Chapter 1
“Time will always pass, but sometimes you forget to pay attention
until it’s too late.”
I’ve experienced moments
where I knew as they were occurring, I would be able to remember them for the
rest of my life. Moments like lying in bed beside Max, watching his chest rise
and fall with heavy breaths, or the gleam in my dad’s eyes as we readied our
soap cars in preparation of our first soap box race. I can still remember the
look of love and sincerity on my brother-in-law Kyle’s face as I stood beside
my sisters and he promised to love my oldest sister, Mindi, for all of time.
My brain has
so many memories I actively work to suppress that it no longer seems to
function for any intellectual purpose, just as a dark cave chock-full of images
I work to avoid because if I face them, I don’t know that I’ll be able to get
back out.
Unfortunately,
memories appear from a single scent, taste, sound, image, or touch. They’re all
so deeply imbedded in me that something as simple as the sight of a particular
pen will catch me off guard when I realize it’s the same kind my dad had always
used. Did I know a year ago he had always
carried the same blue pens with him? Memories are funny that way, like
time, they sneak up on you—it’s inevitable.
When my
mom brought to light my own fears about Max moving forward, I knew I needed to
escape, I just didn’t know where, not until a
card came loose when I finally pulled my phone out of my purse one day. I had
been leaving it on silent to avoid the constant ringing and vibrating because I
was sick and tired of hearing people ask if I was okay. The ironic part was
that as much as I hated answering that question, most people never seemed all
that interested in my actual response.
I set my
phone aside to pick up the business card that had floated to the floor. There
was a number scrawled across the back in nearly illegible handwriting, along
with the name Ben. I could hardly recall seeing Ben, let alone having a
conversation with him, which was kind of a shame. He and my dad had been
roommates their freshman year of college and then continued on to medical
school together. Though I had mostly seen him from the cover of Christmas cards
that he graced along with his wife and their daughter, Emily, I had enjoyed him
the few times that we’d met in person.
Mather’s
Science and Technology. I stared at the name of the company embossed across the
front of the card. He had started the business several years ago after moving
to the East Coast. It was late and I hadn’t been sleeping much, so I went
online and started reading through his company website. Entranced, I sought any
articles that had been written about the company. All my life I’d wanted to
help people, and here was this company focused on researching medical cures
without the aid of medicine. And it wasn’t financially supported by a drug
company, something that was about as common as finding a seashell in a forest.
Thoughts began blooming in my mind, covering ugly fears and insecurities and
replacing them with possibilities. A new start.
Science to Improve
Life. That was their motto. Not overly catchy or life altering in itself,
but it led me down a path that seemed impossible to turn away from.
I stayed up
all night researching how far it was to Delaware and the best route to drive. I
made a list of things to bring and what I needed to do. Then I began looking
for an apartment online and schools in the vicinity. When it was a respectable
hour on the East Coast, I called Ben. He was polite, but I heard the reluctance
in his voice at the potential of me coming to work for him. I offered to
volunteer, thinking he wouldn’t say no to free labor. Apparently either my
overly ambitious attitude, or perhaps guilt from having seen me cry a sea of
tears at my father’s funeral, made him accept even though I didn’t have a
degree or even a declared major. He even tied a small salary to the position he
offered me.
I was
relieved. Things were falling into place so easily.
It seemed
like kismet.
Saying
goodbye was hard, but nothing like what it would have been a few months prior.
I think my heart had gone into full self-preservation mode, allowing me to part
from everyone without really considering their emotions. That, or maybe I was
just becoming immune to them all after the emotional-packed month I had
experienced. Maybe both.
The comfort
I’d been seeking with moving out here, away from having to watch Max move
forward and seeing the house that held memories of both my dad and Max lurking
around every corner, away from the cemetery where my father now rests that made
me break out in chills and heaving sobs the few times I’d passed it before
leaving, wasn’t nearly as attainable as I’d hoped. The walls of my apartment
close in on me a little more each day, and the nice weather that had offered
some solace vanished before October arrived. My fingers and toes are now
constantly freezing as the month of November dawns.
The weather
had begun changing in September. Cooler breezes and chilly nights turned into
frost-covered windows and an icy parking lot each morning, making running
outside feel like a medieval torture method. Begrudgingly, I joined a gym.
Snow
flurries are forecasted for the entire week. A small part of me is excited,
hoping it will break this endless cycle of gray that I’ve been drowning in for
several weeks now.
I pull on
some sweats and shove work clothes and my Converse sneakers in a bag and make
for the parking lot.
Two girls
slip in before me at the gym. They’re giggling about something, wearing their
Spandex pants and sports bras even with the cold temperatures. Their hair and
makeup is already complete, and a wave of their perfume hits me as they pull
open the doors.
It feels
like I’m in a bar rather than the gym, as I watch them scour the large space to
determine where they’re going to work out based upon the few guys that are here
this morning.
Once my
bag’s stored in the locker room of the gym and my shoes are tied, I head out
and grab some wipes for the treadmill at the far end of the line. Working in a
science lab, I know all about the germs that are bred in places like this.
I’ve never
been a fan of gyms. The monotony of the treadmill is what I hate the most about
coming here. I miss running outside and seeing the different sights, breathing
fresh air. Here, sweat, perfume, cologne, and chemicals permeate the air, and I
have few options of things to look at; it’s either my own reflection across the
room, other machines and people, or the TVs that are currently all set to a
Spanish soap opera.
I close my
eyes and beckon a memory that doesn’t hide far in the recesses of my mind.
Visions of palm trees and stretches of ocean placate me while I seek a familiar
burn.
After getting showered and
dressed, I pull out my phone to check the time. Previously, my phone was an
accessory I often misplaced. These days it’s a taunting shadow. There are no
messages or alerts. No missed calls. When you ignore people long enough, they
begin ignoring you too.
“Good
morning, Harper. You staying warm out there?”
I turn to
Gus, the guard at the front door of Mather’s Science and Technology and force a
small smile. “Hey, Gus.” He’s also one of the few people that makes an effort
to speak to me.
“You be sure
you get some snow tires on soon!” His voice is raspy and deep, like his lungs
have endured a lot of smoking over his fifty-odd years of life. He really
should do something like commercials or movie introductions; it has the ability
to melt the grimace from my face that is there too frequently these days.
“Thanks for
the reminder.” I pull out today’s newspaper and lay it on the counter for him.
I tell myself the reason I take the route that takes me ten additional minutes
to get to the lab is so I can stop by this tiny, independently-owned
convenience store so I can pick up the paper and my coffee each morning. It has
absolutely nothing to do with avoiding Miller Ave. Nope. Nothing.
Or everything.
Too-early
mornings. Gym. Paper and coffee. Work. School. This is my life.
“How did it go?”
Except … now
there’s Fitz. Fitz helps.
I look over at him and take a long sip
of my coffee, waiting to warm up before removing my jacket.
Fitz’s eyes grow wide. “Don’t tell me
that you didn’t go! Harper, she can force you to go to a school counselor. This
is serious!” he growls. “Dammit, you promised me.”
“She called and canceled on me, actually. She rescheduled it for
tomorrow,” I explain after pausing long enough to gain a dramatic edge that I
soften with a small smile. Fitz’s chin drops and his eyes narrow, looking more
annoyed than relieved, which only serves to make my smile grow.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he
mumbles.
“Aren’t you glad that I’m your pain in the ass?”
Fitz’s annoyance cracks and he shakes
his head with a laugh. “So much,” he replies sarcastically. “Get all your snow
gear off, California. Time to get to work. I’ve got a new hypothesis for us to
start working on.”
I met Fitz last month after completing
my orientation, which consisted of being passed around from different lab rooms
and scientists that mostly regarded me with disdain and annoyance, only ever
referring to me as “hey you.” I was assisting Dr. Schooner at the time. I
wasn’t allowed to perform a lab by myself due to my lack of degree. However, I
was able to help set up, clean, read the equipment’s results, take notes, and
log outcomes in detailed journal entries for the doctors.
The day I met Fitz, I was cleaning up
a lab I’d begun with Dr. Schooner. She was only thirty or so, but she had
insisted that I call her Dr. Schooner.
We’d begun dissecting a new heart that
day, something I was still trying to adjust to. Even though I was only ever
observing, the first cut was always the most difficult for me. It felt like we
were cutting at love, at opportunity, at life.
It had
brought me back to a question Adam, my Philosophy teacher and my older sister
Jenny’s boyfriend, had posed after I handed in my final back in June.
“Are they
really gone if you’re able to keep the memory of them alive?”
“Of course
they’re gone. Memories means past tense,” I replied angrily and grabbed my
things from my desk.
“So what’s a
greater tragedy? Someone dying and therefore not able to create more memories,
or someone alive that refuses to live?”
“I’m still
living, Adam! I’m breathing, and talking, and moving!” I said, slinging my bag
over my shoulder.
“You’re
thinking with your scientific brain again, not your philosophical one.”
“It’s all
one brain!”
“Don’t let
loss make you lose yourself.” I glared at him and then stormed out of the room.
Adam’s look
of defeat was haunting me as I continued staring at the heart, trying to hide
images of my father as I forced myself to gather the tools used to reveal the
internal surfaces and structures of the heart.
“Harper,
this is Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald.”
The scalpel
I was holding clanged against the floor and my neck snapped up to see Ben
standing beside a short, thin guy with light brown skin and spiky black hair.
I’d seen him before in passing but had never bothered to learn his name. I
glanced back at Ben, certain I must have imagined his words, as he apologized for
startling me. The name still hung on my thoughts, distracting me as I looked
down to see smears of blood staring up at me from the white tiles.
“Max. Just
Max is good,” he said, keeping his eyes on everything but me.
“Max, this
is Harper Bosse,” Ben said again when neither of us spoke. “Max here is
currently studying aortic aneurisms, and I know that’s where you want to apply
your focus, so I thought this partnership would behoove you both. I let Dr.
Schooner know that she’ll be starting again back over in lab six tomorrow. If
you can please make sure to deposit whatever she needs over there, you guys can
remain in this lab.” It was the smallest of the few dozen, so I’m sure Dr.
Schooner was thrilled to be out of here and away from me.
Max’s eyes
roved across the small room, looking bored and disappointed to be paired with
me. I didn’t blame him. I’d have been disappointed too.
Ben quickly
gave a timid smile and then left.
I bent down
to retrieve my scalpel, keeping my sole focus on the floor as I turned and
headed to the sink used for sanitation. His
name’s Max? Is this a joke? Maybe I heard him wrong?
I glanced in
his direction again as I went to gather the other supplies that needed to be
cleaned.
“Your name’s
Max?”
He looked up
from where he was circling around a vacant work station, carefully inspecting
the blank space.
“And you’re
Harper,” he answered in a bored tone.
“Do you mind
if I call you Fitzgerald?” The question left my lips in a rush before I even
had time to lower my voice to make it sound less pleading. As I moved back to
the sink, I glanced over at him again. His shoulders were hunched as he hovered
over the desk, but his face was tilted up, looking at me carefully in a way
that was uncomfortably familiar. He finally shrugged, then his eyes fell back
to the table, and I quickly scrambled to finish getting things washed and
noted.
Dr. Schooner
had requested for me to sit in and complete the dissection that we had begun a
few days prior, and Fitzgerald had agreed, stating he needed to get organized.
I was back in the lab with him, recording my notes from the day, because I
hadn’t bothered moving my things for the short period. I was feeling annoyed
and befuddled over how a forty-six year old librarian suffered a major heart
attack and died in her sleep. Alone.
Being that I
spent the majority of my time since coming out East alone, that small notation
highlighted itself, causing my eyes to continue to scan back over it.
The woman
hadn’t smoked, wasn’t a drinker, and worked in a profession we calculated as
low stress. I thumbed through her file again, hoping something would expose
itself.
“What are
you missing?”
I jumped and
glanced over at Fitzgerald, whom I began to mentally only ever refer to as
Fitz. We’d worked together with radio silence between us during the time I
completed my notes, and he worked on his own processes and getting his work
station set up to his liking.
“I just
don’t understand what happened to her,” I said on a sigh. “I mean, do I just
chock it up to genetics, or is there something else? Something I’m not seeing?”
“Go ask,
then,” Fitz responded, turning his attention back to his desk.
Eventually he must have felt my stare
because he turned and looked back at me, his dark brown eyes wide. I’m pretty
sure he was sizing me up, or maybe he was challenging me.
“If you want to be a scientist, you
need to ask questions. The more answers you’re able to collect, the better your
chances will be of finding the correct one.”
“You think I should just call her
family?”
His chin tilted as he surveyed me and
his look turned into a taunt. “Unless you have a direct number for God…”
I wanted to roll my eyes, or glare at
him, but he didn’t give me the opportunity. Instead, he returned his full
attention to his lab and placed a set of earbuds in. An indignant huff blew
through my nose, and I stood up to head to the commons to get some caffeine and
a break.
When I
returned, Fitz was gone. I felt relieved to be back in my space alone, even if
it was only for a short while. I peered over the file again, glancing at the
contact information. My fingers began dialing the number provided before I
finished thinking about what I was about to do.
A woman
answered on the third ring with a tone that said she was expecting a
telemarketer.
“Hi, my
name’s Harper Bosse. I’m an assistant at Mather’s Science and Technology and I
was hoping to speak to the … the … someone that knew … Elaine Boggman.” My
words were jumbled as my eyes frantically searched over the information for the
point of contact’s name, only to come up with a W, making myself cringe at the
fact I hadn’t thought to prepare that far in advance.
“This is
Wendy,” she replied. “I’m her … was … her daughter.”
My eyes
welled with tears and my skin prickled with goose bumps. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Wendy.” My words came out
barely above a whisper as I attempted not to choke on them. I stared into the
brightness of the bulb shinning from my desk lamp, not allowing my eyes to
blink or pool with any more tears.
“Wendy, I
wanted to ask you a few questions about your mom if that’s alright.” I paused,
feeling my pulse racing in my fingertips that were tightly gripping a pen. “I
understand if it’s too difficult.” The lump in my throat expanded with each
word.
Certain
things used to trigger a breakdown: the smell of whiskey, the scent of Max’s
cologne, seeing a father and daughter together, pancakes, and many other
everyday things used to make me dash to the nearest restroom where I’d hide
until the sobbing subsided. Eventually, the sobbing became stray tears and now,
most days, I can cross my arms tight across my chest, count down from five, and
be okay … most days.
A month ago,
I even began exposing myself to some of the memories after I woke up in a panic
and couldn’t remember the sound of Max’s voice. I went to the liquor store and
bought a bottle of whiskey. The memories infiltrated my brain with just the
scent and continued with each drink, filling me with tears of relief.
“How can I
help?” Wendy’s voice sounded slightly timid.
“I … I’m
studying heart disease and your mother looked like she was in good health. I
was just calling to see if there was something that might be missing from her
medical records.”
“She was in
excellent shape, but the last few years were really hard on her. You see, my
dad passed away about five years ago, and my mom … she couldn’t get over it.”
Before I could stop the tears, they slid down my cheeks in thick streams,
tickling my chin. “At first she wouldn’t get out of bed or get dressed. I think
she felt guilty if she let herself be happy, so she worked to keep busy and
shut herself away from the world. I think she died of a broken heart.”
I knew that
she was wrong. Although there is a condition called broken heart syndrome, it’s
very rare one dies from it. However, the lump in my throat had become a
boulder, and the room was so blurry it took me several seconds to manage a
reply.
“Thank you,
Wendy,” I choked out, pinching the skin on my forearm, desperate to feel
something else. “I really appreciate your time, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I hung up before she could reply and slid into to a heap beside my desk as the
sobs took over.
I’m not sure
if Fitz had walked in at the beginning, middle, or very end of my phone call;
I’d never noticed him, but I felt his hands on my shoulders that racked up and
down.
When I was
finally able to breathe without crying, I gathered my files and locked them in
my drawer, grabbed my purse, and left.
I spent the
rest of that week dutifully avoiding my lab and Fitz. The following week I was
scheduled to officially begin working with him. Fitz entered, looking surprised
to find me ready and waiting. He set down his things while staring at his desk
and then looked back up at me.
“So what’s
your deal? You don’t talk to people. You don’t seem to have any friends that I
can tell. You don’t date anyone … are you Mormon?”
I furrowed
my eyebrows and shook my head.
“Are you a
lesbian?”
Was that what people thought? I laughed. “No, I’m not a
lesbian.”
“Then what’s
your deal?”
“I don’t
have a deal. I’m here going to school and needed a job. I wanted to work in a
lab that wasn’t owned by a drug manufacturing company, so I came here.”
“Bullshit.
There are labs like this closer to California than Delaware. What are you
running from?”
That was my
first taste of Fitz’s brutal honesty and lack of tact, and it was a bitter
taste, delivered with an even more bitter aftertaste.
I didn’t
know at the time how he knew I was from California, or what else he thought he
knew about me, but I wasn’t in a sharing mood so I gave him a curt answer.
“Nothing. I am running from nothing. My dad knew Ben, I asked for a favor, and
Ben accepted me.”
“You asked for a favor? Wouldn’t your dad
be the one that asked for a favor?”
Shit.
I took a
deep breath and channeled the frustration I was feeling to distract me from the
sadness that ensued at mentioning my father. “Because I’m perfectly capable,” I
said, glaring at Fitz.
“How did he
die?”
That was the
bitter aftertaste.
There was
nothing I wanted to do more than object to his question and tell him how absurd
and rude he was for making such a bold assumption.
“Your voice
changed when you made that call. Your dad … he died, didn’t he?”
“An aortic aneurism.” I stated the
words factually, fighting off the emotions brewing in my chest. I moved my focus away from his so he couldn’t see how
uncomfortable the conversation made me.
“When did it
happen?”
“May. May
5.”
Fitz nodded.
“Was his name Max?”
I cringed
and shook my head. “No, my dad’s name is …
was…” I swallowed and took a deep breath “…his name was David.” Fitz nodded
again and then excused himself. I’m sure I had made things incredibly awkward,
however, I hadn’t really had the time to think about it because I was focusing
on trying to relax and stop the impending tears that I could feel burning the corners
of my eyes.
Fitz
returned shortly with two coffees and placed one in front of me. “My dad died
when I was thirteen. It never gets easier, but you start remembering the good
more than the loss and that helps a lot.”
The
following day Fitz insisted that I go to lunch with him. I didn’t realize how
many people I had been avoiding as I followed him out to the parking lot.
“You’re like
a celebrity,” I joked, sliding into the passenger seat of his car.
“I am after
that feat. There’s kind of been a stir about you since you started, and here
you are, getting into my car.”
“A stir?” I
repeated, my voice swimming with sarcasm.
“You’ve kind
of made a habit of avoiding everyone. People are intrigued by the hot blonde
that only ever speaks to Gus.”
I turned in
my seat to look at him, and he laughed at the obvious confusion across my face.
“Just because you don’t pay attention to anyone, doesn’t mean people aren’t
paying attention to you.” His words reminded me so much of my mom’s that my
chest throbbed slightly before he turned on the radio and reversed with a sharp
jerk, distracting me from my own misery.
The
atmosphere of the lab changed along with our relationship after that. Fitz
began playing his music from the speakers of his computer and my shell slowly
began to crack as he inquired and learned about my family and Abby. We talked
about movies and music, food and philosophy, along with weird things like
textures we didn’t like, laughs we found annoying, and theories on the
extinction of dinosaurs. We discussed nearly everything, everything except for
Max, my mother, and anything regarding my dad from the last year.
Sometimes
we’d be talking and the conversation would veer dangerously close to one of the
topics that had become my own personal Bermuda Triangle, and I’d completely
shut down. Thankfully, Fitz never made a big deal of it and would carry the
conversation back to safer waters and pretend like I hadn’t just made things
incredibly awkward.
“So what’s your hypothesis?”
I ask, shrugging off my coat.
“What are
you going to do when it actually snows? You aren’t going to be able to fit more
layers on. You need to start eating more.”
I brush off
his comment and remove my sweatshirt. I can tell that I’ve lost some weight
because my clothes are looser, but I haven’t had much of an appetite, and my
budget’s a bit tight since I live alone on a meager income, refusing to accept
help from my mom for anything besides school. I primarily eat cereal from one
of my four bowls while sitting on my bed—an air mattress that serves not only
as where I sleep but also as my couch and dining room.
“Come on,
impress me,” I goad, walking toward the lab tables.
 About Mariah Dietz |
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