Page 19 of Wynns of Change (Wynn Harbor Inn #3)

“Do you think you can help me, Selma?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” Harlow filled her in on her plan. “As soon as I get back to the house, I’ll pull into the garage and you’ll come out to greet me.”

“Yes. I’ll follow your lead and agree with whatever you say. How long will you be?”

Harlow mentally calculated the timeframe, factoring in stops for her to pick up a few items. “Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour.”

“I’ll be here. Robert is still upstairs. He’s waiting for you to come home.”

“Do I have a surprise for him. I’ll see you soon.” Harlow did a quick online search for home healthcare supply stores. She lucked out and found one only a few blocks from where she was parked.

Reaching the store, she discovered they were getting ready to close. Rushing up and down every aisle, she grabbed all sorts of stuff. Better to have too much than to forget something.

The woman at the checkout counter stood waiting for Harlow, her last customer of the day. With the total bill tallied, she handed her a credit card Robert didn’t have access to.

“Are you starting some sort of adult care center?”

“These are props for an acting scene I’m doing,” Harlow said. “Although I might not need them all.”

“We have a 30-day money-back return policy.” The woman waved the receipt in the air. “Keep your receipt. You’ll need it.”

“I don’t plan on returning the items. I’ll donate everything to a non-profit senior home care center after I’m done.” With help from the clerk, Harlow loaded the bags in the trunk of her car and drove straight home.

She pulled into her parking spot and promptly texted Selma to let her know she was there.

The garage door opened. Her housekeeper appeared.

“Is he still here?”

Selma nodded. “Upstairs. He told me to let him know when you got home.”

“Good. The stuff is in the back.” Harlow tiptoed to the trunk. She unloaded the medical supplies, removing the wheelchair last. “Remember, I’ve had a relapse.”

“You bought a box of Ace bandages?” Selma held up the box. “He’s going to freak out.”

“I hope so. He might even pass out.”

“No kidding. He couldn’t even put a Band-Aid on his cut the other day. He asked me to do it for him.” Selma hustled inside to drop the bags off. She returned to find Harlow sitting in the wheelchair. “Did you put the stuff out so Robert could see it?”

“I spread it out on the center island.”

“Perfect.” Harlow gripped the armrests. “I’m ready when you are.”

It took a couple of tries for Selma to leverage her weight, wheeling Harlow up the garage steps backwards and into the house. She parked her near the bar area and then left to track down Robert.

Harlow watched her leave, whispering a small prayer under her breath. She didn’t want to deceive her husband, but he needed a reality check. Would he man up and offer to care for her or leave her high and dry like he had before?

Quick steps echoed in the hallway. Selma appeared with Robert close behind.

He abruptly stopped when he saw her sitting in the wheelchair. “What the…what happened?”

“I had a relapse. It appears I may have overdone it.” Harlow fibbed and told him she’d been having sharp pains in her legs.

“They’re getting worse. Last night was horrible.

I went to the ER. The doctor seems to think my muscle contusions haven’t completely healed.

He wants me to follow up with a specialist.”

The color drained from her husband’s face. “You can’t walk…at all?”

“Not without pain.” For good measure, Harlow winced. “I planned to fly back to Michigan, but traveling will be tricky. I figure I’ll hang around here with you until I’m mobile again. Hopefully, it will only be a few weeks.”

“Only a f-few weeks,” he stammered. “Here, in the house?”

“I will stay and care for you, Harlow,” Selma offered.

“Y-yes.” Robert nervously licked his lips. “I’m sure Selma can help.”

“Selma has a family of her own to care for. You’re here, Robert. It’s a part of being married.” Harlow reiterated her injuries were only temporary.

“You said the same thing before and look at you. You’re almost back to square one.” Robert paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. “I’m not a good caregiver. Either Selma helps or we hire someone to come in.”

Harlow steered the wheelchair directly into her husband’s path, forcing him to stop. “I thought you wanted to work things out.”

“I want our marriage to work, but this…isn’t what I had in mind,” he said. “I suppose it depends on how much help you need. Are you needing help from the wheelchair to bed? I can chauffeur you around for your appointments until you’re on your feet again.”

“Help from bed to chair. Help in leaving the house. We might need to build a temporary ramp, similar to the one my father built.”

Robert’s face turned ghostly white. “A handicapped ramp?”

“For the wheelchair,” she patiently explained.

“If the paparazzi find out, they’ll have a field day.”

“Maybe they’ll think something happened to you this time.”

“What a terrible thing to say,” he gasped. “I can’t believe this happened. Again.”

“At least I didn’t crash my car. I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet soon.”

“Until the next relapse. Maybe you’ll always have muscle contusions and be in and out of wheelchairs for the rest of your life.” Robert reached out to steady himself.

Harlow almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Harlow. Maybe trying to work things out isn’t such a good idea.

You need someone who can handle injuries…

illness…whatever your future holds.” Robert began backing toward the door, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Selma, you keep an eye on Harlow. I just remembered, I have an appointment and need to get going.”

Gripping both sides of the wheelchair, Harlow slowly stood. She crossed the room, not wincing, not wobbling, merely walking in a straight line. “You told me everything I need to know.”

A look of surprise flitted across her husband’s face. “You haven’t had a relapse?”

“No. This performance was for you.”

Robert’s jaw tightened. CLAP…CLAP…CLAP. He clapped his hands. “A performance worthy of an Oscar, my dear. Kudos to you.”

“A performance to open both of our eyes—both yours and mine.”

Robert spun on his heel and walked out of the house without looking back.

“Oh, my.” Selma placed a shaky hand against her brow. “Mr. Barbetz did not care if you were injured.”

“Robert was showing his true colors once again. A tiny part of me thought it might be a mistake to throw everything away, that maybe I should give him a second chance, to see if he had truly changed.” Harlow folded the wheelchair and propped it against the wall.

“I guess I dodged that bullet, didn’t I? ”