I’m emptying my overnight bag onto the kitchen table when Ellis walks in and takes a seat. I gather up my toiletries and pajamas, stuffing them back into the leather carryall, leaving my pillbox out. I think for a second about going to my room to take my meds, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen me do this before. I move to the sink and pour myself a tall glass of water.
Ellis sits quietly observant as I pull open the container and take the six pills out: a combination of ACE inhibitors, beta-adrenergic blockers, and diuretics. The clinical trial I agreed to has shown some success in other patients with parallel conditions to my own, and at this point I’ll try anything. I take so many pills it wouldn’t surprise me to hear a rattle when I walk. I swallow the pills one by one and Ellis watches me with such burning intensity that I need to look away.
“Still need to take them one at a time, huh?” he ponders out loud.
“Yep.” I let the p pop sarcastically as I finish taking my medication. I’ve never been one of those people who can throw a couple of pills back and swallow them without choking. Taking my contraceptive used to make me gag like I’d swallowed a brick, and they weren’t even a quarter of the size of my current tablets.
I take my time assessing Ellis over the rim of my glass, here in my mother’s kitchen. It’s a sight that used to be so commonplace, and yet tonight it feels completely alien. He’s leaning against the counter, obscuring his lower half, but his broad chest and long, muscular arms are in full view. Tonight would feel so much easier if he didn’t look so damn good. I hate it. He’d held me as I cried into his chest, and the shoulder of his white shirt has the remnants of my mascara smudged into the fabric. I let my eyes wander over the expanse of his shoulders, trying but failing not to imagine them in the flesh. I lift my gaze a little to his collar and note the way his throat bobs under my scrutiny. By the time my eyes meet his my glass is completely empty, and I’m drinking nothing but air. Crinkles appear ever so slightly at the corner of his eyes, letting me know I possess all the subtlety of a hand grenade.
I turn around from the counter and place my glass in the sink, taking a deep shaky breath to remind myself that I’m not supposed to feel anything other than contempt for this man.
The coroner’s report said Daddy had died of a contrecoup brain injury. The night of the incident I’d been admitted to the hospital; I’d fainted, my blood pressure was through the roof and Ellis couldn’t reach my parents. My mom had gone out of town with her girlfriends to watch some theater performance, and my dad was planning on staying home. Ellis decided that he’d make the hour drive back to The Cape from Duke and let my father know I was being kept for overnight observations. From what I remembered he’d called from my bedside at the hospital and left a message for his parents, asking them to get back to him. His dad traveled some for work, but his mom Emma should have been home.
I don’t know all the details of what happened when Ellis made it to my house that night. Only that he walked in on his mom and my dad. They’d argued, and Ellis threw a punch. Just one. A knee jerk reaction, and completely out of his usual laid-back character. One snap decision to throw his fist in anger had changed the course of our lives forever.
A “one-punch-killer” the media had called him.
My father had apparently fallen over backward on impact. He hit the back of his head against the stairway and fractured his skull. The coroner explained to us that the collision on the hard ground had caused my dad’s brain to ricochet into the opposite wall of his skull—his forehead—causing a brain hemorrhage. He didn’t die instantly. Ellis had stuck around, shouting and arguing with his mom for a few minutes. When Emma realized that my dad wasn’t getting up she called an ambulance. Ellis walked away thinking he’d knocked my father out for a few minutes. He had no idea that while he was driving back to Duke my dad lay dying in his mother’s arms.
“You’ve never explained why you didn’t tell me about our parents’ affair,” I announce, stepping away from the sink and taking a seat opposite him, never breaking eye contact. The countertop makes for an efficient and appreciated barrier between the two of us.
I know about the affair. Ellis’s mom had the decency to explain her actions to my mom. Not that it helped at the time, but looking back, at least she allowed my mother some closure. I’ll never forgive her, but I’m not delusional enough to place the blame solely on her shoulders. My father wasn’t an innocent party to all that happened, but it’s difficult to lay blame on someone who can’t defend his actions.
“What did you expect me to say?” he challenges.
“You came back to the hospital and failed to tell me that you’d caught them cheating, or that you’d gotten into a fight!” My voice is tight as I try desperately to keep my cool.
“I couldn’t do it. I wish I could have, Harlow, but I couldn’t. I was so scared that if I told you what I’d walked in on, you wouldn’t survive it…that we wouldn’t survive it. At first I was scared to say anything because I was worried about your health, but then I realized what it would do to our relationship. It was your dad and my mom—what normal couple could ever get past that? I hadn’t even wrapped my own head around it.”
The sincerity in his voice puts a chink in my armor, but it doesn’t deter me from arguing his logic.
“You had no right to keep it from me!” I throw back at him. “He died, and I was devastated. I didn’t think I could ever be more upset, and you still stayed quiet. You should have told me what happened. I had to sit in a hospital room and listen to my mom, distraught and traumatized, tell me my father had died, and twenty-four hours later you let me watch the police arrest you at my bedside for killing him! How the hell did you think that would have been better than coming clean in the first place?”
My blood boils beneath my skin. I’m agitated and annoyed and upset and every other emotion all at once. My toes curl as I bang the heel of my hand down on the countertop, rattling the fruit bowl and mug tree, making him flinch.
“I didn’t know he’d died until you did,” he implores. “I switched my phone off when my mom started blowing it up with texts and calls. I thought she was trying to call me to smooth things over. Persuade me not to say anything—I don’t know. The moment we found out he’d died I shut down. I knew it was my fault instantly when your mom walked into the room and told you. I didn’t need any explanation—I can’t explain how—I just knew. You were both in shock. Hell, I was in shock. Keeping it from you wasn’t even on my radar at that point. I watched you break down, and all I wanted to do was protect you. Make it better.”
“Not telling me didn’t make it better.” My throat burns as I push the words out. They sound much weaker than I’d intended, my sadness diluting their inflection.
“By the time I realized I needed to say something, it was too late,” he acknowledges.
I let my head drop to soak in what he’s telling me and about jump out of my skin when the telephone rings. I use the interruption to gather myself and take a few calming breaths. Ellis rests his head in his hands before running them through his hair wearily and says, “You’d better get that.”
I slide from the stool and walk across the kitchen, aware of his gaze burning holes into my back as I answer the call.
“Hi, Mrs. Birch. No, I’m okay thank you. Yes, yes it was a shock. I’m all right, though. I’ll see you tomorrow, no doubt. Bye, bye.”
I place the phone back on its deck and return to Ellis. He doesn’t pretend not to stare as I pad along the wooden floor, each step making a faint creak under my weight.
“Mrs. Birch saw us leave and wanted to check in with me,” I tell him. “No doubt the whole town will be talking about us now.” I’m surprised it’s taken this long for anyone to call. I would have bet real money that I’d have had more than one call by now.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t intend on making a scene.” He sounds miserable.
“You know how this place is, you can’t blame people for talking. After all, you’re kind of newsworthy.” It was an off the cuff remark, not meant to offend but Ellis’s brows pull together rapidly, causing a deep crease to form between them. I’ve obviously touched a nerve because he runs a finger around his shirt collar to loosen it. The movement must not help because a moment later he pulls at it again and this time he undoes the top two buttons. The V it creates isn’t deep enough for me to see if his chest is still as smooth as it used to be, and I wonder if the years have brought a smattering of golden hair. It bothers me how much I want to know.
I’m tired, that’s all it is. The day is catching up with me and causing my brain to fog. That’s surely why I’m having inappropriate thoughts when I look at him. Even telling myself this, I don’t fully believe it, but the alternative is too painful to process, let alone accept. I let out a yawn, far more exaggerated and louder than I’d anticipated, and not ladylike in anyone’s estimations. I was already a little weary from having to say goodbye to a beloved friend. Mrs. Adkins was like the crazy old aunt most people have. The one everyone insists you call “aunt” even though she’s no relation whatsoever. I’ve known her my whole life and her death, although not a shock, still lay heavily in my heart. I can’t help but wonder how Mr. Adkins will cope without her.
“You look tired, Harlow,” Ellis comments. “How’s everything?” He moves his hands up and down pointing at me in a gesture signaling he means my health.
“Oh, you know. I’m still just about breathing,” I tell him offhandedly, and try to dismiss the concern that settles like a veil over his face. “I’m part of a clinical trial,” I admit.
He nods, staring at me like he wants to know more. Sorry, buster, I think to myself. You lost all rights to know what’s going on in my life the moment you decided to shut me out of yours when I needed you most.
His face looks stricken with panic when I say, “Maybe we should call it a night.” He’s more than likely worried I won’t want to talk to him again. Honestly, I’m still undecided.
“I thought you’d have more questions…” he mutters.
“I do. I’m just not sure I can stomach any more answers tonight.”
“Oh,” is his response. “I don’t suppose you have a number for a cab, do you? My car’s back at the Adkins house.”
“No, the only cab company left in town stops taking fares past ten. Can you not call an Ubër?” I suggest.
“A what?”
“A cab, an Ubër,” I say, repeating myself.
“I have no clue what an Ubër is, Harlow.” His confused grin looks genuine, and I can’t help but smile.
“How the heck haven’t you heard of Ubër?” I muse and watch his face fall, his lips setting in a hard flat line.
“Well, I haven’t had much need for taking a cab these last few years,” he declares sheepishly, and I instantly feel guilty for not working that out.
“Sleep in one of the twin’s rooms,” I offer without engaging my brain before opening my stupid fat mouth. I almost gasp when I realize what I’ve just done. I’m genuinely confused as to why I didn’t give it a second thought until the words had already fallen from my lips. And if the stunned expression that’s just slid over him is anything to go by, he’s as shocked as I am.
What the hell, Harlow? Take it back, tell him you made a mistake, you can’t offer him a place to stay, my brain screams.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for his response.
Don’t panic. He’ll say no. Obviously, he wouldn’t agree to stay the night. Would he?
“Okay,” is all he replies.
Well, shit.
I let out something between a squeak and a noise resembling the word “fine” all in one strangled breath.
I busy myself around the house locking doors and drawing curtains. My shoulders are tense and I’m not sure if it’s the strain of a long day taking its toll, or that I’m waiting for the feeling of dread and unease to surface. By the time I’m saying goodnight to Ellis on the landing, a pang of something hits hard in my chest. I walk into my bedroom and climb onto my bed wondering why this situation—as messed up as it is—feels right.