“If you’re talking about the accide—”
“I’m not talking about the accident, Harper.” Laci glances at Penelope who’s following the conversation intently, her forehead creased with concern. “I’m talking about photographs. Like this one.”
She pulls out her phone and holds it to my face. Ines leans in to get a better look. It’s a photograph of me puking in the bushes outside of my home.
My stomach drops. I feel dizzy. Suddenly it seems like there’s not enough air in this damn hallway.
“There’s more where that came from,” Laci turns to Penelope. “Oh honey, you didn’t know? You’re dating a drunk.”
“Where did you get that?!” I shout.
“I hired someone, Harp. A detective. I know all aboutyour life. And what a shit-show it is.”
She turns around and walks away.
“You got someone to spy on me?!” I cry out.
Heads turn to see what the commotion is about. I don’t give a damn. Let them stare.
Penelope puts a hand on my shoulder.
I know I should keep my temper under control, although she’s probably already decided that she wants nothing to do with me. I don’t turn to face her. I continue to stare at the woman who’s intent on ruining my life.
As I stare in disbelief, Penelope steps in front of me. “Harper?” There’s a security guard coming our way.”
14
Family Matters
After a brief confrontationwith the bailiff, I managed to convince him I didn’t need any help leaving the courthouse.
I walk Penelope to her car, still reeling from my encounter with Laci and unable to make small talk. She does not try to lighten the mood with a joke or a trivial comment.
I’m feeling tongue-tied and ashamed. I’d probably have trouble looking her in the eye if she wasn’t so damn beautiful. “So . . .” I say.
“Harp . . .”
Here it comes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she said we shouldn’t see each other anymore. This whole ordeal may have been too much for her. I can tell she’s struggling to get the words out. “Penelope, look, I completely understand if you don’t wanna see me anymo—”
“What?” No, it’s nothing like that. Why—do you not want to see me anymore?”
“No, no—of course I wanna see you. I just figured . . .”
“You just figured that I’d want to run away from you because you’re not some perfect guy without baggage.”
“I mean . . . yeah. In a word.”
“Who wants to hang out with somebody who’s perfect? I’d probably end up feeling small in comparison.”
I laugh. I also want to cry for some reason. Damn these emotions—why can’t they take turns?
“Fair point,” I say. “But still, I’m far from perfect. If perfect is here,” I hold my hand up above my head, “then I’m probably, oh . . . I don’t know, somewhere around here.” I bend down and hold my hand just an inch over the pavement.
Penelope looks at me with a smile that lets me know I’m lame.
“You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re here with me. And seriously, I understand if you’re freaked out by this whole thing and you don’t wanna see—”
“Harp! You need to stop saying stuff like that. I’m starting to think it’s you who doesn’t want to see me.”
