Hidden. (by seasidestyles-original copy)

fifty eight

I furrow my brow. Harry has barely spoken of his sister in the time I've known him, but I can see that there's something inside him connected to her---a secret.

His breathing is fast and irregular as he tugs at the roots of his hair. I've never seen him like this before, and it scares me.

"Harry, calm down," I say, stepping forward and putting a hand on his arm. "Talk to me, Harry."

He stares at me, his eyes filled with worry.

"I need to show you something," he says.

I nod. "Okay."

He takes my hand and tugs me through the parking lot. At first I think he's going to take me inside the restaurant, but he walks right past it.

We step onto a small sandy area that barely passes for a beach at the bank of the river. It's freezing closer to the water, and I shiver.

Harry continues to pull me farther and farther away from where we came. He suddenly stops, bringing me to a halt.

"Sit," he says and I do so as he does the same.

The ground is slightly wet from the melted snow by the banks of the river, but I don't mind.

Harry's jaw is clenched tight as he stares at the water.

"Why are we so close to the river?" I ask him.

"The water calms me down," he answers.

He still holds my hand tightly in his, his palm warm.

"She called me, maybe an hour ago," he says. "I don't know how, or...or--"

"Harry, if I'm going to understand any of this at all, I think you have to tell me some things."

He nods, looking over at me. "I know." He reaches into his pocket, pulling something out and handing it to me.

It's a photograph.

In it is a family of four, all smiling widely. A tall man stands proudly, with dark hair and green eyes. He smiles, a single simple carving into his cheek, his hand on the woman's shoulder. She leans into him, her hair so dark it's almost black. She has blue-grey eyes that shine.

Her hand rests on a little girl's shoulder. The girl smiles widely, her two front teeth missing. Her brown hair spills over her shoulders, her green eyes squinting with her smile.

My eyes move to the little boy, and my heart melts.

His brown curls are unruly, his grin is the widest of them all. He stands in front of the man, leaning slightly on the little girl, prominent dimples in his plump cheeks.

"This is your family," I breathe.

"It was my family."

I look up at Harry.

I watch him as he takes a long, deep breath.

"My father is in rehabilitation," he says slowly. I can tell how hard this is for him, talk about his past. "He was an alcoholic when he was a teenager, but after he met my mother he dropped it. He was clean for a long time, until I was nineteen."

Small, white snowflakes begin to fall from the sky.

"He got addicted to drugs, then. He was fighting with my mother a lot, too, I remember. I was at Oxford, getting my college degree. It wasn't too far from Holmes Chapel, so I was home a lot. I was...very close to my mother." He sniffs. "I found out my father was addicted when I went home one weekend, and my mother greeted me at the door, crying."