The small bookshelf in the hallway stuffed with picture books and school projects, the framed photos on every surface, Ella's first day of kindergarten, Ella missing her two front teeth, Ella and Harry at the county fair with cotton candy stuck to their faces. And at the end of the hallway, visible through the open door of Ella's room, the thin blanket still spread on the floor where he had slept. Harry finally looked up. Cara was standing in the doorway, and something in her expression had changed. The panic was gone, replaced by something that looked almost like shame.
"I need to make a phone call," she said quietly. "And then, I think we should talk." She stepped back into the living room and Harry heard her dial. Rachel. Carara's voice was different now, clearer, steadier. I need you to listen to me.
I remember what happened. And nothing happened. He helped me get home safely when no one else would. That's all. Harry couldn't hear Rachel's response, but he could imagine it. the skepticism, the lawyer's instinct to assume the worst, to protect her friend from her own judgment.
I'm sure Carara's voice grew firmer. Rachel, listen to me. He has an 8-year-old daughter. He missed her school performance last night, her first time in a lead role, because he was making sure I was safe. He slept on the floor of his daughter's bedroom.
He left me a note so I wouldn't be scared when I woke up. He even plugged in my phone so I could call for help in the morning. And I almost Her voice cracked. I almost destroyed his life because I was too panicked to think straight. A long silence.
Yes, I'm positive. No, I'm not being coerced. Rachel, he's standing in the kitchen making breakfast for his little girl. The only thing this man is guilty of is being decent when he had every reason not to be. Another silence, shorter this time.
Thank you. And Rachel, don't ever let me drink like that again. She ended the call. Harry stayed where he was, one hand resting on the counter. He didn't trust himself to move, to speak, to do anything that might shatter the fragile thing that was happening in the next room.