18. For What It’s Worth

Chapter 18

For What It’s Worth

H arper had been seething for the better part of the afternoon. The heated exchange with Oakleigh had put her on edge, and she was determined to have the final word, no matter the cost to their already fractured relationship.

She was starting to understand the rhythm of the household by now. Like clockwork, Oakleigh began brewing a pot of coffee on the stove. It was perfect timing in Harper’s estimation because she happened to be brewing for an argument.

Oakleigh’s movements around the kitchen were punctuated by the slamming of cabinets and the loud clangs of ceramic mugs on the marble countertop. Oakleigh filled the stovetop percolator with water, turned on the fire, and poured in a heaping cup of coffee grounds. While waiting for the coffee to perk, she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms as though she was determined to endure their time together in penetrating silence.

“Do you have something you’d like to say to me, Oakleigh?” Harper spoke up, boldly shattering through the thick tension .

“This might come as a surprise, Mom,” Oakleigh said quietly. “But not everything is about you .”

Harper rolled her eyes, shaking her head with disappointment. “Oh, I saw you helping that terrible man up the stairs,” she remarked coldly. “Serves him right if you ask me.”

“ — for the life of me, Oakleigh,” her voice went high, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “I cannot fathom why you would lift a finger for the likes of him.”

Oakleigh quietly spun the empty mug. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling as though she were holding back a flood of unspoken thoughts.

“Because he’s family, Mom,” she finally said. “That’s why.”

The coffee on the stove began to bubble. Oakleigh lifted the handle of the heavy percolator and poured the boiling hot brew into the mugs. Filling the last one to the brim, she set the cup of coffee in front of her mother.

The kindness of the gesture gave Harper pause, but only for a moment.

“I don’t know why you choose to live like this,” she needled. Pulling the mug to her lips, she took a long drink of the strong, bitter coffee. “You could be on a beach right now with Paisley. ”

Harper knew precisely what she was doing. Knowing every weakness in Oakleigh, she intended to exploit each one until her stubborn daughter gave up the fight.

At the mention of her sister’s name, Oakleigh aggressively yanked open the fridge. Retrieving the carton of cream, she slammed it down beside her mug, causing little white droplets of milk to rain onto the marble countertop.

“What do you want from me?” Oakleigh pleaded, her eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

Harper couldn’t help but be genuinely impressed by her daughter’s poise. By now, she had expected Oakleigh to be flinging harsh insults at the top of her lungs and at least one ceramic mug to be the unfortunate collateral damage of her daughter’s volatile temper.

“What do I want from you?” Harper echoed, tilting her head as she considered the question, knowing she had Oakleigh on the ropes. “I want you to live up to your full potential, Oakleigh,” she announced. “You’re a Davenport, not —” Harper raised her hand, encompassing the entirety of the ranch house around them, “whatever this is.”

Oakleigh leaned her palms on the countertop.

“You sent me here, remember?”

Against all of her willpower, Harper erupted. “To teach you a lesson!” her voice strained. “And apparently, it backfired because you’re becoming just like her .”

“Say her name,” Oakleigh stated with an icy tone.

Harper’s jaw ticked, seeing her advantage slipping.

“She broke your grandmother’s heart, Oakleigh,” Harper fumed, rehashing the narrative she herself had created. “She didn’t want anything to do with us, with you . She didn’t even care that you existed until— ”

“Until you needed me out of the way,” Oakleigh’s eyes narrowed as she articulated the glaring truth. “You’ve told those lies so many times, Mom. I think you’re starting to believe them.”

Harper slammed her hand down on the countertop, savoring the sting on the tender skin of her palm.

“I was there, Oakleigh,” she declared. “You weren’t.”

“And that’s what you’ve relied on all these years,” Oakleigh’s tone went flat as she jabbed her finger at her mother. “You made it so she couldn’t come home, even if she wanted to.”

“That’s not true,” Harper’s voice cracked.

“I’ve seen the letters,” Oakleigh revealed, her icy gaze finally meeting Harper’s. “Maeve was an orphan, except her family was alive and well,” she accused, shaking her head in disgust.

“Just like you did to me.”

She swallowed hard as though the following words were nearly too painful to say.

“And now — you’re doing it to Paisley.”

Harper immediately deflected.

“I suppose I’m such a bad mother, right Oakleigh? You were so abused,” Harper spat. “The poor little rich girl who got whatever she wanted.”

Her lip twisted into a mean smirk.

“Poor you.”

Oakleigh let out a burst of callous laughter.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied. “Everything I ever wanted — except for a mom. ”

The accuracy of the jab stole Harper’s breath. She stammered, consumed with the desire to wound her daughter with the same amount of hurt she was now feeling.

The slam of the front door echoed through the house.

“Hello?” Bethany chimed. “I’m here.”

Oakleigh promptly gathered the mugs and whisked out of the room to greet their newest guest.

“Bethany, I’ll be right there,” she called, not bothering even a second glance at her dumb-struck mother.

Harper ran her fingers through her hair, bringing her fist down on the countertop with a loud bang that rattled the mugs in the cabinet.

If Oakleigh only knew what sacrifices I’ve made.

Harper had endured. She never had the luxury of running away and hiding like Maeve.

Perfect Maeve.

Her heart was pounding as her thoughts spiraled. Harper needed something — anything, to dull the raw emotions welling up within her.

She stood up from the island, flinging open every cabinet as she whisked around the kitchen.

“You’re not going to find anything to drink, Harp.”

She whirled to face Maeve, who dared to be standing there, calmly leaning her shoulder on the doorframe.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Maeve,” she shouted, her voice echoing across the smooth kitchen surfaces. “You told her everything that made you look good,” she choked out, flinging her hand out to accentuate her frustration. “What about the rest of it?”

Maeve paused as though she were carefully weighing her words.

“Because it wasn’t my story to tell.”

Harper’s teeth clenched.

“You’re right about that.” She paced a few steps around the kitchen, picking up a mug and bringing it down hard on the countertop. “And what are these letters Oakleigh’s going on about?”

Maeve took in a long breath.

“They’re in the bottom drawer of my nightstand,” Maeve replied. “They’re addressed to you and Mom — you’re free to read them if you’d like.”

Harper intended on making a dramatic exit, but pushing past Maeve in the doorway wasn’t as easy as she had expected. “I cannot catch a break,” she mumbled, pivoting instead to squeeze past her remarkably strong sister.

“Harper,” Maeve said, looking at the ground at her feet as she passed by. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“You know?” Harper sucked her teeth, hating even more that she was allowing herself to be vulnerable. “It’s always been Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. My whole life, it’s been you,” Harper spat. “What about me. ”

“For what it’s worth,” Maeve replied quietly, “not a single day has passed that I haven’t prayed — ”

“And a lot of good your prayers did me,” Harper bit back, cutting her words short. “Thanks for nothing.”

Her bitterness blinded her as she stormed up the stairs. She noticed Oakleigh and Bethany pause their conversation in the hallway as she passed.

“Talk about me all you want, girls,” she muttered.

None of it mattered.

Harper burst through her bedroom door and slammed it closed behind her. Leaning her head back on the door, Maeve’s words continued to echo through her mind.