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Even so, she took advantage of his absence to snoop.
The luxurious apartment was enormous and beautifully furnished with exquisite, modern flair. The main floor where she was staying encompassed the kitchen along with a large, open living room/den space for entertaining, and Harry’s suite. Upstairs was one additional guest room, Harry’s big office, and a rooftop terrace with a built-in grill, lap pool, and pots of hibiscus and other flowering plants.
She examined his work space with interest, expecting to see all sorts of techy gadgets. Instead, Harry’s sanctum was almost monastic in its lack of clutter. A long, cherry table—obviously made for the space—nestled just under the sill of a huge bank of windows.
She saw a paper desk pad covered with neat doodles, a wireless printer and a single laptop. On one wall, built-in bookcases held a wide range of volumes, mostly architecture-themed. A small refrigerator—like the one in her room—held nothing but glass bottles of water. On the wall opposite the desk, a rowing machine gave evidence of one way Harry nurtured his impressive physique.
He wasn’t really her type. She preferred men who resembled Jason—with the tall, rangy build of a baseball player. Harry was more like a bodyguard. Solid. Dangerous. Still tall, but very different.
Since she didn’t want to think ofeitherman, she stood at the window and wondered what it must be like to work in this bright, airy space day after day. Harry would be able to see violent summer storms sweep across the sky. Or watch a gentle, rare Atlanta snowfall.
In a sudden, panicked moment, it occurred to her she had no place to live. She had given up her apartment. The plan had been for her and Jason to rent a modest home somewhere when they returned from Peru and then later to pick out plans and a lot on which to build their dream house.
There it was again. Evidence of her naiveté. Who in their midtwenties built a dream house? Had she and Jason been planning a life together or writing the script for a romantic comedy? They had laughed together a lot. It was one thing she loved about him.
Her heart clenched with a stabbing pain. Jason said he loved her, but he wasn’tin lovewith her. If the deep affection she had for him wasn’t the real thing, how would she ever find that? How would she even recognize it?
Because she didn’t know how long Harry would be gone, she abandoned his office and walked downstairs to his bedroom. Here, her stomach got queasy again, but not from grief.
Some other strange emotion held her in thrall as she examined Harry’s most private space. He hadn’t made up his bed. It was large and comfy, the sheets and covers rumpled as if he had endured a restless night. She could see that at a glance. Did he entertain sexual partners here, or was he the kind of man who liked to make love to a woman atherplace so he could walk away later?
She stood just inside the door, unwilling to go any farther. There was a book on his bedside table, but she couldn’t read the title from where she was. Did he read every night? There was no visible TV, though one might be hiding in the rough-oak armoire.
Suddenly, she was struck by an unanswerable question. Why had Harry left the church and intercepted her in the driveway? Anyone else could have, but no one did. Or maybe they might have thought about it but hadn’t had the presence of mind to move as quickly as Harry.
Why had he rescued her and swept her away to safety?
Perhaps it was something as simple as compassion. But more likely, he had done it out of his affection for Jason. The two men were very close.
For the past half hour, her pain and her grief had receded. Exploring Harry’s beautiful home had been a welcome distraction.
Now her mood tumbled again. Was this the trajectory of grief? One step forward and two steps back?
She was tired of crying, tired of being a pitiful jilted bride.
But even as she told herself she needed to buck up and move on, the heavy weight of depression and loss dragged at her heels.
And then there was the risk of being caught. She assumed Harry would be gone for hours, but what if he came back unexpectedly?
She made her way back to the comfort and safety of the guest room and buried herself in the covers again.
Tuesday morning brought another note...
I’m trying to give you your space, but you’re not eating enough.
She was surprised he had noticed. Maybe he was keeping track of the kitchen inventory.
That day she rewatched all six seasons ofDownton Abbey, cried, and slept in between.
Wednesday morning’s note was shorter but more personal...
Your life is not over...
She grimaced, smoothing the note between her fingers. What did Harry know about her life? He had power and influence and a career that made full use of his talents. Cate was stuck. And not even in second gear. Probably only first. Or perhaps she had strippedallher gears. The analogy was too clunky for her befuddled brain.
That day she didn’t watch TV at all. She chewed her fingernail and stared at the ceiling, trying to make even one tiny decision. The effort was exhausting. So far, she had avoided social media. Occasionally, she picked up her phone, tempted to check Instagram for any notes of sympathy. But she was afraid she would see the opposite.
What did her friends think? Her mother had sent a few texts. Cate had assured her she was fine but needed time to regroup. What rumors were circulating?
