"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 tosay. 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 takeadvantage 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.
"Set those down over here, son," Pa directed, pointing to an empty space behind the table. I did as he asked, then straightened up to scan the crowd, my eyes automatically searching for the tan uniform or the particular way Deputy Dan moved through a space—confident but watchful, like he was always aware of everything around him.
"Harlow, start arranging these tomatoes, would you?" Ma's voice pulled me back. "Biggest ones on the bottom, like a pyramid."
I nodded and got to work, my large hands gentle with the ripe fruit. I was good at this—knowing exactly how much pressure I could use without bruising them, sorting them by size almost without thinking about it. My body could do the work while my mind wandered and my eyes kept looking.
The market was filling up fast. Old Mrs. Patterson stopped by our stand to pick up her weekly lettuce, chatting with Ma about someone's new baby. The baker from Rosie's had set up across from us, the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries making my stomach rumble despite the big breakfast I'd eaten. A little girl in a yellow dress skipped past our stand, her pigtails bouncing with each step. I smiled at her, and she waved back before her mother tugged her along.
All around us, McKenzie River was alive with Saturday business. Farmers called out their best deals, wind chimes from the craft stalls tinkled in the breeze, and somewhere down the row, someone was playing guitar. The sun was warm on my shoulders, but not too hot yet. It was the kind of perfect early summer day that made you glad to be outside.
An hour into the market, I was still arranging vegetables and making change for customers while Ma kept up a stream of friendly chatter with everyone who stopped by. Every few minutes, her eyes would find me, checking that I was still there, still doing what I was supposed to be doing. Each time I felt her watching, something tight and uncomfortable settled in my chest.
I finished building a display of carrots, their green tops still attached and bunched with twine. My back was starting to ache from bending over the table, and I straightened up, once again searching the crowd.
That's when I saw him.
Deputy Dan was on the far side of the market, talking to Sheriff Hardesty by the honey stand. He was in regular clothes today—jeans and a dark blue t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders—not his uniform. Even without the badge and tan shirt, I'd have known him anywhere.
My heart did that funny jump-skip thing it always did when I caught sight of him. I watched as he laughed at something the sheriff said, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck where his hair curled a little at the bottom.
"Harlow? Did you hear me?" Ma was tugging at my sleeve, her voice sharp with annoyance. "Mrs. Turner wants three pounds of potatoes."
I tore my eyes away from Deputy Dan, my face heating up like I'd been caught doing something wrong. "Sorry, Ma. Three pounds of potatoes coming up."
As I weighed the potatoes and bagged them for Mrs. Turner, I kept sneaking glances toward the honey stand. Deputy Dan was still there, but now he was looking in our direction. Our eyes met across the market, just for a second, but it was enough to make my hands fumble with the scale.
I needed to talk to him. Needed to know if he was alright after the accident, if his ribs had healed proper. Needed to know if he'd meant that look he gave me from the window when he was leaving our farm.
When Mrs. Turner moved on, I turned to Ma, who was counting change into another customer's hand. "Ma, I need to use the bathroom," I said when she was finished.
She frowned, looking around like the public restrooms might have suddenly appeared next to our stand. "Can't it wait? We're busy."
"Not really," I said, shifting from foot to foot like I really needed to go. "I'll be quick. Promise."
She sighed, that put-upon sound I'd heard my whole life. "Fine, but come straight back. No detours."
"Yes, Ma," I said, already backing away before she could change her mind.
