Chapter 8
“I take it by your clothing choice we’re staying in for room service?”
I blink. Am I still asleep?
Harlan Holcombe. At my hotel room door.
I blink again.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Harlan leans a shoulder against my doorjamb and crosses his arms. “I dig the pink camouflage sweatpants, but the shower cap might draw some unwanted attention.”
Shower cap?
Shower cap!
“I smelled like a giraffe, so I took a bath.” Unable to decide which half of my statement is more embarrassing, I move on to figure out what’s happening. “Um.” My hand reaches nonchalantly to drag the cap down the back of my head. “Why are you here?”
He pushes off the frame and stands alert. “When I dropped you off at your room, I told you I’d check on you for dinner. Do you remember?”
Grief makes my life hazy. Not in an I-just-need-to-take-a-mental-break way, but in more of a did-I-forget-to-put-on-deodorant kind of way. I tap my fingers on my lips as the montage of the day runs through my mental movie reel.
Yes. He mentioned dinner, but I didn’t believe him.
I don’t trust most of what I remember because it resembles a bizarre dream.
One where Harlan Holcombe held my hand all the way back to the hotel, walked me to my room, removed my shoes, and tucked me under a blanket to sleep off the rest of my tears.
He nods in the direction of the table right inside the door. “May I?”
The hand with the shower cap points. “Use my phone?” When I spot the outstretched cap, I whip my arm behind my back.
The side of his mouth quirks. “Yeah. I need to touch base with room service.”
“Sure, but be nice to that phone. Things didn’t end well for its cohort.”
Harlan pauses, receiver in midair.
I turn and call back over my shoulder, “Long story.”
While Harlan rings downstairs, I stride to the bathroom, push the door closed, then dare to peek in the mirror.
The grief hangover doesn’t look as rough as I thought it might.
My head feels swollen like a tight balloon, but only my eyes are puffy.
My typical post-sobbing headache is minimal, helping me save my supply of ibuprofen.
I start to powder my nose while I eye my lip gloss. If I apply a thin coat, will it look like I’m trying too hard?
“They’re going to bring us a hamburger and a chicken salad something-or-other for dinner,” Harlan calls to me. “You can pick what you want, and I’ll eat the rest.”
It sounds like furniture is being moved, and Harlan keeps talking as if what separates us isn’t a bathroom door. “I thought about bringing a pizza, but we ate pizza last night. Man can’t live by pepperoni alone.”
Forgoing the lip gloss, I opt to run a brush through my mangled hair. “You’ve single-handedly crushed the teenage population with that statement. Your fans will stone you for blasphemy.”
“Good.” He chuckles. “Then maybe they’ll leave me alone.”
His response intrigues me, but I can’t focus on that direction.
The elephant in the room reminds me that I went against Harlan’s wishes and brought an animal home from the zoo. Only this elephant is Harlan’s history with a five-foot, nine-inch beauty who happens to be his daughter’s mother.
Opening the double doors to the bathroom, I note the makeshift dining area Harlan set up in the corner. While this is a kind gesture, he needs to leave.
“Harlan, I’m sure you had other plans tonight. You’re not obligated to check up on me. I’m fine.” I wring my hands, knowing I buried the lede, then take a breath. “And I’m embarrassed. I’m sorry you had to deal with all of . . . that.”
“Okay, good.” Not looking at me, he moves the Broadmoor Hotel literature from the table to the coffee bar. “Let’s tackle this head-on.” He shifts to step toward me and holds my eyes in his. “First of all, I don’t want to be anywhere else tonight.”
Oh.
Oh. What just happened?
“Second. Meredith, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He runs a hand through his hair but stops when it reaches the back of his head. “I’m trying to find a way to apologize to you.”
I spiral the drawstring at the bottom of my hoodie around my forefinger. “Why would today be your responsibility?”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to babysit Alex.
” I want to protest, but he puts a hand up.
“She had a wonderful time. But I was so focused on my stupid meeting, I didn’t think through the entire situation.
I know your history, and Olivia’s fangs are no secret.
I never should have put you in that position. ”
A pang shoots through my gut. The reality hits me that he knows some version of what happened today with Olivia.
But it doesn’t matter. I need him to know this wasn’t his fault.
“Harlan, please understand. I don’t need a reason for an episode like today. My husband and two children died in a terrible accident. That’s enough to make me go to the Bad Place at any given moment. I’m just embarrassed you had a front-row seat.”
He stares back at me but says nothing.
“And,” I say, “you can’t take on the behavior choices of the mother of your child. My presence triggered her, and she operated out of fear and insecurity. I get that.”
“But, Meredith,” he says, his voice apologetic, almost in agony, “what she said to you.”
The memory of her words tries to take another stab at me, and I cringe.
His arm sweeps to the window, and he points outside. “I ran up the mountain to find you the second she told me.”
He ran up the mountain. To find me. And now he’s in my room. To check on me.
I’m frozen in confusion, but the knock on the door causes me to jump out of my thoughts.
Harlan squeezes my arm as he walks past me toward the door. “Room service.”
“They’re sure fast,” I mumble to the spot he touched.
He opens the door, signs the bill, and pulls in a cart. “I had the food on standby because I didn’t know how tonight would play out.” He picks up a covered dish. “Do you want the burger or the salad?”
“The hamburger?”
Grinning, he removes the silver cover from one of the plates, finds my meal, and sets it in front of the chair closest to me. “I’m glad you have an appetite. Besides, I have to mind my girlish figure.”
“You’ve never been labeled girlish a day in your life,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I flash him a smile.
Awkward feelings swirl in my stomach. It’s bad enough we’re having a meal in an oversized bedroom.
Add to the scenery one famous, tall, dark, and handsome man, and I’m out of my element.
I’m not even in the stratosphere of my element.
Instead, I’m frozen in the corner of the room like a wallflower at a junior high dance.
He places rolled-up silverware on the table and turns to me.
“Bon appétit.” But instead of eating, he takes me in from head to toe, his gaze moving to the food and back to me.
“I apologize. I just realized that after today you may not want company. I’ll take mine and let you have dinner in peace. ” Harlan starts to pull his plate.
“No, wait.” Letting out a breath, I shake my head. He’s sweet, but he has it all wrong. “Sorry. I’m fine.”
I move toward my chair and sit. I can do this. I can eat a meal by myself with Harlan Holcombe.
As I unroll my utensils and place the napkin in my lap, Harlan sits across from me. It’s then I realize my grave culinary mistake. My stomach spoke louder than my brain. Hamburger consumption is not always graceful.
Great. I’ll start with the safety of a French fry.
Struggling with the miniature ketchup bottle, I break the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” He leans over and snags the jar from me, twists the top off, and hands it back.
“Friends who’ve known me my whole life aren’t able to handle my grief. But you were really good with me today. How is that?”
Harlan takes a drink of his water, sets the glass down on the table, and rubs his thumb over the condensation. His eyes find mine, and he holds my stare for a second. “Five years ago, my dad died of a heart attack. Unexpected.” His voice is thick. “We were close.”
“I’m so sorry, Harlan.”
He nods. “He was a man of great character everyone wanted to either be around or be like someday. When we lost him, I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
I divide the ketchup between the hamburger bun and a spot on my plate as I listen.
“In spite of how I was raised, I made some pretty big mistakes trying to avoid the pain.” He grimaces.
“I chased things that would help me forget. Enter Olivia.” He shakes his head as he pours dressing on his salad.
“I had no capacity to recognize it at the time, but she was running from her life too. She didn’t share with me that her solution to all her problems was pregnancy. ”
I try to stifle my gasp. Precious Alex.
Harlan’s expression hardens, and his hand clenches on the table. “A lot of ugly things came out. Turns out she got pregnant to make her ex-boyfriend, the father of her firstborn, jealous. What better way to do that than with a movie star?”
I gape. “Oh, Harlan.”
“Justified anger is powerful. I ran from her and denied the entire thing for a while. My brother handed me some ugly truth about taking responsibility for my actions.” His jaw tightens as he shifts his gaze to the window. “My behavior after Dad died disgraced his legacy.”
I tentatively touch my hand to his. “We’re all vulnerable under the stress of grief. Sometimes we make unwise choices. It’s how we find our way.”
His eyes return to mine, and he releases a breath before he makes his next statement. “I want to hear your story.”
“I’ll tell you sometime.” I offer a small smile. “But I’m here to listen to the rest of yours if you want to share.”
His stare is scrutinizing, but then he nods. “My career choice puts a lot of stress on relationships. So I quit.” He shrugs. “We tried to make it work. Got married. Moved to Colorado Springs to start fresh and be with my family.”
I lean in close as his words lure me to the painful train wreck I suspect is coming.
“Not long after the ceremony, I knew we couldn’t put the pieces together.
Olivia has bipolar disorder.” He seems to think about this for a second.
“She really flourishes when she follows her doctor’s care, you know?
She’s capable of so many good things. But when she’s off her meds, her emotions are a roller coaster.
Which I found to be the majority of the time during our marriage.
It was intense. I feel guilty saying this, but I was relieved when she told me she still loved her ex.
” He stops to take a bite of his neglected salad.
I reach for my water glass, stalling to process his words before I speak. “Your efforts to right the situation were honorable.”
“Doesn’t matter. I was wrong about everything.
” After focusing on the table for a moment, his brown eyes, full of shame, find me again.
“I fell apart. For the first time since my dad’s death, I was alone with my grief.
On top of it, the reality of my complete failure with Olivia and my new daughter almost did me in.
” He draws the butter knife up and turns it end over end.
“If I’m honest, I lost my purpose long before any of that happened. ”
Lost his purpose. My heart constricts in pained empathy. Our stories have different names, but they are kindred spirits.
“Somehow my brother sat with me during my toughest moments. He understood better than anyone why I didn’t want to get out of bed, and he patiently waited until I was ready to pick myself up and move forward.
At any rate, to answer your original question from ten minutes ago, I don’t know.
” His smile is genuine and heartbreaking all at the same time.
“Your emotions don’t scare me, Meredith.
Neither does your story. I hate it for you, and I wished today at the zoo that I could take away some of your pain.
But since I couldn’t, I just decided to sit in it with you. ”
Why would Harlan Holcombe . . .
I blink. I blink as if my eyelids are windshield wipers and can swipe the old view away and bring up a fresh, different one. He’s no longer Harlan Holcombe to me anymore, is he?
He’s just Harlan.
And he didn’t have to know me for a lifetime to understand what I needed today.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I rise, move toward him, and hold out my hands.
He pauses, not taking his eyes from mine, then stands and places his hands in mine.
I push up on my toes, his grip tightens in mine, and I press my lips to his cheek in a soft kiss. “Thank you.” My voice, thick with emotion, is barely audible.
He draws me to him and wraps his strong arms around me, one hand sliding to my waist, the other gently sifting through my hair before he presses my head to his shoulder. And then he pulls me in tight, his warmth engulfing me.
After what seems like an eternity and a quick second all at the same time, he says, “Meredith?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you don’t smell like a giraffe anymore.”