38. Jude
Jude
I was halfway to my truck before Harlow could even finish her sentence.
“On my way now.”
“Okay.” She sniffled, hanging up the phone.
Harlow didn’t explain exactly what had happened, but between her broken words and tears I was furious.
Who upset her? I wanted to keep her on the line and ask, but I knew I’d get to her quicker if I focused on driving.
Then I could hold her in my arms and deal with the asshole who had made my girl cry.
Today had been rough. I was now just adding to the list of people I wanted to confront.
But right now, all I could do was grip the wheel, pretend I didn’t want to snap it in two, and keep my attention on the road ahead of me. The autumnal trees rushed past me in a blur.
Finally, I turned onto the red covered bridge, leading downtown, and quickly found the familiar steepled building I was looking for. I parked my truck in the loading zone right out front, and ran into the park to find her.
There she was. Wrapped in a coat, a hollow look on her face. Cheeks and eyes reddened.
“I’m here.” I barely stopped to catch my breath before words were rushing out of me. “Are you hurt? I swear to god, if someone hurt you, Harlow, I’ll be the end of them—”
“No violence needed.” She let out a barely there laugh. “I-I just don’t really know what happened.”
I rubbed a hand over her shoulder. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. M-my work—a lot of the posts I’ve done for the Autumn Creek Instagram—they’re all gone.” Her voice shook as she spoke.
And my stomach dropped, like I’d tried to skip a stone on the Valleyford River, but it fell right into the icy depths.
“I don’t know if someone reported our content or what happened,” she continued.
“I’m worried it will affect the festival.
We’ll have to re-upload and edit some posts, make some new graphics with the details people need to know.
But I’m also…” She trailed off for a second and then turned to face me.
“I’m worried about how it will impact turnout… and my job.”
I watched her for a second, my mind stumbling as the wind whipped hair around her face.
Her job. Festival attendance.
Shit, shit, shit.
“The posts,” I finally responded. Slowly. “They had some horrible comments.”
“I know. You saw?” The corners of her lips dropped. “It’s bad. I wanted to talk to you about it. But we need to focus on making the festival the best it can be right now. I want to give this event everything it deserves. With these posts deleted, I’m not sure what will happen.”
The festival should’ve been my first thought. But when I’d opened up the Autumn Creek account on my phone, it was the last thing on my mind with the way people were insulting her.
“They’re, um, not deleted,” I said, reaching a hand out to cover hers as it sat cold on the park bench.
“What?”
“They’re archived.” I cleared my throat. “I think that’s what it’s called.”
Suddenly the soft sadness in her face was gone and her features turned to ice. “How do you know that?”
I had meant to talk to her. I was going to explain myself when I saw her tonight, after I’d had the time to sort out those comments and get those anonymous accounts blocked. And, hopefully, after I found out who they really were. If they truly lived in Autumn Creek, I’d find them.
But I never meant to delete Harlow’s work. Watching the video of Ravensby Farm was like flipping through a scrapbook filled with memories of us. The whole account was like an accidental documentary of our time together. I hated seeing other people spoil it.
But I had fucked up. Clearly.
I hadn’t thought beyond wanting to protect her. I didn’t think at all.
I held her above the festival. So much so, that I hadn’t even considered what this would mean for the town.
“I couldn’t stand seeing what they were saying about you, Harlow.” My voice came out rough.
She ripped away her hand that I had been holding onto for dear life.
“You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, I just—”
She pointed a finger at my chest, and I so badly wanted to give her the gloves in my pocket to protect her from the cold wind, but instead I just stared at her.
“You might have cost me my job. You had no right to go and change my work. And those people, our audience, could have contributed to helping the problems you have here in Autumn Creek. You can’t delete the posts just because you don’t like what they’re saying.
They’re our customers, and some of them belong to this town! ”
You belong to this town, too.
I wanted to plead with her. I didn’t believe for a second that the troll accounts spitting hate into our comments were any respectable members of Autumn Creek.
I wanted to tell her how she deserved to be protected just as much as anyone else here did.
And I should drop to my knees and say that I was sorry.
I shouldn’t have acted so quickly, but I wanted to keep her safe.
No one should hurt her, but I did.
Instead my mind turned blank and I just replied, “I don’t want people like that in my town.”
“You can’t fight with tourists and customers, Jude. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” My eyes flared. “I’m not being ridiculous, I’m…”
What did I even want to say? Protective, overcome with emotion, and absolutely unable to function if someone dared to hurt you.
All of the above.
“You’re out of line,” Harlow finished the sentence for me.
Our foggy breath met between us as thick silence hung in the air.
Then she continued, the anger mostly gone from her voice now again replaced with melancholy.
“You’ve lost sight of the point. We’ve both been working so hard to help Autumn Creek.
You shouldn’t have gotten rid of all that just because of those comments.
They were my insults to deal with. Remember what matters most to you here.
” A pitiful laugh left her lips, and she blew a piece of dark hair away from her eyes.
I wanted to tuck it behind her ear. “And if that’s how people really feel, I’m glad I finally found out. ”
“No.” I said the word with an exhaled breath, through gritted teeth. “You’re a part of Autumn Creek now, we love having you here. I love having you here. And I overstepped, I’m sorry.”
She peered up at me through her damp lashes. “I just need time to think.” Her lower lip trembled as her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I don’t think I should stay if I’m not wanted.”
My heart was being torn in two.
“Don’t let this change your mind.”
She shook her head. “It feels like a pretty strong sign that I should. Even if you don’t want me to leave, some people clearly do. I don’t belong here.”
“No. It’s just some idiot—”
She cut me off. “I need to think about this for myself.”
My hands clenched into fists at my side but I stood, firmly rooted to the damp ground beneath me, as she walked back to the Town Hall.
If she truly wanted to leave, if she didn’t want to stay in Autumn Creek, I shouldn’t stop her. But after all she’d told me, I was certain that she wanted to be here.
I knew I had acted out of line. I made the situation worse than it already was. So all I could do now was make up for it.
My phone was in my hand a second later, and all of the posts were returned to our page, just like I should have left them. I should’ve done that hours ago.
I would give her all the space she needed, but we still had at least one outstanding problem, besides me fucking up. That was the person who had left those comments. They were still walking around this town, and there was no way I was going to let some dickhead behind a screen scare her off.
I had to find out who had done this.