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Wade
We hangout at the house for a while. Catch up with Dave, share my snafu with the place cards, and hear about Janie’s cousin who eloped this past weekend. Harlow stays close to my side, but it’s not enough. I want to be alone with her. After what I’m calling a reasonable amount of time passes, I pull her to her feet and tuck her into my side.
“Guys, we’ll see you later. I’ve got a call with my agent in not too long, so we’re going to cut out.” It’s true-ish. The call isn’t actually for another couple hours.
Mom nods, grabbing a baby carrot from the dip plate she set out. “Don’t forget your clothes from the dryer.”
Right. We grab my stuff and head out, but don’t even make it to the walk before Dave’s behind us.
“Harlow, you have a second?” he asks, following us down the front step.
I don’t like the way her body gets tense every time this guy opens his mouth.
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
She sounds crisp, professional. I’ve heard it before, but I haven’t seen this side of Harlow since we arrived in town. And it’s a little weird, but not nearly so much as seeing that polite professionalism from the kid who stuffed French fries up his nose when he was ten.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you how sorry I am about the way things shook out with your brother. Everyone knows that job should have been yours.”
Herbrotheris the guy who got her job.
And her dad owns the bank.
I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want Harlow’s father to be the man she doesn’t think likes her. It’s possible it’s an uncle, another relation. But my gut doesn’t think so.
Beside me, Harlow smiles a workplace smile. But it’s notreal.
“Thank you for saying so, but I’m certain Junior will do a terrific job. We’re happy to have him back on board.”
Damn.
Once I’ve got her in the truck with my parents’ place in the rearview, I ask,“Junior?”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I thought when he started working he’d go by Philip—but no. He’s a Junior, through and through.”
“Sounds like an asshole.”
“I mean, he kind of is.” She takes a breath, lets it out. “He’s self-centered, entitled, elitist. But he’s not a terrible person. He’s just kind of… careless. And because of who he is, he gets away with it.”
We come up to the intersection and instead of turning left, I go right, taking us away from town.
I expect Harlow to ask about it. No way she didn’t notice, but she’s quiet, holding my hand as we drive a few miles into the country. I pull down the dusty gravel road, wondering if the kids still come out here.
We pass a small, dark house with a broken window, an overgrown yard, and a handful of dilapidated outbuildings before I pull to a stop in front of the old sway-back barn.
“What’s this?” Harlow asks as I help her out of the truck and pull a Slayers blanket from the back.
“Another quiet spot.”
“Good for thinking?” she asks, holding my hand as I lead her around the side.
“Good fortalking.” And because I can feel her on the brink of asking, I tell her. “I might have brought a girl or two out here… back in the day.”
She laughs, and the sound of it warms me from the inside.
When we get to the clearing past the building, she stops, her breath catching in a pretty way.
“I was hoping they still did this.” The back side of the barn is the only part of the property that’s seen a fresh coat of paint in probably twenty years. Maybe more. “Every year, the seniors paint the back with something significant to their class—the science lab with the empty desk is about Mrs. Green retiring—and those squares along the bottom are individual student quotes or tags.”
