Matt Knight.
Roller skating.
“Probably. She knew there was a skater in you.”
“When she asked me to skate with her, I couldn’t say no. Your granny is hard to resist.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve got a story about peas, Saturday morning cartoons, and Cap’n Crunch that’ll curl your hair.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got stories about Anne Hayes that will make your granny look like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy rolled into one.”
He was so easy to laugh with. Harlow yanked open Dad’s lower desk drawer to see his stash of Hayes Cookies. She dug out a handful.
“Hey, I should let you go,” Matt said. “It was good to talk to you.”
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks for calling,” she said, munching on a small round cookie, craving milk.
“I’ll call again, H. I lost one important relationship in my life. I don’t want to lose another.”Important?She was important to him?
“You didn’t lose me. I’m glad the world knows. The secret was weighing me down. I’m free of it now.” She popped another cookie in her mouth and washed it down with her water.
“Good luck, Harlow.”
“S-same to you, Matt. And hey, maybe Booker isn’t so mad at you anymore. If I forgave you, maybe he has too.”
Harlow settled the receiver on the cradle, wondering why she’d left Sea Blue Beach in such a huff. Maybe she should’ve stayed. Worked it out with Matt.
Yet, there was Xander and CCW and . . . She grabbed anotherhandful of cookies and walked to the kitchen for a glass of milk. At the counter, she considered her omelet fixings while licking the cookie dust from her fingers.
Harlow Hayes. What would it take? Every time she made it on the weight-loss bandwagon, she ended up falling off.
Draining the last of the milk, she put her glass in the dishwasher and vowed to be on her guard the rest of the day. She returned to Dad’s office, cleaned the crumbs from his desk, and put the almost-empty box back in the drawer with an IOU.
On her way to shower, she detoured into Mom’s office. Dad’s door was always open but not Mom’s. It was her domain, a dark paneled cave with thick carpet, curtained windows, and in Harlow’s mind, secrets.
Mom’s desk, unlike Dad’s, was neat and organized, with her Day-Timer open to today’s date. Harlow flipped through her schedule of dinners and meetings. She had a note to call Jinx, withCCW updatecircled in red.
Mom, oh, Mom. She needed a life beside Harlow’s. The office had no personal or private photos of their family life. No family vacations. No Christmas mornings or Thanksgiving dinners. The frames on the credenza were of Harlow on the runway. Harlow’s firstVogue. Mom and Harlow during Fashion Week. Dad, Mom, and Harlow at theTalk to Me Sweetlypremiere. A half dozen Harlow headshots from various photo shoots.
Mom, oh, Mom. A stranger would think she merely kept the stock photo that came with the frame. It all felt so cold. It reminded her of Xander’s office, also with very few personal photos.
He had two, actually. Both formal, shot by Princess Diana’s favorite photographer, Patrick Demarchelier. One from their engagement, which Harlow had loved. It was a stunning black-and-white taken at the family’s Montauk house. And the other at the Coles’ private island.
Harlow thought of her own house. Why hadn’t she set out pictures? Next time she went to 321 Sea Blue Way, she was goingto take a lot of pictures, frame them, and fill the barren part of the wall going into the kitchen. She had a top-of-the-line Nikon upstairs in her bedroom.
Thinking of Sea Blue Beach made her smile. She’d framed a few mental pictures in the last few months. Tripping down the Beachwalk in a pair of brownies. Falling across the Starlight floor in Tuesday’s skates. Matt’s alluring, teasing smile—that’s his real crime, being so darn handsome—the morning he banged on her door at five a.m. to go for a jog.
She also felt a bit energized about her goals to undo the last two years, regain her reputation, and have a future with CCW. Also, Harlow Hayes needed money. After that, she could decide the rest of her life. Viewing options from on top of the world were far better than the ones at rock bottom.
She peeked in Mom’s cherrywood filing cabinet, which was full of meeting minutes, and travel agendas from Harlow’s early days in modeling. In the closet, she found a couple of sweaters and Mom’s UGA cheerleading outfit. Classic long skirt, saddle oxfords, and a sweater sporting a bigG. On the top shelf was Dad’s old projector and tucked into the back corner was Grandma’s trunk. She’d never looked in the large leather thing before. She wasn’t even sure why Mom had kept it. She had very few mementoes from her impoverished childhood, least of all anything Grandma owned.
A red-and-cream-colored paper with pastoral scenes lined the inside. The top drawer held several dull brass medals on faded ribbons from Mom’s college days, a picture of Dad’s first day at Hayes Cookie Co., when he was, like, twelve, and a frame with his college diploma.
Harlow removed the drawer to find an old photo album she’d never seen before. When she dug it out, a musty, ephemeral odor floated into the closet. The album was thick with images of Anne Hayes, née Greensly, as the Miss Georgia first runner-up, 1955. Mom! Harlow knew this room had secrets.
What else was hidden in this treasure trove? Dad’s high schoolletterman sweater and a pair of very tired-looking leather roller skates. Beneath those things Harlow found Mom’s senior yearbook. 1953.
“You told me you lost this.” Harlow settled with her back against the wall and flipped it open. Mom was beautiful with her fifties hairstyle and fixed smile. The pages were loaded with signatures.
