I hang back a little as Harley’s mom embraces her.
“And you must be Reed.” She smiles at me kindly before pulling me into a hug as well. Harley and Brett exchange a smile as she presses her face into my chest and squeezes me with more strength than I would think a lady of her petite frame could possess.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jacobs,” I say as I hug her, then move back. She swats me lightly on the chest with a tut, the gesture instantly making me think of Harley.
“Call me Della. No time for that Mrs. Jacobs nonsense. I sound like my mother-in-law, and she could be a right old battle-axe. God rest her soul.” Della crosses her chest, glancing skyward, and then grins brightly at us. “Shall I fix us all a drink? Rose?” she calls over her shoulder to a young blonde woman sitting at the table. “Can you give me a hand?”
“Sure, Mom.” The blonde, who looks like a younger, waif-like version of Harley with empty eyes, stands and walks over.
“Hi, sis.” She gives Harley a tight smile and Harley wraps her arms around her in response. Rose stiffens and doesn’t hug Harley back.
“Hello, Reed.” She nods at me and I nod back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rose. Harley’s told me about you.”
Her eyes flick to Harley. “Oh.”
“She said it was your birthday. Happy Birthday.”
Rose’s expression barely changes as she looks back at me. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Then she turns and follows Della.
“Don’t take it personally.” Brett gives me a reassuring smile. “That’s the most interaction anyone new has gotten out of her in a long time.”
Harley takes my hand and squeezes it. “He’s right. It’s not your fault. It’s not you.”
And for once, I believe her.
We spend a couple of hours out in the garden drinking homemade lemonade and eating muffins Brett said he made that morning. Brett’s a joker, and he and I laugh over some shared interest in music and bands. After we help Della clear up, Harley pulls me toward the front door to fetch our bags.
“Mom, Reed and I are going to go freshen up. We might take a walk and come back before dinner. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Do whatever you kids want to do. As long as you’re back in time for tacos later.”
Harley rolls her eyes, smiling. “Okay, Mom.”
“I can’t believe she still calls us kids,” Harley says quietly as she grabs a key off a hook by the front door.
“She’s your mom. I guess you’ll always be kids in her eyes.” I follow Harley out the front door and down the ramp to the large garage at the side of the house.
“True.” She unlocks a side door into the garage and I follow her in. “It’s under renovation,” Harley explains as I look around at the space.
There’s an open plan living area with an area for a kitchen along one wall, and one small hallway that looks to have two doors leading from it. There’s no furniture in the room at all, and the walls aren’t even plastered yet. The floor below us looks like it’s had a concrete leveling agent poured on, but no actual boards or carpeting have been laid.
“Dad started it for Brett after…” Harley’s eyes roam the space. “Well, it never got finished, as you can see.”
I’ve heard Harley mention her dad before in stories from when she was a kid. And I recall Griffin saying over a year ago that he had passed away. But that’s all I know. I figured Harley will talk to me when and if she wants to. On her terms.
I know how hard it can be to bring up painful memories.
“Can you put our bags in the bedroom, and then maybe we can take a walk before dinner?” She smiles at me briefly before her eyes are distracted by the unfinished state of the room again.
“Sure.”
We wander through the town and end up in a graveyard. I doubt it’s by chance, even though Harley didn’t seem to lead us here purposefully. We just kind of strolled and drifted, my arm around her shoulder as she held me around the waist and talked about Maria and Griffin’s egg situation and how she wondered how you could tell the sex of a baby pigeon.
I held her close, content to listen to her light musings. But I know they’re a front. Harley loves to talk at the best of times. Even more so when there’s something bigger on her mind. The bigger the problem, the more varied and whimsical her conversations.
“Do you mind if I take a minute?” She gestures to the headstone.