while since I’ve gone through my things, and I can’t remember what I left here. “And what was so interesting about last night?”
“You.”
“You know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”
Our eyes connect across the room. “I only speak the truth.”
I flip through old clothes on hangers, trying to settle the anxiety of Harbor seeing a part of my life that few have or ever will. From the house to my room, he’ll have a fuller picture of who I am and where I came from. Will he still like me the same?
For someone who comes from so much money, he hasn’t shown me an ounce of elitism, staying true to who I believe he is.
But when he pulls a yearbook from the shelf above the desk and starts flipping through the pages, I second-guess giving him free rein of the place.
Especially since I don’t know which grade is in his hands.
I say, “When I said I have no embarrassing pictures, I was kidding. I don’t think I’ve taken a photo that’s not awkward in some way. ”
“I beg to differ.” He holds up the book, and it’s flipped open to the page with me at the graduation podium.
I shrug. “One pic doesn’t make a nerd more popular. You can trust me on that.” It’s all so easy being with him that I almost forget that we’ve only been relationship official since last night.
Not finding anything worth taking to my apartment, I close the closet door and sit on the bed, but this time with my back to the wall at the head. I grab a worn paperback, The Great Gatsby, sitting on my nightstand when Harbor says, “Is this your mom?”
My gaze races to the dresser where the photo of Liz holding me as a newborn has taken up space my entire life.
It’s one of the few items I have of her, especially after the house was burglarized a few years ago and her brooch was stolen.
It was the only thing of value that I had, but more importantly, it was the only thing she left before leaving for good.
Seeing Harbor bending to get a closer look has my heart racing. I toss the book and jump from the bed to hurry over to him. “That’s her. That’s . . . Liz and the stolen brooch. Sounds like a book title, but it makes me sad to think about.”
“I bet. I’m sorry it was stolen.”
“Me too. It’s one of the only things I had of her. That and the photo.”
“Liz is your mom?” he asks, looking back at me, but he returns his narrowed gaze to the photograph and leans in even closer.
“The lady who gave birth to me,” I reply curtly. “I call her Liz because calling her Mom feels like a stab to my heart. And the truth is that I don’t have a mom.”
Taken back by my tone, he steps away from the dresser. “Did I do something wrong? You seem upset with me.”
Guilt washes through me for overreacting.
Harbor doesn’t know the story. He just asked a question.
“No. I’m sorry. I just . . .” I move closer to the picture frame and stare at the faded photo.
“My heart shouldn’t ache from the pain she caused nineteen years ago, but it does, and I hate it.
I hate how weak, how empty she makes me feel, even after all this time. ”
His hands cover my shoulders, and I feel his warmth through my sweatshirt.
He rubs gently and then kisses the top of my head.
“The pain sticks around long after years have passed. Even when you think you’re healing, something always lurks to make you feel it all again.
” He wraps his arms around me, his front to my back, and I feel safe in the strength of this man—not just physically, but emotionally. He understands.
Looping my arms over the front of his, I rest my head back, still staring at the photo. He asks, “Can I ask you something, or would you rather drop it?”
“You can ask.”
Holding me even closer, he whispers, “Why do you keep the photo on display?”
“It’s a reminder that she once existed in my life.”