Marry Screw Kill(88)

I’m catapulted forward while the screeching brakes of the truck ring in my ears. I hit the pavement with a thud, but nothing hits me. I glance over my shoulder and see James flying through the air. His body lands on the pavement in a brutal fashion a few yards from me.

The truck hit him straight on, but he pushed me out of the way. I begin to cry, realizing he saved my life.

His body lies in a motionless heap. I push myself off the pavement and run toward him. I can’t get to his side fast enough.

James lies with his eyes open wide, but he’s not moving. I cup his cheek in my hand as he stares up at me. He smiles weakly, even with his body broken and bleeding.

Warm blood trickles over my fingers, but I ignore it. He deserves the best I can give him as he takes what might be his last breath.

“Forgive me, Harlow.” Tears stream down my face. I fear it’s his dying wish, so I do what’s right.

“I forgive you.” He saved me from the truck, giving himself up for me. In his own twisted way, he loves me.

“Thank you,” he says in a raspy whisper. I watch his eyes turn to a vacant stare and I know he’s gone. No more.

Minutes go by and voices compel me to look away from James. He has died, and I feel nothing but sorrow for the man he could’ve been.

“Miss.” A light tap on my shoulder startles me. I glance up at a police officer leaning over me, his brown eyes filled with concern.

“He’s gone,” I say.

“I know.” The officer offers his hand to me and I take it. He helps me stand. “Why don’t you come sit in my car?”

I follow the officer to a black sedan, but look over my shoulder to where James is lying alone on the ground. His whole life came down to one instant, and he saved me in it.

The officer opens the back door of his squad car. “You can sit here, miss. I’ll need to talk to you later.”

“Thanks,” I say while climbing into the back seat. Its closed area feels safe and far removed from the tragedy I just walked away from. An allusion, as Becca would say.

The patrol car door stands wide open and the officer leans down. “Is there anyone you would like to call?”

This time, I have an answer: Sin.





Epilogue


Sinclair



“There she is. Do you see her?” Margaret asks, pointing toward a long line of graduates decked in maroon-colored gowns. They’re proceeding down an aisle and filling the rows of empty seats. I spot Harlow’s golden hair. There’s no way to miss her.

“I do.” I place my hands in my pocket and smile. No matter how many people are around us, I always feel this invisible pull toward her. I gave up fighting it long ago, likely on the second day after we met.

“I see her, too,” my grandmother, Nina, says while standing on her tiptoes.

I’m standing at Harlow’s graduation ceremony at Brooklyn College with grandmothers on each side of me and I’m totally fine with it. We take our seats as the last graduate sits down and the ceremony begins.

“You have everything ready?” Nina leans over and whispers in my ear. I grin and give her a thumbs up.

A professor announces name after name as the graduates walk across the stage to receive their diplomas. The next row of students rises from their seats and proceeds to the back of the procession.

Harlow is impossible to miss in the line with her blond hair contrasting against the dark graduation gown. She stands tall while taking small, measured steps forward. She’s worked hard as hell over the last four years and I’m so damn proud of her.

Last summer, Harlow had an internship with a prestigious Manhattan publisher. They have offered her a position after graduation and she starts in two weeks. I have a few weeks off before my next year of school, so we are heading to the Bahamas for a relaxing vacation.

We need time away from the pace of this city to decompress. Between my demanding schedule at Columbia and her final year at Brooklyn, some days we hardly saw each other, even living together. So a few days relaxing on a white sandy beach as we gaze out over the turquoise waters should revive us. Then again, it might be just as relaxing to spend our days in bed since we’ll have an ocean view from all the rooms.

Nina and Margaret sit on either side of me and I place my arms over the backs of their chairs. Harlow and I are so damned lucky to have them in our lives.

When Harlow and Margaret came to the city for the first time, we were able to talk Margaret into moving here. She went back to Park Ridge, sold her home, and shared an apartment with Harlow for a year.

Harlow took Becca’s advice and lived apart from me, although her apartment was only a few blocks over from mine. She slept over at my place more often than her own, but she had the independence of choosing.

Over the last four years, I’ve watched the meek, shy Harlow of Rochester morph into a determined New Yorker. She even yells at cabbies now.

“They’re getting ready to call out her name,” Margaret says, straining to see over the heads of people sitting in front of us. “I only wish her mother could see her. She’d be so proud.” Margaret wipes her eyes.

“Me, too,” I sigh.

“Harlow Masters,” the master of ceremonies announces in a formal tone.

She walks across the stage, smiling from ear to ear, beaming with joy. My beautiful Harlow shakes the hand of the college president and then leaves the stage. It’s one of the proudest moments of my life. She returns to her seat with a bounce in her step.