Chapter 50
Frankie leaned in toward Harper and whispered, “You’re seeing this, right? Mitchell Ripley and Lucas Prime are sitting in your living room working on a press release. For you. How is this even reality?”
Harper stirred the pitcher of lemonade she’d just made. Willa was sitting near the two men, just watching them as they worked on Mitch’s laptop. Joyce had taken Archie and Scout down to the yard for a potty break.
The lemonade was to go with the cookies Joyce had brought over. Oatmeal scotchies.
“Just remember why they’re working on a press release,” Harper said. “So, yes, it’s reality, but it’s a reality in which I’ve been vilified online.”
“Right. True.” Frankie put her arm around Harper’s shoulders. “But you have to admit this is pretty cool. Talk about a support network.”
Harper smiled, and it came easy, because Frankie was right. This was not how she’d expected things to go when she’d first seen the devastating headlines. Those had been like a punch to the gut. To say she was already feeling better was an understatement. Which wasn’t to say she was a hundred percent, but she was no longer wondering if witness protection was an option.
She carried the lemonade and a stack of hard plastic cups to the coffee table. Frankie brought the plate of cookies and a bunch of fancy paper napkins from the pantry. Harper set the cups and pitcher down on the table then sat by Mitch. “How’s it going?”
Mitch didn’t take his eyes from the computer screen, which he was frowning at. Seemed more a look of concentration than of being upset. “We’re getting there.”
Lucas set out a few cups and filled them. “The man’s a real wordsmith. Good call on bringing him in.”
“He offered,” Harper said.
Joyce returned with Archie and Scout. Both dogs looked thrilled with all the attention they were getting. Or maybe it was because they were hanging out together. Hard to tell. Joyce gave them each a cookie from the basket of treats Mitch had sent.
Mitch tapped away at the keyboard, brow furrowed from the effort. “Okay, I think I have a decent first draft.”
Lucas grabbed a cookie to go with his lemonade and sat back. “Read when ready.”
Everyone got quiet.
Mitch cleared his throat softly. “My name is Harper Calhoun and I want to tell you the truth. I didn’t go to college to become a therapist or a grief counselor. That much is true. What’s also true is that I never told anyone, my clients included, that I was trained in either of those fields. Despite the reading and studying I’ve done on a variety of subjects, the only thing I’ve trained in is life. I am a practitioner of common sense and logical thinking.”
He glanced up at Harper.
Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears. She nodded for him to go on.
“What’s been said about me online has been a mixture of one fact and many lies. The fact is I was involved with Ford Keating. We had a mutual and civil parting of the ways. I wish him all the happiness he deserves. The lies you’ve already read, if you’ve seen what’s been posted about me by the gossip sites. Lies make for outstanding clickbait. I understand that.”
“Yeah, they do,” Frankie muttered. “This is good.”
Mitch went on. “What I don’t understand was why I was targeted, but perhaps it was because the person behind all of this didn’t think I’d stand up for myself. Or perhaps she thought I was a soft target, and that by tearing me down, she could build herself up. Or maybe it was just for the money. Whatever her reasoning, I feel sorry for her. No one likes a bully, and, in my experience, the bully rarely likes themselves, either.”
“Nice,” Willa said, nodding appreciatively.
“My promise to my clients remains the same. I am a vault they can trust. Nothing that has ever been shared with me will ever be revealed. My hope for all those reading this is that you rise above the noise and find your own peace. Sincerely, Harper Calhoun.”
Mitch looked at her. “I’m going to write up a more personalized version of this that you can send to all of your clients first. That’s what I would do anyway. Reach out to them, let them know you’ll be making a public statement, then post this about fifteen minutes later.”
“That was good,” Harper said. “Really good. I don’t think I could have come up with something like that. Certainly nothing better. Thank you so much.” She glanced at Lucas. “Thank you both.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded, half of a cookie still in his hand. “Nice work, Mitch.”
“Thanks,” Mitch said. “You sure you’re happy with it, Harper? Anything else you want to add? Or take out?”
“No. It’s really perfect.” Harper exhaled. Her head hurt from the day’s emotional output. She looked around the room. Willa and Joyce were smiling. She smiled back. “Thank you all for being here for me. That’s pretty amazing and I won’t forget it.”
“I’ll email you a copy of this,” Mitch said, his fingers going back to the keyboard. “I’ll have the client letter for you in a few minutes.”
“Great,” Harper said. “It’s nearly dinnertime. I feel like I should feed you all as a way of saying thanks.”
Joyce gasped and looked at her watch. “That chicken needs to come out of the oven in five minutes. It’s not enough for seven people, though.”
Lucas got to his feet. “I bet I can do something about that.” He pointed to the kitchen as he looked at Harper. “Mind if I see what’s on hand?”
“Help yourself.”
He smiled at Joyce. “You want to bring that chicken over here?”
“If Mitch doesn’t mind,” Joyce answered.
Mitch shook his head. “Do whatever you want. I need to finish this other letter.”
Willa jumped up. “I can help.”
Harper sat in amazement. Did these people know what a gift this was to her? Just seeing this flurry of activity, the way they’d pulled together around her, some of them without even knowing the whole story. All they’d known was…her.
It was deeply touching and not something she’d ever forget. Obviously, damage had been done. Some of that damage couldn’t be undone, either. She’d have to live with those consequences, but what was happening right now in this house was making this awful incident feel survivable.
Very different from what she’d been feeling just a few hours ago.
“Thank you,” she whispered in Mitch’s direction.
He kept typing away. Then he looked up and smiled. “I don’t mean to make light of what’s happened to you, but it’s been a good distraction.”
She smiled, too. “I’m okay with that.”
Forty-five minutes later, the letter to her clients was sent, the public statement had been posted on her own social media with all the tags Lucas had suggested, it had been sent to his influencer friends, and they were all sitting down to the dinner Lucas had created for them with the help of Joyce’s chicken.
Except for Archie and Scout, who were taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention to them to lay on the couch.
With Willa’s help, Lucas had diced up the chicken and mixed it with fettucine, along with peas and sundried tomatoes in a dill cream sauce. Then he’d crisped up the chicken skin, chopped it into small bits, and sprinkled it over the top of the whole thing. A hearty salad and dishes of olives made up the sides.
Everyone ate enthusiastically. The pasta was so good that not a word was spoken for the first few minutes. Mouths were too full. Then the compliments came.
Harper wasn’t surprised her appetite had returned, despite three of her clients firing her. Four had sent notes of love and support, reaffirming their commitment to work with her. And, of course, she still had Mitch. The other four clients had yet to respond, but they would. Probably as soon as they weren’t on a film set or on a private island or at a mindfulness retreat or wherever they were.
Inspired by the moment, she stood, picking up her glass of water. “Thank you, everyone, for turning this disastrous day into a wonderful reminder about the power of family and friends. I am so appreciative of all of you.”
She could feel herself getting emotional but that was all right. “I wouldn’t have gotten through this without each and every one of you.” She lifted her glass. “To all of you.”
They all lifted their glasses and drank.
Harper stayed standing. “Also, my apologies to my niece, Willa, for turning her first day of vacation into this nonsense.”
Willa laughed. “Um, no complaints. I’m in a house once owned by Arlington Marsh eating a meal made by Lucas Prime while sitting at the same table as Mitchell Ripley, so I’m good.”
They all laughed. Harper sat. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
As everyone went back to eating, Mitch, seated next to her, glanced at her and quietly said, “Are you?”
“More than I expected to be.”
“If there’s anything else I can do to help—”
“You’ve already done so much.” Harper didn’t want to ask him for anything else. She’d never taken advantage of any of her client relationships before. She wasn’t planning to start now.
“It was good to help.” He twirled pasta around his fork. “Do you think you’d be up for talking about the book later? At my place?”
She nodded. If he’d asked her to bungee jump, she would have said yes. She owed him. Even if he had helped because he was a decent human being, she felt indebted to him. “I’d love to. Good writing day, huh?”
A slight, proud smile bent his mouth. “It was. Thanks to you.” He lifted the fork to his mouth.
She went to work on the remains of her dinner, too. Also smiling. Crazy, the highs and lows a day could bring. And it wasn’t over yet.
But she looked forward to talking over the latest developments in his book. It would be nice to think about that instead of this other drama.
She snuck a look at him. He was talking with Willa about a plot point from the series that hadn’t actually been in the books.
What a difference a little conversation and understanding could make in a relationship. But then, that was true for most things in life.
Maybe she should make that part of her doctrine with clients. Because, clearly, she wasn’t getting out of the business of professional confidante anytime soon.