Chapter 21
“What’s hard to understand?” Leaning a hip on my desk, I pretend to sort through mail. Who can concentrate after our earlier make-out session?
Harlan places his hand over mine and halts my nervous movements. “You make the last six weeks of your life sound like you’re working off a prison sentence.”
I grin. “Right? I told Molly that Al Capone wouldn’t have had this many community service hours.”
“It’s worse.” He throws out a hand. “It’s like asking Jack the Ripper to work in a woman’s shelter.”
Covering my mouth, I giggle.
He tugs on my hands, drawing me to him. “Or Bernie Madoff offering free financial services to college graduates.”
“Stop.” With my shoulders shaking, I plant my forehead on his chest.
“I’m all for volunteering your time, but it seems forced.” He pulls me close for no reason at all, and the affection feels good. More than good. “Do you like what you’re doing?” he asks.
As my thumbs rub down his ribs, all I can think is I like what I’m doing right now. Probably not what he means.
Harlan leans toward my desk, shifting us. “Hey, what are these?”
Turning my head, I glance at the stack of colorful papers closest to us. “Something I made for Sally.”
He releases his hold on me to grab the top sheet. “What are they?”
I stand a little taller. “Stickers.” I graze my fingertips over a three-inch blue accolade that says “Fed BOTH my kids” next to a chubby baby holding up a victorious fist. “You know how children go to the doctor’s office and receive a sticker after their appointment?
There’s some cat with the words ‘Purrfect Patient.’ Or a giant trophy with ‘Number 1 Attitude.’ I always wondered where the stickers are for parents. ”
He glances from the designs to me. His eyes light up. “This is a brilliant idea.”
“I mean, I’m the one who held the kid down while he screamed through a shot. Didn’t I earn the ‘I Didn’t Cry’ sticker?” I point to a baby-blue circle on the page.
“Or this one.” He draws attention to a different design with balloons and a wine glass that says “Still Sober.”
“Yeah. Sally’s had a rough time the last couple of weeks with the dregs of mommyhood. I sent her a box with a few pages of stickers along with chocolate and a CD mix of non-mommy songs.”
Harlan narrows his eyes. “You’re really good at this.”
“Oh, gosh.” I shoo his compliment away with my hand.
“The care package was for fun. I wrote her a note and told her to let herself off the hook. Just for today. She can go back to beating herself up tomorrow for all the things she thinks she’s doing wrong.
But for today, I dared her to go easy on herself. ”
“Seriously.” He leans in and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think you get it. You’re really good at this.”
I can’t comprehend what he’s saying. “Good at what? All I did was send Sally a message that she isn’t alone during the Groundhog Days of early-childhood parenting. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“You’re right.” Harlan’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Instead of encouraging people like Sally, you could do more Molly-mandated volunteer work. I hear Billy the Kid is burning some hours running the kiddie trains at the fair.”
His joke falls flat, and I pull back, wrap my arms around myself, and turn and scour the pristine sunroom for a distraction. Shouldn’t there be a stray glass I need to take to the kitchen? “There’s nothing wrong with charity work.”
“Meredith.” Harlan runs his knuckles down my spine. A whisper of a touch. “You have a choice. You know that, right?”
“I have time and resources. Shouldn’t serving others be fulfilling? Shouldn’t that be enough for my life to mean something?” My voice breaks, and I’m surprised by the flood of sadness.
This. This is it. I feel lost inside my own life.
Harlan takes one small step toward me, his gaze searing into mine. “Can we be fulfilled if we aren’t working and serving in ways that we’re wired and love to do?”
“I don’t know.” I rub the spot above my heart.
We both breathe hard, staring. At this point, I’m not sure whose life we’re discussing.
The back of Harlan’s hand grazes my cheek. “You aren’t irrelevant, Meredith.”
Sighing, I say, “What else am I going to do?”
I peek through the kaleidoscope of choices and freeze at the infinite colors. My options are unlimited. Am I supposed to merely exist? Do I get to have more dreams? Am I designed for something specific in this life, or will I play out the rest of my days swimming in grief?
Maybe Harlan’s right. Maybe my stickers are more than far-fetched ideas. Or maybe this isn’t about stickers at all.
“You’ll figure it out.” Harlan’s deep voice resonates in my ear as he wraps his strong arms around my shoulders, engulfing me in comfort.
I push back enough so I can study him. Exhaustion lines his brown eyes. “What about you?”
He gives me a squeeze and releases his hold. “Got a call from Penelope yesterday.”
I scrunch up my face. “She always work on Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t think she grasps the meaning of the word ‘rest.’” He scoffs. “There’s a reason her most recent contract with me contains a required vacation clause.”
Something in me warms at the thought of her required vacation clause and Harlan taking care of his people.
“There’s talk of future movie promotions.
” He bends his head to look at his phone and scrolls through it.
“Most of what I do is contracted, but a few things are negotiated along the way. I prefer to stay out of the spotlight more than a lot of actors. But Penelope mentioned that the way the Oscars are lining up, they’re looking at using a couple of us to announce an award. ”
As he takes a breath, he turns the screen to me. Front and center on Harlan’s phone is the official letterhead of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.
I start giggling. “I’m sorry.” Clearing my throat, I place a fist over my mouth. “Please continue.”
“What’s so funny?” His lips quirk.
“Look, I know it’s your job. And I understand”—my explanation is broken with snickers—“you’re a practical and down-to-earth famous person. But it’s a little bizarre to listen to you talk about maybe attending the Academy Awards. I have zero ability to act like this is normal.”
He hits me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods slowly. While he’s staring at me, his smile disappears and the mood in the room shifts.
“If I had a typical life, I would want to show you off.” He shakes his head. “But my world isn’t going to protect you.”
Gazing at my feet, I consider the kind of woman Harlan needs. I hate being a woman someone has to shield.
“Meredith.” The call of my name is a gentle demand. “I would be proud with you on my arm at the Oscars.” He pauses, then adds with amusement in his voice, “Though we might need some famous people training. Pitching a script to Steven Spielberg about conflict in space may not be your best move.”
My only response is to roll my eyes at the ceiling.
“I want to take you to an Oscar ceremony. But, Meredith, God forbid a reporter makes your personal story part of his byline. It’s not worth it to me.” He shrugs. “So I told Penelope to send Charlie and Spencer.”
Shame is sticky and will not release me from its grasp. Isn’t enduring my astronomical loss enough? How is it I’m a prisoner of it years later?
My breathing increases. I benched myself from my own life to deal with grief, but I can’t ask anyone else to stand on the sidelines with me.
“We’re not talking about some appearance at the local Elks Lodge, Harlan. This is the Oscars. You can’t not go.” I grab his cell and shake it at him. “Call Penelope. Fix it. You have to go. You have to go without me.”
In one swift movement, he removes the phone and grasps my hand. “It’s better this way. Besides, I don’t want to be there without you.”
Shaking my head, I step back. “This is a little hard to take in. I don’t think I can let you skip this because of me.”
He moves a hand over the second-day growth on his face, then slides it to grip the back of his neck. “What if that’s not the only reason?”
His blank expression gives me nothing, so I wait in silence.
“Charlie Boyd will take my place. The guy you met at the Broadmoor? He’s hungry. He’s keeping his head down and doing the work. And I want to see what this kind of experience will do for him.” He drops his hand. “I think being at the awards show could be a significant catalyst for him.”
Charlie. Young actor. Someone Harlan met with regularly while on set.
I study the man in front of me. “You help people figure out how to work their dreams.”
He slides his gaze to me with a sheepish glint. “I don’t know about that.”
“Then what? What is it you want to do for those guys? Because I know it’s important to you.”
“I want them to have groundwork. Personal, professional, financial. I just see so many idiots, talented idiots, with nothing underneath them while this industry opens up and consumes them.” He taps himself on the chest twice. “I had excellent support, and this industry still ate me alive.”
“Olivia shook your foundation.” I whisper the words, trying not to scare him.
Harlan’s pained eyes take my breath away. “I did everything wrong with Olivia. Her disillusionment caused a fog in my intuition that I rarely have to face.”
“And you think you can protect your guys from the pain of growing up?”
“No.” His answer chokes through a laugh. “But maybe I can help them. Maybe my life can be more meaningful than a movie no one will remember in ten years.”
His broken expression almost undoes me, and for the first time, I see the wounded man before me, grasping for purpose to make sense of his life. I’m not the only one who’s searching for more.
Wiping his hands over his face, he growls. “I don’t know how we got off on this. You’re changing the subject.”
“And you’re making a mistake by not going to the Oscars.” I shoot back my response, mirroring his intensity.
“My decision’s already been put into action.” He exhales and throws his arms wide. “And it didn’t feel like a sacrifice when I hit the send button.”
Glaring at him, I have no idea what to say. I so desperately want to allow him to extend this care for me, yet I so desperately don’t want to need it.
“The Oscars are Sunday, February twenty-fourth. If you’re not helping Bonnie and Clyde clean bathrooms at the bank, I want you either in a fancy dress or your best sweatpants.
You choose.” He prowls one step toward me.
“I will be dressed in either a tux or a tuxedo T-shirt, according to your lead.” Another slow, predator movement in my direction.
“We will order an obscene amount of takeout. Consume all the chocolate you can handle. And we will text Spencer and Sally obnoxious messages during the entire show.” His last stalking stride lands him in front of me, and I can’t help but smile at his perfect plan.
Then he takes my breath when he wraps me in his arms and gifts me with a quick brush of his lips on mine.
At his kiss, my entire body tingles. But I can’t ignore a tiny kindling of doubt. Sighing, I rest my hands on his chest. “Promise me if you’re ever nominated, you’ll go.”
“I don’t think superhero movies are what the Academy is looking for.” He presses his lips to my forehead with his words.
I poke him in the side. “Promise.”
He pulls me in closer and speaks into my hair, “Only if you go with me.”
“Hmm.” I nod. “We’ll have to find some kind of cotillion for socializing with celebrities.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m impressed with you, Meredith Harper.
We talked about my career, the possibility of meeting famous people, and our future without any freaking out.
” His tone is light, but he takes a loaded breath.
“I want our relationship to be ours. To the extent we can control it, I want to stay out of public scrutiny.”
I agree, not because of his words but because he is stroking my hair, coaxing me into oblivion. Then I shoot my head up and smack my hands on his shoulders. “I just realized the best part.”
The impact shifts his weight backward, causing him to release an “oomph.”
Full of glee, I grin. “Sally is going to rock the red carpet.”
Harlan leans to the desk, grabs the top sticker sheet, and wrestles one off the page. “She can wear this to the show.” He pulls off a bright pink sticker and presses it to my shirt, studying it with amusement.
Showered today.