Harry Dresden has never been in love.
I say as much to him, and he doesn't deny the fact.
"Who's got time for it?" He says and sits at his desk, making a show of going over some accounting.
I've made the observation before and he always busies himself with something else. Anything else. Sudden interest in a dusty old book in a language he can't read, need for a snack in the kitchen, phone call to Detective Murphy, inventorying his supply of rare herbs, accounting.
If ever I press or tease him on the matter, it is the inevitable, "Get in your skull, Bob."
I am guilty of having provided a decent share of cynicism on the subject. What it led me to is not an inspiring tale. Yet the truth remains that I have experienced it, and of the many things I count among my regrets, love is not one of them.
"Didn't I pay the electric bill?" Harry asks, a shut off notice sitting on the desk in front of him.
"You mailed a check three days ago. Late, obviously, but I expect you are safe from shut off. This month, at least."
"Okay, yeah," he makes a notation in his ledger.
His life skills don't exactly rise to an ordinary level of competence. He's had to learn it all himself though, and I along with him. To the extent that I can help him, I do, even if it is only to remind him of his practical realities like paying bills or buying groceries. For years, Justin Morningway made the decisions for him. Balancing a checkbook and meal planning were not among his lessons, not that I could have taught him those things anyway.
I never really noticed how restricted Harry's life had been until after he kil... until after Morningway died. I suppose the restrictions on my own unlife colored my perspective of the world. I didn't realize the level of control Morningway exerted until he was gone.
Harry did nothing and befriended no one if his uncle did not approve. No wonder he's never been in love. He was an awkward teenager and grew into an awkward man. What examples did he have? His parents were married, but his mother long dead, and the life she had with Malcolm Dresden beyond the scope of Harry's memory.
Morningway had remained a perpetual bachelor. Romantic attachments with women were infrequent and fleeting. I suppose that explains a lot.
"I know I paid the phone bill. I swear I did."
"No," I say to him, "You used that money to pay the electric."
"Damn." He erases frantically at his figures.
It's not that he never makes an effort, but the efforts have always seemed more mechanical than natural. Most recently with a woman named Laura, he saw her more than once, tried to establish something with her. But even friendship evaded him there.
In the abstract, I'm sure he understands there is a difference between sex and love, but in reality, the distinguishing characteristics are perhaps not so clear to him. The presence of one and lack of the other are his only points of reference, and so he maintains only a string of infrequent and fleeting encounters.
"What did I do with that check from that one client last month? The one that had the poltergeist in her fireplace?"
"You deposited it last month. You've already spent that money."
"Then I pay phone or a pay rent, but I can't pay both." He makes a little sound of frustration.
The front door to Harry's office opens and I melt back through a wall. I catch a glance of Detective Murphy walking in before I am out of sight, though still within earshot.
"Your phone's not working, Dresden," she says, a slight annoyance tinging her words.
"Heya Murphy," he says brightly, and then apologetically, "Yeah, the phone, sorry about that."
"I could use your help on a case."
I hear the sound of a file being dropped on Harry's desk.
"A man was cut in half by a wall. A permanent wall. Head and torso on one side, lower half on the other, and a bit of the middle actually inside the wall."
"Sounds nasty."
"Very nasty. I don't know what to do with this. Even Kirmani said, 'Maybe we should get Dresden's perspective on this one.'"
"I think he's warming up to me."
"Are you available to look into this?"
"Yeah, sure, no problem. I'll call you... well, I'll come by your department when I have something."
"I appreciate it."
I hear her open the front door, but she leaves it open as if hesitating.
"Harry, could you use a loan until I get the paperwork through to get you paid on this case?"
"Nah, Murph, I'm okay."
The door closes.
"I'm going to write you a check for $100."
"Don't do that. You've got a kid to support."
"If I couldn't do it, I wouldn't offer." Her tone is of a no nonsense, end of discussion quality.
I hear a slight tearing sound, I assume a check coming out of her checkbook.
"So pay your phone bill and call me when you have something."
"Thanks," he says, "I owe you one."
"Yeah, well, you can buy me a beer as interest on the loan. See ya, Harry."
"Bye, Murph."
I hear the door open again and then close. This time I assume she is gone and I step back through the wall.
Harry is still sitting at his desk, but not looking at the file in front of him. He's holding the check in one of his hands, and there's a slight, stupid grin on his face. His gaze is lingering on the door after her.
Maybe I was wrong.