He shifted his attention to her.
"It's there, Harrison," she told him gently. "And it doesn't have to be the focal point, but it is a layer. A necessary one."
Harrison rubbed his face, sighing as he cast bleary eyes her way. "What about you?"
Beth froze. "What about me?"
"Aren't you a part of the story?" he asked slowly.
She sat still, digesting his words. She inhaled deliberately, schooling her expression into calmness she didn't feel. "I'm a late addition."
A hitched eyebrow was the only response she got.
Beth jumped to her feet and stalked the room, wanting Harrison to understand. "Stories are made up of layers, right?" She turned to him, continuing before he had a chance to answer. "There's an outline, a first draft, second, maybe third, and a final. Each one adds another layer to the story. So there's you. You're the initial layer, the starting point, the main character. The reader has to feel like they know you. Add your features, your mannerisms, your thoughts, your feelings, and we sort of have Harrison."
"Sort of?"
She absently waved a hand at him, striding in the opposite direction. "Another layer could be your goals, something that happened to you in the past that made you the man you are. Some conflict. An illness," she emphasized.
Beth didn't have to look at Harrison to know he was frowning.
"Then there's how you deal with the conflict, or illness. That slaps another element to the story, helps shape and mold it. Gives it depth." Beth paused and fixed her eyes on him. "You aren't just some football player, or some man. You're a man who was told he has a disease that can kill him." Her chest squeezed, and Beth flinched around the pain. "But you're more than that, so much more. And I want to show that. I have to show that. Let me."
Harrison let his eyes drop to his clenched hands, his shoulders bowed against her words or his thoughts. "And what role do you have?"
Beth took a fortifying breath of air and squared her shoulders. "I'm the storyteller. I'm the best part."
He lifted his head and allowed a faint smile to crest his lips. "Think so?"
Beth shrugged and walked across the room. She grabbed a throw pillow from the bench and settled on the hardwood floor, knowing that before too long her back would regret her position. Until then, she would stay where she was. Harrison had to decide how he wanted his story to be told, but she thought it was an injustice to keep any aspect of his life out of it, even the harder parts.
"Okay, Beth."
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, satisfaction hugging her. Okay, Harrison. Under the glow of the moon and no other light on this side of the room, she turned her head and looked out the window at the stars. "Be honest with me."
Harrison stepped over her and compacted his long body to fit on the bench beneath the window. He set his hands behind his head and aimed his face toward the ceiling. "What is it?"
The relaxed intimacy, coupled with the late hour and the deepness of Harrison's voice, made her bolder. "You didn't need anyone to write your book."
His answer was surprisingly fast. "No."
"Then why did I come here?"
"I looked up the residents of the town, did some research. I like to know the kind of people around me. You wrote an article," he said slowly. "I saw the potential in your writing, the passion for the subject you were discussing, and yes, I thought you were pretty. But that wasn't what caught my attention. It was your eyes. Innocent, hopeful. Haunted."
Harrison looked down toward her, his features black in the night. "I do want you to write my story, in your words. I think only you, with your heart and your openness, can write it as it should be. No one else."
Beth closed her eyes against the tripping of her pulse, breathing in his words and hugging them with her soul. "I figured you saw the article in the paper. The timing was accurate. You emailed me just a few days after it came out. The one about me graduating and the big writer dreams I had. You're paying me too much, by the way."
"It's not enough," he argued evenly.
"I have more at home ready for you to read," Beth admitted, popping open her eyes. "Do you want to read it?"
"No, not until it's done."
"How do you know it doesn't veer off into some fantasy land where you're dressed in a pink skirt and like to talk to peas?"
She caught the smile before he turned his head. "I trust you."
"You're paying a lot of money on trust."
"I don't need it."
Harrison scooted closer to the wall, and as soon as he did, Beth got up and filled the space, their bodies situated with his head near her feet and her head near his feet. He went motionless, and then he exhaled. Beth smiled to herself. She was tired, but content to talk to him until she either left, or fell asleep.
"What do you do all by yourself in the mornings and over the weekends?"
"Think."
"And what do you think about?"
"People, mostly."
"Oh?" She lifted her head and eyed him. "What about them?"
"Well, I find them interesting, for starters."
He said it so matter-of-factly that Beth laughed as she relaxed against the cushions. "Really?"
"Yes." Harrison shifted, either in nervousness or agitation. "Do you ever think about all the different kinds of people there are?"
Beth tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and frowned. "I'm not sure I'm following." The rubber band against her scalp was making her head sore. She removed it and put it on her wrist, smoothing down the thick locks that had been held hostage by it for too long.
"Okay, well, let's say there is a room full of people." He paused. "Are you with me so far?"
Rolling her eyes, she clasped her hands together on her midsection and replied, "Yes. I'm somehow managing to hang on."
"You have all these people with all these different working brains. Some people are nervous being around so many people, some are enjoying it. Some are quiet, some talk. There are dreamers and scientists and know-it-alls. Observers, entertainers, shy people, loudmouths.
"There are people with empathy, sympathy, and apathy. There are some who don't know the dissimilarities between the three. Some who like broccoli, some who hate it. Some who have never even tried broccoli. Introverts and extroverts. We're all programmed in our own individual way. We all have a brain, and yet no two are alike. It's fascinating to me." Harrison stopped as if he realized he'd said too much, shown too much of himself to her.
"It is fascinating," she said.
Harrison's leg bent, and his foot bumped the outside of her thigh. "You sound fascinated."
Beth laughed. She liked this side of Harrison. He was actually talking to her instead of trying to push her away. "How was your Thanksgiving?"
"My parents cooked me dinner and refused to let me help in any way. When I went to wash the dishes, my mom shoved me back in my chair and told me to drink a cup of coffee. To be fair, it was delicious coffee. She wouldn't even let me take the pie from the oven." Annoyance sharpened his words.
"What kind of pie?"
"Pumpkin. My favorite."
"Your parents are ridiculously mean."
A short burst of laughter left him. "They're amazing. Overprotective. And amazing."
Beth sat up and rested her chin on her knees, studying what she could see of Harrison's face. "Can we do this all night?"
He pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Do what?"
She shrugged. "Talk. Not sleep. Research, you know."
Even though she couldn't see it, Beth felt his smile. "Ah, yes, research. I'd hate to stand in the way of that."
"Is that a yes?"
He reached out a hand, played with a lock of her hair. She felt his touch all the way to her scalp. "Yes."
They stayed up until the blackness outside turned to gray, and then pink. She laughed, and she heard the magic of Harrison's multiple times. Beth learned of his favorite sandwich-a BLT. His first kiss was at the age of thirteen, and he dated the girl for three months, even copping a feel before he was dumped for a guy with facial hair. Beth told him about the time she threw up at the roller rink one town over, and how she won her first dance competition at the age of seven.
"Sometimes," Beth whispered as dawn touched the sky in pinks and oranges. "I feel like everyone around me thinks I'm not strong. But I do, Harrison, I think I'm strong."
The silence filled the space between them, and as it grew, her elation dimmed.
And then Harrison spoke.
"I think you're strong, Beth."
Beth smiled as her eyes stung. "I think you're strong too-and lovely."
Harrison snorted, causing her to laugh.
"Keep talking, Beth. I like your stories," he whispered into the morning's hello.