The Summer Getaway: A Novel(81)

He frowned. “No. How would I know that?”

“I thought maybe he told Zafina and she told you.”

“What?” he yelped. “I wouldn’t not tell you that.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

He swore. “You don’t trust me at all, do you? You really think I’d keep that from you? I’m not that guy.”

Her chest tightened. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just with everything you didn’t tell me about other stuff, I wasn’t sure.”

He was quiet for a long time. “You’re never going to let the Tracey thing go, are you? It’s going to hang over my head forever.”

“It’s not just that you were married to Tracey,” she admitted. “It’s the debt and that you knew about my dad and Zafina and didn’t tell me.”

Because he didn’t want to show himself in a bad light, she thought. He wanted to be the hero. She sat up suddenly as she realized another uncomfortable truth. Kip was acting just like her dad.

“Harlow, please don’t make me sound so shitty,” he said sadly. “I love you, and I take good care of you. I’d never try to hurt you.”

“No, but you are willing to make decisions for me. You’re deciding what I can handle and what I can’t. Marriage isn’t supposed to be like that. We’re supposed to be a team, but you’re treating me like a child.”

“I’m not. I’m taking care of you.”

Wasn’t that the same thing?

His mouth twisted in frustration. “I can’t talk about this now. I have to go to work.”

“Kip,” she began, then sighed. “Okay. Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

He hung up. She removed her earbuds and stared out the French doors. She was more sad than angry. Kip didn’t want to face their problems, but until they were willing to deal with the truth, they couldn’t move forward with their future. Assuming they still had one.



* * *



Robyn stepped into her daughter’s room.

“Your brother says you’re moping,” she said cheerfully. “I’m not sure if that’s true, but either way, I thought you could help me go through the teacup room.”

She half expected her daughter to protest, but Harlow surprised her by scrambling to her feet and saying, “That sounds like fun.” She tucked her earbuds into the nightstand drawer, then shoved her phone into her shorts pocket.

“What are you looking for?” Harlow asked as they headed for the stairs.

“I want to go through the sets of dishes. There might be one or two I want to keep for myself. The rest will eventually be sold, unless you’re interested in one.”

“Really?” Harlow ran up the stairs. “I’d love a set. There are a couple I really like. And if I could have the Spode pattern 312 teacups and saucers, I would love that.”

Spode pattern 312 was beautiful, with gilding, pink roses and blue-and-yellow forget-me-nots. The design dated back to the very early 1800s.

“I think I saw a creamer in the same pattern,” Robyn told her. “I wonder if there’s a sugar bowl somewhere.”

“We’ll look.”

They went into the teacup room. As always, the sight of the beautiful cups and saucers made her happy. Delicate and elegant, they had once graced tables in regular houses with real people. They had been part of celebrations and sad days, held, filled, washed and dried. Somehow they had survived for years. Some for more than two centuries.

Harlow picked up a cup with the Spode pattern 312. “I feel like I’m holding a newborn chick.” She wrinkled her nose. “I guess hatched is a better word rather than born.”

“I’m more confused about when you would have held a chick at all.”

Harlow laughed. “I must have somewhere. Maybe summer camp.”

“I don’t remember seeing baby chicks on the streets of Naples.”

They grinned at each other, then settled on the floor in front of an oversized buffet. Several dish sets were stored in the long, low cabinets.

Robyn pulled open the left door, while Harlow drew back the right. The sturdy shelves overflowed with dishes.

“A lot to look at.” Harlow reached for a bowl.

“In every room. Doing inventory is a daunting task.” Robyn held out a pretty white-and-yellow plate. “I’ve been telling Lillian she can’t ever die because I love her, but also because I’ll be overwhelmed by going through the house.”

Harlow looked at her. “What will you do with it all?”

“Some will go to museums, some will stay with the house. The rest I’ll sell.”

“You’re going to start your own antique store?”

Robyn thought about how she’d been looking for a future, when it had been waiting for her right here. “Uh-huh. I’m starting online small business classes. When I head back to Naples, I’ll find a job with more hours and get to know all aspects of an antique store.”

She would watch her money and move to a smaller house, but she thought it was manageable. At least it was a plan, which was more than she’d had when she’d left Florida.

“That’s a lot.”

“It is, but it feels right.” She set the plate on the floor and pulled out a mismatched bowl. “How are you doing?”