Page 82 of Harper

“I thought you wanted to talk,” he says, his eyes so narrow, I can’t read them.

“You don’t want to hear anything I have to say.”

He pushes his glasses back down so they’re hiding his eyes.

“I’m so angry at you, Harp,” he growls. “I’ve never felt anger like this. Not toward my absentee dad. Not even toward the person who mowed down my mom.” He clenches his fists as he stands up to face me. “I feel so much rage, so much frustration…I don’t know how to get through it.”

“I’m sorry for that. I’m so sorry, Joe. I really am,” I say. “But I’m about to walk into an appointment that terrifies me. If you only understood what I went through…I just—I don’t have the space, right this minute, to rehash why I did what I did ten years ago. I have too much anxiety to find room for your anger.”

“So I should just suck it up?”

“I didn’t say that,” I say, taking a shaky breath. I’ve lived most of my life avoiding confrontation. I’m not good at it. I hate it. “We can talk about what happened with Raven another time. I can explain why I did what I did when you’re ready to listen. And you can express your anger and frustration, and I will listen. But not now. Not right this minute.”

I start walking away from Joe, toward the hospital entrance.

“When?” he yells.

I stop and turn around.

“This weekend?” I suggest.

“You’re not doing the Yukon runs anymore?”

I shake my head, my hand falling on my belly. “No. I’m only doing local tours from now on. In Skagway and Dyea.”

“That’s good,” mumbles Joe.

“Saturday night?” I suggest.

“Yeah. Eight o’clock?” he asks. “My place?”

Honestly, I’d rather he come to Dyea, where I’m surrounded by my family and feel protected. It’s not that I think Joe would hurt me or anything like that, but I’m emotional and tired by the end of the day, and I’d rather be on my own turf for another difficult conversation.

“No,” I say. “Mine.”

“Fine,” he says.

“Fine.”

***

“The good news, Harper, is that everything looks perfect so far,” says Dr. Kim, grinning at me.

She moves the ultrasound wand like a joystick in my vagina, and it’s a weird sensation, for sure, but I’m so distracted looking at the little black-and-white TV screen, I don’t pay it much attention. The doctor points to a tiny white blob inside a slightly larger black blob.

“There’s your baby. Embryo is implanted in the uterus. Yolk sac is a good size.” She looks at me, then Joe. “Do you two want photos to take with you?”

I look up at Joe, who smiles at me with pure wonder. His voice is tender, almost reverent. “Yeah. Please.”

“Me too,” I say, still staring at Joe.

Hope makes me stupid. But just as an answering smile starts to tug at the corners of my lips, Joe’s face hardens. I watch it happen. I watch him remind himself of how much he hates me.

It hurts. Fuck, but it hurts. I turn away quickly, blinking my eyes.

“Here you go!” says the doctor, handing us each a small picture.

I stare at the little white blob.

---