Chapter 11 – Harley
“ O h, shit,” I groaned as I pulled my Volkswagen into my parking spot. It was nearly midnight, and yet the living room lights were bright. I barely cut the engine before my grandpa pulled open the front door.
A baggy tee shirt draped over his portly torso and flannel PJ bottoms hung from his hips, but that didn’t mean he’d been in bed. No, he’d likely been sitting up in his chair. Which meant he’d be cranky, since he usually was in bed hours ago.
“Hi Grandpa, what happened?” I called, scrambling from the car. Oh, please! Don’t be Grandma’s heart. “Is everyone okay? I didn’t have a call at the Landing, and there were no messages on my phone.”
“Everyone’s fine,” he snapped.
Okay then, what the hell was this stormy greeting? I pulled my tote from the passenger seat but didn’t hurry to meet him.
“Get inside, Hariet Cora.”
My full name—that was never a good sign. Neither was the strong whiff of beer. He rarely indulged in more than a couple, but there was the rare occasion when my grandfather drank too much. It seemed tonight might just be one of those nights. I kept a smile plastered on my lips as I moved past him and entered the house.
Grandma sat in her Barcalounger, knitting bunched in her lap and anxious exhaustion etched into her face. A cup of tea sat half drunk on her side table instead of her nightly glass of red. Grandpa, however, had a fresh beer can sweating beside his recliner.
“Why don’t you sit down,” my grandma offered, pointing at the plastic-covered sofa.
Unable to guess what in the world this strange occurrence was, I sank into the seat.
Grabbing his beer, Grandpa stood, legs apart, glaring at me.
“What’s up?” I asked, splitting my look between them.
“Why don’t you tell us,” my grandfather nearly growled.
Sounds of confusion choked on my tongue as I opened my mouth to offer them something.
“Sarah Porter called. Apparently, she saw you this morning at Betty’s with a man. The same one you’re giving swimming lessons to,” Grandma explained.
I gaped. They were giving me the third degree over my choice of breakfast companionship? “Yes, I invited my student to breakfast. He’s new to the lake.”
“Don’t get defensive,” Grandpa barked.
That was the furthest thing from the tone I gave, but it seemed he was bound and determined to read something into the comment.
“Harley, Sarah seemed to think it was a date,” Grandma coaxed. “We’re a little concerned that you’re catching feelings for…someone you shouldn’t.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. “It wasn’t a date, but I could see how a gossip like Sarah might think that,” I said hotly. “But what I do is my business. I’m an adult, Gran. Grown up, and well into my prime.”
“You could act like it,” Grandpa snapped.
I sighed. “I do, every single day.”
“I won’t have you sleeping around with someone like him!” Grandpa crushed the now empty can.
“Will you butt out!” I launched to my feet. “I’m not sleeping with anyone, but if I was, that would be my business.”
“Not while you live under my roof.” His sharp glare promised consequences.
I pressed my eyes closed. “Look, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me over the years—”
“No, you’re not! Or you wouldn’t be with one of them .”
Alcohol mixed with small-mindedness brought out the strong divide that still lingered in these rural American towns. My grandparents hated the rich lake folk. In this modern day and age, it was hard to believe there was still an us-versus-them mentality, but it wasn’t something that died with the times.
“I don’t need this. I am leaving for college this fall, but if I have to, so help me, I’ll sleep on someone’s couch until I can get into my campus dorm.”
“So ready to run away,” he sneered.
“Harley, dear, your grandfather is just concerned,” Grandma said, trying to placate.
“Don’t tell me what I feel!” he raged.
A long breath left my lungs. “It’s late. You’ve had a bit to drink.” I had to raise my voice to talk over him. “I’m going to bed. Let’s chat later.”
“When?” he shouted. “You’re never home. You’re working—just so you can leave—or you’re slumming with the rich folk.”
“I’m not slumming,” I bit out angrily.
“I expected better from you,” he huffed.
I pursed my lips. “Goodnight, Grandpa. Grandma.”
Slinging my bag over my arm, I trudged to the stairs. The old man was a loud drunk, but he was never mean physically. I didn’t fear leaving my grandmother downstairs with him.
As I patted my face dry in the mirror, a knock came on the bathroom door. I opened it, and my grandma slid into the space, shutting the door behind her.
“Your grandpa loves you very much,” she began.
It was our usual song and dance. Only tonight, I was tired of pretending his outbursts were okay.
“Look, I’m not some kid. I understand he finds change hard, but I’m pursuing my dreams, and he can either be happy for me or be quiet about it.” I dabbed cream on my cheeks. The expensive goop did little to fight the fine lines that seemed to crease overnight.
Grandma met my reflection through the mirror. “People talk, Harley.”
Angrily, I screwed the cap back on the container. “If I went and slept with every boy in a five-mile radius, he wouldn’t care. Hell! He’d welcome them as sons. It’s because I find someone different a little more interesting, and he flies off the handle!”
“They’re not like us,” Grandma insisted. “Your grandfather doesn’t want to see you hurt.”
“He didn’t ask me about it, though, now did he?” I rounded on her. “It was breakfast, Gran. As friends. There’s nothing going on!”
“But there could be.” She smiled knowingly. “I can see it in your eyes, Har. You don’t go out with men. Yet this one comes every night to eat when you work. He hired you for swimming lessons. And now you’re meeting him for dates.”
“There’s nothing going on,” I whispered, feeling the lack of weight behind the words.
“We’re losing you, honey. You’re so bound and determined to go away this fall, and we can’t keep you safe way out there in Chicago—”
“It’s two hours away,” I protested.
“—and strangers who we don’t know? What’s next, Har?”
I pursed my lips.
“Just think about it, before you judge him, otherwise you’re no better than he is.” Grandma reached for the door handle, turned it, but paused. “And you’re wrong. Grandpa would care if you whored around with the local boys. He knows they drink too much and spend their paychecks down at the bars on pull-tabs and darts. He wants you to find someone, like your cousins have.”
So long as it’s a blue-collar worker like him . I nodded. “I’ll make up with Grandpa, but he’s wrong about Kole. If I did date him, he’d be the right guy for me—money and status have nothing to do with it.”
“Prove it. Bring your young feller to dinner.” With that impossible dare, Grandma left me gaping in the bathroom.