Page 4 of Bridge to Home

“Over my dead body.” Robert sucked in a breath. “Maybe instead of gardening you should pop a Prozac and go take a nap.”

“I don’t need a Prozac. I need a husband who listens and is on my side.”

“Maybe you married the wrong person,” Robert taunted. “Someone willing to cater to your every whim and demand.”

Harlow could feel her blood pressure skyrocket. “Are you saying I’m the one who is selfish and spoiled? Because if you ask me, it’s the other way around.”

“Look in the mirror, Harlow. You don’t even have a family anymore.”

His jab felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. It was a low blow and a sore subject, one she kept in the far reaches of her mind, except when the smell of lilacs lingered or she visited a port town that reminded her of Mackinac Island.

“That was a low blow.”

Robert grabbed his keys. “I’m heading out. Please try to calm down before I get home.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know.” Her husband exited through the kitchen. The garage door slammed.

Harlow trailed after him. She could hear his Maserati’s engine rev up. The sound faded. She peeked out the door. He’d leftandleft the garage door wide open. At least it was only one. There were multiple garage doors housing a collection of expensive and exotic vehicles.

Harlow absentmindedly wandered into the kitchen. She poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, plopped down on the barstool, and glumly stared at the purchase agreement. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was they didn’t need an apartment in London.

She picked up her phone and dialed her best friend Eryn’s cell phone. It went to voicemail. “Hey, Eryn. It’s Harlow. I-I just wanted to talk. Call me when you can.”

Abandoning her plan to tackle some gardening, Harlow exited the house, grabbing her keys on the hook by the door on her way out. She climbed into her red Ferrari, a car Robert had surprised her with for her birthday. It was an indulgent splurge, but she loved it.

Turning left at the end of their winding driveway, Harlow headed toward the coastline. She could feel her tension ease as she rolled the windows down, letting the fresh ocean air in.

It would be okay. She and Robert had a lot of stress, a lot of pressure. Maybe they needed a vacation. That was it. A couple of weeks on the Amalfi Coast would do the trick. Nothing but solitude and serenity…away from prying eyes…away from Jillian.

Her cell phone rang. Harlow tapped the top and somehow managed to knock it loose from the holder. The phone fell to the floor. Taking her eyes off the road, she leaned down to grab it.

When she looked up again, she realized she’d crossed the double yellow line and was in the other lane. A big box truck was heading right toward her.

Harlow slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel. As if in slow motion, her Ferrari spun, bounced and flipped. She heard a loud cracking sound right before everything went dark.

Chapter 2

Harlow’s eyelids fluttered. All she felt was pain. Pain in her head. Pain in her legs. So much pain she wanted to cry. Instead, she forced herself to focus, taking stock of her surroundings. She squinted her eyes, staring up at the bright fluorescent lights, struggling to figure out where she was.

She tried swallowing but couldn’t. Harlow lifted a hand and clumsily fumbled with a feather tickling the side of her face.

“Don’t do that,” a gentle voice whispered in her ear.

Harlow turned her head. The woman standing over her was wearing a lavender shirt. The smell. It smelled like disinfectant, the kind her housekeeper used. Home. She remembered getting into her car and driving off after arguing with Robert.

She called her best friend, Eryn, and left a message. Eryn called her back. She dropped the cell phone and reached down to grab it. A big box truck was coming right toward her. She jerked the wheel and then everything went dark.

“Where am I?” Harlow licked her dry lips.

“The hospital. You were in an accident.”

Finally, the soft voice came into focus. It was a young nurse, maybe a year or two younger than she was. Her sympathetic gray eyes met Harlow’s. “You’ve been out of it for almost a day now.”

“Unconscious?”

“Yes.”

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