The Summer Getaway: A Novel(66)

Sitting in her car wasn’t really an option, so she wiped her face again, then drove toward the apartment. She told herself she would be fine. She would get through the evening, then spend tomorrow figuring out why everything was falling apart in her life. While she wanted to blame everyone else, she had a bad feeling she was at least partially responsible.

She paused before opening the apartment door. Game face, she told herself, then put her key in the lock.

“Hi,” she called, faking cheerfulness.

“Hey, beautiful.” Kip stepped out of the kitchen and moved toward her. “How are you?” He paused and frowned. “You’ve been crying.”

She mentally searched for a decent lie, then nearly groaned when one occurred to her. “I heard that a cancer patient I knew years ago died. We didn’t stay in touch, but it still got to me.”

She was so going to hell for that one, she thought grimly. And she deserved it, but she didn’t retract the words.

Kip held her tight. “I’m sorry, babe. That has to be so rough. How can I help?”

“I’ll be okay. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Sure.” He kissed her, then released her. “I made that grilled shrimp salad you like. Whenever you want to eat, I’m ready.”

“Thanks. Let me go shower off the salt water, and then we can have dinner.”

He smiled. “Want some help?”

She took a step back. “I’m okay.”

The smile faded. “You sure you’re just sad about your friend? Nothing else?”

“I’m tired, but I’ll be fine. See you in a few.”

She lingered as long as she could in the bathroom, but finally forced herself out. In the living room, Kip had her favorite chardonnay waiting. They sat on the sofa, talking about their respective days. Harlow spoke about her charter, careful not to mention her conversation with her father. She knew she would have to tell Kip at some point, just not tonight. It was all too humiliating.

They moved to the table. Kip tossed the salad and set it, along with a French baguette, on the table. Harlow served them each some salad and started to take a slice of bread, only to stop and stare at her plate.

“There are beets in the salad,” she said.

“You like beets.”

“You hate them.” She looked at him. “Like six weeks ago, you threw a fit in that restaurant because they put beets in your salad. You practically had our server in tears.”

He chuckled as he took his seat across from hers. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. You yelled. You said you hated beets, that you’d told her you hated beets and there they were, in your salad.”

He speared one of the beets and put it in his mouth. “I don’t like red beets. These are golden. They’re good.”

“They’re the same!”

The statement came out with a little more shriek than she’d planned, but honestly, now he liked beets?

“They’re not,” he said, studying her quizzically. “Golden beets are sweeter.”

“But you were horrible. You were mean to our server. We talked about it. And now you’re just eating beets?”

“Harlow, you’re not making sense.”

She told herself they shouldn’t be fighting about a stupid vegetable, but she knew it wasn’t the beets. It was everything else. It was the credit card debt and Christmas Eve and the fact that he’d been married to another woman and never told her!

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, pushing back from the table.

She ran to the bathroom and locked the door. Kip followed instantly, rattling the knob.

“Harlow, what’s wrong? Let me in. Please, honey.”

She sank onto the floor, her back against the tub. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she ignored them as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She blinked until she could see, then quickly texted her brother.

Where are you?

The answer came seconds later.

Just checked into a motel in the Panhandle. I moved out of the apartment before I left, so I got a late start. What’s up?

I want to come with you.

She thought about the closest airport to his route. Can you pick me up in New Orleans tomorrow?

Sure. Do you know your flight info?

Not yet.

Seconds later her phone rang. She answered it instantly.

“I haven’t booked my flight. I’ll do it right now and let you know.”

Austin sighed. “What’s going on?”

“A lot of stuff I can’t talk about yet.”

“Harlow?” Kip pounded on the door.

“Just a second,” she called, then turned her attention back to the call. “I’ll tell you when I see you. It’s just one crappy thing after the other.”

“Are you okay?”

“Never better,” she lied. “I’ll see you in New Orleans.”

“Okay. If you need me to come back, I will.”

Some of her pain eased. “I know. Thanks, but not necessary. See you tomorrow.”

They hung up. She scrambled to her feet and opened the bathroom door. Kip stood right outside, looking both worried and pissed.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Why did you freak out about the beets?”