Page 16 of Stealing Home

Scott winks. “The best things in life are a little scary, Harlow. Let’s go live a little.”

* * *

Friday morningI turn off my alarm and lay in bed. Not having anywhere to go is depressing. All I have in front of me are the last minute details for the youth clinic which leaves me too much time to reflect on the state of my life.

Not wanting to dwell on my marriage, I decide to tackle some things I can change immediately. Since I’ve been working so much lately the housework has started to suffer. Dragging my laundry downstairs to the laundry room, I load the washer, and turn it on just as my phone rings.

“Hello, gorgeous, do you think we should meet today to go over everything for tomorrow and make sure we’re ready?” Scott asks.

“That’s probably not a bad idea. I can meet you for lunch—”

A large puddle of water spreads from under the washing machine. I try and turn the machine off, but it’s got more electronics than I know how to use.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I chant.

“Harlow? What’s happening?”

“I think I broke my washing machine. There’s water everywhere.”

Nando isn’t going to be happy about this. Fixing the washer, and whatever damage is caused by the flooding is going to be expensive. With me not working now, even if it was his doing, is going to make this difficult. I’m sure I’ll get the blame for it, and I don’t even want to imagine what that will look like. My throat is starting to close, and I think I might be having a heart attack.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong? It sounds like you’re breathing too fast.”

“I…can’t…make…it…stop,” I say while hyperventilating.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, and the line goes dead.

I try uselessly to sop up the mess with towels, but the water just keeps flowing. There’s a knock on the door, and for a moment I’m terrified it’s Nando. He’s going to come in and see the water and wet towels. Hell, even I’m sopping wet, and I’m not sure how that happened.

Then I remember talking to Scott and realize that Nando wouldn’t knock on the door. I trail water through the house on my way to let him in.

“You’re not having a good day, are you beautiful?” he asks me.

My lips tremble as I answer him. “No. He’s going to be so mad,” I whisper the last part.

Scott’s jaw clenches, and I flinch as he reaches a hand out toward me.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says soothingly, “I’m not going to hurt you.” He takes a wet strand of hair plastered to my face and tucks it behind my ear. “That’s better now. How about you show me to your laundry room, where your tools are, and then go take a hot shower.”

I nod. Normally I’d bristle at being told what to do, but it feels good to let him take care of this.

He follows me to the garage. “All the tools are over there on the workbench. I don’t usually come in here, and I’m not very handy, so I have no idea what all he has.”

“I’ve got this, go ahead and shower and get warm. You’re freaking me out a little bit. You’re white as a ghost,” he tells me.

I feel bad letting him solve my problem, but the cold sinks deep inside of me. I go up to my bathroom and stand under the spray of hot water for several minutes. When I stop shaking, I get out, dry off, and dress quickly. I wish I had some time to put on some make up or do something with my hair, but I can’t leave him to fix everything without trying to help. Not sure how effective I can be, but maybe I can hand him tools.

There’s a loud whir coming from the laundry room when I get down stairs. Scott has the shop vac out and is cleaning up all the remaining water. When he sees me he shuts it off. “You’ve got a crack in the hose. I’ve shut off the water and got the standing water off the floor. We can go to the hardware store and I’ll get a new one put on before he comes home.”

I shut my eyes tight. I will not cry. “Thank you,” I say through a tight throat.

He comes up to me and wraps his arms around me. I tremble in his arms and drop my head against his chest. His arms tighten as I wrap mine around his waist.

“I worry about you, Harlow,” he whispers into my hair.

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m not sure if I’m lying to myself or to him.

“No you aren’t,” he says bluntly. “If you’d let me, I’d help you become so much more than fine.”

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