by Julia London
“Who are you?” she demanded. Her first ridiculous thought was that Zach Miller had forgotten about Harry and had loaned this house to some other dude.
“I’m Zach Miller,” the man said. “I own this house. And you, whoever you are, are trespassing.”
Twenty-eight
The meeting with Albert Cantrell and his construction manager had gone extremely well. Harry had hit it off with Bill Nelson, thank God—they were two men cut from the same cloth. Bill even seemed a little impressed with the work Harry had done to build his company thus far, proclaiming it smart. “Don’t have a bridge guy lined up,” Bill had said. “Let me see your response to the bid specs, and maybe we can work something out.”
Harry left the Lakeside Bistro with more clarity and optimism than he’d felt in weeks. It was entirely possible that all his hard work was about to pay off.
Yep, Harry was certain again. He knew exactly what he wanted—at least what steps he wanted to take—and it included more than his own bridge design and construction company.
From East Beach, he drove to New York, parked at his parents’ place, then Ubered downtown to meet Melissa.
She bounced out of her building with her tote bag slung over her shoulder, all smiles. God, but she was attractive. Men were noticing her as she jogged across the street in her heels to him. When she reached him, she put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek like an old friend. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“Let’s get a drink,” he suggested.
“Sure!” She slipped her hand into his and chatted about work as they walked down the street to a bar he’d scoped out before. He liked it—it was quiet in here and he could say what he wanted to say without shouting.
Melissa settled on a bar stool and crossed her legs. She was facing him, her smile irrepressible. “I was so glad to hear from you, you have no idea. I thought you were really mad at me,” she said, and then laughed as if that were impossible. Harry used to find that charming about her, the way she could deflect things that bothered him.
“I’m not mad,” he said truthfully.
“Well you should be,” she said with a laugh. “That was a horrible night. I had too much to drink, and you’re right, I’m always awful when I drink. I’m going to quit,” she said, and then, without any apparent sense of irony, said to the bartender, “A vodka martini, please.”
Harry held up two fingers.
Melissa glanced sidelong at him. “Your dad has totally corrupted me with the martinis. Remember that Easter with the horrible snow? I think your dad went through three bottles of vodka that day.” She giggled at the memory. Maybe she’d forgotten how frantic she’d been that they would be stuck with his drunk parents all day. She’d begged him to go outside to try to hail a cab in the middle of a blizzard.
Harry put his hand on her knee. “Lissa.”
Her smile instantly faded. “Harry—”
“You have to accept the fact that this isn’t going to work, you and me.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, and grabbed his hand in both of hers. “Of course it is. We can fix this.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s too late.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Three months ago I was the love of your life! My God, Harry, we were just on a break! How can you not forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” He shook his head—she really didn’t understand. “I forgive you Lissa, I forgave you a long time ago. This was never about that. You’re right—three months ago I did believe you were the love of my life. And during this break, if that’s what you want to call it, I realized . . . I didn’t really love you like I thought I did.”
Her mouth fell open with shock. And then her face turned ugly with rage. “How can you be so cruel?”
“I don’t mean to be cruel, baby,” he said, and cupped her chin. “I mean to be honest. It’s hard to say this to you, because I do care about you, very much. But I have to be honest about my feelings. You were right—we have always wanted different things—”
“Don’t give me that crap,” she snapped, and pushed his hand away. “Why did you let me fawn over you for two weeks if you don’t love me?”
“I told you we were over,” he said, surprised. Did she really think he was lying about it?
She shoved his leg. “Is this because of your precious little Bambi?”
Harry’s pulse jumped a notch. “No,” he said coolly. “It has nothing to do with her. You and I are not a good match, Lissa. And I think you know it, too. In fact, even now, I’m not sure what it is you want. You couldn’t wait to take your break. You couldn’t wait to walk out of my life.”
If looks could kill, Harry would be lying in a pool of blood right now. The bartender chose that inopportune moment to deliver the martinis. Melissa slowly stood up, took her drink in hand, and threw it at Harry. “Bastard,” she said acidly. “You just want me to grovel.”
“I don’t want that,” he said as he calmly wiped martini from his face.
“Fuck you,” she said, and stormed out of the bar, slamming into a poor man who happened to have crossed her path.
The bartender silently handed Harry a towel.
Harry cleaned himself up as best he could, paid for the drinks, and left his untouched. He headed uptown to his parents’ apartment.
His mother was in the kitchen when he let himself in. “Harry?” she asked, poking her head out the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Mom. I’m going to crash here, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course!” She came out of the kitchen and moved to kiss him, but wrinkled her nose. “Have you been drinking?”
“No,” he said. “I had a run-in with a drink, though. I’m going to grab a shower, okay?”
Harry went through the motions of showering and dressing, but he felt like he was moving through a fog. He felt bad for Melissa, but it was a distant sort of sadness one feels for a friend. There was someone else on his mind. But if Lola couldn’t express her feelings for him, then he would move on from there, too. He loved her—without a doubt, he loved her. But he didn’t need a woman just to have one. What he wanted, more than anything, was for Lola to finally put herself first. That was the only way she would ever be able to be part of a healthy relationship. And if she couldn’t do that, he wasn’t going to stay. He wanted a partner, not a helpmate.
He desperately wanted to believe that she’d been on the verge of saying it this morning. But that family of hers kept the tether tight.
When he got out of the shower, he called Lola, but there was no answer. He didn’t leave a message other than to ask her to call him, and tell her that he’d be staying overnight in the city.
Harry walked into the living room. His dad had come home, and as always, was happy to see his son. “How long are we going to have your company?”
“Just tonight,” Harry said. “I’m headed back to East Beach tomorrow.”
“Harry, come back to the city,” his mother said with a playful pout. “We miss you terribly.”
“I’m not that far away,” Harry reminded her.
“You might as well be in Uganda as far as I am concerned. It’s a horrible traffic jam out of the city.”
Dosia stepped into the living room. “You eat dinner, Mr. Harry?”
“Of course,” he said, and hugged her. “I wouldn’t miss your cooking.”
“No cooking. Take out,” she said, and winked at him.
“So have you got any jobs lined up?” his dad asked.
“Not yet,” Harry said. “But I’ve got a promising lead. If I get this bid, I really have a shot.”
“Let’s not speak of this bridge business tonight,” his mother said wearily. “I just cringe at how much of your life you’ve wasted pursuing this notion. To think you had such a wonderful job. I wonder if Michaelson’s will even take you back.”
There was something strikingly familiar about his mother. It took him a moment, but Harry suddenly realized—she was as nasty to him as Bir
ta had been to Lola.
“Did you see the Mets game?” his dad asked, cheerfully changing the subject as he’d trained himself to do all these years. When Mom started harping, Dad changed the subject.
They talked baseball for a while as father and sons will do when everything else requires too much emotion. His mother suffered in silence, her arms folded tightly across her body. But she couldn’t stay silent for long. At dinner, she made the mistake of bringing up Melissa.
“Hazel said that you ran into Melissa recently,” she said. “I hope you’ve realized your mistake there.”
Harry’s temples began to throb.
“She’s perfect for you, Harry. Such a lovely young woman with a great job, a great future. Think how beautiful my grandchildren would be.” She flashed a cool smile.
“Melissa and I are through, Mom,” Harry said evenly. “We’re never getting back together. I need you to accept it.”
His mother didn’t accept it. She put her fork down and glared at him. “I don’t know where we went wrong, I honestly don’t,” she said. “You’ve had every advantage—great schools, great opportunities. You had a fabulous woman who would have been a devoted wife. You had a fantastic job that would have made you partner. And now, you’re living in someone else’s house, throwing your life away. And for what? For a couple of bridges?”
“Beth?” his father said, his voice light.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
His mother shrieked, and Harry’s gaze flew to his father. He had never heard him speak like that to his mother, not once.
But Dad was on a roll. “This fine young man,” he said, pointing at Harry, “has set his sights on a goal. He has goals, Beth. He has dreams, and by God, he is pursuing them. I’ll be damned if I am going to listen to you run him down for it one more second.”
Harry’s mother stared at her husband in shock. “How dare you, Jack!”
“No, Beth, how dare you. How can you not be bursting with pride? He is the man I wish I had the guts to be! For God’s sake, let him live his life! Let him be his own man! Stop . . . mothering him to death!”
His mother’s face crumbled. She grasped the table, and for a moment, Harry thought she might faint. He came partially out of his chair, but his mother abruptly pushed herself up out of her own chair, and with an acid glare at her husband, she stormed out of the room. They heard her sob just before they heard the slam of her bedroom door.
Harry turned a wide-eyed gaze to his dad.
His father shrugged. “She had it coming,” he said, unapologetically. “Listen, Harry, don’t do what I did. Don’t marry for the sake of marrying. Don’t take a job for the sake of the money. Keep doing what you’re doing, son. I’m proud of you. Now, I better go and make sure she doesn’t fling herself out the window.” He stood up and paused next to Harry, put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately.
Harry stared down at his plate, amazed by what had just happened. “Mr. Harry? I make you a drink?” Dosia said from somewhere in the kitchen.
“A double, please,” he said. “And make yourself one, Dosia. I’ll join you in the kitchen.”
Harry tried to say good-bye to his mother the next morning, but she would not come out of her room. “She’ll be fine,” Dosia said. “Go now, Mr. Harry. Call her this week.”
He attempted to get Lola on the phone again on the drive to East Beach, but again, she didn’t answer. That was odd—he could understand that she hadn’t answered yesterday. She’d probably been in Long Island all day. Had something happened? He hoped her mother was all right.
He was ruminating when he coasted down the drive of the lake house, and curious when he saw a Mercedes in the drive. Probably Mallory or one of her friends. At least it meant that Lola was here.
He parked, grabbed his bag, and walked into the lake house, expecting to find women on the terrace or in the pool. The door was not locked; he pushed it open, dropped his bag, and said, “Lola?”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Zach’s voice startled Harry; he gasped at the sight of his friend sitting on the couch, his arms spread out across the back of it. Shit. “Zach,” he said.
“Yeah, Zach. Your friend, remember? The dude who lent you this awesome house when he shouldn’t have? And you repay me by bringing some chick in here with you?”
Harry’s heart suddenly began to race. “Where is she?”
“Fuck if I know. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Zach demanded, gaining his feet. “You just abuse my hospitality like that?”
“Where is she, Zach?” Harry said again. His heart was pounding in his chest now. “What did you say to her?”
“What did I say? I told her to get the hell out of my house.”
Harry looked wildly about. Lola was gone? The kitchen was a mess, as usual. He stalked to the master bedroom and looked inside. The bed was unmade, and there were towels piled on the chair. But her clothes were picked up off the floor. He whirled around and stalked back to the living room. Her computer was gone, too.
Zach stood there with his legs braced apart and his arms folded over his chest.
“How did she leave? Did someone pick her up?”
Zach gaped at him. “Do I get any explanation for how you shit all over me? I don’t know how she left, man! I kicked her out and I didn’t take notes.”
Harry couldn’t say what came over him. Maybe it was because he’d realized that what he wanted from this life, above all else, was Lola Dunne. Whatever it was, he was moving before he realized it, flying over the back of the couch, grabbing for Zach.
“Get off me!” Zach shouted when Harry grabbed his lapels. “I had to hear about this from fucking Dobbs Harvey, Harry! He’s on Sara’s side, you dipshit! You’ve made a huge mess here. Huge!”
“Then talk to Sara!” Harry shouted, shoving Zach backward. “She gave this house to Lola. Not me.”
“Yeah, well, looks like you’ve cozied up with Sara’s side, too.”
Harry rolled his eyes and pushed past Zach. He walked back to his room and began to stuff his belongings into a duffel, his papers and computer into a briefcase.
Zach followed him. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Come on, man, you don’t have to go. You have to help me figure out how to spin this.”
“I have to find Lola,” Harry said tightly.
Zach grabbed his shoulder and tried to force him around, but Harry shoved him off.
“Jesus!” Zach said. “What is the matter with you?”
Harry pushed past Zach with as many of his things as he could carry and walked out. He threw them in the back of the truck, then rubbed his face, thinking. How would he find her?
Twenty-nine
Lola’s neck hurt. She’d been sleeping on Casey’s futon for the last three nights trying to figure out what she was going to do next. So far, no solutions had come to her. She leaned her head against the subway train’s grimy window and closed her eyes. What an awful week it had been.
The first thing Lola had had to do after Zach kicked her out was to explain to Mallory what had happened. Mallory’s driver, who apparently never had anything to do, was suddenly in high demand that afternoon and had explained to Mallory when she called for him that he was helping Lola move.
“Move?” Lola had heard her shout over the phone. “Come and get me before you take her anywhere!”
On the way to the train station, Lola had told Mallory the truth. “I lied,” she said. “I don’t really know Zach Miller. I know Sara Miller.”
“What?” Mallory shouted. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail.”
Lola told Mallory the story of how she’d come to be in the lake house on their way to the train station. Mallory kept gasping and saying things like “Get out!”
When Lola had finished her story, Mallory had looked confused. “But . . . what about Harry?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?
Lola h
ad been on the train to Brooklyn when she’d realized she’d left her phone at the lake house. Worse, she couldn’t remember Harry’s number. If it was possible for her day to get any blacker, it did in that moment.
The next person Lola had had to explain her situation to was Casey, who came stomping out of her apartment building to help Lola gather her things from the cab she’d taken from Grand Central. “I don’t understand!” Casey said. “You were putting yourself out there!” She said it as if mystified by how someone could put themselves “out there” and not succeed. “You have to call Harry, you know. You can’t leave that twisting in the wind.”
“I forgot my phone. It’s in Zach’s house,” Lola had said morosely.
“Oh my God, it’s like you intentionally sabotage yourself!” Casey had shouted angrily.
Casey was right too damn much of the time.
Lola knew where Harry’s parents lived—that much she remembered. But in between her mother’s hospitalization and that nagging idea that she knew Harry had intended to meet Melissa that day, she hadn’t yet gone uptown to knock on that door. Why was he going to meet Melissa?
In the gritty part of Long Island where Lola’s mother lived, Lola got off the train and walked the four blocks to the home, where her mother had been moved just this morning.
Lola could hear her mother ranting about something as she walked down the hall to her room. “Mom?” She poked her head into the room her mother shared with poor Mrs. Porelli.
“Well, look what the cat drug in,” her mother sneered. “I don’t know what you’re doing out there, Lola, but I don’t need perverts coming here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lola asked, sighing, and dropped her backpack on a chair.
“That man come looking for you,” her mother said, waving her hand.
What was her mother confused about now? “What man?”
“Some man says he’s been to the hospital with you before. Says he’s looking for you.”
Lola’s heart spasmed and then stopped. It just stopped. And yet, somehow, she managed to drag enough breath to say, “Harry?”
