Lost on the Road to Love

by Kay Harris

  Dani sat up a little, looking very much like she wanted to be in on the secret. “Yes?”

  I told her about the meeting, especially the part where Steve talked about the women wanting Henry, and I described Henry’s reaction. “He sat there and rolled his eyes,” I told her.

  “You know, I think Henry’s aversion to women who are attracted to him is pretty crippling, so I hate to say this, but I find it to be hilarious. You’d think he was being tortured when a beautiful girl hits on him.” She laughed. “His dad likes to tease him about it. He calls it ‘Henry’s burden.’ ”

  “It is truly ridiculous,” I told her, smiling. I liked this woman, a lot. Within moments, she’d made me feel comfortable in her presence, and I sensed a kinship with her. We were both women who had an understanding of Henry he himself didn’t even see. And we both loved him.

  That thought had my entire body tensing. I stiffened my spine and squeezed the wine glass in my hand. It was as if I was convinced she could read my mind. Just having thought it in her presence had me panicked. Which was, of course, ridiculous, especially since I thought it in front of Henry all the time and it didn’t cause any panic.

  Dani sipped her wine and examined me. I sat there, avoiding her gaze and feeling like I was waiting to be tortured. “Chelsea?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What’s going on between you and Henry?”

  My eyes darted to her. “What…what do you mean?”

  She set her wine glass down on the coffee table and leaned toward me. “I mean, Henry has a tough time having relationships with women he isn’t related to. And you and he are close. You have a strong friendship, and you’re sleeping together.” My face must have showed my discomfort when she brought this up because she laughed and put her hand over mine. “You look about as scared as Henry did when he told me, in what was a hilarious and convoluted conversation, I might add. What? You think I was a virgin until my wedding night?” She rolled her eyes.

  I laughed and relaxed a little. “I suppose not.”

  “You suppose correctly. Anyway, what I don’t get is why you two are claiming to be ‘just friends.’ What is that all about?”

  “This is precisely why we have been keeping this a secret. Because people don’t understand. I told my friend Tom, too, and he said the same thing.”

  “Hmmm…so why?”

  I was nervous all over again. Somehow this short conversation had me on an emotional rollercoaster. I shrugged. “We’re just friends.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Torn between amusement, shock, and frustration at her statement, what came out was tears. I felt the quiet sob rise in my chest, and before I could stop it, it erupted from my throat, followed by one hot tear trickling out of my left eye and dripping down my cheek.

  Dani moved closer and put an arm around my shoulders. “Shit. My son is being an ass, isn’t he?”

  I shook my head. I wanted to defend Henry, but I couldn’t speak just then.

  “Are you in love with him, Chelsea?” she asked softly.

  Before I could think about it, before I could realize she’d just asked the one question I’d spent hours being terrified she would ask, before I could come up with a lie, I nodded.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said, standing and pulling me up with her.

  I swiped at my cheeks with my palms and stared at her. “What?”

  “I know a place,” Dani said, walking over to the counter by the small kitchenette. She grabbed a small square notepad and scribbled something quickly on it.

  I threw my jacket back on and took a few steps forward to peer over her shoulder. She’d left a simple note to Henry saying we’d gone out and we’d be back later. Then she grabbed her big, brown mom purse and pulled me from the room.

  Chapter 15

  Present day—Los Angeles, California

  Henry

  I run my hand through my hair and lean back in the uncomfortable couch. “So I get back from the airport and they’re gone.” I’ve just finished telling the story, up to the point where my mom and Chelsea took off on me, and I can feel the tale taking a dark turn. I’m exhausted at the prospect of explaining the rest of it.

  “Hmmm,” my father says. He’s sitting across from me in a metal folding chair, one leg crossed over his knee, his hands resting on his thighs. He’s looking at me like he’s examining me to make sure I’m in one piece. His eyebrows are scrunched up. Below them, his eyes are narrowed.

  Suddenly, it occurs to me he might know something. I sit up and lean toward him. “Did Mom tell you what she and Chelsea talked about that night?”

  “Hmmm. Some.”

  “Dad, you gotta tell me.” He doesn’t respond. “I know you’re going to give me some line about how you can’t give away confidences,” I argue. “But this is my life. I mean—”

  My dad holds his hand, palm out, in front of his face. This is a sign I recognize. In my family, my dad is, without a doubt, the quiet one. His words are rare and heavily weighted. So the rest of us just keep talking until he responds. But he won’t ever interrupt, and if he doesn’t get the chance you may miss what he was going to say altogether. So, he’s developed this habit of holding up his hand when he has something to say.

  I nod, indicating he should go ahead. My dad says, “I’ll tell you what your mom told me. But first I want to hear what she told you.”

  I glance at the clock because this conversation is getting long. My dad knows what I’m thinking and waves his hand at me. “We have time.”

  I subconsciously glance at the door. “What about Billy?”

  “Like you care,” he says.

  He’s right. I don’t care. Billy is the replacement camera operator Trek assigned to me when Chelsea didn’t show up in LA. And tonight, I am supposed to be shooting my very last scenes for the show. I’m at a concert my dad and Uncle Hank are performing in town. My dad had showed up early to shoot some B-roll scenes of us hanging out before he had to go on stage. But as soon as he’d seen me, he knew something was up.

  So, we’d ditched Billy with my uncle and disappeared into my dad’s green room. We’ve been in here for a while now while I explained about Chelsea and me.

  I’d been doing all the talking, and now I want his advice. I feel like I am stuck in the worse situation of my life, or at least the most painful. But I know I have to give him what he wants first.

  “Mom came back late. I’d been waiting up for her. She thought that was funny as hell. She told me she and Chelsea had gone to some bar she knew about across town and hung out. I tried to get her to tell me what they’d talked about. But she stayed tightlipped. She went to bed. And, Dad, I couldn’t sleep worth a shit.”

  My dad grins. I continue with the story. “So the next morning, before we went to the museum to meet up with Chelsea, I took Mom to breakfast. I demanded she tell me what she and Chelsea talked about. She said they were friends now. She said Chelsea was a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman, and she thought the world of her. And I said, ‘I know all that, Mom.’ And then you know what she did? She smacked me on the forehead and told me ‘Wake up.’ ” I demonstrate by slamming my palm into my own head, much the way my mother had that day.

  My dad laughs.

  “Then we get to the museum, and she and Chelsea fall into each other’s arms. Literally, Dad. They’re, like, best friends overnight. And they talk and giggle and all that shit. And neither of them will give me the time of day while we’re all together. The next day, I take Mom to the airport and just before she gets ready to go through security, I asked her one more time to tell me what she and Chelsea talked about. She said, ‘I love you, Henry. But I can’t help you with this.’ Then she kissed my cheek and walked away. It was so frustrating!”

  “I bet.”

  “Come on, Dad. Tell me what Mom told you.”

  As he’s prone to do, my dad takes a long pause. I watch impatiently as he takes a few deep breaths, rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger, an
d shifts slightly in his chair, all the while staring intently at me. Finally, he says, “Your mom told me Chelsea confessed to her she’s in love in with you.”

  “Shit,” I say, leaning my head back. Then I admit what I already knew deep down. “I kinda figured.”

  “Listen, Buddy, here’s what I don’t get. How the fuck did you not figure this shit out sooner?” Now he’s looking at me with a sense of sheer confusion. And I can understand why. But I feel defensive.

  “We were just friends, Dad. And we had rules. Rules Chelsea set by the way.”

  “So you were just friends having sex, right?”

  “Yes,” I say, finally feeling like maybe someone understands.

  “And you didn’t think there was anything more to it? I mean, come on.” He tosses his hands a few inches into the air in front of him in a muted expression of disbelief. It is highly uncharacteristic for my dad.

  I throw my own hands up in the air in a much more exaggerated version of his gesture. “Why would there be? We were friends, and we were just having sex, Dad!” I say, my frustration resurfacing.

  I’m getting worked up, but he goes right back to his usual calm and relaxed state. He leans farther back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “I was friends with your mom once, too, and then we started having sex.”

  I bury my head in my hands. “First of all, gross. Secondly, what on earth does that have to do with anything?”

  “We’re much more than friends now.”

  My father’s words are hitting me a hell of a lot harder than I am willing to admit to myself, let alone to him. So, I stay quiet. I listen to the chair creak beneath him as he shifts. I listen to my own heartbeat as it tortures me.

  “Okay, Henry,” he says softly. “Why don’t you tell me how you ended up here, looking miserable as shit.”

  “I thought I had it good, Dad. I really did. Then everything started to go to hell. And it was entirely my fault.” I lean back and tell my dad the rest of the story.

  ****

  Two weeks, four days ago—Jackson Hole, Wyoming

  I had trouble focusing on the shoot that afternoon. The scenery was gorgeous and completely distracting. Surrounded by the majesty of the “North American Alps,” the jagged peaks of the Grand Teton range looked as though they were ripped out of the earth like pages in a book and set on end, scraping the bright blue sky, and inspiring neck-craning awe.

  On top of that, the unseasonably warm day had brought out the sexy in Chelsea’s wardrobe. October in Wyoming should have seen her bundled up in a coat, hat and mittens. Instead, it was nearly sixty degrees and sunny so she wore a flouncy cotton skirt that landed well above her knees with a pair of gray tights. It was paired with a not-so-loose tank top and a fitted fleece that was happily unzipped. Her hair was pushed up in a perfectly messy bun at the back of her head, and she spent the vast majority of the day pushing her glasses up on her nose with one finger.

  I wanted to whisk her off into the woods on the other side of the yawning lake and fool around like teenagers who’d escaped their parents’ sight on a camping trip. But I was doubtful that would happen. Chelsea hadn’t so much as given me a peck on the cheek since Denver. I also hadn’t gotten a word out of her about what she’d discussed with my mom.

  “Henry, I think this is what we’ll open the show with,” Chelsea said, referring to the short introductory speech I’d just made on camera while standing at the Jenny Lake overlook. “Now I want to shoot some B-roll of you walking down the trail that leads away from the viewpoint and around the lake.”

  She turned to the park ranger, who acted as our guide. He just nodded. The Park Service required all media to have an escort, and Kevin was supposed to be monitoring us as we filmed in the park. He was an old friend of my mom’s. He’d worked with her a million years ago when she was a seasonal park ranger at Yellowstone. Now near retirement, he was pretty relaxed and laid back, letting us do whatever we’d like.

  I stood at the edge of the trail, near the crowded viewpoint, feeling extremely awkward. There were at least thirty people here, all staring directly at me. And they’d been doing exactly that since we first started filming here nearly an hour ago. I’d managed to block them all out and get the shot done, but I was grateful for the suggestion we move into a more remote location.

  I grabbed the heaviest of Chelsea’s equipment bags and took the lead down the pathway. The narrow trail forced us to walk single file. This configuration did not allow for followers and with the addition of Tom’s gruff statements to the looky-loos, we managed to lose everyone.

  I scouted out a place to stop for the shot Chelsea wanted. I chose a spot where the dirt and rock path widened out beneath the skinny trunks of the lodgepole pines, which were peppered with thicker firs and spruces. Peeking out behind the trees were splashes of bright blue from the picturesque lake. I was happy with the scenery there and, perhaps more important, the solitude the location provided. So I stopped and turned to Chelsea and Tom.

  “Perfect,” Chelsea said, unfolding the tripod.

  Tom looked around briefly, then nodded in agreement.

  “Good. Let me know when you’re ready,” I said, folding my arms over my chest and leaning up against the nearest tree.

  Chelsea set up her equipment, aiming the camera down the trail so she could take footage of me walking away from and back toward it. Tom fiddled with more equipment a few yards away, and Kevin stood about fifty feet away, also resting against a tree, his head thrown back, his hat over his eyes like he was sleeping or something.

  “So, Chels. You talk to my mom since Denver?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  She didn’t look at me, her gaze was still focused on the equipment in front of her as she harrumphed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “This is getting a little ridiculous,” I complained. “Just tell me about your conversation.”

  She laughed out loud this time.

  “What’s the matter, Henry? Worried they’re keeping secrets from you?” Tom asked, looking up at me with a smirk on his face. I frowned at him, but he just grinned at me and chuckled.

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Why don’t you ask your mom about it?” Chelsea suggested while peering through the eye of the camera.

  I let out a heavy sigh. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I knew I would have to try a different tactic. But subtlety just wasn’t my thing.

  I stayed quiet until eventually Chelsea asked me to walk down the trail. I approached her so we were just inches away from each other and whispered, “Tit for tat. I’ll get you your shot if you promise to give me one little detail about your conversation with my mom.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. You first.”

  I wasn’t good at blackmail, or at negotiating with women. Hell, I was terrible at it. They were all far more cunning than me, not to mention smarter. And all my life, the women in my family had managed to manipulate me and bend me to their will.

  This attempt was probably going to backfire. But I tried it anyway. I obediently followed Chelsea’s directions, walking back and forth on the trail while Tom and Kevin sat silently by.

  When we were finished shooting and all packed up, I walked down the trail just behind Chelsea. We were in the rear, so when I pressed her to tell me a detail as she’d promised, and she stopped on the trail and turned to face me, we fell even farther behind the two men.

  Chelsea hefted the bag she carried on her shoulder and pushed her glasses up with her free hand. “Okay, you want a detail?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of detail?” she asked, one eyebrow raised provocatively.

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Something…something important.”

  “Important? What does that mean?”

  I racked my brains for how to answer this in a way that would get me what I wanted. “Um…something about…”

  “Yes?” she challenged.

  “Sex. Something about sex,
” I blurted out, feeling like an awkward teenager all of a sudden.

  “Okay.” She grinned. And I should have known right there I was in trouble. “We had a long and detailed conversation about the most interesting places we’ve ever had sex. I mean, honestly, I thought I was pretty adventurous. After all, the janitor’s closet didn’t even rate on my list. But your parents put me to shame. Did you know they once got it on at—”

  “Ugh! Stop!” I covered my ears with my hands.

  Chelsea laughed heartily. Then she turned around and started walking back down the trail.

  “Wait!” I called, jogging to keep up. “That’s it?”

  “I gave you a detail,” she called over her shoulder.

  Damn it. I’d lost again.

  ****

  Two weeks ago—Bozeman, Montana

  Tom’s back was to us as he opened the door and walked through it. Then his image, distorted through the thick glass, curved toward the tan-colored minivan we were renting. He angrily brushed the dusting of snow off the windshield and hopped in the driver’s seat. A moment later, he was gone.

  I let out my breath and turned to Chelsea. She’d been just as intently focused on Tom as I had been. She ripped her gaze away from the front door and looked around the lobby. It wasn’t really bustling; there were maybe a dozen people in here, mostly families. But it was relatively quiet, which is why, after consultation with the staff, we’d chosen this time of day to film at the popular Museum of the Rockies.

  “Let’s catch the planetarium show,” Chelsea suggested, pointing toward the kiosk over the front desk. It announced a show about exo-planets.

  I looked at the clock on my phone. It was going to take Tom at least thirty minutes to drive back to the hotel, retrieve the spare battery we needed, and drive back to us. “Sure,” I agreed, placing my hand on the small of Chelsea’s back. It was a simple movement, one designed to indicate I was following her toward our shared goal. I must have done it a million times in the past. But this time, she stiffened. I pulled my hand away and repressed a sigh.