Page 52 of Bridge to Home

“Maybe. I have plenty of time to walk Mort or have him walk me. He can help pull me along,” she joked.

“More like drag you around.”

“Either way. I’ll check on Aunt Birdie while I’m at it.” Despite her father relenting and allowing Birdie to park her RV on his property, down by the bay, there had been a few tense moments during the setup, namely the exact location.

To Harlow, it was more of a bickering banter. By the time the RV was in place, David appeared to have calmed, grudgingly accepting the fact his sister was there for the long haul.

“If you’re sure,” David said.

“Positive. I’ll take my phone with me in case I run into trouble.” Harlow finished sipping hercoffee. She maneuvered the wheelchair back inside, grabbed her phone and caught up with her father and pup on the porch.

“Would you rather take the scooter?”

“No. I want to build up my arm muscles.” Harlow playfully flexed her muscles. “I might need them for the upcoming film.”

“As you wish.” Down the ramp they went and through the gate that David held for them.

Mort knew exactly where he was headed. He turned right, scampering past the bushes and blooming flowers. They passed by the gazebo and benches strategically tucked in between the landscaping.

The pup made another turn, this time toward the harbor.

It was a little trickier maneuvering along the narrow path, over sections of broken concrete. Mort slowed when they reached Aunt Birdie’s RV.The windows were wide open, as was the front door, although the screen door was shut.

“Aunt Birdie?” she called out.

There was no reply and no sign of her feisty gray-haired aunt.

Harlow kept going until they reached their destination—the dock. The pup helped pull her all the way to the very end.

Mort plopped down on the edge. He dropped his chin on the wooden deck boards and peered into the water.

“You silly dog.” Harlow giggled. “Are you looking for fish?”

Cautiously inching closer, she gazed into the cold, clear water. Trout, smallmouth bass and even a few yellow perch swam by. “I wish I had a fishing pole,” she said wistfully. “I could catch us dinner.”

She and Mort sat quietly watching the fish, savoring the calm of the early morning. Harlowclosed her eyes, breathing in the magic of Mackinac Island. Coming home to heal had been the right decision.

Off in the distance was the bridge, the “Mighty Mac,” in all its glory. The bridge to home.

Harlow’s thoughts turned to her husband. Were Robert and Jillian having an affair? If so, what would she…could she do about it? The best, the only decision, was to take it one day at a time.

Robert’s persistence had paid off, and she’d caved. Maybe not caved, but agreed. And Harlow was a woman of her word. She would do whatever it took to fulfill her obligation.

A light breeze blew off the water. Strands of her long blond locks brushed her cheek. She tucked them behind her ear and thought about her mother.

It was another reason she’d been awake the previous night. Harlow missed her mom. Being there, being back on the island, made her absence even more profound. Aunt Birdie’s unexpectedarrival had helped. Or maybe it had ripped open an old wound, making her miss her mother even more.

In the wee hours of the morning, Harlow had made the decision to visit the one place she hadn’t gone yet.

“Well, Mort. If you’re done counting fish, how about you and I head the other way?”

With a little coaxing, he and Harlow backtracked, passing by Winnie, who was tied up closer to shore. It seemed like only yesterday Wynn Harbor Inn had been a bustling, vibrant resort, booked solid every summer and into late fall.

It was heartbreaking to see it a shell of its former self…empty, forlorn, broken. Similar in so many ways to Harlow. She and the damaged inn were kindred spirits, both in desperate need of help. Perhaps she could use some of her money to help her father fix the place up.

She thought about her father’s partnership with Easton Holdings Company, not the company butthe siblings, making a mental note to do a little more research. Her dad was no dummy. If he thought they would make good partners, then maybe she should be more supportive.

The sidewalk ended and a small dirt path curved toward majestic oaks. It took some concerted effort, plus help from Mort to guide Harlow’s wheelchair.

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