Colorblind by Siera Maley Page A

it. I was determined to prove him wrong.
    Later that day, Dad finally got to have the conversation he’d wanted. I initiated it by entering his office and offering him my SIM card. “Do you have an old cell phone I can put this in?”
    He sighed and nodded, taking the card from me. Then he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “Harper, you know I love you dearly,” he began, “but I think we both know that things have been different since your mother passed away. I’ve been different, particularly.”
    He paused, and I stared at him, waiting for him to go on. “Deborah and I met online a few months ago. She lives in the area, and her husband passed away in a fire a couple of years ago. He was a firefighter. Talking to her…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Everything I’d been through, she’d been through. She could relate to it all. I haven’t had that with anyone other than you.” He shifted in his chair and looked to me pleadingly. “I think you’d really like her if you gave her a chance. A lot of the qualities I admire in her are ones I admired in your mother.”
    “She’s not Mom,” I reminded him gruffly. “She’s never gonna be Mom.”
    “I know.” He nodded. “I know. And when you were born, your mother and I promised each other that if anything were to happen to either of us, the other one would do the best job they could in raising you, and try as best as they could to be happy.” He smiled proudly. “And I’ve done a damn good job with you. I love you so much, Harper. Now it’s time for me to work on the other half of that promise.”
    I lowered my eyes to the ground, not sure what to say. “She’s not a replacement?” I asked at last.
    “Trust me. There is no replacing your mother,” he told me, getting to his feet. “Okay?”
    I looked up at him as he stretched his arms out for a hug, and then obliged him with a meek, “Okay.”
    As he hugged me, he explained, “I’m going to invite her over for dinner one night next weekend, okay? I think you’ll like her, but if anything goes wrong, we’ll talk it out, alright?”
    I pulled away from him abruptly, eyebrows furrowed. Dinner with just me, Dad, and Deborah sounded like a train wreck waiting to happen. “Can I invite my friend? Chloe?” I asked him.
    He didn’t take too long to think about it before he nodded. “That sounds fair. Sure.”
     
    * * *
     
    I consumed myself with Chloe for the next week. I made lists. Charts. Learned where she liked to go, what her schedule was like. It was borderline stalking, only she had no problem letting me do it. We developed a routine: every weekday, I’d get home from work late in the afternoon and then she’d come over. Depending on whether or not Baxter was with her and whether or not we felt like going out, we’d either hang out at my place or I’d drive us around. Chloe complained about my driving now; she said I was way too slow and way too careful, even when I was going the speed limit. I ignored her.
    One of my lists – the most morbid – contained possible causes of death. I added to it every chance I got. An accident involving a vehicle was the most obvious cause, and it was right up at the top of the list. The lower down I went, the most ridiculous they got. It ended with “sky-diving accident” and then “random tumor,” but I wound up crossing the second one out when I decided that the list should only be comprised of preventable causes.
    Chloe’s life became more than just an extension of my own. I buried myself in it with an enthusiasm I’d only had once before: four years ago. As the days passed, I could see the similarities cropping up in my subconscious: trouble sleeping and panicky episodes, for example. But I couldn’t let up. Couldn’t give up. I had to keep her safe. Had to keep Chloe safe. Had to keep Mom safe…
    I was twelve. I was twelve and Mom was coming downstairs, dressed up for dinner with a friend. And while Dad