Page 205 of It Happened on the Lake

These days she didn’t trust anyone.

But he was right about one thing.

She could really use a friend.

More than that, she could use a boyfriend.

Not that her heart was mended.

She doubted it would ever be.

But she was going to have a baby and every kid deserved a father.

That night, alone in her twin bed, with her father and stepmother a paper-thin wall away, Harper started hatching a new plan. No longer was she constrained to helping Chase avoid the draft or getting pregnant for his benefit. Now she could concentrate on her own needs. And her child’s needs. So maybe . . . her thoughts strayed to uncomfortable territory as she thought about her future.

She didn’t see Joel the next day.

Nor the next.

She’d looked for him on campus and wished she knew his last name. But he’d never given it and with all the hubbub of the spilled Coke and nearly being hit by a crazed motorcycle driver, she hadn’t asked for it.

Now she wished she had. She’d walked around the junior college buildings, hoping for a glimpse of him. So far, no luck.

Today she was back at the outdoor table near the deli where she’d first met him. Though she was ravenous, food still wasn’t agreeing with her, so she picked at what she could keep down of an avocado and tuna sandwich, then tossed bits of bread, alfalfa sprouts, and lettuce to the pigeons and small birds that flocked nearby. All the while she was hoping for a glimpse of him. To talk to him. Someone near her age. Someone interested. Someone male.

Why hadn’t she asked him for a number or address or if he had a job or was going to school? Didn’t he say he’d already graduated from the University of Oregon?

All she had was his first name.

She’d about given up and had decided she wouldn’t see him again, but she’d been wrong. Later that week she caught sight of him walking with three girls toward the quad where a protest rally was scheduled.

Harper’s heart sank as she watched them.

A freckled redhead wore bell-bottoms and a midriff blouse. Her long hair was parted down the middle and held in place with a feathered headband. She was in deep conversation with a girl with a wild Afro who wore a sleeveless jumpsuit and bracelets that sparkled in the sunlight. All the while the third girl, a sun-streaked blonde in a suede miniskirt and peasant blouse, clung to his arm, rapt at whatever he was saying.

Ugh.

Harper felt a stupid pang of jealousy, which she told herself was completely out of line. She didn’t even know the guy, not really, wasn’t even sure that what he’d told her was the truth.

The group of four walked to the middle of the quad where the small protest was forming, clusters of students armed with placards and armbands and outrage. Harper could read a few:MAKE LOVE NOT WAR! andPOWER TO THE PEOPLE! andHELL NO!WE WON’T GO!

For a fleeting second she thought of Rand Watkins, already in the jungles of Vietnam fighting a war these people were protesting. And she thought of Chase, still missing, who vowed never to go.

And here she was, an outsider again.

She concentrated on Joel. He and the girls sat cross-legged on the grass. A pipe was passed between them while a duo with acoustic guitars sang on the stage. Nearby a group of people she thought were the speakers were gathering. As the antiwar crowd grew, a group of protestors spread out on the lawn.

Her stomach turned over. Queasy again.

As the music died, a tall, bearded man took over the mic. His hair wild and curly, he started speaking vehemently, getting the crowd to respond.

Harper listened halfheartedly for a while, then started back to the apartment.

Just as she reached her front door, she heard footsteps running fast behind her.

“Harper!” Joel called.

She turned and found him jogging across the parking lot.