Cheated Hearts

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

"No, Harper you're not dying," I said blandly.

She pulled me close to her sickly face by my tie and whispered melodramatically, "Before I go, Keaton-"

"Harper you've got the flu. You're not fucking dying."

"I see the light!" She coughed out hoarsely and dramatically reached her skinny arms in the air as if she were grasping for something and then dropped her head on the sofa armrest.

"How many years did you take drama in high school?"

"All four years," she responded and ended with a cough.

"I'll go get you some more soup, okay?" I said.

Harper had been sick for three days straight and since Rory and Reagan were gone most of the time, Harper said she didn't want to stay alone. I had reminded her of the fact that I would be out too because of Etson and she confessed that her cable got shut off and she had nothing to watch on TV. I found that an acceptable reason.

So Harper had been laying on my couch for seventy two hours, coughing, aching, and sleeping. I had gotten home from work to find an exasperated girl watching Ghostbusters and thinking she was knocking on Death's door.

I was in the tiny kitchen, stirring some tomato soup for Harper when my celphone rang. I struggled to get it out of my pocket and pressed the answer button when I saw who it was.

"Hi, Mom," I greeted her.

"Hello dear! How are you?"

"I'm good. Uh, Harper is sick."

"Oh, is she?"

My mom, Helen, really liked Harper. This happened after the phone was snatched away from me last week in the middle of a phone call with her by Harper. They talked for an hour.

"Yeah. She's got the flu. What do I do?" I asked.

"Keatie, just keep the humidifier rolling and give her lots of liquids. She'll be fine."

"Uh, okay. I should probably buy a humidifier."

"Yes, you probably should. Take care of that girl of yours."

______________________________________________________________________________

Harper had calmed down a little. I guessed that she was tired of being cooped up for so long and needed attention. She and I were watching Munich. We were lying on the couch and Harp's head was buried in my shoulder.

"You know, Keaton, you're a good guy."

"Uh, thanks, Harper," I said distractedly, because frankly, Eric Bana kicked serious ass in this movie.

"I remember Josh. He would tell me to take a shot of tequila for congestion and wish me luck when I got sick."

I stiffened. I didn't want to talk about Josh. And then curiosity got the better of me.

"Hey, what happened that night? What started the fight?"

Harper looked up at me with a half horrified, half amused look.

"You don't want to know," she whispered.

"No, I really do."

Harp turned beet red and I was startled at the effect that had with her hair.

"Uh, well. We were in the middle of..." She broke off and I straightened at her implication. Okay, they were fucking.

"And?" I asked.

"You're gonna laugh."

"No, I'm not. It's not funny," I said seriously. How could the thought of Harper and Josh make me laugh?

"I accidentally said your name in the middle of it," she squeaked and covered her face.

I gawked at her. She had liked me even then! Just how I had liked her.

"You what?" I asked.

"Don't make me say it again! It's embarrassing enough as it is," she complained sourly.

"That is..."

She waited expectantly.

"Awesome!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered with another heavy cough.

"You were thinking of me," I teased.

"I said shut up!"

"You wanted me-"

"Shut it or I'll –I'll..."

"You'll what?" I asked.

"I'll cough on you."

I shut up.