“I’m on it.”
He washed his hands, then went out to the grill on the balcony. Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at the small table off the kitchen.
“You’re serious about going to Santa Barbara?” she asked.
“I am. I’m going to try one more time with Dad. If he talks to me, then I’ll give notice. If not, I’m quitting right there.”
“I get your point. I just wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll miss you.”
“The road trip offer stands.”
“Thanks, but my life is here. I talked to Kip today. We agreed that I’ll come back, but we’re not going to discuss what happened for a few days.”
She’d explained she needed more time and space, and he’d promised to give her both. He’d also apologized for walking out. She’d wanted to push back on that, but she’d been packing a bag, so she was just as at fault.
For the twentieth time, she thought maybe her mother was right. Maybe they were too young to get married.
Her brother looked at her. “What did happen between you two?”
She’d been avoiding saying the words out loud—as if speaking them made them real. But she knew she would have to deal with it eventually. Might as well start now—in a safe place.
“A couple of nights ago, I found out Kip was married before.”
“What?” Austin started to stand, then sank back on the chair, his eyes dark with anger. “Are you shitting me? He was married and you didn’t know?”
“I had no idea. He never said anything.” She explained about dinner with Judy and Hank and how Judy mentioned that Tracey had called.
“I felt so stupid,” Harlow admitted. “I asked who she was. I was humiliated, and then I was hurt, and then I went numb. I don’t know how I got through the dinner. I don’t remember any of it. On the drive home, Kip kept saying he was sorry and that he hadn’t lied.”
“Bullshit. He has to know how you feel about lies of omission.” His hands curled into fists. “I’m going to beat him up, starting with his face.”
Harlow leaned toward him. “Thank you and no, you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t help me.”
His shoulders slumped. “I want to do something.”
“I know. I wish you could fix it, but only I can do that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t have to go back to him, Harlow. You can stay here or move into Mom’s house. She would let you.”
“She would.” Even if they were barely speaking beyond a few texts. “I miss her.”
“Me, too.” Austin looked at her. “I’m sorry. I thought Kip was a good guy.”
“Yeah. Now I worry about what else he’s not telling me. He also told me he has some credit card debt.” A lot of debt.
“Not everyone has folks who pay for stuff.”
Harlow thought about Enid and medical school. “I’m starting to get that.” She poked at her salad. “I know this sounds stupid, but Kip’s mom told me they open presents on Christmas Eve.”
Austin stared at her. “What about Santa?”
She smiled. “That’s what I said, and she pointed out that he’s not real.”
“It’s not about him being real, it’s about the stockings. You’re not giving up your stocking.”
“It’s strange, right? Christmas Eve is when we go to church.”
“I guess falling in love means making compromises.”
He was right, but Harlow wondered at what point compromising became giving in and losing things that were important to her. How was she supposed to know when withholding information was just Kip not knowing how to handle a situation rather than being deceptive?
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “All I know is I need to go back to see how I feel when I see Kip.” Maybe that would answer her questions.
“Do you want him to make it right?”
She considered the question. “I do.”
“Do you think he can?”
“I’m not sure.”
And that, she thought sadly, was potentially a bigger problem.
sixteen
MASON KNEW HOW to work through gunfire, a couple going at it in the other room, cold, heat, rain and hunger. He’d once spent three days trekking supplies to a remote hospital, physically pulling an oxcart four miles over a ridge, when his truck had broken an axle and waiting for the repairs would take too long. He knew how to get the job done in nearly every condition. He was sharp, he was focused, he could power through with the best of them. What he didn’t know how to do was not think about Robyn.
She was everywhere, even when she wasn’t. A statement that, he admitted, made no sense, but was true. The cut flowers left in fancy vases around the house reminded him of her. As did the paintings he’d started noticing. Just yesterday, going through Leo’s desk, he’d found a dozen pictures of Robyn, from toddler right up to maybe fifteen years ago, when she’d been photographed with a couple of good-looking kids he would guess were Harlow and Austin.
He saw her first thing in the morning when she walked barefoot—regardless of the weather—onto the balcony they shared. He sat across from her at dinner, and inevitably caught sight of her exploring the old house during the day.
He could live with the low-grade desire that never left, the eagerness with which he hung on her every word. He’d let go of male pride about eleven seconds after meeting her. No, the real problem was, with her in the house, he couldn’t write.
Oh, he could type long, convoluted sentences about battle conditions and how many horses were killed, but he was going through the motions. He liked reliving history, smelling the gunpowder, hearing the screams.
These days that wasn’t happening. He was obsessed with a woman and could only wait for the fever to pass.
He’d never felt like this before. He’d wanted women, of course. He’d wanted and not had. Regardless, he’d managed to get through his damned day without acting like an idiot. He tried telling himself that if he could get her into his bed, he’d be fine. Only he knew that wasn’t true. Worse than wanting her was knowing that if someone offered him the chance to fuck her one glorious time or spend the rest of his life hanging out with her, seeing her smile, but only as a friend, that was the one he’d pick.