People never knocked on the door of the Becketts. With the installation of their new doorbell about 10 years ago, most visitors always opted to press the shiny golden button that sat to the right of the large mahogany doors of their 3-story home. So, Claire, the Becketts maid, was a bit confused about the unscheduled interruption to the family's house when the two knocks were heard throughout the walls of the first floor. Despite the confusion, however, she still made the short distance to the polished door handle to look through the peephole. In the small circular frame, she saw two men in uniform standing firmly in the center of the small porch of the house. Rather than opening the door, she called up Harper, who was most likely working in the study. Quickly, but with much grace, Harper made the short distance down the stairs. “What is it, Claire?” She said shrilly, “I’m not expecting anyone today.” Claire responded quickly, “I’m unsure, ma’am, I’ve never seen them before.” Upon opening the door, a gust of wind made its way into the face of Harper, causing the few hairs that stood out of place on her well-polished head to move slightly. Immediately upon seeing the two gentlemen standing there on the doorstep, she pushed the circular frames that rested on the bridge of her nose back into place and took a step into the cold. 

“Is this the house of John Beckett?” the tall yet slim man on the right said, a clear rasp to his tone, not necessarily showing maturity, but rather experience… and a clear problem with the cig.

Harper responded in a rehearsed manner, “Yes. I am his wife, Mrs. Harper Beckett. What can I do for you?”

The two soldiers glanced at each other––quickly enough that it was hard to read into, but long enough that one could presume there was to be a reasoning behind the look––until the one on the left, an almost six-foot, burly-sort-of-fellow, said, 

“We are here to deliver a telegram to Mr. John Beckett. Is he here currently?.” 

Harper quickly replied, “Yes, I believe John is here. I can go get him, Mr…?”

“Lawrence, ma’am.”

“Ah! Mr. Lawrence, a pleasure, truly. I’ll go fetch John for you then.”

The soldiers nodded in unison, cementing their agreement with her plan, as they watched her long cotton skirt flow with her as she turned back into the house. It wasn’t but a moment later that Mr. Beckett swung the large door open with Harper right at his side. 

“You asked to see me, gentlemen?” said Mr. Beckett. 

Mr. Beckett was a tall man, nearly a head taller than Harper. He wore deep black dress pants that were fitted perfectly––clearly tailored––and an ironed white dress shirt with a light gray sweater over top. His face was clean-shaven, with not a hair out of place, but a slight stubble that accentuated the sharpness of his jaw. He had bright green eyes, almost off-puttingly bright, with the hintest of brown in the corners. His back was straight, almost as if he was balancing a book on his head, which made his height even more apparent. But something in his almost perfect stature faltered when stepping in between the archway of the door. His shoulders were almost too stiff, his eyes dimmed, and the space between his fisted hands showed the earliest signs of nervousness. 

“Well, yes, Mr. Beckett. We must speak to you about Charles Beckett, your son” Mr. Lawrence replied, seemingly the spokesperson of the two. 

“Yes, I’m aware he’s my son. What about Charlie?” Mr Beckett replied, curtly. His eyes remained still in their gaze toward Mr. Lawrence, making, even him, falter slightly. 

“Well, Mr. Beckett,” Mr. Lawrence began, “on behalf of the Army of the United States of America, we regret to inform you that on the morning of March 5th, Charles Leonard Beckett was killed in combat.”

Everything seemed to freeze as Mr. Lawrence made his announcement. Mr. Beck's entire demeanor broke, as he dropped to his knees in tears. Sob after sob after sob as he broke down on the wooden panels of his porch. Harper dropped to her knees subsequently, but not a sob left her lips nor a tear-stained her cheek, she was eerily calm. 

After consoling Mr. Beckett until she directed him back into the house, she turned back to the two soldiers, 

“Thank you for letting us know. We appreciate your message. Have a nice rest of your day, gentlemen.” 

⟷

It is hard to communicate the essence of grief in its entirety. While much can be assumed regarding the process by which one grieves, the path to which grief is felt is not universal. Some say it comes in stages, periods of uncertain feelings, while others believe it to be a period that comes and goes, ebbs and flows. But in its entirety, grief is incomprehensible. So, the nature of Harper in response to the loss of her son made sense at first. While Mr. Beckett split his time between holding himself up in his office and drinking into oblivion, Harper seemed entirely unphased while maintaining her typical schedule and personality. She remained who she had been all of this time, and not a single moment in her schedule was reserved for her grief. It was almost as if she wasn’t grieving whatsoever. 

“Claire!” Harper hollered up the two flights of stairs where she assumed Claire to be tidying up, “Would you help me pick up for dinner? Mr. and Mrs. Robins are coming this evening.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Robins were the parents of Joseph Robins, the Becketts' youngest son, Leos, best friend. The Becketts, as per request of Mr. Beckett, had not hosted much company since the death of Charles. So with this being the first event of the company since the tragic event, Harper was endearingly chipper for the day ahead. She had spent the last week and a half complaining to Mr. Beckett about the necessity of company, as she had been feeling increasingly bored in the weeks after the news of her late son. So, she and Claire spent the entirety of the day dusting, rearranging, and preparing for the company that was expected at 6 o’clock. 

Around 5:30, Mr. Beckett arrived home, carrying his briefcase, looking like the epitome of dread. It had been clear over the last few days that he was not in favor of having people over to witness the cracking that seemed to spread over the entirety of Beckett's home. His presence was abruptly known, as the piercing sound of the door echoed even as he greeted his wife with a brief kiss to the cheek. Yet, it did nothing to appease Harper, as she sternly responded to his embrace, “It is 30 minutes to, John. Thirty. Minutes. Our guests are arriving at practically 20, as you know since they never fail to arrive ten minutes early. So why would you even think to not get here at least an hour before.” she breathed. Mr. Beckett was under no means to respond, as he maintained a steady breath whilst nodding to everything she said. “And furthermore,” she went on to say, “You mustn't keep sulking around anymore. It’s quite honestly getting tiring. I don’t know how to withstand it.” With those final words, she turned at her heel and clicked her way back into the kitchen, not a word left to say. 

5:55, on the dot, the Robins rang the doorbell of the Beckett’s home, signaling Claire's greeting. They weren’t the cautious type, always comfortable –– some would say too comfortable –– and always had information to spill. This time, however, when Mr. and Mrs. Robins entered the door with their son, Joseph, they barely said hello. Their shoes were hushed by the shiny wooden floors, and their statues were entirely fearful. It was clear their hesitance was overriding their ability to socialize. 

This hesitance was overridden by the chipper appearance of Harper. She rushed into the room, with her arms outstretched, awaiting a greeting. 

“Oh, Mrs. Robins, how long has it been! How are you?” She gushed, catching Mrs. Robins in a quick embrace, “I’ve been dying for company these last few weeks. It’s been hard to come by, you know?” 

Mrs. Robins, like any sane individual possessing a soul, couldn’t find the right words to respond, as she proceeded to almost grimace at Harper, signaling her own form of pity that was very apparent to Harper. 

And yet, without a waiver of the facade, Harper responded, “Words seem lost on you, Mrs. Robins. No worries at all, though, I do know it’s been quite a while!” she chuckled, cheerily, “Let's move into the living room, then!”

Through the five minutes of both families making their way to the living room, Mr. Beckett finally came downstairs along with Leo, fake smiles plastered onto their faces, as they diverged to talk to their designated relations: Leo with Joseph, and Mr. Beckett with Mr. Robins. Slowly, but surely, they made their way toward the living room, finding themselves seated on the two suede sofas that were placed across from each other in the center of the room. Everything was perfectly placed, with nothing dirty or unwelcome. The coffee table separating the two couches had hors d'oeuvres set up for indulging, but the look of them made it seem highly inappropriate to make the first move. Alongside the platter lay Harper’s pink glasses, the only thing in the entire room that felt misplaced. 

“Well Jennie, dear,” Harper directed toward Mrs. Robins, “Do tell me: how has everything been?”

And so Mrs. Robins and Harper fell into ample discussion about the recent happenings and trifes within the neighborhood. It seemed to take a little bit for Mrs. Robins to fully commit to delving into the conversation without letting her eyes trail to the pictures that were absent from the wall, but she eventually convinced herself to do it for the sake of Harper's sanity. While they spoke, both Mr. Beckett and Leo sat stiffly next to each other. Joseph looked bored out of his mind, but only to the truly analytical eye, from the outside, he seemed relaxed and comfortable listening to his mother speak. Yet, it was clear with the bouncing of his right leg combined with the subtle roll of the eyes every few minutes that it wasn’t just comfort occupying his thoughts. While Mr. Robins looked pensive at the details of the room. 

Fortunately, for five-sixths of the party, Claire interrupted the conversation––or lack thereof––and announced that dinner was finished and ready to be served. 

Claire led everyone through the large glass doors that opened into the dining room. There was a mahogany table with space for ten seats, but currently, only six seats occupied it. There was a mahogany table with a 10-seat capacity, but only seated for 6. The walls were decorated with a light blue and purple floral wallpaper that gave the 2-paned window room a little bit more light. The table itself was dressed in a white tablecloth, lined with lace at the edges. Atop it lay white plates at each table seating, with gold rimming. To the sides were silver utensils, as well as a small bread plate with a similar finish to that of the dinner plate. in front of the plate to the right was a goblet-shaped crystal glass for water. As the two families entered the room, they didn't do much fawning for the room's magnanimous looks but rather made haste to their seats and quickly seated. Mr. Beckett sat at the head of the table with Harper directly across from him on the other side. Mr. and Mrs. Robins sat on one side of the table with Joseph and Leo on the other. Harper and Mrs. Robins exchanged quick words as they waited for the food to arrive by the hand of Claire. 

Claire soon entered, accompanied by two others holding plated dishes with a variety of foods. It seemed to be a nice braised beef along with a fancier form of potatoes and some green beans. The dish was nice and formidable for the company and was quickly and quietly placed at each seat. Claire made sure nothing else was needed before taking her exit. There was a comfortable silence that overcame the dining room as everyone dove into their meal. Finding solace in the quiet time to eat with the company of one's thoughts.

Mr. Robins, though, was the one to break the silence.

"This is superb, Harper. Truly, superb!" he said as he placed the napkin around his lips 

"Why thank you, Robert! However, I can only give myself credit for hiring Claire, as she is the one who conjures up the magnificent creations that appear in the kitchen. 

"I shall extend my thanks to her then!" He responded with a slight smile. 

"Oh, that's entirely unnecessary," Harper replied, "I'll be sure to pass the message along myself."

After her insistence on telling Claire, the silence reemerged with a new level of discomfort. The discomfort came with the fact that everyone, besides Mrs. Robins who was still pushing her remaining food back and forth on her plate, had finished their meals and were, quite plainly, staring at one another for quite some time. 

"Well, boys, how has everything been then? How's school? Baseball? The likes?" Mrs. Robins interjected feeling entirely too uncomfortable with the growing silence. 

Leo looked up under his eyelashes and replied curtly, "Everything is as good as expected, I suppose. It's really hard to think of anything else other than that of my brother's death." 

And if the silence was to be complained about before. Well, boy, the silence that echoed through the walls of that finely polished dining room was entirely too loud for anyone's participation. It was as if a glass had shattered on the feet of everyone at the table. But the look that graced the face of Harper was the one most noticeable: not a single emotion seemed present on her face. She kept the same small, cordial smile plastered on her face as she had all night and merely shook her head disparagingly to her son's release. Thankfully, before she could outright shun him Mrs. Robins interjected,

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry I even asked. I can't imagine how hard that must be to endure." Mrs. Robins responded positively, "I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost my baby."

“Well, of course. But we have your Joseph here with us, so why even consider that?” Harper replied with a slight smile on her face as she placed her hand atop Mrs. Robins. Abruptly, before Harper could say more, Mr. Beckett interjected, 

“Claire!” 

“Yes?”

“ Yes. Hi, dear. Dessert, if you would?”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Beckett. Anything else for you all, then?”

“A whiskey, if you would, Claire. On the rocks.”
“Certainly, sir. Should I bring just a glass or–?”

“He’s fine with just a glass.” “The bottle please, Claire” Mr. Beckett and Harper commented at the same time. 

“The bottle, Claire.”

“Yes, Mr. Beckett. Of course.” 

Harper released a long sigh but didn’t argue further. She got what she wanted, anyway. Company. 

After dessert, a few glasses of Four Roses, and the departure of Leo to his room, the Robins deemed it their time to head home. Mrs. Robins and Harper exchanged a quick hug and pecks to the cheek, while Mr. Beckett along with Joseph and Mr. Robins all shook hands, bidding a goodnight. As the Robins were walking out the door, Mr. Robins turned back,

“I’m sorry, but would I be able to use your bathroom ever so briefly?” 

“Oh, of course!” Harper said as she quickly turned back at that surprising question, “It's the door across the kitchen. Hard to miss, really.” she chuckled. 

Mr. Robins made his way to the bathroom, going past the living room and dining room until he got to the kitchen. As he was about to turn to enter the bathroom he glanced over into the kitchen and something odd caught his eye. At the breakfast table toward the end of the room, there were only three chairs. 

⟷

John Beckett was born into money. Not old money, like the Rockefellers or the DuPoints, but enough money to sustain the livelihood of himself, his wife, and their two children without the necessity of maintaining a job. Yet, John remained an attorney at a law firm in the city, and while he would probably deny it, the decision was most assuredly at the hands of Harper.  

John met Harper on a warm Saturday in April of 1924. He was still in school, struggling to get his law degree, not for his lack of intellect, but rather the fact that the majority of his professors were living on the pavements he walked to class on. Luckily for him, the Beckett name – along with the guarantee of tuition –– allowed him to continue his studies as a law student through the Depression. 

Meaning most of his life was incredibly dull. So, as one would assume, Harper Bene caught him entirely by surprise. His love-life was incredibly lackluster, to say the least, with a midnight meetup here and there when enough liquor allowed it. So, the introduction of the two was a change in pace from the life he was well accustomed to. Harper Bene was a young, attractive woman in the beginnings of her twenties. She was well mannered, poised, and understood entirely the expectations of a woman in society. She had dark brown hair that fell right below the curve of her cheekbone, blue sapphire eyes, dark eyelashes, and supple plush lips. Features that made it entirely unbelievable by the socialites of the time that she had not yet been snatched up. And while no one would dare to say John was unattractive, as he did fit the shape of an attractive man at the time, most would dare to say it was his money that allowed him to place a large ring on her finger by the end of that summer. 

Now, however, through the birth of two children, the death of one of them, along with Harper's clear inability to admit the death's occurrence, the proof of age has become more prominent. Harper now wearing glasses full time and Mr. Beckett showing the late signs of alcoholism. 

⟷

Over the months since the evening with the Robins, the Becketts were entirely unrecognizable to themselves. They maintained their perfect facade to the outside world, but inside their three-story house life wasn’t exactly how they made it seem. Their family was slowly ripping apart, and the only one to blame would be Harper Beckett and her inability to admit her son, Charlie, died. And time was not a helper. Harper's days were full of activities: redecorating, planning events, organizing vacations, helping the ladies of the neighborhood, and cooking. And the smile that was etched on her face never wavered, never faltered; always stayed perfectly in place. 

Her life, as an entity, hadn't changed. And yet the lives of Mr. Beckett and Leo were altered entirely. They never came to dinner, as they felt it to be too hard to manage. Leo couldn't look around the house as it felt as though Charlie had all but vanished entirely. And Mr. Beckett, well, he was either working or drinking and not always in that order. It was safe to say Harper was tearing this family apart. Mr. Beckett's pride didn't allow him to speak to Leo about the whole thing, with the mentality that "if Mrs. Beckett could move on and not speak of the whole ordeal, then how could I be so affected as to speak with my son about it?" 

Their lives were becoming fragmented. They barely spoke to each other, with Harper having practically become a hostess to two lonesome guests who barely showed. Their lives had essentially crumbled. And all that Harper would ask was that they put on a happy face and show up to whichever event she chose for the week. 

This week, it was the Debutantes ball. Something Harper was eager for Leo to be present at, as the eligible women of the time were to be present. Leo was incredibly adamant to not go, but with a stern look and a guilt-inducing statement, he was dressed and ready to go in his black fitted suit and quiffed hair by 5 the evening of the ball, with Mr. Beckett arriving home just before 6. 

"Dear lord, John, do you have no sense of propriety? This is the time for our dear boy to finally see the women of society, and you arrive forty minutes past when we were supposed to leave. It's like you don't even care" Harper laments, pacing back and forth between Mr. Beckett and Leo, her white heels clicking and clacking. "And," she continued, "you have the audacity to not show up for dinner and you barely are home, you drink more than you speak. What is wrong with you, John?" she asks, "What in god's good name is wrong with you, Mr. Beckett?"

Something about her tone or her words cracked the exterior that Mr. Beckett had built since Charles' death, and with that crack came an onslaught of words,

"No!" He screamed, "No! I am done, Harper. I am done."

Her eyes met his, briefly, with a clarity that hadn't been there in a long time. 

" For weeks we have been playing this pretend game, this ‘happy family’ front that just simply is not true!” He says, “Our son died, Harper, and here you are forcing Leo to pretend to want to find a girl for a night and taking down pictures of our son, making us go out every night to do what?” He screeches, his voice taking more and more volume as the thoughts that piled up begin to come crashing out, “To make the Becketts look unaffected? To seem like we are fine when we quite clearly are not? To keep this picture-perfect image that you, Harper, want to maintain. And to be quite frank, I am sick of it. I am done.” He cries. Everything he’s washed away with liquor comes crashing down into the foyer of the Becketts home with a piercing screech. 

And with one last breath, he connects his eyes to Harpers and says, “If you can’t face the fact that our son died 6 weeks ago in battle, then I don’t think I can face you. Figure this out, because I can’t be around someone who can erase a person so easily.” Mr. Beckett then shifts his tie, grabs the lapels of his black jacket, and walks up the stairs, into his room. 

Harper sighs, watching him retreat upstairs, and turns to Leo with a small smile, “Well, are you ready to go?” she asks. And with shock painting his features, Leo nods and they walk out into the car waiting for them. 

 âŸ·

When they arrive home from the Debutantes ball, Harper is met with a note on the entry table in the foyer, signed by her husband:

It seems your insanity has driven me right along with you. I can’t be here anymore, Harper. Expect divorce papers next week. Figure yourself out. If not for me or yourself––or even for Charlie––for Leo. Yours, John. 

Leo stops short from behind, watching her read the mystery letter, and sees the corner of her right eye twitch beneath the pink glasses she has on, but her smile remains the same. Never changing. 

⟷

The next morning a similar letter is placed on her nightstand, signaling her son's departure as well. He couldn’t stay in the house any longer, not somewhere where he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Harper barely glanced at the letter, merely handing it to Claire with a wave of her hand and moving on with her day. Her pink glasses fitted at the tip of her nose and her unfortunate smile never leaving her face. All she had left was now gone. 

⟷

Excerpt from the New York Times, August 28th, 1945: 

“Mrs. Harper Bene Beckett was last seen staring into the ocean of Myrtle Beach. Onlookers watched her stare and stare unmoving, watching the waves crash as the sunset descended into the horizon. Here is the statement of one woman, who stays anonymous, ‘She was just standing there, unmoving. It was as if she was frozen in time. I thought to maybe go over and see if everything was all right, but I changed my mind at the last second because so many people go to the beach to watch the sunset, right? Well, I looked back down at the book I was reading, I think it was Don Quixote, and when I glanced back up she was gone. I didn’t think I had been reading for too long, so I went to see if she had run into the water or maybe had just moved along further down the beach., and when I got there, well, there was just a pair of shattered, rose-colored glasses lying in the sand.’”