Chapter Seventy Nine - What is Harper Hiding?

Warren was always the kind of place Harper spent her summer. She was way used to it by now. The old, ivy-wrapped building sat on a hill outside the city, shrouded by trees and silence, as if tucked away from the rest of the world on purpose. Its halls echoed faintly with footsteps and the occasional rattle of a medication cart. The windows were tall, with bars that cast shadowed lines like cage bars across the floor when the sun shifted.

It was late July, and outside, the world was blistering with light and heat. But inside Warren, time was slower. Cooler. Still.

Harper sat alone in the second-floor sunroom, perched cross-legged on a window bench lined with pale yellow cushions. The air smelled of lavender disinfectant and the faint sting of citrus-scented polish. She wore soft grey linen pants and a lightweight knit sweater, both provided by the hospital—though she'd altered them slightly with a seam ripper to make them feel more hers. Her hair, once immaculately blown out and styled every week, was now left to its natural waves, framing her face like shadows. She looked healthier. Still pale, still slender. But her eyes—blue, sharp, observant—held a different kind of weight now. Less frantic. More grounded.

She was halfway through annotating Franny and Zooey  with a hospital-issue ballpoint pen when Nurse Erin stepped in, clipboard in hand and that familiar kind smile stretched across her face.

"Harper? You've got visitors." she said gently. "Your parents are here."

Harper's pen stilled mid-sentence.

She blinked once, slow. "Both of them?"

Erin nodded, smiling. "They're waiting in the family conservatory."

Harper closed the book and slid the pen into the spine. She didn't feel anxious, exactly—but a ripple of tension moved through her body like someone walking across thin ice. She tucked her sweater sleeves down over her wrists and stood.

The conservatory was the most beautiful room in Warren—glass ceiling, tall plants, a koi fountain, and rattan chairs arranged in polite little clusters. Most patients only got visits there if their families were "engaged in active support." This was only Harper's third time in the room. The last time had been nearly two months ago, when her Aunt Julia brought homemade lemon tarts and talked about her new garden for an hour because she didn't know what else to say.

Today, her parents were seated at one of the round tables near the windows. Camila looked stunning as always, even casually dressed: a soft white linen shirt tucked into beige high-waisted trousers, tortoiseshell sunglasses pushed back into her highlighted curled hair. Her father was in a powder-blue polo shirt, slacks, and loafers—fresh off a board meeting or a golf course, probably.

They stood when Harper entered. There was an awkward pause before anyone moved.

Camila crossed to her first. Her smile was gentle, if uncertain. "Hi, sweetheart."

Harper nodded. "Hi."

Then her father stepped forward and wrapped her in a surprisingly warm, careful hug. She let him. Let both of them, even as her body stayed still in their arms.

"You look... good." Thomas said as they pulled away, his voice low and almost unsure. "Much healthier."

"I'm working on it." Harper said, tone even.

They all sat. The koi bubbled in the corner.

Camila smoothed a wrinkle in her trousers, then reached into her leather tote. "We brought you something. It's nothing major.. Just have a look and tell us what you think?"

She pulled out a slim envelope and a small photo booklet. Harper glanced at the front. The words Lake Bellmore Estates – Private Family Villas were embossed in gold.

Thomas leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. "We've rented a property upstate. Lakefront, private chef, trails, kayaks, the works. Your siblings are ecstatic. They can't wait to go! We figured you might want a break from this place and join us?"

Harper's brows rose just slightly. "Since when do we go to lakes?"

Camila smiled softly. "Since we started learning what matters."

Thomas cleared his throat. "It's not a fancy party or a resort. Just time. Together. We spoke with Dr. Benitez. She said you've been making serious progress, Harp. That if you're willing, a supervised leave is possible. Harriet is packing up for college next week and Jackson is taking leave from rehab to join us."

Harper exhaled slowly. She reached for the photo booklet and flipped through a few pages. It was beautiful—sleek, modern cabin with glass walls and a view of the water that stretched into gold at sunset. There was a picture of a fire pit, another of hammocks between trees, and one with a long dock reaching out into the lake like an invitation.

"You'd come back to Warren after the week." Camila added gently. "We're not asking you to leave entirely yet. Just... to be with us. Have some proper fresh air. The others really miss you, you know that, right?"

Harper closed the booklet and set it down.

"I imagine they do." she said. "And I'm really glad you thought of me. But I'm not ready."

Thomas nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. But Camila looked a little like she'd been slapped in the face.

"I'm really sorry." Harper added, quieter now. "It's not a grudge thing. I just... I don't want to pretend to be okay in a place where I still feel like a problem."

Camila's voice cracked, barely. "You're not a problem, Harper."

Harper looked up, directly at her. "I know you don't want me to be. But let's not rewrite history. You didn't know how to handle me then. Maybe you still don't. And that's okay. We're learning. But I can't be the version of me you're hoping for. Not yet. I still think about things I went through in that place that I can't even say out loud."

Silence. Just the soft gurgle of the koi fountain and a bird chirping from somewhere in the rafters.

"We love you, Harper." Thomas said finally, his voice rough. "Even when we didn't know how to show it right. We're... we're really trying now."

Harper met his eyes. She nodded once. "I can see that, dad."

It wasn't forgiveness, exactly. But it was something like peace.

Camila wiped at her eyes quickly. Then she reached into her bag again and passed Harper a second envelope—thicker this time.

"Aura wrote you a little something. And Harriet included some Polaroids. Just in case you want them."

Harper took the envelope carefully, tucking it into her lap.

The awkward silence stretched. There was the sound of birds in the courtyard beyond the glass, and somewhere down the hall, a faint piano scale being played, slowly and imperfectly.

Then Camila leaned forward, her diamond bracelet catching a sliver of sun. "How are you though, hon?" she asked, her voice unusually soft. "Like, truly?"

Harper took a moment before answering. Her eyes flicked from her mother to her father, then down to the condensation gathering on the side of her paper cup. She shrugged, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin up with one hand.

"Fine." she said, her voice flat but not cold. "Better than I was, anyway."

Thomas gave a small nod, exhaling as though he'd been holding something in. "That's good to hear." he said, almost too quickly. "You seem more... calm. Clear-headed."

Harper allowed a half-smile to flicker across her face. "I've had time to think." she replied. "I'm properly medicated. I have therapy twice a week. And there's a koi pond."

Her tone wasn't sarcastic, but it wasn't warm either. It was the voice of someone stating facts from behind a thick pane of glass.

Camila's expression twitched, trying not to take offense. "They're beautiful, koi." she offered. "Very symbolic. Resilience. Harmony."

Harper didn't respond. She just blinked, once, slowly.

There was a pause. A long one.

Camila tried again. "Do they... keep you busy here?"

Harper nodded slightly. "Yeah. There's a strict schedule. Group in the mornings. Solo sessions twice a week. We do painting and ceramics sometimes, which is actually kind of nice. I've been reading a lot too."

Thomas smiled faintly. "That's good. You always liked books."

Harper tilted her head, considering. "I like them more now."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "The detectives come in sometimes, too."

That drew both of their attention like a slap across the face.

Thomas straightened. "Detectives?"

Camila's brows furrowed deeply. "Still? Why?"

Harper leaned back, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. Her nails were short, neatly trimmed and chipped with pale pink polish. Her fingers fidgeted slightly in her lap, still slightly twitching. "They're just asking questions. Following up."

"On Grandma's case?" Camila asked, alarm sharpening the edge of her voice.

Harper nodded slowly. "Yeah. They want to know what she was like towards me."

Thomas exchanged a glance with Camila before speaking again. "But you already told them all of that, didn't you? The first time they showed up?"

"Yeah." Harper said, and her voice wavered just enough to catch their attention. "It's hard to tell sometimes. The meds... They make things hella fuzzy. I get déjà vu a lot. Like maybe I've said something, but I'm not sure if I actually did, or if I just dreamed it."

Camila leaned forward, her concern barely masked. "Fuzzy? What do you mean fuzzy, sweetheart?"

"I mean, I can remember how I felt towards her, but not what I said. Or sometimes I remember saying something, and then they tell me I didn't. Or I didn't say it that way. Or I left something out." She rubbed her temple. "It's really confusing."

Thomas frowned. "That doesn't sound right. What exactly are they looking for? They don't have any reason to keep interviewing you unless they believe you're involved."

Harper looked at him for a long moment. Then she gave the world's smallest shrug. "I don't know. Maybe they want just... answers. Or maybe I'm just easy to question because I'm not going anywhere. I'm medicated so maybe they're hoping I slip something interesting out."

There was something too casual in her tone. Too smooth. As if she'd rehearsed it.

Camila's eyes were searching, worried. "You don't think they suspect you of anything, do you?"

Harper snorted softly. "No. I mean... no. I think it was just because I was the least closest to her. They think I had a motive because of-"

"But you didn't—" Camila started, her voice shaking slightly. "You didn't do anything—"

"I know." Harper said quickly, gently cutting her off. "I didn't do anything."

Harper paused. "They're doing their job. And I let them. It's fine. I'm sure they've been on the other's ass also. Not just mine."

The silence that followed was heavier than the ones before. Dense. Waiting.

Thomas's voice was lower now. "Is that what's stopping you? Is that why you don't want to come on the trip?"

Harper's gaze flicked to the window again. The koi swam in slow circles, oblivious.

"I think it's about... everything." she said quietly. "It's not just grandma. It's all the noise. The unpredictability. I've never liked crowds, or the heat, or planes. But here... it's different. There are boundaries. Structure. A routine. It makes the noise manageable."

Camila nodded slowly, something heavy in her expression. "You don't have to protect us, Harper.." she said softly. "If there's something more going on with the case—if you're holding something back—"

"There isn't." Harper interrupted, too fast. Her smile was pale and practiced. "I promise."

Her parents exchanged another look, this one longer, quieter.

"All right." Camila said eventually. "We just wanted you to know you're always welcome with us. If or when you're ready."

Harper nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Really."

After the awkward hugs, they walked out slowly, the echo of their footsteps following them down the pristine corridor. At the front desk, Camila paused, her hand brushing her purse strap.

"Nurse Erin?" she asked gently.

The nurse looked up from her clipboard. "Yes, Mrs. Baldwin?"

Camila leaned in, her voice low and controlled. "Would it be possible to get a copy of Harper's current medications? Just for our personal records."

Nurse Erin blinked, hesitant. "We'd need Harper's written consent for that, I'm afraid."

"It's just that she mentioned feeling foggy. Like she's struggling to separate memory from dream." Camila added delicately. "We'd like to consult someone privately—just to be informed."

Thomas stepped in with a slight nod. "We're not trying to interfere with her treatment. Just... concerned."

Erin hesitated, then offered a careful smile. "Let me see what I can do. Mr and Mrs Baldwin."

Camila folded her arms across her chest, staring down the corridor as if she could somehow see back into her daughter's mind.

Whatever Harper was protecting... it hadn't surfaced yet.