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“What better day than today,” I said out loud with a sigh.
I turned off the shower and stuffed the plug in the porcelain tub with my toe, letting it fill half way with hot water before I emptied the little bottle of bubble bath. I watched as the running water churned the soap into frothy suds for a moment before resting my head against the lip of the bathtub. My tears felt cold as they silently ran down my cheeks and neck. I breathed in the steam, letting my thoughts swim hazily through its fog.
When the water turned cold, I forced myself out and wrapped a large, thick towel around my body, using a second to squeeze excess water from my hair. The steam fogged up the mirror and I used my hand to get a clear look at myself. My eyes looked clearer and my head felt it a little as well. Just keep yourself busy, Harper, I thought to myself. Not about to waste the warmth of the room, I took out my blow dryer and dried my hair completely. There wasn’t anything I hated worse than a wet head in a chilly apartment. Happy with how quickly it dried, I decided to distract myself further by curling my hair, something I never did because my hair already had a bit of a wave to it.
Half an hour later and I was desperate for another distraction so I did my makeup. That only ate up a measly fifteen minutes. I was running out of diversions in the bathroom and since all the warmth had seeped out from underneath the door, I moved to my closet, threw on a pair of panties and a bra and went on a full on search for my most comfy pair of Yoga pants. They were buried deep in the back of my closet right next to my ‘Frankie Says Relax’ tee.
“Why not. ”
Dressed, hair and makeup ridiculously done, like I had a Christmas party to go to or something, I ventured out into the living room. I hadn’t heard Callum rise yet and thought I’d be safe. He liked to sleep late when he didn’t have school or work. I swept past his room but couldn’t hear him, his room was quiet, too quiet.
Ignoring every protest my common sense was screaming at me, I approached his door and knocked softly, at first, then harder when he didn’t answer. I don’t know why but I began to panic and threw open his door. He wasn’t there. It was one o’clock on Christmas Eve. Where was he?
Deciding he went for a jog, I walked back to my room and slipped, my right foot shooting forward on a piece of paper beneath my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle slipper.
“Damn it!” I bent to pick the paper up, to toss it in the waste basket but was stunned when my name appeared across the middle of an envelope.
My heart racing for reasons I had no idea, I tore open the envelope and fished a letter from the pocket. It was from Callum.
“No, no, no,” I begged myself, panicked. “He left me already?” I mused out loud, my voice laced with a tremor. My hands cupped my mouth and the letter dropped to the floor. I couldn’t read it, couldn’t bring myself to see what he had to say. My heart was already broken. I didn’t need another reminder of why it hurt so badly.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I picked it up from the floor and folded it once more but when I attempted to place it on my dresser table, I froze. One single world jumped out at me from the partially folded letter in my hand.
I ripped it back open and began pouring over its contents.
“Oh my God,” I said, setting myself on the edge of the bed as I finished his written confession. “He loves me? Loves me? Of all the stupid, idiotic, ridiculous misunderstandings I have ever known. . . this has to be the most glorious of all. ”
I let the letter fall to my feet as I ran to my laptop, swinging it open a bit too forcefully and crying like I’ve never cried before.
“Okay, okay, okay. ” I breathed deeply. “One way flights to Seattle. ”
I found one available seat leaving that evening at five fifty-five, which wasn’t ideal, but I couldn’t feel too disappointed that I’d have to wait a few hours to leave. It was Christmas Eve after all. I felt lucky to get anything at all. I’d arrive half an hour before midnight with an hour layover in Philly.
“It’ll do, Harper. ”
I grabbed my credit card and charged it, not feeling the least bit guilty. I almost felt like I should call Callum, warn him, but two reasons stopped me. One, I didn’t have a phone because it was confiscated at the library after ‘he who must not be named’ attacked me and. . . almost killed me. I wasn’t going to think about that. Sometime in the future, a therapist would get a very nice kitchen makeover courtesy of my sessions but until then I decided denial was best for my mental health. The second reason I didn’t ring Callum was because I wanted it to be a surprise. A nice, pleasant, incredible surprise. You know, a ‘look up, baby. Yeah, that’s Mistletoe’ kind of surprise or an ‘Oh my Lord, Harper I’m so glad you’re here. Let me ravish you’ kind of surprise.
“What the heck am I going to do with the next two hours?” I asked myself.
I grabbed my suitcase, packed everything I needed and still had an hour and a half to spare. Fixing my hair and makeup with the care I did that morning was the rarest of rarities and the irony didn’t escape me that I did it on a day I’d be flying to meet my freaking husband. The husband who thought I didn’t love him like he loved me. The very husband I could have had a real marriage with if we’d just been real with one another. I felt like a jack ass. No worries, you’ll remedy that very soon. Realizing, I didn’t have anything for Callum to give him for Christmas, I got dressed in the outfit I wanted to fly in, threw on my coat and scarf and headed toward the department stores.
I couldn’t believe how strange my day’s events had become. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought this would be happening to me that day. In just a few short hours, I would be wrapping my arms around Callum confessing my own feelings for him. I wanted to kick myself for letting our situation get so out of hand, for not being forthright and for letting assumptions take over. And what if he doesn’t want you anymore, Harper? A funny, prickling sensation crept up my neck but I shook it off. Surely, he still wants you. He left to get over you. The sensation never really left me as I walked the rest of my journey, scraping my hand over the back of my neck, frenziedly trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling away.
The department store was packed but I expected as much. As I admired a scarf on a mannequin, I froze in terror, thinking I’d seen John Bell walk across the marble flooring in front of me. My hand flew to my chest and my adrenaline started pumping. I ran quickly his direction to make sure.
“Jesus,” I exhaled when I noticed it was just a man who looked like him. Get a hold of yourself, Harper. Therapist. Need to call a therapist when I get back home.
The rest of the shopping trip was a blur, I bought a sexy little sweater dress and leggings for Christmas day, an attempt to be a bit more feminine because the girls were starting to insist, a pair of orange leather gloves for Cherry because they seemed her style, and a few bobbles for the rest of our crew for Christmas. We all celebrated Christmas together on New Year’s Eve for dinner, that way we could all take advantage of the after Christmas sales. We wanted to be generous but were broke. It was a nice little compromise. Half an hour had passed and I’d found nothing for Callum. I felt horrible, nothing stuck out to me.
When I’d given up, resigned to the fact that I’d have to show up with nothing, I passed by a table at the entrance I hadn’t noticed coming in. On it, was real live mistletoe wrapped in a fancy box.
Merry Christmas, Callum Tate.
Chapter Eighteen
Teardrop
Harper
When I got home from shopping, I rode the elevator still trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling in my gut. It’s just nerves, Harper. When I opened my door, a small white card fell at my feet. It must have been wedged between the jamb and door. I bent to pick it up and noticed the words, ‘Call me ASAP’, written in hard blue pen strokes. I flipped it over and read that it was the card of Detective Carson at the NYPD. But I had no way to call him because my cell was with them most likely and, to be honest, I wanted nothing to do w
ith the possibility they’d want to interrogate me for another four hours, making me miss my flight. I promised myself I’d call them in Seattle and let them know they could question me after the holidays. John Bell wasn’t going to take up any more of my time for at least a couple of days, not if I had anything to do with it.
I stuffed the card in the back pocket of my jeans and let the thought of John Bell seep further into the recess of my brain’s ‘don’t even go there right now, Harper’ closet. I locked down the apartment, ran over to the Super’s and let him know both Callum and I would be gone for a few days, made sure all the appliances were shut off, emptied the fridge of things that would grow three or more heads while we were gone and took out the trash. I deciding emptying my bladder would probably be best since the airport was probably crowded as hell and I’d rather not need to take a leak after waiting in a line full of women who’d been flying for hours and ready to plow me down if I so much as looked at them wrong. I gathered my bag, threw on my coat, locked the front door and I was on my way.
I took the LIRR, or Long Island Rail Road, from Penn Station to the Jamaica Hub and caught the Airtrain to JFK. It took closer to an hour because of how busy the day was but I got there with two hours to spare. I thought that would be sufficient until I checked my bag and was immediately greeted with the Security Check Point. Good God, the line was horrendous. I thought seriously for a moment about just turning around, convinced there’d be no way I’d get through in time. I cursed myself for dallying in the department store for so long.
The burning returned to the back of my neck again and I became seriously agitated. You’ll get through. You’ll get through. I kept turning behind me, rubbing my neck over and over, looking to see whose eyes were scorching through me.
“You okay?” The guy behind me asked. He was young, probably my age, well built, dark hair.
“Uh, yeah,” I answered with a small smile.
“Nervous flyer?”
“Something like that,” I said, turning back to face security.
But he kept at it. “Where ya’ flying?” He asked me as I turned back around.
“Uh, Seattle. ”
“Really? Quite a long flight from JFK. I’m headed back home for Christmas. St. Louis. You going back to family?”
“You could say that,” I grinned.
He laughed. “Something tells me there’s a lot to that story. ”
I laughed with him. “Definitely. ” I proceeded to tell him the basics of my story, leaving out the really disturbing parts, no sense in scaring a stranger.
“Wow, that’s. . . unbelievable. ” He hoisted his laptop bag higher on his shoulder, his face a mixture of disbelief. He realized how serious he’d become and fixed his expression. “So, you’re married, huh?”
“Yup. ” I smiled.
“Good ones are always taken,” he jested.
“You seem ‘good’ enough,” I teased.
He smiled. “Thanks. ”
“Of course. So, this family of yours, what’s it like?”