That was some stabs of guilt he didn’t need. “You want to tell her that?”
“Look,” she said. “I’ll call and give her some advice as soon as I have time.”
“Maybe call a little more often,” he said. “I think she’s struggling. Really.”
She sighed. “I’ll do my best, OK? I’ll invite her for Memorial Day weekend or something. But I’m not going back there. I can’t anyway. I used all my personal days on Mattie. I’ve got literally zero left.”
“I get it,” he said. “I’ll see you, then.”
“See you. Oh—happy birthday.”
He hung up, contemplated calling his sister Vanessa, checked the time, and decided to try her tomorrow. She was a United flight attendant, based out of Miami, and it was … nearly eleven o’clock in Miami. He hadn’t seen her in almost five years, but she’d sent Annabelle dolls from all over the world when she was little. She might let her sister stay in her apartment over the summer. Worth a shot, and their dad had always liked Vanessa best. She’d been bright and breezy, a pretty party girl who’d known how to tease him and make him smile. And she’d have settled down by now, surely. Things changed when you got within shouting distance of thirty. He, for example, felt about a thousand years old.
He had a couple of choices here. He could sit and marinate in thoughts of how he could have done a better job of holding his siblings together after their mom had left, instead of gratefully settling for the brotherhood of a football team, or …
Or he could answer the knock on the door, eat his room-service dinner, text Annabelle back, and tell her he’d think of something else.
He was just taking his first bite of chicken enchiladas when the phone rang again. Not his cell phone. The room phone. He chewed, swallowed, let it ring two more times, and picked up.
It had better not be Owen.
It pretty muchhadto be Owen. Saying … what? Asking him to make some excuse to Jennifer about why Dyma wasn’t coming home tonight? That wasn’t just going to be a no. It was going to be ahell,no.
Also, how did a guy become the Protector of Women when he was so bad at it? Free and easy, that had always been him. It was going tokeepbeing him. As soon as he got Annabelle squared away.
And Dyma. Which was just for one more day.
“Mr. Kristiansen?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Diane at the front desk. I have Ms. Cardello on the phone for you. Would you like me to put her through?”
Just like that, there went his stupid heart again.
Oh, wait. That could be Dyma, too. It probablywasDyma. What, now he couldn’t trustOwen?
“Mr. Kristiansen?” the voice said again.
“Yeah,” he said. “Please. Connect her.”
A click, then, “You’re connected.”
“Harlan?”
He swung his feet off the bed and stood up, because there was way too much strain in that voice.
“Jennifer?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
A breathy attempt at a laugh. “You can’t believe how hard it was to get them to put me through, even after I reminded them that I’m in your party.I practically had to cry. I was going to tell them that I was your assistant, but your assistant would have your cell phone number. And your room number, too, because an assistant would have booked it. I told you I should’ve done it. Also, I’m extremely embarrassed here. I’m just going to say—this isn’t some weird ex-hookup calling you and telling you that she’s … I don’t know. Whatdoex-hookups call you and say, when they’re trying to be re-hookups? That they’re pregnant? That they’re suicidal?”
He was smiling. Why was he smiling? “I can’t remember,” he said. “And you aren’t a hookup, ex or otherwise, remember?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Because Ididn’tsleep with you. That probably makes me unique.” She was sounding more cheerful.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I wouldn’t like you any less if I’d had sex with you.”
“You say thatnow.How about if I was lousy at it?”
