Fight or Flight

He nodded, his eyes turning to ice chips at the thought. “You’re right. I would. But I’d like tae think my friend Ava would tell me that the blame didn’t lie with me.”

I smiled softly at his reply, the warmth of his words easing some of my tension. I squeezed his hand. “I would. Thanks. Not just for saying that, but for everything you did for me and Harper on Saturday. You and Jamie.”

“You dinnae need tae thank me for that.” He let go of my hand but only to slide his arm around my shoulder and tuck me into his side as we made our way to the café.

I felt safe tucked into him.

Dangerously safe.

The Lutons lived in a midcentury ranch house in Winthrop, a mere thirty minutes from the city. The shingles were a saltwater taffy blue, and I knew from Harper that they’d put a lot of work into restoring the large detached family home.

I’d decided against dinner at seven and called Gillian to ask her if I could visit that afternoon instead, squaring it away with Stella that I’d catch up with work after my trip out there to see Harper. The idea of trying to talk to her, to get her to open up to me, while surrounded by the Lutons and their kids sounded impossible—because it would be impossible.

I parked in their drive at the side of their house, feeling ridiculous that my heart was slamming against my rib cage. After my quick lunch with Caleb, I still hadn’t relaxed and I knew I wouldn’t until Harper and I had an honest conversation. Something I felt we could do now that she’d rested up a bit.

“Hi, Ava.” Gillian stepped out of the front door onto the porch as I made my way around the garden to the front stoop.

“Hey. How are you?” I asked as I climbed the steps.

She gave me a tired smile, surprising me. On all occasions that we’d spent time together there was a constant bronze glow to Gillian’s skin and a brightness in her hazel eyes that matched this irrepressible aura of energy that athletes seemed to have. Today both her skin and gaze seemed dull. She looked exhausted. “I have three kids and a belligerent houseguest who has quite frankly made me terrified of my kids becoming teenagers. Other than that, I’m fine.”

I passed her, walking into the beautiful entrance to their home. Ahead of me was an expansive oak staircase with a light gray carpet runner up the center. To my left was a formal living room with a baby grand piano in the corner. To my right a larger family room, with a lived-in corner sofa, armchair and stool, coffee table, television center, and lots of knickknacks. Both rooms had a central feature modern glass-box gas fireplace, neither of which was lit since it was June.

“She’s just restless,” I replied to Gillian’s comment. “She doesn’t mean to be exhausting.”

“I know.” Gillian nodded. “Jason has agreed to let her back in the kitchen tomorrow.”

“It’s probably for the best.”

“I agree.”

“Kids at school?”

“Yeah, I’m actually just heading out to pick them up. I’ll show you to Harper’s room first. We put her in the guest suite at the back of the house.” She led me past the staircase into a sprawling kitchen and dining room. A set of French doors in front of us led out onto the back garden. I admired the modern twist on the country kitchen. They had pale green Shaker-style cupboards, a thick woodblock countertop, a Belfast sink, and a matching island. Built in between cupboards was a large black ceramic range cooker that seemed to have all the bells and whistles. The freestanding combined refrigerator and freezer was one of the biggest I’d ever seen. It was a huge kitchen, accented with copper accessories and copper pans hanging from a rack on the far wall.

“Love.” I gestured to kitchen.

“Thanks.” She grinned. “Our pride and joy. Most of our budget went into it.”

With Jason being a chef, I had no doubt.

Double doors to our right took us into a fully stocked pantry. A door at the back of the pantry led us out into a small corridor. Gillian drew us to a halt and pointed to the door at the bottom of the hall. “Guest suite.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope …” She lowered her voice. “I hope you can get her to talk to you. She can’t keep what happened to her bottled up.”

I nodded. “I know.”

As soon as Gillian left, I knocked on the door.

“Gillian, I said I don’t need anything,” Harper grumbled from the other side.

So I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Harper was sitting curled up on an armchair in the corner of a lovely room. There was a four-poster bed in the center of it, a TV cabinet opposite the bed, and a door next to the cabinet that led into an en suite bathroom. Behind the armchair were French doors that led out onto the side garden.

Sunlight cast a halo over my best friend’s head as she looked up from the book she was reading and let out a dramatic sigh. Her broken wrist lay on her lap, and the sight of the small cast caused me to wince. “I thought you weren’t coming until later?”

I shut the door behind me and dropped my purse on the bed before rounding it to stand in front of her. Her left eye was much better now, although the bruising had turned dark and brutal around it. The swelling had gone down in her nose, and the stitches on her temple and eyebrow were small, clean, and neat. The cut on her lip didn’t look so bad either. Still, my stomach roiled at the visual evidence of what she’d gone through. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she answered stubbornly.

“You’re going to. We are going to.” I lowered myself to my knees, tucking my skirt in neatly around them. “I’ll start.” I began by exhaling shakily and saw Harper frown at the sign of my nervousness. “I feel guilty for not pressuring you more to dump Vince. And I feel guilty that I even pressured you at all because I’m worried that my doubts about him are only intensifying your own guilt. And I’m terrified that you feel guilty at all because you’re not the one to blame in this situation. We have all trusted the wrong person at one time or another in our lives, Harp. It happens. It’s shit, but it happens and we’ve got to learn to give ourselves a free pass every now and then.”

Harper stared at me sullenly. “Wow. You just dived right into the good stuff, huh?”

“Don’t.” I reached for her good hand, pulling it away from the edges of her book. “This is me. Ava. Don’t think you can hide behind snark and that I won’t see right through it. Be honest with me.”

She glanced sharply away, grinding her teeth for a second. And then I felt her squeeze my hand ever so gently. “I …”

I waited patiently and not so patiently for her to continue.

Harper swallowed and finally, slowly dragged her eyes back to mine. “I can’t believe I let someone do this to me. Again.”

“This is very different,” I said immediately. “I didn’t know Vince was capable of this. I just thought he was an unsupportive wannabe rock star who wasn’t good enough for you. And I know you didn’t know he was capable of this, Harp. Did you stick around and tell yourself that it was a one-off, that he was high? No. Did you listen to him when he pleaded with you that he didn’t mean to hurt you? No. You called me to come and get you out of there. Do you want to go back to him?”

“God no,” she spat, jerking her hand out of mine. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind of question I needed to ask so you can see that you’re not trapped in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship with this guy. He showed what he was capable of and you have unequivocally walked away.”

“I didn’t want to call the police. What does that say about me?”

“It says you didn’t want strangers dragging up ugly memories from your past. It says you just wanted to walk away and move on.”

“And let him do this to someone else,” she muttered, self-hatred gleaming from her eyes.

“You weren’t thinking about that then, sweetie. And no one can blame you for it.”

“You should. I’ve been treating you like crap for just doing the right thing.” Tears started to spill down her cheeks.