Chapter Thirty-Six Harriet
Chapter Thirty-Six
Harriet
After a drive that’s mostly a blur, I pull up in front of Steven’s apartment building.
I haven’t felt this way in a decade, not since Kozel ghosted me.
Stupid. Blindsided. Like my heart’s been torn in two.
I can’t believe I let this happen. I knew I shouldn’t act on my feelings for Nic, knew I should keep it strictly professional, but I let my stupid heart take over. And for what—so he could turn around and accuse me of being selfish?
I’m writing an article about his sister, for god’s sake! I’ve spent the last two weeks doing almost nothing but trying to figure out how to get her out of jail.
Because you wanted your old job back a voice whispers in my head.
“Hello?” Steven says through the intercom.
“Hey,” I say. “Can I come up—”
Before I can finish the sentence, the door buzzes.
I trudge up the narrow set of stairs to the third floor, dodging around a dripping surfboard propped against the wall, and knock on his apartment door.
Much to my surprise and dismay, Martin answers. I need to talk to Steven, and I was hoping to do it alone. Or at least without Nic’s best friend listening in.
Martin’s smile falls as he sees my tear-streaked face. “Hey. What’s going on, Harriet? Are you okay?”
At his questions, tears spring back into my eyes. I blink fast, trying to hold them at bay.
“I’m sorry to just show up like this—”
“No, please. It’s totally fine.”
“Harriet!” Steven appears behind him. He gasps when he sees my face. “What happened? Come in, come in.”
He guides me over to the couch, settling next to me. Martin takes the chair on his other side.
“I… Nic…” My voice breaks.
I avoid looking at Martin as I fill them in everything—Sharkey’s pin it on someone comment, the article I pitched to Frankie, Nic’s involvement, what we’ve learned so far, and how we covered up what we were doing by pretending to date.
Then I get to the worst part of all—how I managed to let real feelings get tangled up in everything.
Once I’m done, Steven lets out a low whistle.
“Okay. To summarize—because I gotta admit my head is spinning—George had an illegitimate child. You suspect that not only did George burn down a building in NYC and kill someone in the process, but he might have been behind the motel fire last year. And the LIFD helped cover it up—”
Martin makes a noise that sends a shiver up my spine. Steven and I both turn to find him hunched into himself, his face pale.
“Martin? What is it?” Steven asks with concern.
“The motel fire. I was…”
“Oh, honey. Of course.” Steven scoots down on the couch and rests a hand on Martin’s knee. “What happened with that kid… It must have been incredibly traumatic.”
“It’s not just that.” Martin’s voice is pained.
“After the fire, there were rumors. Whispers that the inspectors found signs of arson but still blamed it on the motel’s old, crappy wiring.
I went to my supervisor and told him what I’d heard, but he brushed me off.
Said I should know better than to listen to silly rumors.
When I pushed, he asked if I was accusing the fire inspectors of lying and reminded me that’s a serious charge.
I backed off. I’d known the guy for ten years.
I thought he was one of the good ones. But a couple months later, wouldn’t you know—the fire department got a major bump in their budget, pushed through by the city council.
I told myself it was just a coincidence, but now… ”
Steven wraps his arms around him, and Martin buries his face in his shoulder.
“I work with the LIFD all the time,” Martin says, his voice muffled by the collar of Steven’s polo shirt.
“I drink with them. They’re my friends. What if they were all in on it?
What if my boss was?” After a minute, Martin raises his head and wipes his eyes.
“Look, Harriet,” he says. “If I’d known what you and Nic were up to, I would have told Nic he was being a total idiot.
That he should leave it to the professionals.
But.” He rubs his hand against his jaw. “It sounds like Sara needs you in her corner. You guys have to keep digging until you uncover the truth.”
“Speaking of that—” Steven turns to me with his brows raised. “Harriet, my dear. You’re writing about Sara’s case for Humans, of all places? Why in god’s name did you think that was a good idea?”
Shit. I’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. Steven hates Frankie. A lot.
“She came to you, right?” Steven presses. “Frankie came to you?”
“Well…”
His jaw drops. “You’re kidding. Harriet Baker. You pitched it to them. Why the fuck would you do that to yourself?”
He is well aware why. “Jesus, Steven. I need a job! I can’t live with my mother for the rest of my life! I don’t even know if I can live with her for another month without losing my shit.”
He purses his lips. “Okay, I understand that. But there are other places. Other magazines. Might I remind you how Frankie screwed you over? That bitch threw you to the wolves!”
“This is different,” I mutter.
“Oh really? How exactly? Are you back on their payroll? Has she given you any guarantees? Or even fucking apologized?”
My stomach knots. “I… No. But I was the one who fucked up and got fired! Frankie says this is how I can prove myself to her again.”
Steven looks at me with pity. “Har, that woman has been gaslighting you for years. She always managed to convince you that you were in the wrong—including with that situation.”
“What are you talking about? I screwed up!”
“Harriet. Do you really not remember what happened?”
“That is—”
He cuts me off. “Honey, I’m sorry, but you’ve forgotten the truth.
Frankie knew Belinda Howard didn’t want her pregnancy made public—they’d told her that when they set up the interview.
But she didn’t bother sharing that information with you, so you included it.
Anyone would have. It was huge news.” He leans in, voice tight.
“And then Frankie went ahead and published it, knowing full well that Belinda’s people would lose their shit.
And when Belinda’s publicist called freaking out, she blamed it all on you.
Said you’d gone rogue. You got fired, and I bet Humans made double their ad revenue off the clicks. ”
I sink back into the couch, closing my eyes. Frankie claimed she’d told me to take it out, and when I said I didn’t remember that, she doubled down. Told me I was careless. Incompetent. She made me question myself, made me wonder if I was losing my mind.
Steven continues, “Harriet, you called me when it all started going down, insisting that she hadn’t told you.
But as time went on, and she told you over and over again that she had, your story started to change.
The thing is—I believe you. Frankie had fucked with you for years, so it’s no wonder you believed her, but you were great at your job.
If she’d told you not to include it, you wouldn’t have. You didn’t do anything wrong—she did.”
Steven’s words knock the wind out of me, and suddenly it’s all so clear: Frankie used me to get exactly what she wanted. She wore me so far down I had started doubting myself, my memory.
“You see it now, don’t you?” Steven says. He’s scooted back next to me, gently stroking my hand. “Listen. None of it was your fault, Har, okay? But I can’t stand idly by and watch you go through all that again.”
What am I doing? Writing an article for her?
Trying to prove my worth to a person who doesn’t give two shits about me?
Trying so hard to get back to my life in the city when I’m not sure I was ever really happy there.
I was working seventy hours a week, surviving on next to nothing because New York City media jobs don’t pay livable New York City wages.
I had almost no friends. Most of the people I knew from college had moved out to the suburbs or disappeared into relationships.
Nic was right to yell at me. I’m an asshole.
Nic.
“Where is he?” Martin asks, and I realize I said his name out loud.
“I…” I swallow. “I left him at George’s office.
” I left him because I was too stubborn to admit out loud that maybe some of what he said was valid.
Too stubborn to tell him the most important reason I was doing it: because of him.
Because he’s important to me. Because I have fallen for him so hard it scares the shit out of me.
“Excuse me?” Martin says. “You left him at George’s office? Where is it?”
I wince. “Um, Pleasantville?”
“You left Nic on the mainland. Does he have a car?”
I shake my head.
Steven groans. “Harriet.”
“I’m sorry! Like I told you, we got into a fight about…you know. Everything. We kissed and—”
“Excuse me, you what?” Steven whips toward me.
“—then he accused me of being selfish. It pissed me off! I figured he could, I don’t know, take an Uber or something.”
“An Uber from Pleasantville costs, like, fifty dollars,” Martin says. “That’s a lot of money to Nic.”
“I didn’t think about that,” I say meekly.
“Yeah, clearly,” Steven mutters.
God, I’m a shit. I need to make this right. I need to prove to Nic that I care about him, not my stupid career or Frankie’s opinion or the life I left in New York.
“I’m sure he just took one anyway,” Martin says, gentler than I deserve.
I pull my phone from my bag. “I’m going to call and offer to pay for it.”
Martin coughs. “Not to be prescriptive, but…I wouldn’t. It would probably just piss him off more.”
I pause, my phone halfway to my ear. “True. Okay, maybe just a text? To check that he’s okay?”
Martin nods.
I shoot one off, and we wait, but there’s no response.
“Can you try?” I ask Martin. I feel so pathetic.
He kindly doesn’t make a big deal of it. “Sure. Hang on.” He puts his phone to his ear. After a minute, he shakes his head. “No answer.”
“Shit.”
“Well,” Martin says. “He’s probably heading home to change. He’s going to his parents’ tonight for dinner so they can go over more stuff with that idiot Barry. If you leave right now, I bet you’ll catch him at his apartment. You can talk it out in person.”
My palms grow clammy. In person? That’s so grown-up. Mature. I’m more the let me send a text and hope for the best type, but I guess I can try it.
“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” It feels like my nerves are using my stomach as a trampoline. If he doesn’t forgive me, what will I do? It’s only been a few short weeks, but I already can’t imagine my life without him.
“I think he will, yeah,” Martin says. “But either way, you guys need to work something out. Sara needs you.”