19. Retribution

Chapter 19

Retribution

Harper

T he party raged through the halls of Tommy’s house, but in the secluded back bedroom with Chet, Harper couldn’t care less what was happening outside their door. She slid out of bed and retrieved her jean shorts from where they had been tossed haphazardly onto the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she dragged them on, buttoning them closed around her waist. She pulled on her tank top, snapped the rubberband off her wrist with her teeth, and tied her hair into a tight ponytail.

Chet was peacefully sleeping with his arm propped behind his head. Giving one last long glance at his tan, fit body, she was glad he had been her first mistake.

Cracking open the bedroom door, the scent of stale beer and the sour smell of vomit hit her nostrils. She slammed it shut, forcing her rebellious stomach back into submission .

Chet’s eyes cracked open at the sound. “You okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her words still slurring together.

“Come back to bed,” Chet insisted, reaching forward. Grabbing her firmly around the waist, his fingers unwittingly pressed into the painful welts on her lower back.

Harper gasped at the flash of pain that sent tears to her eyes. She threw her hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to suppress her cry.

It was too late.

Chet’s eyes widened as he yanked up the back of her tank top. “What’s this?” he exclaimed. “It looks bad.”

Harper jammed her shirt back down, stubbornly concealing her injuries. “It’s nothing — an accident,” she fished for any excuse to satisfy his curiosity. “Just shut up about it.”

Using the wall to steady herself, she pulled on her flip-flops.

“Whatever, Harper,” he said, falling back onto his pillow. The satisfaction of his conquest that evening kept him from worrying about little else.

She knew he was going to tell everyone .

The gossip would spread like wildfire at their small school, especially since it involved the pastor’s daughter. Thinking about everyone whispering about their intimate moment made Harper’s stomach churn, and she felt the contents of her stomach rise into her throat.

“I’m going to go find Delia,” she choked out. Bracing herself, she stepped into the hallway .

The party guests had dwindled, leaving a clear path through the darkened rooms of the house. She searched through those who had passed out in the hallway, and knocked on the doors of the bedrooms.

There was no sign of her friend.

Going through the kitchen, she noticed Tommy on all fours swiping up a puddle of sick with what appeared to be one of his mother’s white tea towels.

“Tommy?” Harper inquired. “Have you seen —” she gagged. Holding firmly to the doorframe, the room swayed around her.

“Just leave me alone, Harper,” Tommy whimpered. “My parents are going to murder me.”

The loud music was still blaring from the speakers. Her eyes strained through the dim lighting at those who had coupled up around the living room.

There, she finally spotted her best friend.

Delia was on the sofa, leaning heavily on the shoulder of a boy from the senior class.

Harper’s nose scrunched as she quickly summed him up. The boy wasn’t even remotely cute or popular, and she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her best friend,

At this rate, poor Delia will never find someone like Chet, with sparkling teeth, all those strong muscles and —

She felt her stomach heave.

This time, there was no hope of choking it back .

Clenching her lips tightly shut, she threw her hand over her mouth. She forced through the teenagers blocking her path to the front door, and staggered onto the lawn. Barely making it out in time, she retched into the beautiful flower bed belonging to Tommy’s mother.

The screen door slammed behind her as Tommy’s voice rang out in dismay.

“Not again.”

Harper wiped the sour remnants of vomit from the corners of her lips, and noticed the sky brightening over the roofs of the neighborhood houses. Panic pulsed through her as she checked the time. Her father was an early riser, priding himself on getting up before the sun. Every minute that ticked by would make it more difficult to sneak back into the house undetected. Stumbling back inside, she knelt beside Delia and gently tried to rouse her.

“Hey, wake up,” Harper said, giving her a shake. “We’ve got to go.”

Delia rolled over and pushed her hard with the palm of her hand. “Go away, Harper,” she complained. “Your breath stinks.”

She wasn’t wrong, but there wasn’t time to waste.

Her heart beat a little quicker as she strategized. Even if she could hoist Delia to her feet, she knew neither of them were in any condition to drive. She bit the side of her lip hard as her frantic gaze landed on Tommy’s home phone .

With a heavy sigh, she picked up the phone and pressed the soft buttons.

“Please, Maeve,” she quietly pleaded. “Please pick up the phone.”

Relief washed over her when she heard her little sister’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Maeve, it’s me,” Harper said, trying not to sound as panicked as she felt.

“It’s late, Harp,” Maeve whispered.

“I — well,” Harper stammered. She took a deep sip of air, quelling her pang of guilt. Maeve held so much faith in her to do the right thing. “I had a little too much to drink.” She winced, letting the truth tumble out.

“Are you okay?” Maeve asked. Her concerned voice had not a single tinge of judgment. For some reason, it made Harper feel worse.

“I’m okay,” Harper answered. “I just don’t know how I’m going to get home.”

“I’ll call Susan,” Maeve offered.

“Maeve please,” Harper pleaded. “Anyone but her .”

The youth pastor’s wife had often talked a big game about picking them up if they ever overindulged at a party. Harper couldn’t help but wonder if the offer was genuine, especially after their ordeal at school.

“Harper, if Dad finds out —” Maeve didn’t have to finish her thought. Harper was well aware of the consequences of her decisions .

“Fine,” she said. Running her fingers across her brow, Harper surrendered. “Call her.”

She hung up the phone, and went again to Delia, pulling the sloppy girl to her feet.

“Come on, time to go.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Delia slurred, taking a moment to find her footing as she unfurled from the average-looking boy.

“Our ride’s coming, and I’m not going to leave you,” Harper ordered. “So pull it together.”

Slinging an arm under Delia, they tottered and swayed to the front door. The burst of cold, fresh outside air enlivened Harper’s senses ever so slightly. Feeling accomplished when they finally reached the curb, she let Delia slip hard onto the cement.

She plopped down beside her friend. Pulling her knees to her chest, she propped her head on her arms as a dull ache crept across her forehead. Delia reclined on Harper’s shoulder while they listened to birds chirping in the chilly air of the early morning hours.

Harper couldn’t suppress her smile at the news she was bursting to share with her best friend.

“I hooked up with Chet,” she announced with a sly grin, burying her face in her hands as she let the secret slip out.

Delia perked up.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Like hooked up?”

Harper nodded, relishing in her friend’s wide-eyed outburst.

“You’re so lucky,” Delia squealed, plunking her head back down on Harper’s shoulder. “You know he’s going to tell everyone he did it with the pastor’s daughter.”

Harper’s headache began to pound.

She needed to get her story straight, knowing it would all be okay as long as she could take control of the narrative.

Harper tapped her foot anxiously.

It’s all going to be okay.

Like a beacon of hope, the bright headlights of Susan’s van finally came around the corner.

Harper exhaled, allowing herself to finally feel at ease. The large fifteen-passenger van with the words Pacific Crest Christian Church painted down the side, squealed to a stop in front of them.

Harper could barely stifle her eye roll as the window rolled down to reveal Susan with her lips pinched together in an irked expression. Her hair was pulled in her usual tight bun, and she was wearing a baggy shirt and pajama bottoms as though she had just tumbled right out of bed and into the driver’s seat of her van.

“Get in, ladies,” Susan fumed, her tinny voice dripping with disappointment.

“Wake up, Del,” Harper said, again shaking her awake. “Our ride's here.”

Delia looked disoriented as she lifted her head off of Harper’s shoulder, and swiped the drool from the corner of her mouth .

Helping her best friend to her feet, Harper slid open the van’s large passenger door, allowing Delia to collapse onto the backseat.

Harper took a sip of air, resigning herself to the place in the front beside Susan. Climbing into the van, she subdued her nerves and snark.

“Thanks for the ride,” Harper muttered. Avoiding all eye contact, she pulled her seatbelt across her chest. “I really appreciate this — especially after the whole thing at school.”

Remaining noticeably quiet, Susan turned the steering wheel onto the main road. Harper detected an awkward tension building between them as the van navigated toward Pastor Underwood’s home.

Harper’s apprehension was rising, and she felt pressed to anxiously fill the silence. “You always promise that you’ll be discreet.” She bit her lip hard, wondering if it was safe to voice her concerns. “I think my parents would be pretty mad if they found out.”

Susan’s refusal to offer any response at all was like an unmistakable holy hush of judgment.

Pulling up in front of the Underwood’s home, she shifted the van into park.

“Harper,” Susan finally spoke up with a heavy sigh. “Do you think this is some kind of a joke?”

Squeezing her fists tight, Harper felt her nails bite into her palms. “Why would I? ”

“You really don’t take anything seriously, do you,” Susan accused, her voice rising as she began to sharply reprimand. “Out at all hours, drunk and partying —”

“Hooking up with Chet,” Delia slurred from the backseat.

“Delia!” Harper snapped, her eyes going wide.

Susan gasped.

“It’s not what you think,” Harper stammered, grasping for any explanation that would dig her out of the ever-deepening pit.

The youth pastor’s wife pursed her lips tightly shut once again, and flipped her keys in the ignition. Pushing her door open, Susan stepped out onto the pavement.

“Wait, where are you going?” Harper’s words came quickly now as panic filled her chest. “I thought you were cool about stuff like this, you always say —”

“Normally, I would be cool ,“ Susan replied. “But this time, you’ve stepped too far,” she sighed, her dark eyebrows gathering. “I just don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

“Susan, please, my dad —” she pleaded, grabbing Susan’s arm. “Well, um.” Feeling the pressure of her father’s reputation on the line, Harper pivoted. There was no way to safely convey that there was more at stake for her than the righteously indignant woman could ever imagine.

“My dad’s going to be pretty mad.”

“I know he’s tough on you, Harper,” Susan answered. Her eyebrows pulled together, and her voice was loaded with false sympathy. “But that’s because he loves you — we all love you. ”

She took Harper by the shoulders and embraced her in a tight hug.

“Now, I’ve prayed about this,” she affirmed, “and I can assure you, what’s done in the dark will be brought to the light.”

A sad smile spread across her face.

“Trust me — you’ll thank me someday.”

Harper’s mouth went dry.

Noticing the spatters of vomit and beer down her shirt, she trailed Susan to the porch. Her mind raced, and her heart beat fast, as she felt the drive to bolt down the street and never return.

Maeve’s in there.

Susan rapped her knuckles sharply on the door. A few moments passed, and she raised her fist to knock again.

“It’ll be fine, Harper,” Susan assured. “You’ll see.”

Before her hand again connected with the door, it swung open to reveal Pastor Underwood’s stern face. Harper lifted her eyes to see her mother peeking out timidly beside him. The couple were wearing bathrobes over their pajamas and a matching appalled expression of surprise at the sight of their daughter standing in the dim glow of the porchlight.

As though it were her holy obligation, Susan rattled off every sordid detail of Harper’s behavior.

Harper watched the anger quietly building behind her father’s eyes as her mother clutched at the string of pearls that were always around her neck .

“Thank you, Susan,” Harris responded in a warm, fatherly tone that he only used in the presence of company. “So sorry to put you through this tonight.”

“I’d do anything to keep the church’s reputation intact, Pastor Underwood,” Susan said, turning away toward her van.

“I’ll be sure Delia gets home safe,” she chimed. “See you at Youth Group, Harper.” Susan climbed into her van and disappeared around the corner.

Harper wanted to cry out for help, but it was too late.

The moment the street was quiet, her father’s pleasant expression contorted. Seizing her arm, he yanked her across the threshold. The heavy front door slammed behind her, and he barreled into her space.

She crossed her arms, looking anywhere but at him. Her eyes focused away to the corner of the room, as she felt his fingers grasp her chin, forcing it upward.

“You look at me when I’m talking to you,” Harris spat, his face flushing beet red.

Her mother’s mousy voice broke through the tension, but not in the defense that Harper so desperately needed.

“Harris, you’ll wake the neighbors.”

“Do you know what it looks like to have a daughter who sneaks out of the house behaving like a prostitute?” he shouted. His fingers gripped her cheeks, painfully pressing them against her teeth. “What are you, drunk? High?”

“I’m not high,” Harper blurted, knowing it was a mistake the moment the words left her lips .

His hand shot up and slammed against her throat, causing her head to smack against the wall. Ringing filled her ears as his shouting devolved into unintelligible screams of rage, his words running together into a chaotic jumble. He showered her face with spatters of spit that flung off his lips.

Clenching her eyes shut, she tried to remember what they had always reinforced.

The discipline was ultimately for her good.

She was responsible for this.

She had made him lose his temper.

Experience had taught her that she simply had to stay quiet and compliant until her father regained control of his senses.

The rush of adrenaline stole every rational thought, anger replaced compliance, and fear ultimately won the battle. Harper did the very thing she had been taught was unforgivable.

Her mind went blank — and she shoved him.

Hard.

The force sent her father’s slender frame clattering to the ground in a heap. Her mother screamed and rushed to his side.

“Get away from me,” Harris snarled, scowling at the humiliation of being overpowered by his own daughter. He pushed Vera aside and scrambled to his feet.

Regaining control of her senses, Harper realized what she had just done.

“Dad, I’m — I’m,” Harper stammered, putting up her palms in surrender .

Disgust flashed through her father’s eyes as he clenched his teeth.

“Get out of my sight.”

Harper heard him mutter about her worthlessness as she dashed up the stairs. Her adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a hollowness in her chest. She felt hot tears sting her eyes as she rounded the corner and ducked down the hallway.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and, as always —

There was Maeve.

Harper leaned her shoulder into the wall, sweeping the rebellious tears away with the back of her hand. She took a fortifying breath to steady herself for her sister’s sake.

“You should be asleep,” Harper scolded, unable to keep her voice from shaking. Going to Maeve’s side, she slid down the wall beside her.

Maeve reached over and squeezed her hand, instantly causing every fragile emotional wall to crumble. Harper tucked her arms to her chest and collapsed into Maeve’s lap. She felt her sister hold her tightly as she quaked with violent sobs.

“I hate him, Maeve,” she cried. “I hate him.”

Their father’s heavy footsteps clunked up the stairs, accompanied by what sounded like a belt snapping in his hands. Fear stole her last sliver of courage as she heard him making his way down the hall.

Frozen in place, she began to shake.

“Stand up!” Harris barked .

Harper obediently clambered to her feet, steeling herself for what was likely to be a brutal retribution. She heard the belt snap back and the buckle clang as he wound up to strike. Clenching her eyes shut, she allowed her mind to drift.

“Dad, please.” Maeve’s pleading voice sliced through their father’s blind rage.

Harper’s eyes slowly peeked to look.

Her little sister was standing in the gap between them, daring to raise her hand in Harper’s defense. He had always harbored a soft spot for Maeve, and she had never been forced to endure the brunt of his fury.

Harper slipped past them and into the safety of her bedroom.

Her father angrily paced the hallway throughout the early morning hours. Harper waited on edge, bracing for him to burst through her door at any moment.

She heard her mother comforting him in his distress.

“If it happens again, I’m calling the police, Harris,” Vera declared. “She could have really hurt you.”

“Haven’t I been humiliated enough?” he bit back. “There’s nothing good in her, Vera.”

Harper wanted to cry out that there was something in her worth saving. Yet, her growing self-loathing reinforced his words.

“At least we’ve got Maeve,” Vera whispered. “Our saving grace.”

“Thank God for Maeve,” Harris echoed .

Harper had heard enough.

Clasping her pillow tightly, she took deep breaths to settle her racing heart. She knew exactly what her parents had meant.

She wasn’t Maeve. She’d never be Maeve.

In the darkness of her room, Harper shut her eyes tight. Shedding her final tear, she whispered the last prayer she would ever truly mean.

Please God, make me good.