Chapter 11
“‘Invincible,’” Harlan says as he reclines in the high-back restaurant chair, crossing his arms over his vast chest.
Sally scoffs. “The Pat Benatar song or the Kelly Clarkson song?”
“Yes, Harlan. Which girl-band ballad do you want to be your signature ringtone?” Spencer shifts to kiss Sally on the cheek. “Good point, baby.”
“Scratch that.” Harlan scoops up his unused spoon and sweeps it through the air. “New idea for the ringtone that truly represents me. ‘Unforgettable.’ Can’t go wrong with Nat King Cole.”
I fold my napkin lengthwise and then fold down a corner. “How about ‘You’re So Vain’?” A half second after the words escape, I slap my hand over my mouth.
Harlan’s gaze slices from Spencer to me. “Traitor.”
“I know.” Sally’s hand waves like a schoolgirl wanting the teacher to call on her. “‘Let’s Hear It for the Boy.’”
As the three of us laugh, Harlan shakes his head. “Let’s be clear. I’m no boy.” He angles his spoon to point to his heart. “I’m all man.”
With the last crease in place, I stare at my napkin creation. “Yes, you are.”
It dawns on me no one is talking, and I glance from my blossomed flower napkin to the rest of the table.
Everyone is frozen, and a split second later laughter erupts.
Apparently I said that in my out-loud voice.
My face heats up, and I pull my napkin out of the floral shape to curtain my face. “You guys. Just love me through it.”
Harlan reaches over and yanks my napkin shield down to the table. “You proved my point.” He shifts his attention and points his spoon at Sally. “Why does Spence get the Iron Man ringtone? I’m Hercules, for goodness’ sake, which means I deserve a better one.”
Sally twists her torso and lifts the strap of her purse off the corner of her chair, transferring it to her shoulder. “I’m no help to you.” She flashes a smile at Harlan, then addresses the rest of us. “If you will excuse me, please, I have to go to the ladies’ room.”
As Sally rises to exit, Spencer and Harlan scoot their chairs out to half stand.
My last dinner in Colorado is divine. Ristorante del Lago is one of the newer dining options at the Broadmoor, and its elegance doesn’t disappoint. The terra cotta tile and exposed wood beams complement the authentic Italian menu filled with house-made sausages and pasta.
A server walks away with my empty plate, and I wonder if this is the kind of restaurant that brings their guests after-dinner mints.
The spaghetti puttanesca’s garlic, anchovies, and black olives took my taste buds to a new level of bliss.
But my dinner mates will have to forgive me when they’re knocked over by my breath.
Spencer stretches his arm across the table, encircles my wrist, and squeezes. “Meredith, I need to thank you. Sally is a changed woman because of you.”
My torso jolts in surprise at his kind comment. “Oh, gosh, no, I—”
“Neither of our families can help us out.” He releases me and pulls back. “Having two babies in a row almost did her in, and a lot of times I have no clue how to help.” His gaze falls to his fisted hands. “She hates it when I suggest hiring someone.”
“It’s a loving gesture, Spencer.” I wrap my napkin around my hand. “It just might not be for her.”
“This week, Meredith . . .” He clears his throat. “This week, she’s the woman I fell in love with. Less nervous. More laughter. Confident. It’s because of you.”
Stunned, I flex my hand, causing the napkin to unravel and fall to the table.
“We’d like to stay in touch.” Spencer leans back in his chair, hands resting on his thighs. “Make sure you look us up when you visit Harlan.”
I inhale a sharp breath. Back up the wagon, Spencer Dean. Harlan and I may not speak again after tonight.
Without breaking eye contact with me, Spencer gives Harlan’s head a playful shove. “Okay, forget Harlan. We’ll dump him and adopt you.”
Harlan clutches his chest and yanks out an invisible dagger. “Does decades of friendship mean nothing to you?”
Before I’m forced to acknowledge the social grenade Spencer dropped about visiting Harlan, Sally returns from the restroom. She stands with her pink-tipped fingernails clutching the back of her chair. “Oh, Spence, did you break the news to Harlan that we’re trading him in for Meredith?”
Harlan throws his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable.” His body sags, adding to the dramatics, until his head shoots up and he snaps his fingers. “That’s it. That’s the ringtone for me. ‘Unbelievable.’”
“Do not dishonor the glory of the nineties by picking that song.” Spencer pushes out of his chair. “Harlan and Meredith, thank you for sharing your dinner with us this evening. As promised, we’re going to let you two enjoy your dessert alone.” He turns to his wife. “You ready to go?”
In spite of standing in the middle of a fancy restaurant, the second I rise, Sally throws herself into my arms. “Call me anytime,” I say into her ear.
“I will always want to hear from you. Tomorrow. Two weeks. Two months.” My voice cracks, but I rein in the tears.
I pull back and grasp her shoulders. “You are beautiful. And you are strong.”
Sally swallows, nodding. Pulling my hand down, she thrusts a purple envelope into my grip. “Read it later.”
“My turn.” Spencer steps in and engulfs me in a giant bear hug.
After a stunned pause, I return the embrace. For a scarce moment, I forget he is Spencer Dean, and I realize I’m going to miss my new friends.
After Spencer releases me, he shakes Harlan’s hand, then watches while Harlan kisses his wife on the cheek.
As the couple strolls away arm in arm, Harlan moves to my side of the table to pull out my chair.
“Thank you.” I do the scoot-your-chair-in-while-the-man-helps thing. So awkward. After putting the envelope from Sally in my purse, I fold my jittery hands in my lap and wait for him to sit down.
Our server appears out of nowhere. “Can I interest you in a chocolate-filled cannoli or some house-made gelato this evening? We have a lovely selection of desserts I can show you.”
Harlan offers a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We don’t need the dessert tray, but would you please give us a few minutes with the menu?”
“Of course, Mr. Holcombe.” She sets down two leather-backed lists and leaves to assist an elderly woman nearby.
Harlan’s deep brown eyes focus on me. His finger draws a figure eight on the tablecloth, then he knocks twice with his knuckle. “So, when you visit Spence and Sally, do you think you’ll look me up?”
Can everyone in the restaurant hear my hammering heart?
Menu clutched in both hands, I stretch my arms out, focusing on the after-dinner drink options. “No. You’re Chad Tarkington.”
Harlan takes his index finger and pulls the card down halfway so he can see my face. “Who?”
“Chad Tarkington. You”—I nod in his direction—“are Chad Tarkington.”
He pushes the menu all the way to the table, causing me to release my hold. “What are you talking about?”
“My summer camp romance boy. You know how it is. For seven glorious days, you’re thrust into an intensified relationship with someone who would annoy you in real life.
You return to your respective homes and grow apart.
Or give each other the slow fade. Whichever.
” I sweep my palm through the air. “For that one week, it was amazing, but the end is the same.”
The muscles in his jaw clench, and he taps three times on my menu.
“You said so many things I need to unpack, I don’t even know where to begin.
” He observes as I weave my napkin between my fingers.
His eyes warm. “Summer camp romance boy. First of all, we established earlier I’m not a boy. I’m a man.”
Yes. Yes, we did.
“Second.” He plants his elbow in front of him and rests his chin in his palm. “Were we having some kind of a sordid romantic fling this week? Because I would have made different choices, starting by kissing you a heckuva lot more.”
My face flushes with embarrassment. “I didn’t say ‘sordid romantic fling.’”
“It’s implied. It’s the adult version of summer camp romance.”
This has backfired. Astronomically.
He wants to go there? Fine. I knew this was coming. Let’s get it over with.
I bite my bottom lip, pause, and take a breath. “Why do you want to be friends with me?”
“I think it’s clear I want to be more than friends.” Harlan’s face blanks. He sits up straight. “Why are you asking me this?”
“If you define me by my grief, this can’t be anything. Or if you want to save me from my grief, this will be a disaster.” I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head. “I’ve lost friends over this, Harlan. People I valued, who are no longer in my life.”
There. I’ve given him a better picture of reality. My emotional minefield should be sufficient to scare him off.
He draws in a breath, waits a beat, and encloses my hand in both of his. “I don’t define you by your grief.”
Ignoring his hand-holding, I let out a frustrated sigh. “It has to color how you view me.”
“Meredith. I define you by the kindness you showed Sally when she was a total stranger. I define you by the faith in life you hold on to despite all reason against it. I define you by your beautiful smile when we drove the Jeep through the mountains.” He tugs my hand, drawing me closer.
“You’ll always grieve your losses. But it’s only a piece of your journey.
All I want is for you to consider letting me be part of your whole journey.
To show me who else you are.” One side of his mouth hitches in a half smile as he shrugs one shoulder. “To see a little of who I am.”
I gnash my teeth. “I don’t know, Harlan.”
I’m standing at the end of the high dive, legs shaking, board wobbling, unable to jump.
“Let me ask you something, Meredith.” He strokes my hand with his thumbs. “How can you read everyone else, but you can’t read me?”
I pull my body back into the deep chair, breaking our connection.