by Clare Lydon
Sally shook her head. “No, the woman at the baggage desk asked that. I don’t know whether to wait here or go to the hotel. This is not how I anticipated my long weekend starting.”
Taylor cleared her throat. “Fingers crossed whoever opens it brings it back — chances are, they will. Especially when they see the state of your underwear.”
Sally cupped her palm around her face, laughing despite herself.
“Look on the bright side — it’s all replaceable. You’ve got your passport, phone and wallet?”
Sally tapped her black bag, all her worldly goods inside. “Yes, all here.”
“Then look on it as an opportunity. Go to the hotel, live it up in the fancy facilities, then do some shopping in Chicago. You’re about to get a bunch of money, so you can afford it. Buy some new clothes, you’ll impress your aunt and then you can persuade her to invest in me, too.”
Sally laughed again. Taylor always had a knack of saying the right thing, making her feel better, even when she was in a frankly lousy situation. She stared ahead to the baggage desk, where the woman she’d spoken to gave her a sympathetic smile.
“You know what, you’re right. I’ll get a cab to the hotel, and hopefully by the time I’ve rolled around on my luxury kingsize bed, my suitcase will have turned up.”
“Do it,” Taylor said. “And don’t forget to ask your rich aunt if she needs any custom wallpaper.”
Chapter Four
The wheels of Harriet’s silver Prius rolled smoothly up her parent’s driveway, coming to a stop in front of their white-doored double garage. The door was open, too, which meant her mom must be tinkering with her beloved bottle-green Ford Mustang ‘68, affectionately named Muzzy.
Harriet climbed out of her black leather seat, yawning as she moved her black sunglasses to her forehead, pinching the ridge of her nose where she knew there would be a red mark. She stretched her arms above her head, glad to stop traveling for five minutes — she’d done enough of that already today.
The lunchtime sun sat high over the top of her parents’ gray-and-white two-storey home, which also boasted a freshly painted front porch that ran the width of the house, along with a gigantic Sugar Maple in the middle of the manicured front lawn. Her parents lived in the northern Chicago suburb of Winnetka, which was around a half-hour drive from her apartment on a good commute day. Luckily, the drive from the airport had been traffic-free, which meant she was in a good mood. Harriet’s powder-keg patience in traffic was the stuff of legend.
She walked into the garage, its walls stacked with shelves holding car parts, old paint cans, and miscellaneous white plastic storage boxes. At the end of the shelves, there were three ladders propped against the bare brick wall. Harriet had fallen off one of those when she was nine, breaking her arm. She hadn’t been up a ladder since, instead employing people who were more skilled at such endeavors.
Her mom was under the hood of Muzzy, exactly where Harriet had expected to find her, her oil-stained hand resting on the car’s green paintwork.
“Hey, Mom,” Harriet said, in a voice loud enough for her mom to hear and not be startled. She’d done that one too many times and earned her mom’s wrath, especially when it meant she was surprised and cracked her head on the hood. Harriet didn’t want that look of disdain again.
Her mom looked up, wiping her hands on a dirty rag, still the most put-together mechanic Harriet had ever seen. Her auburn hair was stacked on top of her head in a bun, her pink shirt unsullied, her “work” jeans pristine. Harriet bet if she did a close inspection, even her painted nails would be oil-free.
Her mom might be older than her dad, but you’d never guess it because she looked after herself far better. She’d been a runner all her life, but in later years she’d switched to hiking, which had less impact on the joints. Harriet, by some fluke, had inherited her mom’s slim, athletic genes, without putting in any of the work.
“Hello, you,” she said, flashing her daughter a tired smile. “You’re here early. I thought Daniel said you were in New York?”
“I was, I got an early flight back.” Harriet paused. “How are you?”
“Keeping sane in here,” her mom said. “It’s all a bit stressful, but we’re surviving. Your dad looks better today, got a bit more color in his cheeks.”
“That’s good.”
Her mom was approaching 63 and had been retired two years, following a career in corporate banking. Her dad’s heart trouble and near-death experience had shaken the whole family, which was evident as this was the fourth time Harriet had visited this week, whereas she and her mom normally caught up every other week.
Perhaps she should make it a more regular occurrence — maybe then their conversation would flow more freely.
“I brought Chinese food; are you joining us?”
Her mom shook her head. “I won’t, I’m on a roll here. Plus, I’m not that hungry.”
Harriet gave her a look. “Are you eating? This is hard on all of us, but you need to eat.” Her mom had always been conscious of her weight, always skipped meals. It was a habit Harriet had carried into adulthood, too, even though she loved food.
“I’m eating, don’t worry. Just get the food to your dad, he’s the one who needs it most. Are you staying a while?”
Harriet shook her head. “I can’t. I have to drop my stuff off and get back to work; it’s just a flying visit.”
Her mom held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, work comes first,” she said, turning back to the car’s innards. “Make sure you say goodbye before you leave, okay?”
Harriet nodded, unsure of her footing in this emotional maze she and her mom always seemed to construct by accident.
“Will do,” she said, wondering if she disappointed her mom. Was it because she hadn’t followed her career path and gone into finance? Because she wasn’t married with children? Because they didn’t have a Hallmark mother-daughter friendship? She’d love to move the needle of her and her mom’s relationship, but she wouldn’t have a clue where to start.
She rolled her newly tensed shoulders, expelling air as she walked back to her car and opened the trunk.
The gray front door sprang open as she turned, and her brother Daniel came bounding out like an over-sized black Labrador, his arms encasing her before she had time to think about it. His dark hair was hanging in front of his eyes, his stubble two days thicker than when she’d last seen him. He was going for the hipster look, but right now he just looked a little unkempt.
“Get off me, you great lunk,” Harriet said, smiling. “And get a haircut while you’re at it.”
“You jealous of my flow?” he said, flicking his locks in an exaggerated manner.
“I know you’re only here to get the food, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Of course I’m here for the food, shorty,” he replied, before scooping up the brown paper bags in both hands. “Come on, we’re all starving.”
The smell of fresh-cut flowers and paint drifted into her nostrils as she followed Daniel across the brightly lit square hallway, her feet light on the polished wooden floor. They walked past the family portrait that hung on the newly painted white wall facing them. Harriet tried to ignore how strong their dad looked back then: powerful, upright, in control. In years past, she’d always focused on how gawky she or Daniel looked, on their mom’s bouffant ’80s hair.
But now, all she saw was Dad.
She had to remember the prognosis was good.
When they reached the gleaming kitchen, all granite worktops, low lights and white gloss cabinets, Daniel dropped the food onto the pristine counter-top. Four plates already stood on the kitchen island, along with four sterling-silver knives and forks.
“You’re very prepared,” Harriet said, impressed. Sometimes, when her brother wasn’t goofing around, he surprised her.
“I’m fully house-trained,” Daniel replied. “I’ll make someone a lovely husband.” He pushed some hair behind his ear and gave h
er a wink as he spoke.
“No doubt about it,” Harriet said. “No news from that woman you were after last week?”
He gave her a shy smile. “We’re going out this weekend.”
Harriet held up her palm and her brother gave her a high-five. “I expect good things from this one, you’ve been going on about her long enough.”
“We’ll see — I don’t want to jump the gun like normal.” Daniel leaned a hip on the counter and smiled. “But I really do like her, she’s got an air about her. She seems… like she has her act together.”
Harriet gave him a warm smile. “That would make a change from the usual women you go for.”
“I know, right? You might actually get to meet one.”
“She has to be better than the last one I met.”
“She is, hopefully you’ll meet her soon. And who knows, maybe even Mom and Dad.”
Harriet raised an eyebrow as she opened a carton of rice. “The parents? Hold your horses, cowboy, you haven’t even been on a single date yet.”
He shrugged. “I live in hope.”
“Speaking of the parents — how’s he been today?” Harriet took the rest of the cartons from the bag, setting them out on the counter.
Daniel’s shoulders went up, then down, a sigh punctuating his actions. “No change,” he said. “One minute he’s awake and almost smiling, the next he’s asleep. He seems to be in a lot of pain when he’s awake, so I don’t know. He’s clutching his chest pillow like his life depends on it, but apparently that’s normal. It was open-heart surgery, after all. But when I mentioned Chinese food, he perked up visibly, so I hope he eats some of it.”
“Me, too,” she replied. “And how does Mom seem? I just went to see her and she was… well, she was Mom.” Harriet gave a little chuckle and rolled her eyes as she spoke.
Daniel stopped spooning rice onto a plate and looked up at her through dark lashes. “She’s okay, it’s just a shock. She’s spending time with Dad as well as Muzzy — the jury’s still out on which one she prefers.” He gave his sister a wide grin. “You think she loves Muzzy because she doesn’t answer back?”
“Or drink her booze?”
“Or spend years slinking in late, trying to disguise her preference for women?”
“Maybe she’s got a point,” Harriet said, laughing, taking a plate of food in either hand: her stomach growled at the sweet smell of fried rice and chow mein. All she’d had all day was a mini-pastry at her meeting this morning. “Shall we take these up to Dad and eat in his bedroom?”
Daniel nodded. “He’d like that. And you can tell us all about your New York trip and all the women you seduced overnight.”
Harriet spluttered at that. “My trips are all work and no play.”
“Which makes Harriet a very dull girl,” Daniel replied.
Chapter Five
It was after 3:30pm by the time Harriet left her parents, so she was seriously running behind schedule. Still, she’d got to spend a little time with her dad, who’d quizzed her about her New York trip. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d seriously taken an interest in her business, so this was a new turn of events — but maybe this was what nearly dying did to a person, made them try different topics of conversation.
The fact that she ran her own business hooking up incredible designers with retail outlets had always baffled both her parents, not being the steady sort of job they both favored. Whenever they mentioned Harriet being an entrepreneur, they always winced slightly, as if it were a disease they might catch.
She was driving down the highway, tapping her thumb on the steering wheel as the latest Drake track blared from the car radio. Daniel had picked the station, and he had his right leg crossed over his left, so that every time he tapped his foot, it left a mark on her dashboard.
“You wanna not do that?” Harriet said, pointing to the mark.
“Sorry,” Daniel replied, moving his foot to the ground before glancing at his sister. “Are you seriously going back to the office now? After you got up at stupid o’clock this morning to get to an even stupider early meeting?”
Harriet rolled her eyes. “I am. Are you not going back to work?”
The AC in the car had kicked in, and she was beginning to cool down, although the air was still thick and stale.
He shook his head, keeping his eyes facing forward. “I took this week off as family leave — somebody needed to be there for them.”
“Ouch!” Harriet replied, slapping his arm. “I’ve been over a couple of times.”
“It wasn’t a dig, it’s just my work is more flexible than yours,” he said, shrugging. “Even though you’re your own boss and you own the business.”
This was a conversation they’d had before and they’d probably have again, so Harriet shut it down. Daniel didn’t understand the pressures of running your own business, being the free spirit that he was.
“Change the record,” she said, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile as she pulled up at the side of the road, in front of the blue-and-white house Daniel shared with two other women. Daniel loved women and he surrounded himself with them in every area of his life.
He unbuckled his seat belt and pushed it aside before turning his body to Harriet. “I just think there are better things you could be doing with your time on a Thursday night than sitting in your office and working, don’t you?”
“Not really.” Of course, before she’d gotten into the groove of working all the time, there were plenty of things she’d have preferred to do, involving women, drinking, and dancing. But these days, they were never the thing that made it to the top of her list.
“You know, like going out, hitting a gay club, meeting some women.” Daniel put a finger to his chest. “If I can meet one, and I’m a humble gardener, you can meet one, Ms Hotshot Entrepreneur. Women would be all over you like a rash. Don’t forget, I’ve seen it happen.”
Harriet smiled at all the times the duo had gone out together, first to a bar for Daniel, then to a bar for Harriet. She’d had her fair share of triumphs with Daniel in tow, only none of them had ever lasted more than three dates. Her batting average was usually have a drink, have sex, have sex once more, then never see them again.
It was a record she was keen to change, although lately she’d found herself thinking that if love didn’t happen for her, she would be at peace with that. Daniel was always chasing it, but it wasn’t a given for everyone, was it? Maybe love and her just weren’t compatible, and that’s where work stepped in to fill the void.
She gave her brother a tired smile. “Dear Daniel, I know you’re only looking out for me, but if I don’t get this work done, Joanna will kill me.”
Daniel let out a bark of laughter. “Joanna is a pussycat — and I bet Joanna’s out tonight with her hot lady. What’s her name?”
“Viv.”
“The lovely Viv.”
“Don’t be so sure: from what I hear, there’s trouble in paradise.”
Daniel pouted. “Don’t say that, I like happy endings, you know that.”
“I know, I’m sure they swapped our gender chromosomes at birth,” she replied, only half-joking. “Now get out of my car — I need to go home, get changed, then go to work.”
“You used to be so much more fun, you know that? I know that girl is still in there somewhere and I’ll get her out, just you wait.”
***
Harriet’s apartment door gave a satisfying clunk as she pushed it shut with her butt, dragging her suitcases inside. She strolled through to the living room with her open-plan kitchen at one end, glad she’d remembered to close her wooden blinds before she left — otherwise her apartment would have been a cauldron.
She switched on the AC and grabbed a glass of water, downing it before turning her attention to her luggage. It was only when she went to pick up the larger suitcase with the company samples inside that she noticed the lock was missing. Dammit — how had that come off in the flight? A sense of dre
ad filled her as she wondered if any of the samples had been stolen.
Please let the lock have just fallen off and not been taken off purposely.
Harriet got down on her knees, frowning at the orange ribbon attached to the handle. Now she was up close and concentrating, it didn’t look like her orange ribbon.
Oh shit.
Did she even have the right suitcase?
She took hold of the black metal zipper and trailed it round its track, the whirr of metal on metal filling the air, along with her accelerated breathing. She did the same on the other side and then flipped the lid open.
And then she stared at what was laid out before her, her eyes not quite believing what she was seeing.
Plus, it smelled of… what was that smell? Harriet recognized it: sweet, musky, sexy.
And then it hit her: Hugo Boss Red perfume. One of her short-lived conquests had worn it.
And clearly, so did whoever this suitcase belonged to.
She wrinkled her nose.
Hair dryer. Make-up bag. Navy blazer. Jeans. T-shirts, one red, one blue. A shirt with bright yellow bees. A single white Nike sneaker — she assumed that somewhere, there was another. An old JoJo Moyes novel Harriet had read a few years ago.
There were none of the carefully packed samples.
Mainly because this wasn’t her suitcase.
“Shit,” she said, sitting back on her heels and cupping her chin. “Shit, shit, shit…”
What was she going to do? She needed those samples to show Joanna, but also to show she was a capable businesswoman, not someone who grabbed the wrong suitcase and didn’t notice for four goddamn hours.
Where the hell was her suitcase now? She had no idea. It could be halfway across the country for all she knew.
Shit, shit, shit.
She stood up and began to pace her living room, reaching its picture window, opening the blinds and staring out at Lake Michigan ahead of her, sunlight bouncing off its surface. Its mere presence usually soothed her, but not this afternoon.
She turned sharply and grabbed her phone from her bag, finger poised over the keypad. Should she call Joanna to let her know? Not much point in that.