7. Harlow
Chapter 7
Harlow
First Week Of October
T here are pros and cons to coming from a prominent family with money. A pro is the resources that I get from having connections, which includes financial support. I honestly could have been a state-of-the-art doctor, a prima ballerina, or whatever else my heart desired. I had the kind of resources most people dreamed of. So pro: I have access to family funds and gain more and more of my trust as I age.
Con: my family can see what I use the family money for. Like when I wanted to use a sum of my trust fund to purchase my house. The minute I spoke with my realtor and started the paperwork process, my parents reached out to me.
After that, I decided I should have two accounts—a family account and a personal account. This whole trip is on my dime. There are a few reasons I didn’t want to dip into the family funds. One, I don’t want to be tracked down here. Two, I don’t want my father to threaten that since my trip is on his dollar, he can cut it short. So, as I continue to make purchases throughout this trip, I will have to be mindful, so I don’t have to pull extra funds from my other accounts.
My first drive through Pebble Creek is idyllic. It’s small, clean, and homey. The roads are worn with lots of patchwork and dark spots of fresh asphalt splattered all over. There is a square in the middle of town with your typical roundabout. In the center is a gazebo with string lights that sprawl out to the streetlights. The storefronts all have a personal touch, such as different colored awnings, plants, and painted windows. It doesn’t feel like a real town, it feels like a movie set.
I’m arriving on a Tuesday afternoon so everything seems quiet. Maybe the schools haven’t even let out. A few people are walking the streets, but nothing compared to the city I live in. People can’t even walk side by side with their partners, let alone swing a child between them. I see a couple swing a child who looks maybe three or four years old between them, all three smiling and laughing as they take long strides. They finally turn into a building that must be the local family practice. A cute bee is painted on the window that says, “Bee Healthy.”
This place can’t be real.
I keep driving, watching small buildings turn into houses with large yards, then to basically nothing at all. I would worry that I was lost if I didn’t know that the property I was staying at was massive. I could be driving past it now for all I know.
I pull up to a big open ranch gate with a prodigious iron H emblem. There is a large barn and farmhouse right up the long drive, but that’s not what I’m looking for. Fear fills me as I worry that I have paid a huge down payment on nothing, and I’m part of some internet scam. I see thinner dirt roads and paths that extend from this main drive, but no additional dwellings in sight.
After parking my car, I notice the door on the main house is open with a baby gate locked in the frame. I imagine people who are friendly enough to leave their door open outside of a small gate would be friendly enough to help me.
Sliding out of the rental, I amble up to the front porch. My Doc Marten boots seem a little ridiculous out here. The drive is made up of crushed pebbles and stone, and each step I take kicks up a small cloud of dust. My black jeans are likely to be caked with grit after even a short walk. My shoes clunk on the wooden steps as I trudge my way toward the friendly, yet daunting front door.
Once I get close enough, I hear the slaps of tiny feet and the sound of soft music playing. I smell freshly baked goods mixing with the intoxicating fresh air. It’s then I turn around and actually take the space in—endless land, yellows, golds, the faint last touches of green, a picturesque barn, farther back a stable, the spattering of some farm animals living their best lives, then my rental sedan standing out like a sore thumb.
I pull in a deep breath and it’s as if someone or something above could tell I needed this. The smoothest breeze passes as I take my breath and pulls the air out of my lungs with a gentleness I’ve never experienced. I do it again. In and out, it cleanses me with each breath.
“You Harlow?” A deep voice cuts through my trance. My back is turned to him, but the pitch in his tone causes me to ready myself. Whoever he is, he knows my name. So, I am likely safe as far as losing my money. I imagine a large, burly man with a healthy round middle, and a stern, knowing face. I prepare myself for the judgment I’ll face for being from out of town.
Turning, I find a shockingly handsome man. Taller than me, even in my chunky Docs, with broad muscular shoulders, a mess of slightly shaggy, dirty blond hair kept neat at the sides, piercing blue eyes, these perfect lips set in a hard line, and a beautiful little girl in his arms. She hides from me, tucking herself under his chin and laying her blonde head against his chest. Her bright green eyes blink at me, far more judgmental than her father’s.
“Yes, I made a reservation to stay at the Hill House,” I say assuredly.
He nods and grabs a set of keys from a hook on the other side of the wall. Without any trouble, he steps over the gate and jerks his chin toward my car.
“Right. You can hop in your ride and follow me.” He waits for me to start down the stairs, mentioning to watch my step in a fatherly tone.
He takes his little girl and hops onto an ATV. She sits cooperatively between his legs like this happens every day; still, he keeps his left arm wrapped around her little body. He starts down a rocky path, kicking up dirt and dust. The drive to my stay is almost soundless, other than the crunch under our tires and the occasional animal.
Looking out, I see a few rolling hills, lines of trees, and what seems like endless, open land. The land is starting to take a more golden tone, the lasting patches of green still trying to hold on, but that’s far and few between. I know this year was hotter than average, leaving summer seemingly longer than it was. I wonder momentarily what that means for farmers and crops.
We drive on and I take it all in. We turn after going around a large hill and I see a small body of water to my left and off to my right is the pictured Hill House. The man pulls off to the left and stops before turning around and pointing for me to park in a space. It looks so much better in person than online. Small, charming, and unique with gray-blue wood siding and black-framed windows, roof, and door. A small porch with two rockers and a table. Behind it, the hills we passed, and I know beyond that is the main part of the property I saw.
I step out and look around. It seems even quieter over here if that’s possible. The strangest sensation washes over me. It’s like I’m alone, without being alone at all. It feels like freedom and yet is so grounding at the same time. It’s addicting.
“Harrison’s place is down that road. If you need anything, just message him or head over there. He’s helping a friend today, so that’s why I’m here.”
“Harrison?” I ask. “You mean Mr. Hill?”
The man barks out a laugh but quickly shakes it off and places a stern look back on his face.
“Ha-Ha?” the little one chimes, but almost in question. I think it’s funny that she feels the need to question something like her father’s laughter.
“No Ha-Ha.” He comforts her. I look at this large man holding his little girl with such gentleness but find it strange that he corrects her for calling him out on his laugh. I look him over and quickly assess that he’s clean-cut with a little of what looks like flour dusting his shirt, and no ring on his left hand. Like I said, quick assessment. There is a tan line in place of it though, so possibly widowed or divorced.
“Yes, Ha-Ha.” I correct and the girl beams, looking around.
“No Ha-Ha,” he repeats, and I cross my arms.
“Stop telling her that, you laughed.” It’s blatant .
“Ha-Ha is what my girl here calls Harrison. Mr. Hill is our dad,” he corrects. “Which is also why I laughed. No one has ever called Harrison Mr. Hill, caught me off guard.” The little girl squirms in his arms and he sets her down on the soft grass beneath our feet. She’s barefoot but doesn’t mind at all.
“I thought you were correcting her on calling you out. So I was just pointing out she was right.”
“Calling me out.” He blows a whistle. “Boy, Cassidy is goin’ to love you.”
“Another daughter?” I ask while turning back to my car and grabbing the travel tote that holds Cleo. She’s curled up in the back, medicated and sedated for our travels. I feel the man approach me, and I turn slightly to investigate his intent.
“She’s my wife.” He steps around to the trunk and taps it. “Anything back here?”
I use the key fob to pop it open. Two large suitcases and a plastic tote sit inside.
“That tote is heavy,” I mention.
“Anything fragile?” he asks. Hoisting it with ease, he takes long strides to the porch and sets it down before returning for my luggage. I quickly grab my travel bag while still holding Cleo.
“Just future best-selling books. It’s full of manuscripts.”
The man freezes and looks up at the sky for a moment before running his hand through his hair. He looks around for the little girl who’s pulling at small flowers before throwing them back to the ground.
“Oh yeah, she’s goin’ to be over the damn moon.” I’m not quite sure what to make of his statement.
“And you, your name?”
“Hunter.” I roll my eyes, then shoot a look at him. His eyes are still on the girl, and I’m thankful. Just a bunch of H names. Everywhere I go.
“And hers?” I ask with a gentleness to my voice.
“That’s Blake Lynn,” he says proudly. “We all live on this land, so if you need anything, we’re all here. Harrison will be your guy, though; we’re just for emergencies.” Hunter scoops up Blake and strides over to me. Fishing the key out of his pocket, he drops it into my hand.
“He’ll probably come by later to introduce himself. Get settled.” He nods his head toward the house and turns. “B and I got something in the oven, so we have to be off. Don’t be a stranger, now.”
Hunter hops back onto the ATV, that little girl nestled between his legs.
“Welcome to our little slice of paradise, Harlow.”
I’m a little shell-shocked. I look around to make sure there aren’t any cameras. This can’t be real. Everything here seems too easy, too good. It’s exactly what I needed.
I was wrong.
I was so so wrong.
I pace through the small house. Cleo is still passed out in her carrier, although the door is now open. I’ve unpacked and organized, then reorganized, only to find I liked it better the first way. So, I put it all back where I originally had it.
The house is clean, cozy, simple, just as the pictures had shown. Being here is a completely different story. The silence is now deafening. Music seems too loud. The air seems too crisp. I feel like the walls are getting closer to me.
Is being understimulated a thing? Can people have anxiety attacks from not having enough input? If Meg were here, she would tell me to relax and work through the emotional deconstruction of being somewhere quiet. Then, she would slip me an edible and I would be able to do so. She’s not here, and I don’t even have anything edible, let alone any edibles.
I’m not an avid marijuana user but it’s legal for recreation in my state and, on occasion, Meg and I will indulge before an art show, movie, stand-up, or even just to chill out. It’s always been a great experience.
My lack of supplies in the food department has my stomach starting to make noises that are much more suitable for the animals outside my door. A quick search of “food near me” brings up less than ten options within a ten-mile radius. I read through some general reviews to make my choice.
Pan & Cake: Closed. Cute, looks like a breakfast and lunch spot. Great ratings and the pictures of the food are divine.
Louis’s Diner: Open. Less cute, run-down, the owner seems to be rude but the server Sharon is the best and the food is basic and edible.
The Draft: Open. Eclectic, local brews are one of a kind, small seasonal menu always great.
Quick Mart: Open . Limited Groceries.
Greasers: PERMANENTLY CLOSED. Sounds appropriate.
Frenchy’s: Closed. Why on every Tuesday?
The Store: Open. Groceries.
So many thrilling options, I don’t even know where to start. I walk over to Cleo’s carrier and slip my hand in to give her some gentle pets.
“I’ll be back, sweet girl.” Off to The Draft I go, then a possible stop at the Quick Mart.