There were two things Harris Ryland resented; not getting what he wanted and his mother. Of course, his mother was largely responsible for him not getting what he wanted, so it was really just Judith. Reclining in his study with bourbon in hand, he mused over what he was planning to do to his mother for all she had cost him. His thoughts soon turned to more recent events. "She destroyed the most important part of my life… You." As he had leaned in to kiss her he saw the lack of resistance in Ann's eyes. The desire to kiss her had eaten away at him for so long since he had returned to Dallas and when he finally got the courage and the timing right she had allowed him to. Her gaze between the first lingering moment and the second brief one, he would never forget. Words were never meant to describe that look. "I should go" she had muttered seemingly panicked. He remembered walking her to the car and insisting that one of his men take her home.
The fact that she had let him do that, let him ensure her safety was a good thing, a step forward. Even now, he had barely touched his drink as the sensation of her lips tingled all over his. It was impossible to know where to begin in building trust with Ann. Staring down into the molten brown medicated liquid in his glass, Harris considered the effect it would have on easing the pain. Knocking it back in one go, he placed the empty piece of crystal on his desk and retired for the evening with Ann's taste burning on his mouth.
Ann pushed a strand of hair behind her ear whilst watching her reflection do the same. Upset and angry as she had been when she showed up at the Ryland's, she hadn't expected to feel like this. Had she? There was no point in lying to herself right now, the only person in the car with her was the driver and he wasn't inside her head. Then again, a couple of hours ago Harris hadn't been in her head either. Semi-conscious of her own movements, she reached up to the glass beside her, fingering the small bold lettering that spelt out her previous married name. Resting her forehead against the cool glass, Ann closed her eyes and tried to stop the tears she could feel forming. Without opening her eyes, she knew they had reached Southfork as the car slowed to a stop. She lifted her head with her eyes still closed and heard the door in front of her open and close. The door beside her opened and she gently opened her eyes in time with it. "Would you like some help, Mrs Ewing?" She closed her eyes again at the mention of Bobby's name. "Thank you, no." Ann slowly walked up to the door and noticed Bobby wasn't in from the lack of Ewing cars in the driveway. "Still angry with me" she thought aloud. "Mrs Ewing, are you alright?" A second time the driver had called her that and her eyes stung with guilty tears.
Standing there motionless, Ann weighed up the possibility that Bobby might not come home that night. She should be there when he did come in. Would she be able to hide from him that Harris had kissed her? Raising a hand to her temple, she suddenly felt sick. The last year had taken an obvious toll on her marriage; Harris, Emma, Judith, the trial, keeping so much of her past from Bobby. "Mrs Ewing?" The driver was now beside her, but the thumping pain in her chest distracted her. Had the driver always been that tall? Why was the ground so close? "Mrs Ewing, let me help you up." Ann looked down at her left arm, feeling a strain she had never known running through it. "I need to…C-Can you take me to the hospital?"
Judith Ryland roughly turned on her pillow; satin, stained with mascara and tears. How could he do this to her? The stabbing pain she felt watching her son embrace that woman in front of their house reminded her of 22 years ago. When that same woman had been a shadow of what she was now. Harris had still fallen for her. Hard. As a mother, it had destroyed her to know the boy she had raised would always be a boy; foolish, easily tempted and forever a disappointment. Hearing him ascend the stairs to bed, it took all her strength not to run out and demand an explanation. Weeping, Judith recalled how handsome Harris had been as a young man, not the ravaged, aging and angry figure he was now. So full of hate. It hadn't always been so.
When Harris had first brought Ann to his mother's house, she knew then and there she had lost him. With his eyes dilated and his cheeks rosy he had told his mother how Ann loved horses to try to spark some conversation. Judith could still see the glimmer in Ann's eyes die a little when she had asked her why she couldn't afford to go to college, to make something of herself. Ann had stammered something about her family not having much money. Another warning sign, Judith had known even then. Harris had been so visibly embarrassed by his mother, yet Judith knew she could tip that feeling into embarrassment over the floozy he had brought to their home. Judith had allowed the awkward silence between herself and Ann to run its course before emphasizing how important it was to make something of oneself "because there wasn't exactly a lot to go on naturally after all, was there?" oh, how she had laughed. The memory failed to dent her misery this night. After all this time, he still held a candle for that horrible woman. Coughing like a lumberjack with the flu, Judith chided Harris silently. Yes, Ann was his biggest mistake, even if it had brought them Emma.
Down the hall, Harris lay in bed with a conscience that kept him awake. Ann had come to him upset and angry and he had sent her off with more baggage then she needed. Feeling guilty didn't stop him from admitting to himself that he wouldn't change what happened had he been given a second chance. The moonlight cast shadows in the room that he had once shared with Ann. She had taken very little with her when she left him. Had Ann seen their former bedroom now, chances are she would have felt sorry for him, Harris thought. Virtually everything remained untouched, as she had left it. Judith had no admittance to his room, the sanctuary he sought when he had realized Ann was leaving him. Apart from Emma, this room was all he had left of her 20 years ago. Now that he had effectively lost Emma's affection, what did he really have? The likelihood of the night repeating itself was so slim, he knew Ann would probably avoid him at all costs to save her marriage.
Darkness enveloped the lonely figure that was Harris Ryland in a room too large for one person. Amongst the small, but valuable collection of dainty, white compacts, remnants of make-up, half used bottles of Estee Lauder that had soured and turned a vile yellow, there was a sleigh bed with Egyptian cotton sheets that shuddered with fear and regret. Had she known better, Judith could have sworn she heard soft sobbing from her son's room.