Chapter 20
Harlow tossed and turned all night, struggling to find a comfortable position, replaying her confrontation with Robert. A tiny part of her regretted signing the addendum. The larger part held out a sliver of hope she would be healed enough to make the movie.
As far as her husband was concerned, Harlow was no dummy. She could see the writing on the wall. Something had to give because the couple’s marriage was headed in the wrong direction.
If she were honest with herself, Harlow had seen the signs of their marriage crumbling. His frequent trips without her. Less time spent doing things together as a couple.
His surprise visit and trying to take her against her will was the icing on the cake. Perhaps marriage counseling would help…would help the couple learn to communicate and grow close. Making a mental note to bring it up during their next conversation, Harlow finally fell asleep.
She woke to bright sunlight pouring in through a gap in her bedroom curtains. Harlow sensed she was being watched. She turned to find Mort seated next to the bed in his usual spot. “Good morning, Mort.” Harlow scratched his ears. “Thanks for not barking and scaring me half to death.”
She flung the covers back, successfully scooting into her wheelchair and even breezing through her morning bathroom break. Harlow washed her hands, studying her pale complexion in the mirror.
At least her bruises were starting to fade. She splashed cold water on her face and pinched her cheeks. “Much better.” Harlow was ready to face the day and whatever it would throw her way.
Wheeling into the kitchen, she found it was empty. Half a pot of hot coffee sat on the counter .
She filled a to-go container and carried it out onto the front porch. Her father sat in the rocker, newspaper in hand and a half-eaten chocolate-covered donut on the plate next to him.
“Morning Harlow.”
“Good morning, Dad. Where’s Aunt Birdie?”
“I haven’t seen her yet.” He set the paper in his lap, giving his daughter his full attention. “You have raccoon eyes.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“I imagine not,” he said. “Hopefully you don’t regret signing the addendum.”
“After giving it thought, something tells me I’ll need the money. Speaking of money, I’m ordering groceries this week and paying for them.”
Her father started to protest. Harlow stopped him. “I insist. It’s only fair. In fact, I should pay you for caring for me.”
“Nonsense. ”
“Then, let me help with utilities, something.”
“I’m not flat broke,” David said. “Your mother and I made several wise investments. If I’m careful, I can live out the rest of my life on what I have.”
“But you don’t have enough to make repairs and pay the fines.”
“Nope.” David made a move to get up. “Let me fix you breakfast.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I will…later.”
Mort, who had wandered off, scrambled back up the steps. He plopped down in front of David and stared at them.
“He’s giving us the look.” Harlow laughed.
“He wants to go for a morning walk.” Her father let out a low groan. “We already went for one. This will be round two. ”
“I’ll take him,” Harlow offered.
“I thought you were running around with Eryn this morning.”
“Maybe. I have plenty of time to walk Mort or have him walk me. He can help pull me along,” she joked.
“More like drag you around.”
“Either way. I’ll check on Aunt Birdie while I’m at it.” Despite her father relenting and allowing Birdie to park her RV on his property, down by the bay, there had been a few tense moments during the setup, namely the exact location.
To Harlow, it was more of a bickering banter. By the time the RV was in place, David appeared to have calmed, grudgingly accepting the fact his sister was there for the long haul.
“If you’re sure,” David said.
“Positive. I’ll take my phone with me in case I run into trouble.” Harlow finished sipping her coffee. She maneuvered the wheelchair back inside, grabbed her phone and caught up with her father and pup on the porch.
“Would you rather take the scooter?”
“No. I want to build up my arm muscles.” Harlow playfully flexed her muscles. “I might need them for the upcoming film.”
“As you wish.” Down the ramp they went and through the gate that David held for them.
Mort knew exactly where he was headed. He turned right, scampering past the bushes and blooming flowers. They passed by the gazebo and benches strategically tucked in between the landscaping.
The pup made another turn, this time toward the harbor.
It was a little trickier maneuvering along the narrow path, over sections of broken concrete. Mort slowed when they reached Aunt Birdie’s RV. The windows were wide open, as was the front door, although the screen door was shut.
“Aunt Birdie?” she called out.
There was no reply and no sign of her feisty gray-haired aunt.
Harlow kept going until they reached their destination—the dock. The pup helped pull her all the way to the very end.
Mort plopped down on the edge. He dropped his chin on the wooden deck boards and peered into the water.
“You silly dog.” Harlow giggled. “Are you looking for fish?”
Cautiously inching closer, she gazed into the cold, clear water. Trout, smallmouth bass and even a few yellow perch swam by. “I wish I had a fishing pole,” she said wistfully. “I could catch us dinner.”
She and Mort sat quietly watching the fish, savoring the calm of the early morning. Harlow closed her eyes, breathing in the magic of Mackinac Island. Coming home to heal had been the right decision.
Off in the distance was the bridge, the “Mighty Mac,” in all its glory. The bridge to home.
Harlow’s thoughts turned to her husband. Were Robert and Jillian having an affair? If so, what would she…could she do about it? The best, the only decision, was to take it one day at a time.
Robert’s persistence had paid off, and she’d caved. Maybe not caved, but agreed. And Harlow was a woman of her word. She would do whatever it took to fulfill her obligation.
A light breeze blew off the water. Strands of her long blond locks brushed her cheek. She tucked them behind her ear and thought about her mother.
It was another reason she’d been awake the previous night. Harlow missed her mom. Being there, being back on the island, made her absence even more profound. Aunt Birdie’s unexpected arrival had helped. Or maybe it had ripped open an old wound, making her miss her mother even more.
In the wee hours of the morning, Harlow had made the decision to visit the one place she hadn’t gone yet.
“Well, Mort. If you’re done counting fish, how about you and I head the other way?”
With a little coaxing, he and Harlow backtracked, passing by Winnie, who was tied up closer to shore. It seemed like only yesterday Wynn Harbor Inn had been a bustling, vibrant resort, booked solid every summer and into late fall.
It was heartbreaking to see it a shell of its former self…empty, forlorn, broken. Similar in so many ways to Harlow. She and the damaged inn were kindred spirits, both in desperate need of help. Perhaps she could use some of her money to help her father fix the place up.
She thought about her father’s partnership with Easton Holdings Company, not the company but the siblings, making a mental note to do a little more research. Her dad was no dummy. If he thought they would make good partners, then maybe she should be more supportive.
The sidewalk ended and a small dirt path curved toward majestic oaks. It took some concerted effort, plus help from Mort to guide Harlow’s wheelchair.
Thankfully, it wasn’t far. Her mother’s granite headstone, with a bouquet of daisies on each side, appeared. As she drew closer, Harlow could see they were fresh, as if someone had placed the beautiful, vibrant bouquets there only moments ago.
Harlow locked the wheelchair’s wheels and slid to the ground. Not trusting her legs, she half-dragged, half-pulled herself along until reaching the headstone. She ran her fingertips over her mother’s inscription, Gwendolyn “Ginger” Wynn, beloved wife and mother.
A lone tear trailed down Harlow’s cheek. “Hey, Mom. I…I’m sorry I haven’t been by sooner. It’s be en a rough…a tough few years. But guess what? Dad and I are talking again. He’s…he’s been helping me since my accident.”
Harlow poured out her heart to her mother, confiding some of her deepest, darkest fears—about the future, her marriage, the direction of her life.
She caught a whiff of a floral scent, the fragrant aroma of gardenias, her mother’s favorite flower.
The hair on Harlow’s arms prickled. She sensed her mother’s presence as close as the gardenias, could feel her mother’s love envelope her and a calming peace washed over her.
Ginger was telling Harlow it would be all right. No matter what happened, she would be okay. And her daughter was exactly where she needed to be.
A long shadow fell across her mother’s grave. A warm hand touched her shoulder. “Birdie came by the house. I guess you two missed each other.”
Harlow nodded. “I…thought. I thought it was time to see Mom,” she whispered in a ragged voice. Te ars streamed down her cheeks unchecked, her heart aching over the loss of her mother. “I miss her so much,” she whispered.
“I know you do. And I’m sure she misses you.” David eased in next to her, sharing snippets and stories about Harlow growing up. The time she’d stuck her tongue on the metal flagpole in the dead of winter during recess.
The time she sneaked downstairs on Christmas Eve and knocked the Christmas tree over, getting trapped behind it. The more her father shared, the less Harlow’s heart ached. Her tears stopped. She drew in a shaky breath and offered him a watery smile. “Thanks Dad. I feel much better.”
“So do I. Memory Lane is sometimes a rocky road.” He slowly stood. “We’re going to be okay, Harlow. I take that back. We’re going to be more than okay. By the time this is all over, we’ll be better than ever.”
“I hope so. ”
“I know so.” Harlow’s father gently scooped his daughter up and placed her in the wheelchair. “Let’s go home.”
The end.