“Of course! I mean…those things aren’t free, so if I’m working, I won’t always pick him up from school, but that’s why I’m hiring a nanny to help me out.”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Fletch, you know, more than anyone, how our muse works. Sometimes inspiration comes to you at the worst of times. I’ve worked endless nights into the morning. That’s why I couldn’t have George before. It would have been too difficult.”
I’m at a loss for words.
This call needs to end before I say something I’ll regret.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Fletch. Come over. Let’s have dinner and catch up properly. Give me ten, and I’ll email you the grocery list. God, I’ve missed you so much. This Boston opening is so demanding that I really need to chill for one evening. Things are a lot more relaxed in Europe.” She laughs. “Remember when we talked the curator of that gallery in Amsterdam into having our paintings at that exhibit? God, that was fun. Don’t think we could pull that kind of stunt these days.”
She’s rambling in the same way George does to himself sometimes. I always love hearing him talk to himself, working out the solution to whatever problem he has aloud.
But Fran is an adult who just sounds like she doesn’t see anything past her own self.
I’m not even listening anymore, but one thing I now know. There’s no way she’s taking George to Europe. I’ll fight her if I need to, but my son doesn’t deserve to be an afterthought three thousand miles away when he could be right here with me and always come first.
I hang up the call, grabbing the car keys on my way out.
24
HARRISON
I knowI need to get out of the house when I’m staring at Megan’s endless collection of books and considering sorting them alphabetically.
It’s always been easy for me to stay busy at work, but at home, my mind tends to wander. After waking up at six in the morning, I did as much gardening as I could until my back ached. I took a shower, checked through my work emails to see if there was anything that needed my attention—newsflash, there wasn’t—cleaned the house, and now I’m out of ideas. The relentless calls from Boston, Fletcher’s angry face as he told me to leave, they’re all I can think about.
Maybe I could go for a drive. It’s a nice day, so I can keep the windows down and explore the area. With new determination, I grab my car keys and head for the door.
As I open it, I stop in my tracks because the person I’m trying so hard to stop thinking about stands in front of me with his hand up as if he is about to ring the doorbell.
“Fletcher.”
“Hey.”
He stares at me with pleading eyes, and the need to pull him to me is strong. I keep my arms glued to my sides.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I step aside and let him in, hanging my keys back on the hook behind the door.
“You’re going out?”
“No…um, yeah, but it’s not important.”
He follows me to the living room.
“Do you want anything to drink? My coffee isn’t as good as Julian’s, but then again, no coffee is. Or maybe water…beer?”
He smiles. “No, I’m okay, thanks. I came here to apologize for how I behaved the other day.”
“What? No. Fletcher, I’m the one who should apologize. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how to tell you how sorry I am, but I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me.”
I sit on the wooden coffee table in front of him.
“I’m so sorry. Tate always said I have a white-knight complex. If I see a problem, I have to solve it. It comes from having no one fighting in my corner growing up. I know it, but sometimes it’s hard to stand back when I know I can help. I promise I won’t give you any unsolicited advice or help.”
He stares at me with his eyes wide open until tears start streaming down his face.
