Harper's Hill, Chapter 3: The Knocked-Over Flower Pot

Emily's brother, James, had always been very protective. As a child, he felt the need to protect his mother and his sister from their father, Ray. He didn't even like admitting that Raymond Pierce was his father, but some people from the East side of town would still remember the trouble his father caused, and then connect the last names.

James's resentment for his father started when he was six years old. He had been playing with toys when he heard his father yelling. Standing at the top of the stairs, he watched as his father screamed at his mother, accusing her of something he didn't understand.

James watched this scene play out over and over for years. Ray would charge across the room and threaten Sharon, telling her that she would never be able to find anyone to love her except for him. It was only when James was older that he realized what that really meant. He started to learn that Ray would act this way because of his own insecurities, because his father knew that he was the one who couldn't be loved by anyone else.

James watched his mother lose herself as he started to grow up and turn into his own person. There's not a way to describe the feeling of watching your parent fade while you start to shine — this is life's natural order, but James knew he was too young to see his mother's light go out completely. He was only 10.

He swore he wouldn't let Ray ruin his sister the way that he had ruined their mother. He kept her as far away from him as he could until he finally stopped coming around about five years later. He saw Emily's heart break in real time, for the second time, but this time he knew that Ray was gone — he wouldn't get another chance to break Emily's heart.

The sun was shining bright that day, beaming against his back. He knew he would have a sunburn on the back of his neck by the end of the day. He knew he should go get some sunscreen, but he had a deadline and he couldn't get this car started.

"Can. You. Just..." He muttered under his breath, turning the key in the engine for what felt like the hundredth time. "Fucking... GO!" The car made a noise that sounded like it would almost start, but then it just made a cough-like noise and James started to smell gas. He had flooded the engine.

"FUCK!" He exclaimed as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Riley was always telling James that he needed to work on his rage. It was never a problem, but she worried it could be one day. It was silent, bubbling, lurking under the surface. It was ready to attack at any moment, but was waiting for the right time to unleash.

"Everything okay?" James heard a familiar voice call, and he recognized it as their neighbor across the street, Mr. Richards. Simon Richards had lived with his wife in that house for many years, as long as James could remember living on Willowdale.

Mrs. Richards was gone now, but surprisingly, it wasn't because she was dead. James didn't know much about the whole situation, but Mrs. Richards had left about three years ago. One day, a moving truck showed up and took away all of Mrs. Richards' stuff, and she followed along in a car behind it. There wasn't a big fight, uproar, or commotion. Emily had watched out the window, and all she saw was a polite goodbye. The couple that they had both watched live across the street for as long as they could remember shared an intimate hug, followed by a longing look that was even more intimate. Then they said goodbye, and Mrs. Richards never came back again.

Mr. Richards started sitting on his front porch for most of the day after that. James didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Was he waiting for his wife to come back? Or did he finally feel free?

"Everything's fine, Mr. Richards," James said, stepping out of the garage and waving to the older man, who was standing at the top of his porch steps. "Sorry about the cursing. I just can't get this damn car to start."

Mr. Richards laughed. "You should have heard me back in my day, James," He explained, walking down his steps. "My mouth would recognize the taste of soap anywhere. Even my wife—" He paused, took a small breath and then spoke again. "My ex-wife, she hated me swearing. She threatened me with the soap bar several times throughout our marriage, and she was my wife!"

James chuckled, feeling a bit awkward with the man, but shrugging it off. It was only because James was so uncomfortable with emotions, and he did feel bad for the man. He knew that the only thing Mr. Richards did with his day was watch the street. James swore that he was waiting for her to come back home to him.

He looked down at the ground to avoid eye contact, something he did often, but then noticed something that was just slightly out of place. A pot of flowers that Riley had sitting out front — it was knocked over. Dirt spilled from the top as the flower lay on the pavement, dying in the heat.

"Mr. Richards..." James started, looking up at the man and then looking down at the flower pot again. "Do you know what happened here?"

The man crossed the street and came over to get a better view. "No, I don't have a clue, James," Mr. Richards admitted with a confused look on his face. "Maybe one of the girls hit it accidentally on their way out of the house today."

"Maybe." James said, though he knew that wasn't true. Riley and Emily would have never left it like that. Riley would have brought the pot inside to replant after work, and Emily would have just picked the pot back up and stuffed everything back in.

Someone had knocked over that pot, and James knew that it was someone who didn't belong around here.