Chapter 31
“You didn’t need to pick me up from the airport, Prissy. I could have taken the shuttle.” I heave my bag into her trunk, thinking that any other form of transportation is probably safer than riding with my realtor.
Ironically, my broken heart has brought me back to Colorado Springs. Two weeks after my painful and productive epiphanies with Stanley and Molly, I’m ready to move forward with life, whatever it might hold.
Prissy pushes a button to shut the back of her SUV. “The Feldmans insisted. They’re so grateful you’re subletting their brownstone, they want me at your beck and call.”
“I don’t think you can be at someone’s beck and call if you’re dressed like that.” I throw a hand at her sleek ensemble while I climb into the vehicle.
Peeking through the opening of her coat is a black jumpsuit paired with half-stacked, heeled ankle boots. The faux fur surrounding her collar is oh-so-Prissy.
“Don’t be silly. I delegate when I’m dressed like this.” With admirable grace, she maneuvers into her car, buckles in, and presses a finger to the start button.
“Hello, Priscilla.” The voice of Prissy’s car sounds different than my last visit. “While you’re driving today, please remember your husband loves you. But if you are arrested for speeding, he will make sure you’re locked up in a facility where the uniforms consist of baggy shirts and mom jeans.”
With so much breakup grieving, my laughter feels foreign to me, and I clutch my stomach. “That’s amazing.”
She rolls her eyes. “My husband got a new gadget for Christmas. I haven’t figured out how to disable this one.”
Taking deep breaths to calm my giggles, I flash a smile at her.
She pulls out and drives toward the exit. “Do you want to talk about how Harlan’s in LA while you’re here in Colorado?”
Ignoring the punch to my gut, I run my finger over the window and gaze outside. “No.”
“Very well. Let’s go over our plan.” With a graceful wave to the parking attendant, she exits the lot.
“Three new properties hit the market last week. Peter Grundle, an architect highly regarded in his field, is available to go with us on our viewings and discuss how to turn those houses into your halfway house vision. I sent him your notes, so he’s up to speed.
But he’s also developing plans to convert Twelve Bluebells into a more user-friendly ranch concept. ”
At the mention of the property that sides up to Harlan’s, I sit at attention and face her. “Prissy—”
“This search may take some time, so it’s nice that you have the freedom to stay in town a while.
” As we stop for a red light, she clicks her pristine nails against the steering wheel.
“Because you have more clarification on what you want this time around, it might be a good idea to make your funds available. We don’t want to miss an opportunity for a quick sale. ”
Grateful she moved on from discussing the ranch, I decide to play along. “Okay. I’ll move some money around from my Swiss bank accounts.”
She slides her eyes to me. “Are you engaged in a criminal enterprise?”
“I’m just kidding.” I chuckle. “I’m more of a Swiss chocolate kind of girl.”
“I understand why you’re nervous about the possibility of residing next door to Harlan’s family—”
Snapping my mouth shut, I cross my arms over my chest.
“—but living in the country is different than the city. Borrowing a cup of sugar requires a car ride, which means you rarely interact with your neighbors.”
I nod and ignore the things she said. “I’m also an I-would-like-Swiss-cheese-with-my-ham-sandwich kind of girl.”
“You love that property and need to keep an open mind.” When the light turns green, she punches the accelerator. “Wait until you see what Peter’s got in store for the boardinghouse.”
This woman is relentless. “I’m also a Swatch girl.” I rub my wrist. “I had one growing up. Do they even make those anymore?”
She takes a right turn as if she’s Danica Patrick. “Peter’s an expert. His work is impeccable.”
“Can I call him Peter the Great?” I grip the handle on my door. “Don’t forget Swiss cuckoo clocks.”
“You’re a little cuckoo right now.” She straightens out the car and guns the gas. “Maybe we should be looking at properties in Switzerland. I have a superb contact in Bern.”
“You’re the one that keeps bringing up a property that’s less than a football field away from the Holcombes.
” Remembering the seats in this car warm themselves, I adjust the appropriate control.
Whoever came up with this concept should get an award.
“I would be open to a place in Switzerland. Their train tunnels are cool. But I heard there are a lot of thyroid disorders. Something about lack of iodine.” As I snuggle deep into the heat at my back, I forgive the car for allowing Prissy to drive so fast and settle in to enjoy the ride.
“So maybe let’s just stick with Colorado. ”
Living in a Broadmoor brownstone has some perks. I can access all the amenities as if I were staying at the hotel proper. I’m within the resort’s reach, and it wraps me in a protective cocoon with its spa, delectable eating, and personal care.
In the meantime, Prissy hooks me up with the Center for Nonprofit Excellence, located in the heart of Colorado Springs. Using her contacts, we conduct several meetings to formulate an effective business plan and brainstorm fundraiser ideas.
Sally joins us on occasion to throw her encouraging two cents into the mix. She’s gracious and supportive. It’s been a good distraction from discussing our mutual friend, Hercules.
My therapist back in Dallas networks her connections to aid in the search for long-term facility staff.
People who can counsel, oversee support groups, provide self-care education, and help the women thrive.
I want these girls to understand their needs and strengths, and how to operate in this world in light of that information.
Without knowing what is logistically possible, I’m hoping to create a haven for community and healing.
My solitude during this time is purposeful. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I spend an hour every day in complete silence, waiting for answers.
An intensity builds in my quiet spirit.
I don’t know exactly what I’m waiting for. But at the beginning of each day, I release what I want to hear, how I want to hear it, and when I want to hear it, creating space for something different. New. Undefined. I don’t know. Just something that isn’t how I’ve felt about myself for a lifetime.
I give all that I know of myself to the process.
I journal, I listen to all kinds of music, I draw, I make lists, I reflect, I cry.
I take walks through the Broadmoor property, make visits to the zoo, and spend days at the spa being pampered.
Sometimes I stare into a fireplace, other times I study the ducks swimming in the lake.
And I eat decadent food at the fabulous restaurants.
Always at a table for one.
But every day, without fail, I make space for silence. And wait for something.
“Open up, it’s cold out here.”
As I hurry to grab the door, I glance at my watch. “Prissy?” I take the giant gift basket from her while she removes her coat.
She pats her perfectly molded hair. “Did I miss the beginning? The dresses are the only part that matters about tonight’s show.”
“No, the red carpet coverage hasn’t started yet. The local news is wrapping up.” I blink. “Where are your pj’s?”
She glances down to her clothing. “These are my pj’s.
” Decked out in a pale pink silk long-sleeve shirt and pants, she defines Academy Awards Pajama Party.
Her feather-tipped, opaque, high-heel slip-ons remind me of a pair of plastic dress-up shoes I stomped around in as a child.
Though her feathers are probably bound by diamonds instead of plastic crystals.
I peek through the transparent cellophane wrap of the basket. “You brought reinforcements.”
Various sizes, flavors, and brands of Toblerone, Lindt, and Nestlé chocolates are displayed. The multiple Swiss goodies cause me to smile. Even her chocolate is fancy.
We walk into the den, and at the sight of Spencer and Sally on the red carpet, I rush to put the sweet confections down and grab the remote. “I can’t hear them.”
Glittering from head to toe in a black Versace gown, Sally looks radiant. Spencer isn’t so bad himself, but he is definitely upstaged by his wife tonight.
“Good evening to the beautiful Mr. and Mrs. Dean.” A Good Morning America host greets my friends by amicably shoving a microphone in their faces.
A cheer erupts from the crowd behind them.
“I haven’t seen you guys since the Valentine’s Day Make-A-Wish Fundraiser.
Sally, you look amazing this evening, but I can’t help but notice a new accessory.
” She points to something small and round at the top of Sally’s dress.
I squint.
No way.
Sally smiles wide and proud. “It’s a reward a friend of mine gave me.”
The host leans in and laughs. “This is a sticker.” She looks beyond the camera. “Can we get a close-up? It literally says, ‘I showered today.’”
The camera zooms in to show one of my infamous-now-famous mommy stickers. A cat wearing a shower cap, holding a bar of soap.
“Yes. Being a mom is tough some days. We need stickers too. Shout-out to all the mothers out there.” My friend waves at the fans.
I wave back and giggle. Without taking my eyes off the screen, I sense Prissy standing with me. “I gave those to her.”
“I love it,” the host says, her eye catching something off camera. “And what about this guy? Harlan Holcombe, everyone.”
While the crowd’s roar soars, my heart drops to the floor. Breathing is difficult, and I clutch my chest as he comes into view. Classic black tuxedo. He’s simply beautiful. But I ache for the man who wears jeans and boots.
I feel a strong need to put my hand on the television and touch his face.