Page 35 of Even After This
Grinning, he removes the silver cover from one of the plates, finds my meal, and sets it in front of the chair closest to me. “I’m glad you have an appetite. Besides, I have to mind my girlish figure.”
“You’ve never been labeled girlish a day in your life,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I flash him a smile.
Awkward feelings swirl in my stomach. It’s bad enough we’rehaving a meal in an oversized bedroom. Add to the scenery one famous, tall, dark, and handsome man, and I’m out of my element. I’m not even in the stratosphere of my element. Instead, I’m frozen in the corner of the room like a wallflower at a junior high dance.
He places rolled-up silverware on the table and turns to me. “Bon appétit.” But instead of eating, he takes me in from head to toe, his gaze moving to the food and back to me. “I apologize. I just realized that after today you may not want company. I’ll take mine and let you have dinner in peace.” Harlan starts to pull his plate.
“No, wait.” Letting out a breath, I shake my head. He’s sweet, but he has it all wrong. “Sorry. I’m fine.”
I move toward my chair and sit. I can do this. I can eat a meal by myself with Harlan Holcombe.
As I unroll my utensils and place the napkin in my lap, Harlan sits across from me. It’s then I realize my grave culinary mistake. My stomach spoke louder than my brain. Hamburger consumption is not always graceful.
Great. I’ll start with the safety of a French fry.
Struggling with the miniature ketchup bottle, I break the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” He leans over and snags the jar from me, twists the top off, and hands it back.
“Friends who’ve known me my whole life aren’t able to handle my grief. But you were really good with me today. How is that?”
Harlan takes a drink of his water, sets the glass down on the table, and rubs his thumb over the condensation. His eyes find mine, and he holds my stare for a second. “Five years ago, my dad died of a heart attack. Unexpected.” His voice is thick. “We were close.”
“I’m so sorry, Harlan.”
He nods. “He was a man of great character everyone wanted to either be around or be like someday. When we lost him, I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
I divide the ketchup between the hamburger bun and a spot on my plate as I listen.
“In spite of how I was raised, I made some pretty big mistakes trying to avoid the pain.” He grimaces. “I chased things that would help me forget. Enter Olivia.” He shakes his head as he pours dressing on his salad. “I had no capacity to recognize it at the time, but she was running from her life too. She didn’t share with me that her solution to all her problems was pregnancy.”
I try to stifle my gasp. Precious Alex.
Harlan’s expression hardens, and his hand clenches on the table. “A lot of ugly things came out. Turns out she got pregnant to make her ex-boyfriend, the father of her firstborn, jealous. What better way to do that than with a movie star?”
I gape. “Oh, Harlan.”
“Justified anger is powerful. I ran from her and denied the entire thing for a while. My brother handed me some ugly truth about taking responsibility for my actions.” His jaw tightens as he shifts his gaze to the window. “My behavior after Dad died disgraced his legacy.”
I tentatively touch my hand to his. “We’re all vulnerable under the stress of grief. Sometimes we make unwise choices. It’s how we find our way.”
His eyes return to mine, and he releases a breath before he makes his next statement. “I want to hear your story.”
“I’ll tell you sometime.” I offer a small smile. “But I’m here to listen to the rest of yours if you want to share.”
His stare is scrutinizing, but then he nods. “My career choice puts a lot of stress on relationships. So I quit.” He shrugs. “We tried to make it work. Got married. Moved to Colorado Springs to start fresh and be with my family.”
I lean in close as his words lure me to the painful train wreck I suspect is coming.
“Not long after the ceremony, I knew we couldn’t put the pieces together. Olivia has bipolar disorder.” He seems to think aboutthis for a second. “She really flourishes when she follows her doctor’s care, you know? She’s capable of so many good things. But when she’s off her meds, her emotions are a roller coaster. Which I found to be the majority of the time during our marriage. It was intense. I feel guilty saying this, but I was relieved when she told me she still loved her ex.” He stops to take a bite of his neglected salad.
I reach for my water glass, stalling to process his words before I speak. “Your efforts to right the situation were honorable.”
“Doesn’t matter. I was wrong about everything.” After focusing on the table for a moment, his brown eyes, full of shame, find me again. “I fell apart. For the first time since my dad’s death, I was alone with my grief. On top of it, the reality of my complete failure with Olivia and my new daughter almost did me in.” He draws the butter knife up and turns it end over end. “If I’m honest, I lost my purpose long before any of that happened.”
