Marry Screw Kill(5)
“Get the house ready.” James releases me from his arms. “And keep me posted on your day.” He walks toward the side door to the garage, but stops before he is fully out of my sight.
“Harlow,” his eyes blaze fire, “I love you.”
A quick moment passes while I try to find my voice. “I feel the same.”
Three words. Three confusing, life-altering words. Every time he utters them to me, I feel compelled to repeat them back, but I end up replying in a roundabout way.
One simple phrase could wash away any doubts he has of my affection, but the words stick in my throat—like they do every other time he has proclaimed his love for me. We are getting married in four weeks, so I better sort these feelings out and answer the question that troubles me: if I love him, why can’t I say it out loud?
***
After James leaves, I rinse away the morning’s sex in the shower, get dressed, and run out to my favorite grocery store to stock up. I have no clue what Sinclair likes to eat, so I empty the shelves into my cart. Healthy to junk food, it doesn’t matter. It’s novel, being able to pick and choose what I want without a care for the cost.
My mother and I lived the exact opposite life. We turned shopping into a sport. It felt like we’d won the Super Bowl when we saved a few dollars. I don’t miss the scrounging for pennies, but my life will never be the same without her.
What I wouldn’t give to have her back, even if just for a day. To hear her laugh at her own silly jokes, blame the burnt toast on a hateful ghost, or cry as she watched The Notebook.
We only had each other, but she made my life full with her love. She’d make me laugh so hard my sides felt like they would split. We didn’t have money to live like I am now, but we had laughter and joy. I miss her so much. If only she’d never met Tony.
A familiar feeling washes over me and I brush tears from my eye. Time to pay and leave before I break down in aisle five.
By some miracle, I keep myself together until I’m sitting behind the wheel of my BMW. The darkened windows hide me from an outside view. I lean into the steering wheel and bow my head, the ache in my heart beginning to subside with each falling tear.
Chapter Three
Harlow
Composed and back home from the store, I text James to let him know everything went smoothly while I was out. He fears for my safety, because, according to the police, Tony comes from a family of thugs, which isn’t shocking.
One of Tony’s brothers is in the state penitentiary for armed robbery and his father served time for domestic violence. Tony’s own rap sheet was riddled with petty crimes and arrests. I knew he was a bad seed at first glance, I just wish my mother had seen it too. His bad boy charisma blinded her to the truth. It was her kryptonite and downfall.
Now, James believes Tony’s father blames me for his son’s suicide. I’ve asked why he thinks this, and he’s yet to give me a reason other than something vague a detective told him at the police station.
I have a couple hours before I need to be at the airport to meet Sinclair, so it’s time to prep the place for a guest. A guest. He’ll be our first. A little flutter of excitement stirs within me. My best friend, Emma, hasn’t even visited since I came to live here.
After overhearing me on the phone with Emma, talking about some guy she slept with, James drilled me for the specifics. When I disclosed it was a one-night stand, he freaked out, saying she has questionable morals and we shouldn’t be friends. I stood my ground, though, and he finally relented. I wouldn’t turn my back on my life-long friend. I’ve had enough loss for one lifetime.
Moving through the house, I’m on alert for anything out of place, wanting everything to look impeccable when Sinclair walks through the door. The pillows on the leather sectional in the living room are arranged perfectly. All the knick-knacks on the tables and bookshelves appear properly placed. Order and cleanliness defines how James wants us to live. His longtime housekeeper, Mildred, comes once a week, but keeping the house in order helps me pass the time while I’m here alone.
The upstairs guest room and bath is the only area that needs my attention. I add freshly cleaned towels into the linen closet of Sinclair’s bathroom and a new bar of soap in the dish.
Before leaving the room, I fuss with a pillow laying on the starched white bedcover. I haven’t touched this bed since I moved into James’ room. The cool, clean covering beckons me and I sit down on the very spot where everything changed between us.
I fall back against the mattress and stare up at the ceiling, remembering the last night I viewed it from this angle.
One of James’ favorite patients, a nine-year-old girl, was scheduled to have a heart transplant. He was worried about her making it through the operation since she was already so weak. I texted him during the day to see how the surgery went, but he never replied.
I gave up hearing from him close to midnight, figuring he was staying at the hospital to monitor the young girl. Just as my head hit the pillow, the garage door shut downstairs and heavy footsteps sounded out across the wooden floors.
I called out James’ name and loosened my tight hold on the covers when he replied. A few moments later, I saw all six feet of him standing outside my open door, the soft hall lights illuminating him.
Gone was the polished doctor with Ivy League diplomas decorating his office wall. He resembled a man who’d returned home from a long, exhausting journey. His sandy blond hair was pointing out in every direction, as if he’d been pulling his fingers through it all day. His normally charming face resembled a man lost at sea. His stance reflected defeat.