Chapter Seven
~ Harlow ~
I watched Knox's hand brush against Newt's as they passed the coffee pot between them, that small touch making something in my chest ache something fierce.
It wasn't jealousy exactly—I was happy for my brother—but more like looking through a window at something warm while standing out in the cold.
Something I wasn't supposed to want for myself, at least according to Ma.
I shifted in my seat, trying not to make the chair creak under my weight as I tightened my grip on my empty mug, waiting for one of them to notice I needed a refill.
Knox moved around the kitchen like he'd memorized exactly where Newt would be at any moment.
They had a rhythm to them, like one of those dances where the partners know each other so well they don't need to talk about the next step.
Newt scrambled eggs at the stove while Knox sliced bread for toast, their bodies never quite touching but always aware of each other, like two planets caught in the same orbit.
"Coffee's ready," Newt announced, his voice light and happy in a way it never used to be before Knox.
He reached for my mug without me having to ask, refilling it with a smile that seemed easy now.
When he first started coming around, he'd been skittish as a wild rabbit, jumping whenever anyone moved too quick. Now he looked like he belonged here.
"Thanks," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I meant it to. I took a sip, letting the hot, bitter taste ground me in the moment instead of the thoughts spinning in my head.
Knox reached past Newt to grab plates from the cabinet, letting his hand rest on Newt's waist for just a moment longer than necessary. When Newt turned to hand him the spatula, Knox leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.
"Save it for after breakfast, you two," Ma said as she bustled into the kitchen, but there wasn't any real disapproval in her tone.
Her eyes were crinkled up at the corners, her smile real and warm as sunshine.
She even reached out and patted Newt's shoulder as she passed, a gesture of acceptance that made the knot in my stomach twist tighter.
It was the same Ma who'd looked at me with such disappointment when I'd mentioned Deputy Dan's name one too many times at dinner last week.
The same Ma who'd pulled me aside afterward, her voice low and worried: "Harlow, honey, I've noticed the way you talk about that deputy.
I'm concerned you're getting confused about your feelings. "
I hadn't been confused at all. That was the problem.
Knox set a plate of toast on the table, then slid into the chair beside Newt. Their shoulders touched, comfortable-like, as if their bodies just naturally wanted to be close. Pa came in from the barn, hanging his hat on the peg by the door and washing his hands at the sink before joining us.
"Morning," he grunted, helping himself to coffee. His eyes softened a bit when they landed on Knox and Newt. "You boys got those fence posts fixed yesterday?"
"Yes, sir," Knox answered, passing the butter dish to Newt without being asked. "Should hold through the next big rain."
I watched Ma beam at them as Newt passed Knox the salt before he even reached for it.
She'd fought against their relationship at first—I remembered the hushed arguments, the slammed doors, the Sundays when Knox refused to come to church.
But something had changed. Maybe it was seeing how Knox smiled more now, or how steady his hands had become since Newt moved in.
Maybe it was just time wearing down her objections like water over stone.
Whatever the reason, she'd accepted them. Welcomed Newt into our home like he was already family. Started asking when they might make things official.
But when I mentioned feeling something for Deputy Dan, her face had gone tight and closed, like a door slamming shut.
"It's not the same thing," she'd said when I'd tried to talk to her about it. "You're different, Harlow. Special. You don't understand what those feelings really mean."
My hands clenched into fists under the table as the memory washed over me.
I knew I was different. Had known it since I was little and couldn't keep up with the other kids in school.
Since words got jumbled in my head sometimes and thoughts came out all wrong.
But my heart? That felt the same as anyone's.
It beat faster when Deputy Dan smiled at me.
It ached when he wasn't around. It practically sang when he'd looked at me from through the window as he was leaving our farm.
"Harlow, you want eggs?" Newt asked, pulling me back to the present. His eyes were kind, noticing things other people missed. That was why Knox loved him, I figured. He saw past what was obvious to what mattered.
"Yes, please," I managed, unclenching one hand to accept the plate he offered.
I watched as Knox's fingers brushed Newt's again, lingering this time. The ease between them was like a physical thing in the room, something you could almost reach out and touch.
"Why is it different for me?" The words burst out of me before I could stop them, louder than I meant them to be. Everyone at the table froze.
Ma blinked at me, her fork halfway to her mouth. "What's that, honey?"
I swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up my neck, but I couldn't back down now. "Why is it okay for Knox and Newt, but not for me to have... to feel... when it comes to Deputy Dan?"
The silence that followed felt as thick as molasses. Pa suddenly became very interested in his coffee. Knox and Newt exchanged a look I couldn't quite read, but Knox's jaw tightened the way it did when he was getting ready for a fight.
Ma set down her fork carefully, smoothing her napkin over her lap. "Harlow, we've talked about this. It's different for you."
"But why?" I pressed, my voice going scratchy around the edges. My chest felt too tight, like something was squeezing all the air out of me. "My heart works the same as Knox's, doesn't it?"
"It's not about your heart, honey." Ma's voice had that special gentleness she used when she thought I wasn't understanding something. It made me feel about five years old. "It's about what's best for you. You need someone who can take care of you, not... complicate your life."
My hands were clenched so tight under the table that my fingernails dug into my palms. I kept my face as still as I could, the way I did when I didn't want to spook a nervous animal, but inside I felt like I was breaking apart.
"I take care of things all the time," I said quietly. "Animals. Plants. I found Deputy Dan when nobody else could. I carried him home."
"That's different," Ma said again, like it explained everything.
I looked across at Knox and Newt, sitting so close their arms touched. At how nobody questioned whether Knox could understand his own feelings or make his own choices. The unfairness of it burned in my chest like I'd swallowed hot coals.
"It hurts the same," I said finally, the words coming out small, but clear. "When you tell me what I feel isn't real or right. It hurts just the same as it would hurt anyone."
I didn't wait for Ma's response. I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping loud against the floor, and headed for the door.
No one called after me. Maybe they didn't know what to say.
Maybe they just figured I needed time to calm down, like when I was little and got overwhelmed by too much noise or too many people.
But I wasn't overwhelmed. For the first time in a long while, I was thinking perfectly clear.
* * * *
The Saturday market stretched out along McKenzie River's main street like a colorful patchwork, tents and tables lining both sides as far as I could see.
Ma's grip on my arm was gentle but firm as we walked toward our family's usual spot.
"You stay where I can see you, Harlow," she said, her voice caught somewhere between worry and warning. "I don't want you wandering off."
I nodded and mumbled, "Yes, Ma," like I always did, even though I was twenty-eight years old and tall enough to see over most everyone's heads in this crowd. Sometimes I wondered if I'd be fifty and gray before she stopped treating me like I might get lost crossing the street.
Pa had gone ahead with the truck to set up our stand, and Knox was busy at his own booth selling wooden bowls and carvings.
That left just Ma and me to bring the last crates of vegetables from home.
I carried three heavy boxes stacked in my arms, the weight nothing to me, while Ma fussed with making sure I could see over the top.
"Maybe we should have made two trips," she said, reaching up to adjust the top crate even though it was perfectly balanced.
"Its fine, Ma," I said, trying not to sound impatient. "I can carry more than this if I need to."
She sighed, patting my arm like I was a good dog who'd learned a new trick. "I know you're strong, honey. I just worry."
That was the thing about Ma—she always worried.
Worried I'd hurt myself, or get confused, or that someone would take advantage of me.
Worried I'd wander off and get lost, even though I knew every inch of McKenzie River better than most folks who'd lived here all their lives.
Even though I could track a deer through the woods in the dark if I had to.
We reached our family's stand, a simple wooden table under a faded green canopy with "McKenzie Family Farm" painted across the front.
Pa was already arranging boxes of early summer squash and the first tomatoes of the season.
The lettuce and kale looked bright and perfect, still wet from being washed this morning.