Lie.
It was the same tone she’d used at seventeen when she said she was “fine,” but cried in her car afterward. I knew her voice too well to miss it.
“Sunshine,” I murmured, stepping in front of her so she had to look at me. “Talk to me.”
Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “I can’t. Not here.”
Not here. Not now. Not with half the damn town listening.
I swallowed the urge to push harder. If there was one thing I had learned from the past, it was Harmony did better with patience than pressure.
“Then I’ll wait,” I said softly. “But you’re not doing this alone.”
Before she could answer, Dad waved me over from the cider booth, shouting something about a crooked frame. I ran a hand through my hair, hating the idea of stepping away.
“I’ll be three minutes,” I told her. “Stay where I can see you.”
She nodded, but her shoulders were too tight, her fingers twisting her sleeve.
I hesitated. “Harmony.”
She looked up. Something was definitely off, but she also locked down on me.
“Don’t wander.”
A faint smile tugged at her mouth, small and tired. “I won’t.”
I kissed her forehead quickly before heading across the square.
Dad was knee-deep in zip ties and stubborn tent poles. “Kid, help me with this. This pole’s fighting for its life.”
“Maybe because you built it crooked.” I grabbed the frame.
“My eyesight’s perfect,” he muttered.
“You’re wearing two different socks.”
He swore under his breath.
I laughed, shaking my head, but my eyes were already drifting back toward Harmony. She stood near the maple taffy stand, arms crossed, scanning the festival like she was searching for a ghost.
Dad followed my gaze. “She’s rattled.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “She won’t tell me why.”
Dad tightened a bolt. “Then be there until she does. That girl’s been carrying a war on her back since she was a kid. Shenever stood a chance with Marcel, not after what happened to Rosalie.”
My chest tightened at the name. Harmony rarely said her mother’s name out loud, Rosalie Bellerose, but everyone old enough to remember the investigation whispered it the same way. Rosalie was the one woman in the Bellerose family who tried to break away from Marcel’s world. She’d asked questions no one wanted her asking, and she died for it. Somewhere between the official reports and the small-town gossip, one thing was clear: Harmony lost the only soft place she’d ever had.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
“I know.” Dad’s voice softened. “Maybe that scares her too. Rosalie was the last person she trusted. Losing her… it dug deep.”
A shout erupted from the pumpkin table. Normal festival chaos. But Harmony stood still in it all, like she didn’t belong in the picture.
I finished the booth in record time. “I’m going back to her.”
“Good,” Dad muttered, “before Sandy gets ideas.”
