8. Pinched

Chapter 8

Pinched

H arper’s eyes finally cracked open in the late morning hours with the hospital band still tightly secured around her wrist. She pulled her index finger under the tight plastic, yanking the stubborn band with no success. Feeling the headache again clawing at the back of her eyes, her attention drifted to the prescription medication on the nightstand beside her phone.

Nabbing her device, she attempted to focus her still blurry vision. She tapped her fingers impatiently, thumbing her screen up and down, just knowing word of her accident had spread quickly.

Much to her dismay, there was nothing from her best friend — and not a word from Paisley.

There was, however, one unopened message that caught her eye. It was from the number that she had labeled as:

Do Not Answer —

Harp, are you okay ?

Her exasperation overflowed into an audible groan. Without a doubt, Harper knew that Maeve was too nosey to let anything past her, and she was not about to be some charity case that fueled what she considered her younger sister’s already hyper-inflated ego.

In an attempt to distract herself, she mindlessly scrolled through her social media feed. There in the top trending spot was Oakleigh’s name, per usual.

What now?

She watched the announcement of their pitiful church opening, which always hit Harper with a sense of irony. Her daughter had single-handedly burned one ministry to the ground while building another from the ashes. Her thumb hovered over the screen as the next video began to play.

“This must be what Delia was talking about,” she mumbled. Even the sound of her own whisper made her wince. Through her pounding headache and foggy mind, she heard her daughter’s words crystal clear.

Oakleigh toasted Maeve, referring to her as a mother, sister, and best friend.

“ She showed you what it means to be a part of a family?“ Harper echoed in disbelief. Clenching her teeth in disgust, she slammed her phone back on the nightstand.

What about me?

All the time and effort I put in?

She would have been nothing without me .

— Maeve did this.

Harper’s blood began to boil, causing her migraine to sear behind her eyes. Her attention snapped again to the bottle of prescription medication. She was never one to take painkillers. They always made her terribly drowsy — and Harper prided herself in staying sharp. Yet, at that moment, she would have taken anything to dull the pain and slow the agony of her spinning thoughts. Reaching for the orange prescription bottle, she popped open the white plastic top and tapped a few caplets into her palm. She flipped them carelessly into her mouth before the thought crossed her blurry mind that she should be mindful of just how many she was taking. With the tip of her tongue, she sorted through the smooth, bitter-tasting pills.

Three. Maybe four?

No, definitely three — I think.

“Oh, who cares,” she mumbled through her sealed lips. Reaching her hand into her nightstand drawer, she felt her fingertips brush the cold, smooth surface of her sterling silver flask. She retrieved it and unscrewed the lid. Tilting it back, she took a long swig, savoring the burn of the liquor. Collapsing back on her pillowy linens, Harper closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away.

“This is your captain speaking —”

Harper jolted awake .

Disoriented to her surroundings, she pulled her fingers down her face.

It felt numb.

She noticed a splotch of makeup on the glass window beside her. Her mouth felt bone dry, seeing mountains gently floating below. Sitting up in her seat, she whipped around frantically, causing her dark designer sunglasses to fall into her lap. She gripped the soft leather armrests under her palms while she attempted to orient herself.

“I’m on a flight,” she croaked. Quickly swiping the drool from the corner of her mouth, she corrected her posture.

“Sure are,” said the man beside her. He was wearing a friendly expression and what she considered an obnoxious cowboy hat. “You seemed pretty out of it when we boarded,” he shrugged, letting out a low chuckle. “Then again, everyone in Los Angeles seems pretty out of it to me.”

Feeling her cheeks burn hot, she racked her foggy mind on how she had even gotten to the airport, let alone navigated her way onto a plane. Her eyes went wide as she chewed the acrylic nail on her ring finger. Panic burst through her chest.

Did I drive like this?

Fumbling around in search of her phone, she thankfully found it safely tucked away under her thigh. She swiped her finger across her screen and tapped on her rideshare app. Relief swept over her, seeing in her history that she had been picked up .

Much to her aggravation, she also noticed the driver had rated her with a one-star review as a passenger.

Pulling her dark sunglasses back over her eyes, she slammed the window shade closed. She settled into the soft leather seat and allowed the hum of the engine to lull her back to sleep.

At least I can still afford first class.

Harper figured that even her subconscious knew she deserved a break and a change of scenery. She could only assume she had booked herself a much-needed vacation to some tropical all-inclusive spa.

A cheery flight attendant wearing a blue dress stopped by Harper’s row with a drink cart.

“Can I ask you—” Harper hesitated, searching for the most inconspicuous way to inquire about where they were headed without admitting she had blacked out and booked herself a flight to some unknown destination. “Um, never mind that,” she pivoted with a wave of her hand. “I’ll have a vodka soda, please.”

“Certainly,” she replied mildly, promptly twisting the cap off a miniature liquor bottle with a satisfying pop . Pouring it over ice, she added a splash of soda and placed it in Harper’s eager hand.

It was right on time in Harper’s estimation, feeling her persistent, nagging migraine begin to pulse against her temples once again.

Before the flight attendant could wheel her cart to the next row, Harper reached out to stop her. “Can I have just another little bottle?” she hinted, her voice going high, lifting her finger and thumb an inch apart. “I wouldn’t want to have to bother you again.”

“We’re not really supposed to—” the flight attendant trailed off.

“That’s fine,” Harper stressed, waving her away. “I’ll just call you over in a few minutes.”

The flight attendant offered a smile that noticeably didn’t reach her eyes. Reaching into her cart, she retrieved another bottle and discreetly slipped it into Harper’s outstretched grasp.

Harper cracked the lid and gently tipped it over her cocktail.

“On second thought,” she paused. Twisting the lid closed, she stowed it safely in her purse — just in case of an emergency. Before zipping it closed, she heard the clatter of pills and noticed she had remembered to pack her pain medication.

I always think of everything.

She was careful only to take one this time, washing it down with a sip of her drink.

Sensing a judgmental sideways glance from the meddling passenger beside her, her eyes darted away. “They’re prescription,” she clarified while turning aside to mutter, “as if I should care what some idiot in a cowboy hat thinks.”

“What was that?” he asked.

“I said —“ Harper cleared her throat loudly, forcing an artificial smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Ain’t no business of mine,” he drawled .

Harper turned away, hoping to keep from any more vapid small talk with the country rube. She felt her mind go blank, and her eyes close.

The remainder of the flight was thankfully a blur until she was rudely awakened again by the captain’s gargling voice over the loudspeaker.

“Thank you for flying with us today,” he announced. “Secure any loose items and buckle those seatbelts as we prepare for landing.”

“How can anyone get any sleep with all this racket,” she scowled.

“Well, you’ve seemed to do just fine, ma’am,” the cowboy articulated in a warm tone. “Just snoring away.”

“How dare you call me ma’am, ” Harper glared, her lip curling in disgust. “And I do not snore.”

The cowboy offered her a wide grin. “It’s been a delight sitting next to you.”

When the wheels touched down on the runway with a gentle bounce, Harper lifted the window shade. Squinting through the bright setting sun, she noticed a tall mountain range covered with green pines.

“Tell me we’re in Aspen,” she stammered.

“Close, kind of,” the cowboy replied, taking a long glance past her out the window. “Montana.”

“Excuse me —” Harper faltered, her mouth suddenly dry again. “What did you just say?”

“Montana,” he repeated. “Big Sky country. ”

Only then did she recognize the small country airport from her last visit to Montana. The only difference then was that she had the luxury of her own private jet, and dark, angry clouds were hanging low in the sky.

Harper tucked her arms across her chest and focused out the window, hoping to prevent any further conversation while the plane taxied around the small airport. She couldn’t decide if being alone with her thoughts was worse than enduring a few more minutes of small talk.

When the plane door opened, it ushered a burst of frozen air into the cabin. Harper briskly stood to her feet, causing the cabin to spin around her. Taking a hefty step back to steady herself, she grasped for the cowboy’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” she stammered, feeling another surge of embarrassment. Squeezing her purse to her side, she pulled the strap higher on her shoulder.

“You know,” she huffed. “If you’d just move your legs, I wouldn’t be tripping down the aisle.”

“Real pleasure,” he emphasized with an eye roll.

She pressed past the few travelers in front of her, who were pulling their items from the overhead compartments. Being in the packed cabin of passengers made her feel like she needed a long bath and maybe a trip to the spa. Going past the flight attendant waiting at the door, she paused to inquire.

“I need to board a flight back to California immediately,” Harper demanded .

“You’ll have to speak to the ticket desk, ma’am,” the young flight attendant recited.

Bristling again at being referred to as ma’am , she focused on the monumental task ahead. Her legs felt wobbly as her high heels clanked down the metal staircase. She gripped tightly to the handrails while the world around her swayed back and forth like the Davenport family yacht in the deep sea.

The last thing she needed now was to tumble down the stairs like a sloppy drunk in front of a plane full of passengers. Not only would it be humiliating, but a fall like that would be terribly hard on her ivory slacks. Harper suppressed her relief when her feet landed on solid ground. Holding her head high, she crossed the long tarmac to the airport terminal. The doors slid open before her, and she scanned the crowded building.

The bustling baggage claim resembled what she imagined a Walmart would look like.

Instead of joining the sweaty, damp passengers gathering to wait for their luggage, she beelined to the ticket desk. Digging through her purse, she slid her credit card from her wallet and clacked it down on the smooth counter.

“Get me on a plane back to Los Angeles,” she ordered to the young man behind the desk. He had a wisp of a mustache on his upper lip and couldn’t have been a day older than seventeen.

“So sorry, ma’am,” he apologized. “The ticket desk is closed, no more flights out today.” His voice squeaked as though he had just recently hit puberty. “I can get you a rental car, but that’s about all.”

Her gaze flicked upward while she dug through her purse. Slipping her driver’s license from her wallet, she slid it across the slick countertop.

“Fine,” she grumbled, “then bring a car around.” She propped her elbow on the counter and laid her cheek heavily on her palm. She didn’t want to imagine what kind of seedy country motel she would have to endure for the night. The adrenaline from disembarking the airplane was waning, and the drowsiness from the pills and alcohol was hitting her hard once again. Harper felt like if she closed her eyes, she would fall right back to sleep.

“Right away, ma’am,” he chimed, tapping away on his keyboard. In a smooth swiping motion, he ran Harper’s credit card.

The screen blinked red.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his brow furrowing, “but your card was declined.”

“Then try it again,” she snapped.

He obediently complied, getting the same result. “Afraid not,” he informed, swiping his sweaty palms down his shirt. “Is there another one you’d like to try?”

“You must be some sort of moron,” she mumbled. Whipping her wallet from her purse, she pulled out another one and practically flung it across the counter .

“Please don’t call me names,” he countered, building up the nerve to confront her. “I’m just doing my job.” He tried the new card and again received the same error message. “This one isn’t working either.”

“Of all stupid — get me someone competent,” she demanded. Slamming her hand down on the pile of cards, she swept them haphazardly into her purse. Her words slung from her mouth. “Get — me — your — manager.”

“Sure thing,” he responded. His eyes narrowed, and he slid out from behind the counter. He was only gone for a few short minutes, but it ignited Harper’s impatience.

When she turned at the sound of his voice, she noticed he had an airport security officer in tow.

“That’s the one,” he announced,

“I asked you for your manager,” Harper scoffed. “Not some rent–a–cop.”

“You can call me Deputy Sheriff,” the officer sternly corrected her. “Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” His tone was friendly, but he scanned Harper as though hoping to catch any blunder.

Feeling his scrutiny, she corrected her posture, straightened her ivory white top, and forced her well-rehearsed, charming white smile. “Everything’s fine here, officer.”

“Ma’am,” he responded coolly. “I’ve gotten a complaint that maybe you’re under the influence of something.”

That was the last straw. She banged her fist down on the counter .

“Don’t you, ma’am, me.” She leaned in close and squinted to read his badge, which was more blurry than she wanted to admit. “Angus. I could have probably guessed that was your name.”

“Have you been drinking today?” he inquired, entirely disregarding her bluster.

Harper backpedaled. “I mean, I had a cocktail on the plane, if you can call that drinking, ” she rambled, fully aware that she was giving herself away. “It’s just that my one cocktail might be reacting to my medications and —”

“And what medication is that?” Deputy Angus raised an eyebrow. He pulled out a ticket pad and a pen, jotting down information. He squeezed the radio on his vest and rattled off information too quickly for Harper’s muddled mind to track.

A moment later, another officer joined his side. He was an older man with a handlebar mustache draped over his upper lip. There was a sheriff’s badge pinned on his olive green button-up shirt.

“Angus, this the one?”

The deputy signaled with a nod, and the sheriff stepped forward, taking charge.

“I’m Sheriff Daniels,” he stated. His voice was calm, but Harper noted that he kept his hand securely on his firearm.

“There was no need to call them ,“ Harper sputtered, again digging through her purse. She whipped out her wallet, causing the contents to chaotically clatter onto the floor. “It’s not a crime to have your cards bounce.” Her heartbeat thumped quickly in her chest, causing her words to come fast. “Look, I have more.” Stooping down, she picked one up. “I’m sure this one will work.” She pushed it across the counter at the young man, who was now distancing himself entirely from the situation unfolding.

Sheriff Daniels picked up her driver’s license from the cards scattered across the desk. “I’m not a fan of people disrespecting my deputies, Mrs —” he paused to read her identification, “ Davenport. ”

“That’s not a crime either — last I checked,” Harper’s voice trailed off.

The sheriff handed the license to his Deputy. “Well, you’re right about that,” he replied with an even tone honed from decades of public service. “But public intoxication is, and I think I might just take you for a ride down to county.” He exchanged looks with his Deputy. “What say you, Angus?”

“We’ll find a real cozy corner where you can sober up,” Angus sneered, resting his hands on his belt. “Ma’am, ”

Harper’s eyes flew wide as she gulped down the bile that started to climb up her throat. “You must be joking.”

“You hotshot tourists think you can come out here and do whatever you want,” Sheriff Daniels scolded, pulling the handcuffs off his belt. “Well, this isn’t Hippie Town, and we have a zero-tolerance policy.” He swiveled to his Deputy and wagged his finger. “You know this is that Oakleigh’s fault. ”

“Now, wait — get your hands off of me,” Harper hissed, feeling her anxiety take the wheel. She raised her palms, stepping back until she pressed into the countertop behind her.

Before she could utter another word, the Deputy spun her around and twisted her arm behind her back.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me!” She felt the metal cuffs pinch tightly around her wrists. The words that came next didn’t feel like they were her own. Never in her wildest nightmares would she have relied on the information she desperately offered in her defense.

“You said, Oakleigh,” she attempted to earnestly reason. “She’s my daughter.”

“Well, that ain’t helping your case,” Sheriff Daniels calmly countered.

“My sister — just listen to me for a second,” she begged, feeling the handcuff lock over her remaining free wrist. Even though the industrial airport air conditioner was blowing ice cold, she felt sweat gathering at her temples, and the room began to spin once again. She clenched her eyes shut, offering her last defense. “My sister is Maeve, she’s got a big farm close to here.”

“Stop a second, Angus,” Sheriff Daniels ordered, running his fingers down the edges of his mustache.

Harper flipped around to face him.

“Maeve Callaway?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” Harper gasped, hoping to feel the sip of air reach her lungs. “She’s my sister. ”

The sheriff paced a few steps before exchanging another long glance with his Deputy. “Why does that not surprise me in the slightest?” he grumbled through clenched teeth. “Better get Maeve on the phone.”

Angus pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. When he found the one he was looking for, he handed it off to the sheriff.

“She’s on her honeymoon, you know,” Sheriff Daniels huffed. “She ain’t going to like this one bit.”

He gestured to his Deputy. “Angus, get her in lockup and keep a close eye,” he barked. “I’ll straighten this out with Maeve.”

“— and lady,” he paused, pointing his finger directly in Harper’s face. “I’m hoping she has no idea who you are.”