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In other words, there was a good chance her career would come to a screeching halt. To top it all off, it was entirely possible Robert planned to have her declared mentally disabled and petition for guardianship. The thought made her want to throw up.

Perhaps that was why he had taken a chunk of their money. He realized Harlow might not be able to fulfill the contract and helped himself to what he thought should be his. There were still the properties in New York, Florida and California. As far as she knew, all still had mortgages.

Even making big bucks, bills needed to be paid—large, monthly payments. The bodyguards, her publicist, housekeepers, gardeners, maintenance and upkeep of the homes. Lots and lots of expenses. Luxury cars, you name it.

The list of expenses was mindboggling. Off the top of her head, she couldn’t even begin to guesstimate what it was costing them each month. All she knew was it was a lot. She scoldedherself for not becoming more involved in their finances. She had trusted Robert implicitly. Not anymore.

Despite having made it to the top of her field, no one in Hollywood stayed there. No one. Eventually, the deals would taper off. The coveted roles would be offered to younger, prettier, barely out of their teens women like Jillian.

Robert was already working on his next protégé, securing small roles for his assistant, which would transition into bigger roles.

Harlow, so caught up in her troubles, suddenly found herself at her mother’s grave. If only Ginger was still alive, to give her daughter advice, comfort her and let her know everything would work out.

A light breeze rustled through the trees. She could almost hear her mother’s soft voice.You are home now, Harlow. Let the island heal you. Be strong.

Mort’s ears perked up. He moved closer to her wheelchair and let out a low whimper. He had heard it too. “Y-you heard Mom,” she stammered. “She’s here, Mort.”

Harlow lingered, hoping her mother would whisper to her heart again, but was met with a calm quiet.

She clasped her hands. “I’m going to find out what happened to you. As soon as I finish my project in Vancouver, I’m coming back. Dad and I are going to figure out how the fire started.”

A gentle breeze tousled the tips of Harlow’s hair, caressing her cheek. “I love you Mom.” She blew a kiss into the air and slowly made her way out of the garden.

Back home, she and Mort returned to her room. Harlow drifted off to sleep almost immediately. For the first time in along time, she slept through the night. No dreams, no tossing and turning. Rest like she hadn’t had in years.

She woke early the next morning to Mort licking her hand, his way of telling her it was time to get up. “I hear you. It’s going to be a busy day.”

Making her way to the bathroom, Harlow pulled herself from her wheelchair, almost bursting into tears when she could stand on both feet without being in excruciating pain. “Mort, I’m doing it,” she said excitedly.

“Watch this.” She took a tentative step sideways and then back to the center of the sink.

Thrilled with the thought she was truly on the mend, Harlow flew through her morning routine. The extra effort took its toll and by the time she finished, she sank back into the wheelchair. It was a start. Every step forward was a win.

The sound of voices echoed as she exited her bedroom. Vic and her father were in the kitchen sipping coffee and munching on donuts.

“There’s the sleepyhead,” her father teased.

“I could get used to this life of kicking back.” A slow smile spread across Harlow’s face. “Guess what?”

“Robert already called you this morning,” Vic guessed.

“No. I mean, maybe he has.” She pushed herself to a standing position. Despite her legs wobbling, it felt like a major victory. “Ta-da.”

Her father broke into a spontaneous round of applause. “Way to go, Harlow.”

“It won’t be long now,” she beamed.

“I’m proud of you. That’s my girl,” he said. “Vic and I were discussing breakfast. We have a few boxes of breakfast sandwiches. Why don’t we make something quick and easy?”

“Sounds good to me.” Harlow started to set her phone on the table when she realized her aunt had sent a text.

Eryn and I are on the road and should be home by eleven thirty, giving me enough time to whip up a special lunch for Caleb.

“Great,” Harlow groaned. “I forgot Caleb Jackson will be here for lunch.”

“Caleb’s a good guy. I think you need to cut him some slack.”

“I don’t need to cut him anything because I don’t plan on being here.” Harlow tapped Vic’s arm. “Let’s go into town. I’ll show you around.”