Harry pulled a thin blanket from her closet and spread it on the floor beside her bed. He lay there in the darkness, staring at the glow in the dark stars Ella had stuck on the ceiling 2 years ago, and listened to her breathing slowly deepen into sleep. In the living room, a stranger lay on his couch, and every minute that passed wound the knot in his stomach tighter. Morning came too quickly. Harry woke to gray light filtering through the curtains and the sound of movement from the living room.
He checked his phone 653, then carefully extracted himself from the blanket and crept to the door. Carara was sitting up on the couch, her head in her hands. Even from the hallway, Harry could see her shoulders shaking. He should give her a moment, let her collect herself, read the note, understand the situation before he appeared. That would be the smart thing to do.
But before he could retreat, Carara's phone, now charged from the outlet where he had plugged it in, lit up on the coffee table. She grabbed it with trembling hands and dialed a number. Harry froze in the hallway, close enough to hear every word. "Rachel. " Carara's voice was raw, barely above a whisper. "Rachel, I need I don't know what happened. " A tiny voice responded on the other end.
Too quiet for Harry to make out the words. I woke up in someone's house. A man's house. I'm wearing clothes that aren't mine. Carara's breathing grew ragged.
I don't remember anything after the party. I don't remember how I got here. I don't know if Rachel I don't know what happened to me last night. Harry's blood turned to ice. He could hear Rachel's voice rising on the other end.
Sharp and urgent questions being fired in rapid succession. His name is Harry. He works for me. Cara was crying now, the words coming out in fragments. I don't remember getting in his car.
I don't remember coming here. I woke up and I was wearing his clothes and I don't I can't. Rachel, what if something happened? Harry stood perfectly still, his back pressed against the hallway wall and felt the ground shifting beneath his feet. He knew how this would play out.
He had known from the moment he made the decision to bring her here. But hearing it spoken aloud, hearing the fear in her voice, the implicit accusation buried beneath the confusion, made it real in a way that turned his stomach. A black man, a subordinate, his drunk white female boss in his house, wearing his clothes with no memory of how she got there. It didn't matter what actually happened. It didn't matter that he had slept on his daughter's floor.
It didn't matter that he had left a note, left water, left aspirin, done everything he could think of to make sure she felt safe when she woke up. What mattered was the story that would be told. And he had no control over that story. Rachel's voice was louder now, and Harry caught fragments. Stay right there.
Don't leave. Calling the police. Get on a flight. I don't know if I should do that, Cara was saying. I don't know if anything, actually.
I just can't remember, Rachel. I can't remember. Daddy. Harry spun around. Ella was standing in the doorway of her room, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Good morning, sweetheart. He fought to keep his voice steady. Let's get you some breakfast, okay? Nice and quiet because our guest is still waking up. But Ella had already spotted Carara through the living room doorway.
Before Harry could stop her, she padded down the hallway in her bare feet. "Are you feeling better today, ma'am? " Carara looked up, startled, the phone still pressed to her ear. Her eyes were red and puffy, mascara smeared beneath them, and for a moment, she just stared at the little girl standing in front of her. I What? Daddy said you were sick last night.
Ella tilted her head to the side. My daddy makes really good soup when I'm sick. Do you want him to make you some? Carara's gaze shifted from Ella to Harry, who had followed his daughter into the living room. Something flickered across her face.
Confusion, then calculation, then something else Harry couldn't quite read. Rachel, hold on. She lowered the phone. You have a daughter? Yes, Harry put his hands on Ella's shoulders, resisting the urge to pull her behind him like a shield.
This is Ella. I'm eight, Ella added helpfully. I was in a play last night. Daddy couldn't come because he was helping you. The words hung in the air like a verdict.
Carara's expression shifted again, and Harry watched her take in the details she had been too panicked to notice before. The small house decorated with a child's artwork, the refrigerator covered in school photos and report cards, the stack of picture books on the coffee table, and then her eyes found the note on the coffee table, half hidden beneath the glass of water. She picked it up and read it slowly, her lips moving slightly as she traced the words. "Rachel, I'll call you back. " She ended the call before her friend could respond. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Cara looked up at Harry with an expression he had never seen on her face before. Not in six years of working under her. Not in countless meetings and performance reviews and late nights at the office. She looked lost. Harry.
Her voice was. I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth. He nodded even though every muscle in his body was tensed for impact. Did we last night? Did we?
She couldn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Harry kept his voice steady, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs. No, nothing happened. You were very drunk at the party. No one was helping you.
Your phone was dead and you couldn't remember your new address and I couldn't leave you there alone. So, I brought you here. He gestured toward the couch. I left clean clothes for you because your dress was ruined. I wrote that note so you would know where you were when you woke up.