Letting Go by Bridie Hall Page B

mother when I was six and Dad’s always absent. I had to learn everything the hard way.”
    “Look, Isabelle, I know. I don’t think you’re a kid. Far from it, god knows. Don’t take it the wrong way, but we’re not that sort of friends. You’re my brother’s girl.”
    She shook her head confused. “What do you mean? What sort of friends? What does Jamie have to do with it?”
    “Everything. Now let go.”
    “Ugh, you’re insufferable, you know that, right?”
    “I’m trying my best,” he grinned. “Going back to the begin ning—I can try remaking your mom’s peas and cheese tart, though. If you want me to. It wouldn’t be the same, of course.”
    Because of the generosity of the idea, she was willing to forgive him this change of topic.
    “You’d do that?”
    “Sure. Ask Jamie. I’m a virtuoso in the kitchen.”
    She believed him , but the offer felt somehow intimate because it meant she would be revealing to Harper a part of her past that even Jamie knew little about. That scared her and made her think it would be best to find an excuse, say her exams were coming up and she didn’t have time for culinary experiments, some such thing.
    “I’d love that. Thank you.”
    “You’ll thank me once you try it.”
    “I’m thanking you for offering to do it.”
    He hesitated, a pensive look on his face. “You’re welcome, then.”
    “Would you tell me about your m om?” she asked.
    “Isn’t Jamie the one who’s supposed to do that?” Harper said with raised eyebrows.
    “He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Isabelle said, not even trying to hide that Jamie’s silence on the matter bothered her.
    “And you think I will?”
    She looked at him, not sure whether he was asking a question or just commenting.
    “Why?”
    “Because we’re friends and I told you about my favorite dish?” she said hopefully.
    “Hm.” Harper pretended to think about it. “If I’m going to tell you about my family’s shame, you’ll have to share a dark secret of your own. It’s only fair,” he added when she started protesting.
    “And just so you know, there’s really nothing much to tell,” he said and leaned his head back on the headboard. Because he was sitting so close, she couldn’t get a good look at him without him noticing her staring.
    “ Jamie was four months old, and I was … five. It was spring, one of those miserable, rainy days. Like today. But back then I didn’t have your company to cheer me up.” He grinned and Isabelle rolled her eyes.
    “Anyway, in the morning, Dad was already gone when she woke us up, fed Jamie the bottle, made me breakfast, and then took me to kindergarten. When it was time to go home in the afternoon, no one came for me. I waited and waited, the teacher tried calling my parents, but the phone was constantly busy. Finally, about two hours after the usual time, when she was about ready to call the police, our neighbor came for me.”
    Harper turned his head to look at her. His eyes were hooded, dark, and hurting with the distant memories, she thought. For a moment she regretted asking him.
    “It was a good thing that was ages ago. There’s no way they would’ve let me go with her today when they’re so anal about safety.”
    He fell silent. Isabelle pictured him in the classroom, the only one left, and the teacher impatiently calling his house. He must’ve felt awful. Deserted. How could anyone ever forget something like that? It must have left a mark on him, being abandoned at such an early age.
    “Mrs. Hanks didn’t want to tell me anything on the way. I’m not sure she even knew anything. I kept asking and she just griped about irresponsible parents and things like that. The fifteen-minute walk lasted like five hours with that crone. When we got home, Dad was all sorts of crazy, yelling into the phone about his wife gone missing. Jamie was howling in his playpen. Mrs. Hanks left me at the door to fend for myself.
    Once Dad had called all their friends