Frankie leaned up on her elbows and looked at Prisha. The tiny hairs at her temples were plastered to her skin. “Okay, that was not easy.”
Prisha shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. But I didn’t think you’d come otherwise.”
“You were probably right.” Frankie grinned. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow.”
Suzanne walked over to them, dabbing at her neck with the towel she’d brought. “You ladies have a lovely day. I’ll see you at book club next week, I imagine. We’re talking about spending a few weeks in St. Moritz, but Bryant’s so busy, who knows.”
“Have a good day,” Prisha said.
“You, too,” Sugarlynn called back as she trotted after Suzanne.
Frankie drank deeply from her water bottle, happy she’d brought it. “I don’t like her.”
“Sugarlynn? She’s harmless.”
“No, Suzanne. She gives me a bad feeling.”
Prisha got to her feet and gave Frankie a hand up. “She does that to everyone.”
“Then why did you invite her to your book club?”
“I didn’t. She was a guest of Sugarlynn’s, and she stayed. Now it’s more a case of keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That and I do not know how to get her to stop coming without causing a major incident.”
Frankie nodded, partially in sympathy. “I understand.” She just hoped that bad feeling wasn’t a premonition of things to come.
ChapterForty-Three
Mitch had told Harper things he’d never told anyone. Deep, painful things. The ones that had left scars on his soul.
About Jeanie’s last days and how he’d dealt with his own pain and feelings of helplessness by constantly writing. How he regretted that. How his son hated him for it. How Mitch thought his inability to write now was a kind of just desserts. How he didn’t believe he could ever truly be happy again.
He didn’t know what had come over him to make him share so much. She just had a way about her that made talking so easy. And once he’d started, it had poured out of him.
She sat there, listening and nodding, and never once making him feel judged. She was very good at what she did, that much had become clear. Whatever training or education she’d received, the school should be commended. But then, maybe she was just an especially gifted listener. He wasn’t sure that was something that could be taught.
Whatever the reason for her skills, he was grateful. Out of words, he sat back and sighed. He felt wrung out, emotionally.
“You’ve experienced an incredible amount of loss,” Harper said softly. “The fact that you’re still able to get yourself dressed in the morning should be praised.”
He glanced down at his pajama pants and shook his head. “Except I didn’t actually get dressed this morning.”
“You know what I mean. To some degree, you’ve found a way to survive this loss. Maybe not the way you think you should have or as well as you think you should have, but you’ve made a way for yourself. That takes a huge amount of fortitude. And it’s exhausting, physically, mentally, and emotionally.”
He felt the truth of that in his bones. “You’re right. It is. And half the time I still can’t sleep. I don’t know how I keep going some days.”
“You do it because there’s something inside you that won’t let you quit. Something that knows there are better days ahead.”
“Maybe. But I don’t feel that way.”
“Your subconscious does. Or maybe it’s your lizard brain. It’s the part of you that’s focused on survival. It knows. And that’s what’s pulling you through.”
“Lizard brain,” he repeated. “I always think that’s where my best storytelling comes from. That deep down, ancestral part of my brain that holds the truths of the universe, if only it could be unlocked.” He glanced at her. “You think that’s what’s keeping me going?”
“I do. But…”
He frowned. “But what?”
“I say this with great care and understanding for what you’ve been through and how you’re handling it. Youcouldbe doing better. Talking is a big step forward, however. Maybe it’s enough. For now.”
