Of Happiness

Of Happiness

Copyright ©
2014 Olivia Luck

Published by Olivia Luck

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Published: Olivia Luck 2014

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To Edith and Clara for their sacrifices and endless love

N
umb.

For a few moments, I am blissfully so.

If it weren’t for the pressure of my dad’s arm around my shoulder, guiding me down the street, I’d be stuck on the spot of sidewalk where Harris attempted to speak with me. Maybe I would have even listened to what he had to say, but then his sister, Claire, interrupted the moment. I’ve got to give the girl her exquisite timing. She knew exactly when my resolve was crumbling and swooped in to crush our reconciliation.

Only a few hours earlier I thought Harris and I were impenetrable. Bit by bit I found the cracks in our pairing when he refused to tell me about the death of his younger brother, Cooper. What was left of our relationship crumbled when Claire accused me of having an affair with her husband’s best friend.

My relationship with Harris was meant for two people, not three. I can’t be with him while evading Claire at the same time. That’s why I left him on the middle of that patch of concrete. That and he shredded my heart into a thousand tiny ribbons when he merely gaped silently as Claire maligned my character.

Not a great night overall.

The walk is surprisingly brief. Dad steers me inside a towering structure. It’s not until we’re in the hotel lobby that I notice the grandiose decor.

“Dad,” I hiss, grasping at his elbow. He’s wearing a T-shirt, so my hand comes in contact with his skin. That sturdy reliability I admired before vibrates underneath my fingers. How had I never noticed this steadiness before? My grip gains urgency and I clutch him tightly.

Thank goodness you’re here,
I tell him silently.

“This is a very expensive hotel!”

Without pause, he leads me toward the elevator bank, still maintaining the weight of my weekend travel bag like it’s nothing more than a kitten. “I know where we are, Ed, and it’s not a problem.”

“But I helped manage our finances all those years,” I tell him as we slip into the half-full elevator box. Dad presses the button for the tenth floor. I keep my voice low so the other hotel guests don’t hear me as I continue. “We weren’t exactly rolling in the Benjamins.”

He rewards my feeble attempt at light heartedness with a grim smile. “That’s something we need to talk about while I’m here.”

What the hell is going on?

We walk through a maze of corridors and arrive at his room. I nearly wince when I see the number—1001—just like my old apartment with Claire. Dad hovers the key over the electronic lock and holds the door open for me, so I can enter ahead of him. Seeing the two plush queen beds makes me want to collapse underneath the covers and hide.

“What now?” I ask, turning to face him. He’s set my heavy bag down at the foot of the closer bed. I drop my purse onto a low dresser.

Dad runs a hand through his short brown hair, a telltale sign of nerves. Is he wary because we’ve hardly had a close-knit relationship? I’m in a similar shock that my emotionally-stilted father is now my top ally.

“You look… tired.”

Gee, thanks.
As much as it stings, he’s probably right. Even though I’m physically well-rested, it feels like I’ve been awake for two straight days.

“Let’s talk in the morning after you’ve gotten some sleep,” he says firmly.

“Okay,” I mumble, lacking the energy to argue with him. It’s after midnight anyway.

Dad clears his throat, then mutters something about brushing his teeth. He grabs some clothing from a drawer and heads into the bathroom, giving me some privacy. In his absence, I rifle through my bag and retrieve a pair of sleep shorts and a T-shirt.

Tap, tap, tap.

I glance toward the windows, but they’re covered by shades, and we’re on the tenth floor, so it’s not like someone could be throwing stones up here.

The tapping sounds again. I realize with a start the noise stems from the bathroom.

“Dad?” I venture toward the door.

“Um, is it all right for me to come out?”

This bulky, gun-wielding man is concerned with disturbing his own daughter?

For half a beat I’m too surprised to say anything. “Yes, of course.”

He opens the door with an almost sheepish smile. We trade places, so I can change into pajamas, scrub my face, and brush my teeth. Once I’m clean, I study my expression in the mirror. Skin a few shades paler than normal for the summer, eyes rimmed-red with unshed tears, and a general air of dejectedness. With a snort of annoyance, I glance away from my reflection. I’ll deal with that tomorrow, too.

The only light illuminating the bedroom when I return is the bedside lamp. Before I crawl under the sheets, I grab my cell phone from my purse.

A punch of disappointment hits me when I find no messages.

With a heavy sigh that makes my heart—or what’s left of it—ache, I place the phone next to the bed and crawl under the sheets.

“Good night, Dad,” I murmur softly.

The light goes out with a click and then, “Good night, Ed.”

A knot clogs my throat, but I manage to make out the words, “Thanks for coming.”

He doesn’t respond. The steady sound of his breathing probably means he’s already fallen asleep. I shut my eyes and start to count in a feeble attempt to calm the lingering pain.

One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand.

Ten minutes crawl by, and the usually soothing tactic has no such effect this time. My heart thuds in my chest as I travel back to memories of Harris.

You are mine and I am yours.
He said that. He meant that; I saw his sincerity. I don’t believe our commitment was so fleeting.

The whole night was one big mess, starting with his inability to talk about Cooper to the argument with Claire. Admittedly, he must have felt overwhelmed. But does Claire dictate his every action?

He let me go.
 

It was only yesterday Harris held me while we both revealed some of our secrets. I felt close enough to him to confess the painful detachment from my father, and he lowered the walls that guarded his own relationship with Claire and his family. There was never anyone in my life, not even my closest friend, Sarah, that I allowed in so intimately. I trusted him implicitly, and it seemed that he slowly began trusting me back.

And now?

I’m alone.

Again.

Tears build up behind my eyes. Liquid tracks down my cheeks, soundlessly at first, then my well-practiced art of silent crying fails me. Hiccupping sobs erupt.

I wrap my arms around myself defensively. My knees scrunch toward my chest. The pain surrounds me, settling around me heavily like the blanket tucked underneath my chin. I wish so badly Harris was here, cradling me to his chest and comforting me.

But he’s not here. Dad’s next to me, and—

A tentative hand brushes on my shoulder and my eyes shoot open.

“Ed?”

The crying jag makes it difficult for me to respond, so I just shake my head.

He lingers there for a moment, then he’s gone. I think he’s back in bed, but then I feel the weight of the bed shift. I roll over, the tears momentarily pausing as I watch the scene before me in confusion. Dad’s now sitting with his back against the pillows. It’s too dark to make out his expression. It wouldn’t matter if the lights were on; I’m trembling with exhaustion and emotion, eyes hardly cracked open.