Read This is Your Life, Harriet Chance! Online
Authors: Jonathan Evison
This is Your Life, Harriet Chance! (20 page)
(HARRIET AT SEVENTY-EIGHT)
B
ack on the
Zuiderdam
, Harriet boards the elevator with Caroline and Kurt. Other than the slight headache, she can’t complain, although it’s true that she’s suddenly very tired. And something else, slightly giddy, and now that you mention it, a little lightheaded. And then there’s the slight pinching at the base of her skull, which is not part of the general headache, but something sharper.
“Y’all were swell, having me along for the day,” says Kurt. “Those eagles were somethin’ else. How about you, Harriet, what was your favorite part?”
When Harriet doesn’t answer, Caroline intercedes, seizing her elbow gently.
“Mom.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Kurt just asked you a question.”
“Oh. What was it, dear?”
“What was the highlight for you? Today, I mean.”
Somehow Harriet is staring at her own reflection, and this is confusing.
“I think I liked the eagles,” Kurt rejoins, after a pause.
“Mom,” says Caroline, squeezing her elbow harder. “What was the highlight?”
The question, like the reflection staring back at her, is disorienting. Even as the elevator begins to rise, Harriet has forgotten where she is.
“You okay, Mom?”
“Oh. Yes.”
The truth is, Harriet is woozy—very woozy, in fact. All her blood seems to be rushing to her legs.
“Mom, you don’t look good.”
When the elevator door opens, Caroline leads Harriet out by the elbow. Harriet can hardly keep her eyes open as she steps onto the hideous carpet of Rotterdam.
“I think we should get a doctor,” she hears Caroline say.
Then Harriet is weightless.
When she open her eyes, Caroline and Kurt are as two disembodied heads floating above her. Their mouths are moving, and though Harriet can hear the dull intonations of their voice, just above the rushing of blood in her ears, she has no idea what they’re saying.
(HARRIET AT SEVENTY-EIGHT)
Y
ou’ve been fading in and out the past hour or so. Strangely, you’re in less pain than usual. Apparently, among your body’s diminished capacities is the capacity to feel discomfort. Mostly, you feel feverish and slow-witted, as they wheel you down the corridor in a gurney and up the elevator to the open air of the observation deck.
The wind stirs the downy hairs on your face, as you clutch your daughter’s hand.
“It’s gonna be okay, Mom.”
You are calm, almost complacent, as your thoughts slow to a trickle and the blood runs thick through your veins. Soon you hear a distant thrumming, like rolling thunder from
beyond the hills. The sound draws progressively nearer, until it’s deafening, and your white hair is blowing crazily, and your teeth are practically chattering from the vibration.
Caroline sits with you in the medivac, still clutching your hand. Gently encouraging you to relax, not to worry. You want to tell her that you love her, but you can’t. You should have told her a long time ago, but now you can hardly move your lips. Your voice is a wisp, unintelligible over the thundering blades of the chopper.
Above you, the clouds are breaking. You manage to raise your head a few inches and tilt it just slightly. Look once more at the world, three hundred feet below, the silver expanse of choppy ocean, like hammered steel, the furrowed green foothills to the east, and the great sudden mountains crouching patiently beyond. At five hundred feet, you can see the curvature of the earth. Fear not, Harriet, it will keep spinning in your absence.
If we’ve learned one thing digging up all these old bones, dusting them off, and holding them to the light, we’ve learned this: While the days unfold, one after the other, and the numbers all move in one direction, our lives are not linear, Harriet. We are the sum of moments and reflections, actions and decisions, triumphs, failures, and yearnings, all of it held together, inexplicably, miraculously, really, by memory and association. Yes, Harriet, our lives are more sinew than bone.
As the sun, in its waning, westerly aspect, slants pinkly through the chopper window, you feel, for the first time since you were a toddler, the irrepressible pull of that vortex toward some distant horizon.
The author would like to gratefully acknowledge to following people: first, the courageous women in my life, the women who have nurtured me, educated me, disciplined me, sacrificed for me, suffered for me, and never forsaken me; my mom, my grandma, my sisters, my wife, and my third grade teacher, Mrs. Hanford, to name a few. The women who have often settled for less, the women who’ve never quite gotten their fair share, who have soldiered on in the face of inequity, frustration, and despair, who have forgiven beyond reasonable measure, absorbed beyond reasonable expectation, and given, given, given with no promise of recompense. I wanted to thank them with this portrait of one woman, inspired by all of them, from the moment of her conception, to her last breath.
Also, for their input, collaboration, and support: Mollie Glick, Emily Brown, Chuck “Pops” Adams, Kelly Bowen, Craig Popelars, Lauren Moseley, Brunson Hoole, Jude Grant, Brooke Csuka, Elisabeth Scharlatt, Debra Linn, and everyone else at the Gonk. For their inspiration and assistance: Rebecca and Tim Dowling, Bryan Roper, Lydia Williams, Jessie Jameson, Janet Woodman, and MaryJo Caruso. And finally, a big thanks to my early readers: Mark Krieger, Joseph Rakowski, Joshua Mohr, and Aaron Cance.
JONATHAN EVISON
is the author of four novels, including
The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving
, soon to be released as a major motion picture,
West of Here
, and
All About Lulu
. He lives on the coast of Washington State with his wife and two children.
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All About Lulu
West of Here
The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving
Cover Design and Illustration: Will Staehle
THIS IS YOUR LIFE, HARRIET CHANCE!
. Copyright © 2015 by Jonathan Evison.
All rights reserved under all applicable International Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This Is Your Life, Harriet Chance!
is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published by Harper Avenue, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, by arrangement with Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, a division of Workman Publishing Company, Inc., New York.
First Canadian edition
EPub Edition: July 2015 ISBN: 9781443442954
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