Frankie had sensed it, too, getting them out early with an emergency call that was completely made up. It was no wonder she’d been in nearly every drama production in her high school. She had a knack for acting and a real talent for improv.
They’d excused themselves and come home. Frankie had wanted to talk, to make sure Harper was okay. Harper had done a little acting herself and claimed a headache, promising that all she needed was a good night’s sleep.
Which, so far, had yet to happen. She was tired, but only of staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.
She grabbed her phone and scrolled through some social media sites. There were still pictures of her and Ford together, pictures of her alone the morning after she’d spent the night. Pictures of her in sunglasses, trying to escape to her car without being seen.
So much for that.
At least her name hadn’t come up yet. Maybe she’d get amazingly lucky, and all of this would fade away. Something else had to happen soon, didn’t it? Some new intrigue. Someone would die or have a baby or quit a movie or go to rehab or get arrested.
It was Hollywood. Scandal was its lifeblood.
She set her phone back on the nightstand but looking at it had made her more awake than ever. She sighed in frustration at not being able to sleep, but there was nothing she had to be up for tomorrow, so the frustration didn’t have legs.
She could sleep in if she wanted. After she took Archie out, of course. She sat up. There was enough moonlight filtering in through the blinds that she could see him curled up in his bed, Mr. Brown safely tucked under one paw.
So adorable. She smiled. And so blissfully asleep, the lucky duck.
She yawned, clearly in need of rest, but not feeling like it was going to happen. She lay down anyway, just to see if she could trick herself into drifting off.
Minutes ticked by without even a hint of impending sleep. She decided to read in hopes of that making her tired enough to crash. She reached for her phone and knocked it off the nightstand. It clattered to the floor.
With a soft groan, she leaned down and picked it up. And stared straight into Archie’s face.
He was standing by the bed, looking just as awake as she was, and doing the short little tail wag that said he needed to go out.
“You have got to be kidding me. Now?”
He whined softly as if to say she wasn’t doing anything else.
“I suppose you’re right about that. Hang on.” She got up, pulled on a robe over her nightshirt, stuck her feet in some flipflops, and trudged out to get his leash.
He stayed glued to her side, a sure sign he wasn’t faking it. She got his leash on, and they went down the steps and out through the rec room into the backyard. She was trying to alternate where he went to the bathroom, so this time she led him to the large swath of grass between the pool and the neighboring property. Mitch’s property.
She rolled her eyes at the thought of him.
While Archie sniffed around for just the right place to do his business, she glanced over. No light on in the living room. No blue flicker of a television. She took a few steps toward the water so she could see more of his place.
A soft yellow glow emanated from another room at the back of the house. It was next to the opposite property line. Was he up? Or had he left a light on?
Because it would have to be him. Joyce wasn’t the kind to leave lights on. Harper could tell that about her. She was the kind of person who liked things neat and orderly. That meant lights switched off.
If he was awake, she felt for him, despite his attitude. Insomnia wasn’t something she’d wish on her worst enemy. It was dreadful. She’d suffered from it in her early twenties when she’d been struggling with how to keep her past from affecting her present.
She stared out at the water as old memories resurfaced.
Frankie had been adopted right away. Harper, then Harriet, had not been. She’d spent three years in foster care until an older couple, unwilling to wait for a baby, had taken a chance on her. Not many people wanted a nine-year-old, but the Calhouns had tried to have a child of their own for years, unsuccessfully. Finally, they’d turned to adoption.
The Calhouns had been wonderful to her. Shown her love. Given her the best they could afford, which hadn’t been much, but she’d had a great life. She’d felt lucky to have them and had done her best to be a good kid.
She hadn’t always succeeded. Her teenage years had been…troubled. She’d struggled with abandonment issues and a lot of anger at the mother who’d given her and Frankie up. She’d struggled, too, with being separated from her sister.
Therapy, which might have helped, was expensive. The Calhouns had found a program that fit their budget, but it had been a group program, not individual. And Harper hadn’t been interested in sharing her issues with the world.
Still wasn’t.
Edward Calhoun had passed away when she was just shy of her twenty-second birthday. He was fifty-eight years old. His death had brought her abandonment issues back to the forefront. Her mom never seemed to get over the loss, either. Annie Calhoun, now eighty-eight, currently resided in a care home in Nevada.
