Her finger brushed mine, running over the edge of the moon. “I got a tattoo because I wanted to feel in control of my body again. And I gotthisbecause when the moon changes shape, they call it a miracle.”
My eyes met hers. “I’m not your distraction from all this, Harper. Talk to me about the bad things too.”
“You’re not my distraction,” she agreed, hooking her finger around mine like we might swear it. “You’re the only thing I’m trying to stay present for.”
———
At dawn, she woke gasping. Half asleep, I drew her close, let her settle in my arms until her breathing slowed. I didn’t know how to help, could only be there for her and pretend I didn’t feel the same clawing in my chest too. I could tend the weeds of her guilt while my own flourished.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Not like that, I …”
“I know, Harper. You did what you could. But it’s over.”
But it wasn’t. We might have buried his body, but we hadn’t buriedhim. Not the man lingering in every headline, on the words of the police, on the gossip of the public. And I didn’t know how to protect her from that.
———
In May, we were escorted from the Cannes carpet within the hour. (We had elected to go solely so we could take a holiday together without notice, slipping off to Saint Tropez without any raised eyebrows about why we were both in France.)
Our catfight made the front page. Another article on Joel was page twenty-one.
———
Harper scrolled through her laptop as she lay in bed, silk nightdress slipping down her shoulder. I massaged night cream into my face, wandering out of the bathroom as I did so not to waste a minute that I might spend looking at her.
“Oh, this sounds good,” she said and commenced to read. “‘I hadn’t told Joel we were going to ask him to leave the squad for the Euros yet. But he was thirty-two, he had to have suspected. I think perhaps that combined with all the drama in his love life meant he just took off. I hope he’s ona beach somewhere, drinking a beer and laughing at us all losing our minds over him. But I think it’s more likely he got too drunk somewhere he shouldn’t and got into an accident. Fell into a river or off a cliff, and he’s just waiting for us to find him.’”
“Yes,” I said, “Sounds good.”
But I wondered how long he would be a part of our lives, where even his ghost lingered in a moment like this. And every time I thought we were maybe forgetting him and what we did, a phone rang or a headline landed or someone made a comment that pulled me up short.
I crawled into bed, and Harper kissed my collar. “I don’t want to take your moisturizer off,” she said, and sighed happily. “It smells good though.”
And I thought I could bear it for a moment more.
———
“The cops phoned me earlier,” Harper said.
This was not uncommon. Their calls might have slowed with each passing week, but three months after Joel’s death they were still in touch every few days with updates on their investigation.
“Yes?”
“They want access to the house. They want me to go back and give my DNA and fingerprints so they can rule me out of anything they find.”
“That won’t get you into trouble,” I said. “Even if they findhim, I can’t think of anything it wouldn’t be reasonable for your prints or DNA to be on.”
“I know,” she said, sliding her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to my forehead like I was the one worrying. “It just means I have to go back. And you can’t go with me this time.”
I leaned my forehead against hers. “I’m a phone call away,” I promised. “Whenever you need.”
Caleb rang me a few mornings after she left. “Hey Nadine, do you want to get dinner with me on Friday?”
I swallowed. “As a date?”
