Unhealthy Coping Mechanism

Chapter 21

Harriet wailed into the wind. She wailed for the father she had lost. She wailed for Sam, so young his memories of his grandpa were doomed to fade until they were as insubstantial as the incoherent words the wind snatched from her lips. Most importantly, she wailed for herself and the irresistible urge to bake scorching through her veins, the same urge that had killed her father.

Strong arms wrapped her in an embrace. "It's not your fault, babe," Frank said.

Harriet buried her head in his shoulder. What a pair they were, sitting on the cold pavement. Frank stroked her back gently while making soft shushing sounds, the same way she soothed Sam when he had a nightmare.

"If I hadn't gotten him involved..." Harriet whispered.

"Then that would have been one less thing he got to do with you," Frank said. "I'm sure he appreciated every minute of the time you spent together. I know I sure feel lucky to spend even a second with you."

He kissed her tears away. She brought up a hand to wipe the matching moisture off his cheeks. "I am so sorry for making such a scene, honey."

"Hey, when you've gotta let it out, you've gotta let it out. That's what funerals are for."

"You don't say?" Nia said jokingly. "I could have sworn they were for bottling everything up until you feel as miserable as a cat in a thunderstorm."

Harriet looked up in surprise. Her mom's eyes were puffy and Sam was clinging to her leg as if he was terrified he'd lose her too, but other than that they looked okay by funeral standards. "Would you mind keeping my favorite grandson busy while I have a chat with his mom?" Nia asked Frank.

"I'm your only grandson," Sam said with a chuckle.

"Thank goodness for that," she said. "I don't think anybody else could even dream of competing with you!"

After giving Harriet a quick kiss on the forehead, Frank dragged himself to his feet. "Come on, buddy. Let's go check out that dessert table."

Nia watched them go with a warm smile. "Turns out that husband of yours isn't a complete disappointment," she said. "I've never seen a man run that fast in my life, and I've seen how Elijah gets— used to get— whenever you'd call. Guess we both love men who'd drop everything for you at the drop of the hat."

Harriet stood up and wiped off the dead leaves clinging to her dress. "Not quite everything. He's heading off on another business trip in a couple days."

"Right before Thanksgiving?" Nia shook her head. "Lord, next thing you know he'll be working through Christmas. Nobody can say he's a slacker."

"Or assertive. I swear he might as well call himself the Chief Doormat and call it a day. Or Ryan's Doormat, considering how things have been going lately."

"Ryan's the one who got a divorce, right? Something about his wife caring more about her catering business than him?"

"That's the one. He's a nice enough guy, but man am I sick of him shoving his work off on Frank. It just isn't right!"

"It's not right for you to be parenting for two, either. I know you love that man, honey, but he's not the only one who needs to put his foot down."

"I know."

"Good. And for heaven's sake, try to relax every once in a while! I swear every time I see you I half expect you to have more wrinkles than I do."