I didn't really need tomatoes. We grew plenty at the homestead. But it seemed like the polite thing to do after using her stand as a hiding spot.
With my paper bag of tomatoes clutched in one hand, I moved through the market, keeping my head down but my eyes alert. The Saturday market was full to bursting today. The late spring sunshine had brought out what seemed like the whole town. Normally, that many people would make my skin feel itchy and my breathing go shallow, but today I was grateful for the crowd. Easier to disappear among all those bodies.
The smells of the market wrapped around me like one of Mama's quilts – sweet strawberries from the Jacobsen farm, fresh bread from Rosie's Bakery stand, coffee brewing at the little cart near the entrance, and the earthy scent of vegetables just pulled from the ground that morning.
A little girl ran past me with a pinwheel that left a trail of rainbow colors spinning in the air. Someone was playing guitar by the central pavilion, and the notes floated above the chatter of people haggling over prices and sharing gossip.
I spotted Knox's wooden stall near the far end of the market. He was there most Saturdays, selling the beautiful things he carved—bowls and spoons and little animal figures that looked so real you'd swear they might scamper away if you blinked. Newt was with him today, arranging some new pieces on the display table.
I watched them for a minute from behind the cover of a flower stand. Knox said something I couldn't hear, and Newt laughed, his whole face lighting up. Then Knox reached out and fixed the collar of Newt's shirt, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. It was a small gesture, but full of something that made my chest hurt.
Why was it okay for them but not for me?
Mama had been cold to Newt at first, but now she even saved the last piece of pie for him sometimes. Last week, I heard her telling her friend from church that "Knox found someone who understands him" and how that was "a blessing."
But when I looked too long at Deputy Dan after church, or mentioned his name too many times at dinner, Mama got that pinched look on her face and found reasons to change the subject. One time she'd even said, "Harlow, honey, you need someone to take care of you, not... well, you need a different kind of friend."
I understood what she meant, even if she didn't say it plain. She thought I needed someone to look after me because my brain worked different. But I'd been taking care of animals all my life. I kept the garden growing better than anyone else in the family. I could fix fences and track lost livestock and predict storms three days before they hit.
When I thought about asking why it was different for me than for Knox, my throat got tight and no words came out. The questions piled up in my head like fallen leaves, but when I tried to rake them into something that made sense, they just scattered.
I moved past the flower stand, keeping to the edges of the market. Across the way, I caught a flash of that tan uniform and ducked behind a display of handmade quilts.
My heart did that jumpy thing again.
Deputy Dan was talking to Ransom at his booth where he sold pictures of the tattoos he could put on folks' skin. I couldn't see Ransom's face, but his hands were moving fast like they did when he got excited about something.
The quilts smelled like lavender and sunshine. I ran my fingers over the stitches, feeling the tiny bumps where the thread made patterns. The lady selling them smiled at me.
"That one's called 'Lover's Knot,'" she said. "An old pattern, very traditional."
I nodded, not knowing what to say back. The quilt was blue and green with little diamonds where the colors met. It reminded me of the river in summer, dappled with light coming through the trees.
I needed to get to the other side of the market without Deputy Dan seeing me. I mapped out a path in my head, the same way I'd track a deer through the forest – staying downwind, using natural cover, moving quiet. I slipped between two stalls selling jams and jellies, then behind the table where old Mrs. Grady sold her famous honey cakes. The smell was so sweet it almost made my teeth hurt.
I was halfway across the market when I saw Knox wave in my direction. For a second, I thought he'd spotted me, but he was looking past me. I turned and saw Deputy Dan approaching Knox's stall, that paper cup of coffee still in his hand. My breath caught in my chest, and I froze like a rabbit in an open field.
If I moved now, they'd both see me for sure. But if I stayed put, Deputy Dan would walk right past me on his way to Knox's booth. I backed up slowly until I bumped into someone behind me.
"Watch it, son," a gruff voice said.
I mumbled an apology without looking back, my eyes still fixed on Deputy Dan. The sunlight caught his profile as he stopped to check his phone, and something in me ached at how the light outlined his jaw and the straight line of his nose. He looked like one of those statues in the books at the library, all perfect angles and smooth surfaces.
I thought about how Knox and Newt could stand close together at the market, how Newt could fix Knox's collar without worrying who might see. I thought about how simple it would beto just walk over there and say hello to Deputy Dan instead of hiding like I was doing something wrong.
But then I remembered the mop bucket and the splash of water across the clinic floor. I remembered Mama's pinched face and concerned eyes. I remembered how words got all tangled up in my throat when Deputy Dan looked straight at me.
So I stayed put, watching from a distance as Deputy Dan reached Knox's stall and clapped my brother on the shoulder in greeting. They talked and laughed like old friends while Newt arranged wooden bowls on a shelf behind them.
I knew I should leave, should take my bag of unnecessary tomatoes and head back to the homestead. But I couldn't make myself walk away. Watching Deputy Dan, even from a distance, made something warm unfold in my chest. It was a feeling like finding the first ripe strawberry of the season – that small, perfect joy that came with something sweet and unexpected.
I wasn't supposed to have these feelings. Mama had made that clear enough. But standing there in the Saturday market, with the sun warming my shoulders and the sounds of my hometown all around me, I couldn't make myself wish them away.
They were my feelings, after all. And they sure were pretty ones.
Chapter Two
~ Daniel ~
