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.”
Her brother is 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 not real.
“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 for talking.” 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.”
“They did this when you were in high school?”
“Yep.” I find a spot beneath an old oak, kicking a bit through the field grass to check for broken glass or anything I wouldn’t want Harlow sitting on, but the kids must have maintained the tradition of cleaning up whatever mess they bring in as well.
She helps me spread the blanket and we stretch out.
“Bet you can’t guess what they painted my year.”
“Hockey stick? You scoring with your parents weeping in the stands?”
“You’d think, right?” My girl is catering to my ego. Will wonders never cease? “Actually, it was a football jersey with Jordan Jamison’s name and number. He took us to State.”
She pulls a pout. “Enderson sure loves their football.”
“Got that right.”
I fold one arm behind my head and draw Harlow in with the other so she’s tucked into my side, her hand flat over my heart.
It feels good.
“How about you? What did you put in your square?”
“‘If you want something, work for it. If you don’t get it, work harder.’ One of those unknown-origin quotes off the internet, but I had it taped into my locker for about six years.”
She peers at me, the softest smile on her lips. “That’s so you. I love it.”
I hold her tighter.
After another minute, she takes a deep breath. Bracing. And I know she’s