My One and Only

“I’m asking for something now, Daddy. Don’t leave BeverLee. Get some counseling and figure things out. You’ve got twenty years invested here, and Dad…She loves you. And she…believes in you. I don’t think it gets better than that.”

He didn’t move or say anything for a long moment. “You know BeverLee’s fifteen years younger than I am, of course,” he said slowly. I nodded.

He paused, weighing his next words. “Harper, I had a heart attack in July.”

My knees gave a dangerous buckle. “What?” I squeaked.

He shrugged. “Doctor said it was minor. But it got me thinking about…the future. I don’t want Bev to have to take care of me.”

“She doesn’t know, Dad?”

He shook his head. “I told her I was fishing with Phil Santos.”

“Dad…” My voice cracked. If my father died…

“I don’t want her saddled with a sickly old man.”

“She loves you, Dad! If she got sick, would you feel saddled with her?”

“Of course not. But…well. I see your point.” He didn’t say any more. “Still. She deserves someone who can keep up with her. Not a sick old man.”

“Are you doing okay now?” I asked.

“Oh, I guess. I take a pill every day. My cholesterol’s way down. It’s just…you look at your life and wonder what you can do for your family. Seemed like cutting Bev loose was the right thing. If I’m gonna die in the next year or so…”

“God, you men. You’re all so melodramatic,” I said, though my legs were still shaking at the thought of my dad being sick. “If you take care of yourself, you’ll outlive us all. But Dad, cutting Bev loose is not the right thing to do! Nor is keeping your children out of the loop!”

He gave a half shrug. “Well. You’re probably right.”

“So will you talk to Bev?” I asked. “Because I’m not keeping this a secret from her, Dad.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her. Been dragging my feet on moving out. Guess that says something.”

“It says you love her and don’t want a divorce.”

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Your day to fix lives?” he asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

“Everyone’s except mine, I guess,” I said. We looked at each other a long minute.

“Harper, I…You know…well, here it is. I know I haven’t been the best father.” He sighed. “With Willa, it’s easy…she…She’s always making mistakes or needs something I can help her with…money, a place to live, whatever. But you…you never needed anything.” He paused. “Except a mother. A real mother, that is. The truth was, I was glad when Linda left. I was afraid she’d ruin you.”

“Is that why you married BeverLee? To give me a mother?”

“That was part of it. A big part.”

God. The past was never what it seemed to be. “Dad,” I said after another few beats, “can I ask you something?”

“Is there any stopping you?”

I grinned a little at that. Dad, making a joke. To me. “Well…no. But I always wondered about something. Did Mom name me after Harper Lee?”

“Who’s that?”

“She wrote To Kill A Mockingbird.”

Dad frowned. “Far as I know, you were named after some fashion magazine.”

Oh, crikey. Harper’s Bazaar. Well, hell. I guess that made more sense. And for some reason, it was oddly comforting—my mother had never had hidden depths.

“Can I ask you something else, Dad?” I asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Well…” This one was harder. “Dad, if I’d asked for advice all those years ago, what would you have said about me marrying Nick?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at me as if judging whether or not I wanted the truth. “I guess I would’ve said I thought that boy was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

My heart clenched. “Really?” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“You never said anything. I wasn’t even sure you approved.”

Dad gave a half shrug and looked at the floor once more. “Actions were supposed to speak louder than words,” he replied gruffly. “I let him marry you, didn’t I? Wasn’t about to give my daughter to just anyone.”

Then my father looked up, held out his arms, hesitantly, self-consciously. “Come on,” he said. “Give your old man a hug.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ON FRIDAY EVENING, I left the office around four and went home to pack.

That took all of fifteen minutes. To stall a little longer, I went to my computer and checked my list.

1. Make plane reservation. (I’d done that already, as well as confirmed it. Twice.)

2. Make hotel reservation. (Also confirmed twice.)

3. Pack. (Just finished.)

4. Write speech. (Done, if highly unsatisfactory and far too long.)

5. Deliver speech. (Not done.)

6. Get Nick back. (Not done.)

“Crotch,” I whispered, suppressing a dry heave of terror. Because here was the thing. I may have resolved that I didn’t have to be stunted any longer…I may have opened my heart to BeverLee…may have had a little better understanding of my father…but I had no idea if Nick would give me another chance. I can’t do this anymore, he said just before he got into the cab.

Ah, hindsight. All those times back then, when I’d pushed him away just enough to try to save that most essential part of myself, to wall him out of my heart in case he left me, to preserve myself from damage…I’d hurt myself, and I’d hurt Nick, too. BeverLee was right. I was so terrified of people leaving me that I never let them in.

Add to this fact, I didn’t even know if Nick was on American soil…I seemed to remember a trip to Dubai (or London, or Seattle) on his calendar. I was too cowardly to call his office and ask for his schedule (not that anyone would give it to me, of course), and far, far too nervous to call him. No. Better if I appeared on his doorstep. If he closed the door, I could always yell up at the windows until the police came.

Theo had clutched a fist to his heart when I’d asked for the time, but when he heard my mission, a rather appealing light came into his eyes. “Take all the time you need,” he said, twinkling. “I’m a sucker for true love. I’ve been married four times, after all.”

My plan…well, it sucked. But at least it was something. If I had to drop by his apartment every four hours until I found him, so be it.

It was, of course, the final step in the “Harper is a Human” campaign. In this past week, I’d babysat for Kim (I now sported two bruises on my shin and a bite mark on my wrist, but had also learned what Pikachu was). I took Tommy out to dinner and picked up the tab, bought Carol a Dustin Pedroia poster. I even cooked dinner and had Bev, Willa and Kim over for a girls night.

And I wrote a letter of apology to Jack and Sarah Costello, telling them how much I had always loved being included in their family gatherings, and how much I regretted causing Dennis any pain. And yes, I’d checked in with Dennis. He was doing A-okay, it seemed. Good old Dennis. He’d been sweetly surprised that I wasn’t back with Nick.

Not yet, I wasn’t. But I was going to try. And if Nick wouldn’t forgive me, or didn’t want me back…the thought caused another dry heave.

“So you’re going?” came a voice. Kim, little Desmond on her hip, smelling of sunscreen and salt water.

“Yeah.” I pulled a face and zipped my suitcase closed.

“It’s good, Harper. It’s really romantic, actually.”

“Right. Even if it does have that restraining-order feel about it. But I guess it’s worth a try.”

“’Do or do not. There is no try,’” she intoned.

“Who said that? Winston Churchill?”

“Yoda. Please. I have four sons. Star Wars is my life.”

“So now the Muppets are giving me advice?”

“Count your blessings. It could be TeleTubbies.” She leaned down and gave me an unexpected kiss on the cheek. Desmond kicked me in the ribs, then smiled angelically. “See you when you get back,” my friend said.

“Thanks, Kim,” I replied. I looked at her and forced a smile, which became genuine after a second. “Thanks.”

“Go get him, sister!” she called as she left the room. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Worst-case scenario, you’ll be right back where you are now.”

That was another thing. Here…here was no longer what it had once been. The contentment (the smugness, let’s be honest) I used to feel with my life had evaporated like the morning mist, and I was just like the rest of humanity—all of us poor, pathetic dopes battered by the storms of love. Utterly clueless.

I glanced at my watch, tried not to puke, succeeded and got up to find Coco’s crate. At the sight of her carrier, she immediately put on her Chihuahua-orphan look. Took a step forward, then held up her front paw as if wounded.

“Your paw is fine,” I told her. “What’s the problem? Don’t you want to see Nick? You love Nick, remember? Is this a sign? Are you trying to tell me not to do it? Speak, Coco. You’re much smarter than I am, God knows.”

She hunkered down and gave her tail a little wag—See? I’m so cute, remember? Don’t make me go into the evil crate! I’m not a city girl!

Who could blame her? Air travel was punishing enough without being caged. And she’d been so stressed in New York…all those horns and sirens, that eternal roar. With a sigh, I sat down next to her.

“Okay. You can stay. But I have to go, baby. You understand, right? Want to go to Kim’s?” Then, thinking of Kim’s litter of male children, I winced. “How about Willa’s?”

My plane left in an hour and a half. Plenty of time to swing by Willa’s—she and Chris had rented a place in Oak Bluffs. I’d seen them a couple of days ago; they still had to get their furniture and stuff from New York, but it was a cute house. Chris seemed good; mentioned AA and the balm of steady work. Willa, for her part, had enrolled in an online class…anatomy. She wanted to be a nurse. It seemed like a good fit for her sunny personality.

I called my sister’s cell. “Hey, you,” I said. “I need a favor.”

“Sure!” she said.

“Can you babysit Coco for a few days? Actually, it might be longer.” My legs gave a watery wobble. “Maybe a week, even.”

“You bet. Where are you going?”

“New York,” I said, swallowing sickly. “Say again?”

“New York City.” I took a breath. “I’m…I’m…I’m going to see Nick.”

“Um…Harper? Nick’s here.”

“What?” I squeaked. “Here? What do you mean, here? Where’s here? At your house?”

“Calm down, calm down,” she said. “He’s on the island.”

“What’s he doing here?” My heart clattered.

“Chris rented a U-Haul yesterday, drove down to the city and packed up our stuff. Nick drove back with him to help unload. So he’s here. But Harper, he just left, like, ten minutes ago. He wanted to catch the seven o’clock ferry out of Oak Bluffs. Then, shit, he’s getting a car service to Logan and going to Seattle or something.”

I looked at my watch. It was 6:22. “I’m on my way,” I blurted.

“Should I call him? Tell him to wait?”

“No! No. Um…he might not want to see me.”

I flew out of the house, leaving my dog yapping a reproach for not taking her. In a spray of crushed shells, I peeled out of my driveway, cutting off an earth-raping Hummer with Virginia plates and earning a few enraged shouts. I ignored them, my little yellow car eating up the road. The route from Menemsha to Oak Bluffs usually took about half an hour, more with tourist traffic. Which we had in droves, it being Columbus Day weekend. I’d never make it if I went through Vineyard Haven proper, so I went down past Fiddlehead Farm, through Tisbury, my hands clenched on the wheel. Past the airport. Onto Barnes Road, where I got stuck behind a minivan from New Jersey.

“Come on, come on, come on, don’t you have your own shore?” I muttered, chewing my cuticle. When the coast was clear, I passed them, flooring it. Hey. I was from Massachusetts, thank you very much. Speed limits were for other states.

But I hadn’t counted on traffic being so damn thick as I came into Oak Bluffs. Short of driving on the lawns (a definite option) and vehicular manslaughter (not so much), I wasn’t going to make it. Tourists decked out in Black Dog hats and T-shirts milled around, and the road was packed with cars.

I glanced at the clock. 6:56.

I wasn’t going to make it. Not on my own, anyway.

I snatched up my phone and pressed the number of someone known and liked by virtually everyone on this island, someone with friends in high places. “Pick up. Please, please, please,” I chanted. My prayer was answered.

“Dude, how’s it hanging?”

“Oh, Dennis, thank God. Listen, I have kind of an emergency. I need to stop the ferry.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “To stop Nick. To try to get back with him.”

“Awesome,” Dennis said sincerely, and I felt such a rush of affection for him with that word, because Dennis’s heart didn’t have room for resentment.

“But I’m stuck in traffic, and I’m not gonna make the ferry. I thought about calling in a bomb scare—”