by Liz Durano
The next day, Kathy shows up after I check out to help me move a few of my things from my storage unit into the studio apartment she managed to talk her neighbor into renting to me. As long as I didn’t mind the cat hair, it was mine. I’m not about to complain, not when it comes fully furnished, and I need some place where Jeff can’t find me while I meet with lawyers and plan my next course of action. And with Kathy next door, apparently I get home-cooked meals included, too, judging from last night’s invitation to join her and her husband, Clyde, for dinner, and a refrigerator stocked with a week’s worth of pre-cooked food. She tells me it’s temporary, just enough to get me settled. I’m so touched by what she’s done I give her a deep hug which surprises her.
I know now that I always had a friend in Kathy Pleschette, but I was too busy building walls up around me to notice. I cared more about being the best in my field even as my personal life crumbled around me. But I can’t keep building walls anymore, not when I’ve seen what happens when you don’t have such high walls around you, and when you allow yourself to be more open yet trust others to have your back. I saw it for myself around Dax and his family, and I want what he’s got—people who genuinely love him.
But who am I kidding? I also want Dax.
*
I run into Jeff the next morning as I step out of the elevator after visiting my new set of lawyers at Chambers, Maynard & Lipman. He freezes, his eyes wide as he stares at me, his gaze moving down my body and then back up again. It’s as if he’s seen a ghost, or maybe it’s the new me dressed in something other than the usual neutral colors I always wore underneath my white doctor’s coat. Today, I’m wearing a teal ensemble complete with a loose scarf that drapes down my shoulders. Even my hair is different from how I usually wore it, no longer tied in a tight bun. Behind him, people mutter under their breath as they squeeze past him to get into the elevator.
He’s called me so many times since I left Taos that I’ve lost count. Strange, but he was even nice in his messages. There was no name-calling or threats. He only wanted to meet in person so we could discuss a few things, like getting back together.
“Jeff, what are you doing here?”
He glances at the elevator doors closing behind me before resting his fingers on my elbow and steering me away from the center of the lobby to a corner. “You know my lawyer’s in this building, Harlow. I’ve got a meeting with them about our… our divorce. Didn’t you get any of my messages? You had me so worried, baby.”
“I did, but I was busy driving, Jeff. You know how you’re not supposed to be distracted on the road, right?”
“You could have called me back,” he says, his voice sounding almost like a caress and it makes my skin crawl.
“Jeff, you know we shouldn’t be talking without our lawyers present.” I gently peel my elbow away from him.
“That’s why I’ve been calling you. I want us to talk like we used to, baby, about—”
“Please don’t call me baby, Jeff. I’m not your baby,” I say firmly, hating the way the word slides off his tongue.
Jeff studies my face for a few moments before nodding. He exhales. “Look, I just want us to talk about working on our marriage again. We can get counseling like you asked me so many times. I was so blind then, and I am truly sorry. I really am. I made a huge mistake, and I want to make it up to you.”
“You do?”
“You know I do, Harlow,” he says, his voice lowering as he takes a step closer. No, Jeff can’t possibly be trying to sweet-talk me now, is he?
“How bad do you want to make it up to me?” I give him my best open expression as behind him, people go about their lives.
“Anything you want. I made a huge mistake with Lei… with her, and I want us to start over. I’ll do anything, Harlow. Anything. We can be a team again, do great things again. Together. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”
I don’t answer him. His words bring back no solace; instead, all I feel is the pain and heartache of the past year settling deep in my chest, a reminder of how it broke me completely to watch him walk out of the delivery room even as I held Marcus in my arms, foolishly hoping that maybe my body heat would revive him.
“Why don’t we sit somewhere, maybe do lunch and talk about it?” Jeff continues, smiling. “Remember when we used to discuss cases—“
“I want the Hamptons property.” I blurt out, the haze of painful memories fading. I square my shoulders, my back straight. New Harlow is in the house.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s called equitable distribution, Jeff,” I reply as he stares at me in disbelief. “You keep the Manhattan property you had me sign away my share of while I was grieving for our son, and I keep the Hamptons property you’re always trying to bully me into giving up.”
Jeff frowns. “I was grieving, too, Harlow.”
In Leilani’s arms, where you found solace all throughout my pregnancy, thinking I didn’t know. But no, I’m not saying it out loud. It’s what Jeff wants to see—me breaking down or losing it by getting personal—but I’m not giving him that satisfaction. The last time he lost his patience with me, I almost put a bullet through my brain. “But that’s neither here nor there. You moved on a long time ago, so stop the pretense and tell me why you really want to talk to me.”
Jeff takes a step back, surprised. Or is it shock? Then the corner of his mouth lifts and I see the Jeff that I’ve always known. “Look who’s talking about moving on. You moved on pretty fast yourself, too. In fact, I met him, your new boy toy.”
I feel all the color leave my face, my throat turning dry. What does Jeff mean, I met him? When?
“After Frank told me where he found you, I had to go see for myself and ended up all the way in the fucking desert.” He chuckles dryly. “And guess who I find instead? Dex, right?”
Before I correct his pronunciation of Dax’s name, I catch myself, the meaning behind his words sinking in. I can’t show Jeff what he’s waiting for, that moment when he gains the upper hand. And if I rise to his bait, he will. I just hope Dax didn’t hurt him. Is that why Jeff kept calling me after I left Taos? Because he was at the Pearl? Which means Dax was there, too, if Jeff claims he met him? What happened? What did they talk about?
“Cat got your tongue, Dr. James? I can see why you like him. I bet he fucked you senseless with that big dick of his, huh? How long were you hiding up there all this time with your lovely toy? All the last six months? Is that how you nursed your grief? You recovered pretty quickly—”
My hand moves before my brain can stop it, my palm slapping Jeff across the face. I don’t even care that people have stopped to look at us, concern written on their faces though most of them keep walking, minding their own business. We’re in a building filled with the country’s top legal firms of all places, and the last thing I need is an assault charge but Jeff hit too low this time, and new me or not, you don’t recover from the grief of losing a child by fucking some guy in the desert. No, one night sitting next to a loaded gun and wondering how that bullet would destroy a human brain lost in grief did that.
“Did he get tired of you?” Jeff continues as he holds out his hand to one of the guards walking toward us. The guard stops and nods before returning to stand by the door. “Or is he the reason you want the Hamptons now? You guys thinking of moving in together or something?”
“No, Jeff, I want the Hamptons property because I own half of it. Plain and simple. Would you like to me to explain the meaning of equitable distribution to you? Or would you rather let my new lawyer define it for you at our meeting?”
He takes a step back. “What… what meeting? I don’t know of any meeting.”
“Your lawyer will be calling you today for a meeting so we can discuss the equitable distribution of marital property like rational adults, and with legal representation this time. Remember, you got to keep the Manhattan apartment, and that’s something they’ll take into consideration at the meetings to come. Equitable dist
ribution of our assets whether you acquired it legally and not through intimidation while your wife was undergoing emotional grief from losing our son could very well mean that the Hamptons property is mine.”
Jeff sputters angrily, but nothing coherent emerges from his lips.
“I’ll see you at the meeting, Jeff,” I say, squeezing past him and walking toward the exit. The moment I step outside, I don’t stop. I keep walking, taking in deep breaths and willing myself to calm down. I flag a cab and slip into the back seat, telling the driver my newly memorized address.
As the driver slips in and out of midmorning traffic, I’m glad I didn’t say anything about Dax. I don’t want to give Jeff the satisfaction of knowing how much Dax means to me, even if I was the one who walked away from what we could have had together. I have so many questions about what Jeff was doing at the Pearl, and what went on, what they talked about, but I have to let it go. If there’s one thing his admission tells me, it’s that Jeff is still Jeff, ruled by the fear of failure and now, the realization that he’d been replaced by someone younger, gorgeous, and way better in bed than he ever was.
But I also know why he really wants a reconciliation, and it has nothing to do with wanting to be with me. Kathy told me the juicy details the moment she showed up at the hotel yesterday afternoon, and I can’t believe that I felt sorry for Jeff. Leilani is pregnant, sure, but it’s not Jeff’s baby. If what Kathy says is true—and this she heard from Jeff’s office manager—he broke a few patient privacy laws to find out. During one of Leilani’s routine prenatal tests to check for certain conditions like Down’s Syndrome, Jeff had somehow added a paternity test into the lab order, and the results told him the baby wasn’t his. With the wedding off and the divorce still on, somehow Jeff thinks he can pick up the pieces of our marriage and start over when all he really wants is to save face.
“I can’t believe I feel sorry for the guy,” Kathy had added as we took the elevator up to my sublet. “Well, a bit.”
“I’m sorry for him, too, Kathy, but he started screwing around with Leilani while I was pregnant with Marcus. I know I wasn’t the perfect wife, but I guess for some people, karma has them on speed dial.”
Even the hospital is feeling the heat from my return. But that’s what happens when they get served with a notice that I’m filing a claim against them. I’m just glad that I have an excellent legal team representing me—thanks to Cole’s recommendations.
The moment I get back to my tiny studio apartment, I undress and slip under the covers. It’s still morning, and I should be out and about, but I need a break from what just happened even if it’s just lying in bed naked. I focus on the little things first, like how Egyptian cotton sheets feel against my skin, the way it feels so liberating to sleep naked under the covers. I like this little apartment with its king-sized bed that’s way too big for the place, but at the same time, so perfect. It feels like a cocoon, small and comfortable. The young woman who owns it took pride in everything she did to make her home look nice, from the paint on the walls to the trimmed moldings, and the well-read books that fill the built-in shelves. The setup is totally seventies, but I love it. It’s like being in a time capsule, with a few modern touches here and there, like a flat screen TV and the softest Frette sheets.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table and scroll through my voice messages, searching for one that I received three days after I left Taos, during my last stop in Pennsylvania. I really shouldn’t listen to it, but I know I will. Like having tasted something unpleasant, I need something else to cleanse my palate of Jeff, even if what I’m about to hear is bittersweet.
The moment Dax’s baritone voice comes on the speaker, my breath hitches. I place the phone on the pillow next to me and close my eyes, imagining him in front of me, saying the words I’m about to hear.
“Harlow, it’s me, Dax. I want to apologize for the things I said to you. They were cruel words, and I’m ashamed of myself for even thinking of such things. You didn’t deserve them. You told me the truth after all. It’s not like you walked away without telling me. You did, and but instead of talking rationally, I totally lost it, and I’m sorry. The only reason I didn’t say anything about the gun or the note is because I trusted you’d know what to do. I… I don’t know, but I just wish I could have apologized to you in person. It’s the least you deserve. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, Harlow, and please, never forget that. Never. I read your letter, and I understand you need to move on, and maybe you’re right. What we had may have been just… just temporary to you, but you know what? It wasn’t—not for me.” He pauses, and in the background, I hear a deeper voice ask him if he’s ready to get going to the airport. “Shit, I gotta go. I hope you’re finally happy, Harlow. I really do. Good luck.”
I don’t know why I have to listen to Dax’s message knowing how it rips at my heart every time I do so. But can’t a girl dream, even if she has to sift through the details and pick only the parts that don’t hurt? I love the way Dax says that I’m an amazing woman. It sounds like an affirmation I need to hear every day and most of all, tell myself and actually believe it.
I miss Dax so much, his infectious laugh, his mischievous gaze and that big heart he wears on his sleeve. But I also know that I have things to take care of, and I can’t afford the distraction. I dropped the ball six months ago when I packed up the car and fled New York, telling myself I just needed to grieve over everything that I’d lost and come right back, good as new. Sure, I told myself I was going on a cross-country trip, but at the back of my mind, I always knew it was a one-way ticket, like Thelma and Louise driving off the Grand Canyon with my demons right behind me. The purchase of the gun in Texas proved as much, no matter how hard I tried to fool myself into believing otherwise.
I scroll through my phone calendar, going through my schedule for the week. I’ve got more meetings with Phoebe to work out every single detail of my divorce. There are also meetings with a team of lawyers led by Cole’s father, Alan Chambers, of Chambers, Maynard & Lipman, who is overseeing my case against Miller General. He’s not heading it, but as one of the major partners, he’ll make sure that everything is done right. Thirty million dollars in future earnings, legal fees and compensation for damage to my reputation isn’t anything to laugh about, and with Jeff and Peletierre named in the complaint, I know they won’t be laughing either. I already know that the hospital will settle the case and give me back my job, but this isn’t about the job. It’s not even about the money. It’s simply a statement that says, Harlow James is back, and she’s not taking shit from anyone.
She’s also damn amazing.
Chapter 26
Dax
So much for moving on. I haven’t gotten laid in the last six weeks and it’s killing me. And it’s not for the lack of trying. My phone’s been buzzing with messages and I can’t show my face at Larry’s anymore without having a damn good reason why I’m not going home with Becky, Tina, or Allison for the night. Telling them I’m busy is no longer cutting it and even the guys are looking at me funny like they’re wondering where the real Dax is.
I haven’t gotten laid in the last six weeks and it’s killing me. And it’s not for the lack of trying. My phone’s been buzzing with messages and I can’t show my face at Larry’s anymore without having a damn good reason why I’m not going home with Becky, Tina, or Allison for the night. Telling them I’m busy is no longer cutting it and even the guys are looking at me funny like they’re wondering where the real Dax is.
And it’s not like I can’t get it up all of a sudden. My plumbing’s just fine. In fact, it’s on overdrive and it’s driving me crazy. But I just can’t. I can’t stick my dick in just any pussy that shows up within a five-mile radius. Not anymore. There’s only one woman I want and she’s nowhere near Flagstaff. She’s in New York City and she hasn’t answered any of my calls—not that she can. Her cell phone number now goes straight to her medical office, and everyone who answers tells me that
she’s out on extended leave.
Sure, I left her that one message saying I understood her need to move on, but my heart didn’t get that memo, just like my brain ignored Dad’s warning to leave Harlow alone and I finished the box, spent two more days completing the accent on top of it, packed it and had it delivered to her medical office. That was before all hell broke loose in her world, and I just hope my gift reminds her of the peace she found at the Pearl… and of me. I miss her, and I just want to know that she’s okay. I need to hear it in her voice that she is okay. Hell, I just need to hear her.
Because as if being involved in an acrimonious divorce isn’t bad enough, Harlow’s also in the middle of a lawsuit involving the hospital that let her go after she lost her son, Marcus. Newspapers report that Miller General Hospital terminated her contract while she was on medical leave, their reasons citing “a record of poor performance.” Their lawyers now say that the fact that she didn’t fight the termination for six months proves the hospital right to let her go. After all, if they were wrong, wouldn’t she have fought the termination immediately?
All this makes Harlow’s words about finding peace at the Pearl even more poignant knowing she drove home to a shit storm waiting for her. And stupid me, I let her.
Each day, whether I’m working at the warehouse, meeting with clients or searching for a particular slab of wood for a special order, my phone buzzes over some mention of her or Jeff in the news. Hell, it buzzes when I’m in the damn shower, too, every bit of gossip showing up in my notifications. The New York tabloids can’t seem to get enough of the transplant surgeon and the thirty million dollar claim she intends to file against the hospital for lost future earnings, legal fees and compensation for damage to her reputation. It’s bound to get settled out of court, but until then, people are painting her as a money-hungry bitch, emotionally unstable and, if anecdotal reports are to be believed, cold as ice.
