“Har—” Her mom began again, but was cut off.
“Everything in this house is a memory in the form of a nightmare. I don’t want it, and I don’t want the money from it,” Harlow whispered harshly, each word holding a pain none of us could imagine. But from the looks on her family’s faces, they weren’t going to try to push her anymore.
“I’ll look up a company and arrange a pickup,” Hayley’s husband said, and immediately began tapping on his phone.
“Thank you,” Harlow said, and her body relaxed as she closed the distance between us. “I just want to be out of here and done with this place.”
When she got close, I pulled her into my arms and pressed my lips to the top of her head. “Soon,” I promised.
We’d all stayed in the hotel, with the exception of Graham and Deacon, for three nights before Harlow’s entire family had piled into our house. No one had wanted to stay in Harlow’s old house. I couldn’t blame them, and my roommates didn’t complain as long as they got to put an endless amount of food in front of Harlow.
When we hadn’t been clearing out the old house, we’d been apartment hunting for Harlow. She’d wanted, and found, a place in Richland so it was close to me, but still far enough away that she felt like she could have her space to figure things out. Her family didn’t understand why she was renting and continued to remind her it was a waste of money when she had enough to buy a new house with cash. Deacon and Graham had moped for nearly an hour when they’d found out the location. I’d gone with her to sign the papers and had smiled through it, because I knew it was what she needed.
I wanted her next to me every second of every day, but this apartment was what was best for her now—and for us later.
Harlow had picked up the keys this morning, but wanted to wait until her family left for their homes tomorrow—Hadley with her parents—to go shopping for the furniture and everything needed to move in.
She shifted in my arms when her phone chimed, and pulled it out of her pocket. With a slow exhale, Harlow showed me the screen, which held a text from Collin’s mom, asking if she would come over to talk.
“You gonna go?”
Harlow nodded once, then shook her head. “I’ve hardly talked to them since everything happened. They’re good people, Knox,” she whispered. Words she’d said before. “They’re good, but when I did talk to them, they sounded so mad.”
“They aren’t mad at you. They’re just having a hard time, too,” I reminded her. “It’s different than what you’re going through. They probably didn’t know this was happening.”
“They couldn’t have.”
“Then they’re probably in shock and didn’t know how to react to the situation, or how to talk to you. But it looks like they’re ready now . . . if you are.”
Even though Harlow had reached out to them a few times, Collin’s parents had been distant all week. They’d come by the house yesterday while everyone was gone to make sure there wasn’t anything they wanted after we’d already piled up everything that was to be donated, and bagged what was to go to the dumpsters. As far as we could tell, however, they’d only taken a few of Collin’s things from high school and college, and hadn’t responded to most of Harlow’s attempts to talk to them. Something that had been hard on her all week.
“I want to go, I know I need to. Will you go with me?”
I made a face and glanced back at the text, like it would give me the answer to whether or not I should go. “Do you think having me there the first time you see them would be best?”
“Probably not,” she said laughing, but there was no real humor behind her tone. “But I’d thought they would have contacted me first. I had thought they would have come to see me. The fact that it’s been the complete opposite is terrifying me for how it will be when I do see them.”
My first reaction was to tell her that I would do anything she asked me to, but I was worried that if she was scared how they would react, then my presence might make it worse even though they wouldn’t have any clue who I was.
One look into Harlow’s eyes and I knew what my answer was then, and would always be. “Of course I’ll go.”
“I’M SORRY . . . what did you just say?” Harlow asked a couple of hours later once we were at the Dohertys’ house. We’d barely gotten our introductions finished before they’d dropped a bomb on us.
Mrs. Doherty just continued on: “And we want to get you help for those things, dear. There’s a place we can have you admitted to today; we know the director there. It’s a great facility, the care is said to be some of the best.”
“I don’t need help. I’m not depressed, and I’m not on drugs!”
“We’ll pay for the treatments and for your stay there,” Mr. Doherty added. “With everything you put our son through, and now that he’s gone, this is very generous of us.”