“Thanks. See you in the morning.”
After James leaves, I find the closet to stick my suitcase inside. I need to spread out my stuff, but I’m afraid Mr. Neat and Clean would object.
Once inside the closet, I notice it’s half-full with women’s clothing. Worn jeans with frayed hems hang together next to faded shirts and sweaters. I push the hangers apart and look more closely. All the items are on their last leg, not even fit for a charity donation. Continuing toward the back of the row, I come across a burgundy polo shirt and see the name “Harlow” written on the tag. It looks like an old work shirt and the size of it would overwhelm her. The clothes I’m rummaging through don’t match the stylish Harlow from this evening. These, nearly threadbare, must have belonged to her before she met my uncle.
On the shelf above me, there is a tattered brown purse. I reach for it and peek inside. A small book with dog-eared pages sits alone at the bottom. I turn it on its side and see it’s a book of Robert Frost poetry. Harlow came alive when she mentioned writing poetry at the restaurant. Maybe Frost is her inspiration. During my undergrad years, he was the only poet that made me think about the world around me and how I related to it. His words moved me.
I set the purse back up on the shelf and thumb through the pages. I find my favorite poem of his, one of his earlier ones, The Road Not Taken. The page is marked up and highlighted. It appears Harlow likes this selection too. I glance over the familiar words and stop at the last paragraph. Red hearts are drawn on the side. I read the words slowly to myself.
I shall be telling this with a sigh.
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I smile to myself and chuckle at the irony of the words. I’m out in the middle of nowhere and the road I thought I’d be traveling in Rochester isn’t the one I feel like I’m on now. I thought it would be a smooth and boring experience. Instead, it’s turned into a bumpy and provoking eye-opener.
I place the book back inside the purse and glance over the physical remnants of Harlow’s previous life. Her clothes point to a life of struggles and hardships, but the poetry reveals a thoughtful woman in search of life’s meaning.
I change into a clean T-shirt and some gray shorts. After my uncle’s fucked up behavior tonight, I’m tempted to call a hotel downtown for the rest of my stay, but the thought of leaving Harlow alone in this house with him unsettles me. I remember her sad, haunting eyes in the driveway and how they tugged at my heart.
Tired from traveling, I climb into the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I settle between the sheets and a faint touch of Harlow’s perfume invades my senses. It’s the same fresh, clean scent from inside the confines of her car.
But why is her perfume on this bed?
The answer hits me. She must have made the indent on the bed and now her scent lingers behind to torture me.
I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and think of her blond hair flowing as she walked. God, how I wanted to touch it, see if it was as soft as it looked.
I lie awake, thinking of her and how she came to live with James—or, more likely, how he seduced her. Something about their relationship doesn’t add up.
Chapter Twelve
Harlow
I stretch across the soft cotton sheets and look to the other side of the bed. Instead of seeing James, I find cold, crumbled bedding with the covers pushed back. I glance around the room and listen for the shower or running water, but hear nothing. My entire body relaxes knowing there won’t be a round of morning sex … for now.
Luckily, after drinking too much vodka last night, I feel great—no headache or queasy stomach. I close my eyes and retreat back into the sheets, cocooning myself from the world. I focus on the warmth and comfort surrounding me and close my eyes. Nightmares didn’t visit me last night either, leaving me rested and refreshed.
My mind wanders to Sin. I can still see him approaching me at the airport with those strong strides, pulling everyone’s attention to him like a powerful magnet. His piercing, golden-flecked eyes captivated me with an exotic appeal. Remembering them makes my knees weak even now, lying in this bed—the very bed I share with my fiancé, his uncle.