A heavy thud followed by an irritated grumble stirred me from my unexpected slumber. My head peeked over the couch, seeing Harry sprawled out on the wooden floor by the door.
"Harry?" I called. "What're you doing?"
"I don't know." His speech was slurred as he stroked the mat underneath him. "I think it likes me. A bit too much, if you ask me," he whispered.
"You're drunk," I said sternly, rising from the couch to shuffle over to him.
"No, I am!" he shouted before laughing. "I mean, yes, I'm not!"
I kneeled down, wrapping my arm around his torso to aid in standing him up. He leisurely rose to his feet, staggering as I led him towards the couch. He plopped down on the cushion while his arms and legs stretched out, head lolling to the side.
"I'm gonna make you some coffee, and then wait until you're sober to yell at you," I said, traipsing to the kitchen.
"I'd rather have some tea, please," he said, tone a pitch higher than usual.
I shook my head, rummaging through drawers and cabinets for a tea package. One would think that I would know where everything is, considering I've slept over at Harry's more than enough times to count.
I found a large red kettle, filling it with water before setting it on the stove. I placed the mug and bag of Earl Grey on the counter.
"They made me....I had to identify my mother's body," he said quietly. Maybe I wasn't supposed to hear him, but I did.
I spun around, Harry being leaned over. "What?" I questioned while walking towards him. I enconced myself beside him, his face buried in his hands.
"They found my mother's body, and I had to identify it," he repeated, his speech no longer garbled. His head removed itself from his palms, turning to look at me. His eyes were a red tint, the green in them suddenly dull. My heart almost tore in two at the sight.
"And that's not the worst part. They found her...buried underneath my father's old gazebo." A lone tear streamed down his cheek before he hastily wiped it away. His attention went in front of him, staring blankly at the black screen on the television before he sighed. "So my father, who committed suicide, is a potential suspect for the murder of my mother."
I blinked, speechless and disoriented. "Harry, I don't - "
"The reason why I lied to you, Ella, is because...I don't actually know how she died. Since I was nine years old, I've been telling people that she died in a car accident. I've been living with that lie for fourteen years."
He exhaled deeply, gaze back to me. "I was scared to tell you, and scared to admit it to myself."
"What do you mean?" I asked. He remained silent, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. I took his hand that trembled on his thigh in mine, pressing a kiss to his palm before interlocking my fingers in the spaces between his.
"You can tell me," I soothed.
His tongue darted out to run over his lips, and I reassuringly squeezed his hand.
"My mother was having an affair," he breathed. His eyes flickered back and forth, almost as if to read my expression.
"Okay," I nodded in understanding.
"With the police officer that was here before."
This explains why he was so hostile towards the man earlier.
"It's a long story, Ella, I don't think you want to - "
I wagged my head. "No, I do. I'm listening."
