Midway thru the morning, in between classes, I was at my locker.

"Hi, Harlie."

I looked up from where I was searching thru notebooks. "Hi, Steven."

"How are you?"

"I'm good. A lot better." I gave him a half-smile. "I'm sorry about Friday night."

"It's not your fault. Gosh. Don't feel that way. I'm just glad you're okay," Steven said.

I surveyed Steven. He really was a nice guy.

"I have diabetes," I said.

"Yeah. Guthrie told me. I don't know a lot about it."

"I knew nothing at all about it when I was diagnosed last fall. It was a total shock," I told him.

"I'll bet," he said, sounding sympathetic.

I picked up the book I needed for the next class, and shut my locker.

"Well," I hesitated.

"Yeah. Better get to class, I guess," he said.

I nodded.

"Would you want to go out again sometime?" he asked me.

"Sure."

"Great. I'll see you," Steven said, with a grin.

"See you," I echoed.

7

It was the beginning of sixth hour when I was called to the office. When I went in, Adam was standing there, waiting for me.

He said goodbye to Mrs. Wilson, and we went outside, and down the school's front steps.

Crane was leaning against the side of Clare's car, talking to Mr. Best. The two of them have been friends since high school, and

still occasionally go fishing together.

I got into the back seat of Clare's car, Crane got in the driver's seat, and Adam on the passenger side.

"How was your day?" Adam asked me, as we started to drive.

"Fine."

"Did you grab your homework?" he asked.

I patted my backpack. "Yeah. I've got it."

We drove along in silence for awhile. I observed both of them from my vantage point of the center of the back seat. After his initial stab at conversation,

Adam fell silent. Crane, too. From watching Adam's profile, I thought that he looked pensive. Thoughtful. I couldn't see worry on his face, though.

I tried observing Crane, as well. Until he looked in the rearview mirror, and caught me watching him.

"You okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah."

He gave me a look in the mirror that suggested that he knew better, but he didn't say anything.

After a few more minutes, I leaned forward a little.

"What do you think the lawyer's going to ask me?" I asked them.

"Have to wait and see," Adam said.

I sank back against the seat. "That's not an answer," I complained.

Adam half-turned, to look at me. "Well, I don't know the answer, Harlie," he snapped. "If I did, then I'd tell you."

I winced, and felt as though I wanted to cry.

"Sorry," I said, but I didn't really mean it.

Crane looked at me in the rearview mirror again, his expression sympathetic. "It's an initial meeting. To see where things stand right now. Try

not to get too worked up."

I shrugged, and looked away from his gaze.

For the rest of the ride to Stockton, I was quiet. I got out some English homework, and tried to work on that.

When we arrived in Stockton, Adam and Crane both started looking for the address.

Outside the lawyer's office, I couldn't control the butterflies in my stomach, as we all got out of the car.

We went inside, and Adam checked in with the receptionist. I'd only been in one other lawyer's office, and that was when

I'd found out that Doc G had left me his truck, and money for college. And I'd known before I went into that meeting, that there wouldn't be anything bad to hear. This

was entirely different.

I sat down in a vacant chair, and Crane sat down next to me.

"This is horrible," I muttered.

"Hang tight," Crane said.

Adam came over and sat down on the other side of me. And we waited. And we waited some more. I suddenly felt extremely warm, and not

very well.

"I need some air," I said. "I'm going to step outside a minute."

Both of them gave me a concerned look. "Did you eat lunch?" Adam asked me, and I knew that he was thinking of the previous Friday night

when I'd ended up in the hospital.

"Yes. And I ate a snack. It's not that," I told him. "I'm just hot."

"Okay," he said, and I went outside the building, leaning against the bricks. I tried to relax, but when the door opened a few minutes

later, and Crane came out, I wasn't really feeling much better.

When he asked me if I was though, I told him I was fine.

He stood there beside me, rubbing a circle on my shoulder with his hand. "Let's do a couple of deep breaths," he told me.

"It won't help."

"Deep breaths," he insisted.

I took a few deep breaths, breathing in and then out.

"There you go," Crane said, still rubbing my shoulder.

"Why is Adam so mad?" I complained.

"He's not mad, peanut."

"Could have fooled me," I said, sarcastically.

"He's scared, Harlie."

I looked up at Crane, feeling as though the bottom of my stomach had dropped. If he'd thought that by sharing that with me, that it would help me

to feel better somehow, then he was mistaken. I didn't want Adam to be scared. I wanted him to be totally in control, full of confidence.

I wanted all of my brothers to be that way, with no doubts about this whole situation.

"I don't want him to be," I said.

"A person can be scared, really frightened, and still be strong," Crane said, sounding definite.

I thought about that for a minute. "But, if he's scared, then that means there really might be something to all of this. That she might actually have a

case-" I let my voice trail off.

"No, Harlie. It's the worry of it. We all feel the same. There's nothing to her case. It doesn't mean he can't be scared."

I reached up and caught at Crane's hand, the one that had been rubbing my shoulder.

"Are you scared too, Crane?" I asked him.

Crane gave me a half-smile. "To death."

7

When the lawyer's secretary finally came out to tell us he was ready to see us, I was feeling a little calmer. Crane, and his deep breathing instruction,

had actually helped.

Once in the lawyer's office, he stood up from behind his desk, coming around to shake hands with Crane and Adam, and then with me. He was older

than I'd expected, and very business-like.

He made no attempt to put us at ease. He got right down to things, sifting thru some papers on his desk.

"Karissa-Mrs. Bonner, has, as you know, filed a petition for custody of Harlie." He sat back a little in his leather chair.

"Before we get into that, why don't you tell me a little about her? Your relationship with her, and all of that? Adam, why don't you start?"

Adam went on to talk about Karissa, how she'd begun to come around after our parents were killed, and the now-familiar story of her driving

drunk with Ford in the car.

"And what was your opinion, at that stage in time, as to what she wanted?" Mr. Gates asked.

Adam hesitated a little, and then said, "At the time, I thought maybe she just wanted to help out. She seemed to focus mainly on Harlie, though, and

was always taking her out for the day or whatever."

I looked at Adam in surprise. I hadn't known that.

"I'll admit that it was helpful sometimes," Adam went on. "To have Harlie visit her for a day here and there. There were times Brian and

I were overwhelmed."

"But after the drunk driving scare with Ford, we told her to leave and not come back," Adam finished.

"You and Brian said that?" the lawyer asked.

"Yeah. Brian and I," Adam affirmed, leaning forward in his chair, and folding his hands together.

"And while you were growing up, you said that she didn't visit the family? Come to see your mother?"

"No, she didn't," Adam said. "Mom never talked about her at all. At least not that I remember."

"She didn't like our father," I interjected into the conversation, and then felt my face warm when they all three turned to look at me.

"Did Mrs. Bonner tell you that?" Mr. Gates asked me.

"No. Not exactly. I mean, I could tell by the way she talked about him that she didn't really like him. But it's more from the journal that

I know that she didn't," I told him.

"Journal?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. My mom's journal. She talks about Karissa in there, and all of that."

"Interesting," the lawyer said, looking intrigued.

I subsided into silence again, as Adam told Mr. Gates about social services being called by Karissa, and the ordeal of all my brothers being

talked to.

"And what was her concern at that time? Why call social services?" he asked.

"Mostly that Brian and I were too young to take care of all the kids. That we wouldn't be able to meet all their needs," Adam stated.

"Tell me about that. What happened when they came to talk to the kids?" Mr. Gates asked.

Adam hesitated again, looking at Crane for a moment. Then he seemed to go back, in his mind, to a harsh memory. His face changed. Tightened.

"They talked to all of them. They separated them." Adam gestured to Crane. "Crane can tell you more about that."

As Mr. Gates looked at Crane for confirmation, Crane said, "I was older, so I think they probably asked the younger guys different things. They

asked me about whether we all went to school regularly, and how our grades were, and things like that." Crane looked thoughtful for a moment.

"They asked who cooked, and who did the grocery shopping, and all of that," he added.

"What was your support system back then?" the lawyer asked, looking towards Adam.

"Well, Crane did a lot, obviously," Adam said, sounding regretful. "More than he should have. We had some neighbors who watched

the boys sometimes. And they helped out with meals, for the first few months or so. And Marie. She was always around."

"Marie?" Mr. Gates asked.

"Yeah. She owns the café in town. In Murphys. She's been a family friend since way back."

Mr. Gates scribbled something down on a notepad.

"They determined that you, and Brian, were doing well, though? The investigation was concluded?" he asked.

Adam nodded. "Yeah. But they kept it open for awhile. Made some more visits to check on things. I think about a year or so."

Again, I was surprised. I hadn't known that. I felt sorry for Crane and Daniel, Evan and Ford. It must have been hard for them to

be questioned all the time.

"It was hardest on Daniel and Evan," Crane added. "Ford was really too young to understand why this woman kept coming to the house

or to school to talk to him. But Daniel and Evan, they were scared a lot."

"And yourself, too," Adam prompted him, and a look passed between he and Crane that made me catch my breath.

A look of shared pain, and regret. It was sad to watch.

"Yeah," Crane agreed. "Me, too."

After that the lawyer progressed to the years in between, asking Adam and Crane to describe how they'd managed.

"Well, you take all the kids we had, a houseful of boys, and throw Harlie into the mix," Adam said, "And it'd be safe to say we knew our

way to the emergency room, with all the stitches and broken bones over the years."

The lawyer, for the first time, appeared to smile. "I'm not surprised," he said. "But everybody stayed in school? Graduated?"

"Yeah, for sure," Crane said. "Daniel and Evan graduated. Ford's in his first year of college now. Guthrie's a junior in high school, and Harlie's a sophomore."

"And what are Guthrie's plans after high school?"

"I don't think he's made up his mind yet," Adam said. "I think he's leaning toward a welding degree. A trade school."

"What about you, young lady?" Mr. Gates asked, turning his gaze onto me. "Do you plan on college?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"She's planning on veterinary school," Adam said, his voice filled with pride.

"That's a fine ambition," Mr. Gates said, looking impressed. "Are your grades good?"

"For the most part," I added, in honesty.

"And are you independent in keeping them up? Or do you need reminders?"

"Well," I hesitated, looking at Crane and Adam, and then back towards Mr. Gates, "I'm mostly independent, I guess. Crane keeps up

on things, though. At the first of the school year, he helped me when I was having trouble in algebra, and he arranged for a tutor for me."

"Very good," Mr. Gates said.

"Uh huh," I said, and waited.

"What are the consequences if they fall?" he asked me then. "If you have a grade that needs improvement?"

I hesitated again. "Mostly Crane talks to me," I said honestly. "And like recently, he went over my progress report with me, and

told me to work harder, and then he said I wouldn't be grounded if I promised to get them up again."

"Ah," Mr. Gates said, leaning back in his chair again, and I wondered if I'd said the wrong thing. I didn't want him thinking that

my brothers didn't care about my grades.

"But it's an understanding between us," I added. "If I don't get the lower ones up in a certain amount of time, then he'd

ground me." I looked towards Crane. "Right, Crane?"

Crane gave me a half-smile. "Right."

"Harlie's a good student, though," Adam interjected. "She works hard."

I gave Adam a grateful smile at his praise.

"Well, let's discuss some of Mrs. Bonner's concerns," Mr. Gates said, and I tensed up, aware that Adam did, as well.

He looked thru the paperwork on the desk in front of him again. "She feels that Harlie has been absorbed into the all-male household during

her growing up years. That you didn't dress her properly. That she has never had the opportunities to develop as a young girl should."

"That's not true!" I burst out.

"Harlie," Adam said quietly, in reproval.

"I understand how you feel," Mr. Gates said to me. "But let's finish first, and then you can reply. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

So we listened, while Mr. Gates outlined the main points. Those being, that besides me being as she said, "dressed as a boy" the majority of the time, I

was always being toted to all-male activities. That my hair was always tangled and not done properly.

I squirmed in my chair at that, itching to tell Mr. Gates how Adam, and Brian, too, had practiced at braiding my curls until they were nearly pros at it.

"Obviously, those complaints were for early on, when Harlie was more dependent." He looked at the paperwork again. "Let's talk about

more recent concerns of hers."

"She states that Harlie isn't allowed to dress like other girls her age. I myself find that a bit ridiculous," he added. "You look typically dressed

to me."

"She's talking about expensive clothes," I interrupted. "Cashmere sweaters, and things."

"She says you're dissatisfied with your clothing," he went on.

"I'm not!" I insisted. As he looked at me, I added, more quietly, "Well, I mean the sweaters were really pretty, and I kept one of them, but

they're not really what girls wear at my school for everyday."

"Again, I feel that's not all that important," he said. "She says you'd like to travel. That you expressed a desire to see

things beyond your home. That you feel stifled by your lack of exposure to places outside of your home area."

I had to bite my lip to keep my temper from erupting at that last comment.

"She talked about Paris," I said. I hesitated. "I mean, yes, sure, sometime I'd like to travel. Maybe. But I never said that I feel stifled, or

whatever she said."

"Let's move on to more serious concerns," he said, and I felt my stomach knot in anxiety.

"Mrs. Bonner is a wealthy woman. She feels she would be able to provide a lifestyle, opportunities for Harlie that your family cannot."

His tone was blunt, and I felt as though I was going to be sick for a moment. I knew how sensitive Adam was to the fact that our family

was constantly having to watch their spending.

"There's no validity in that, either," Mr. Gates said, and I let out a sigh of relief. "Kids can't be taken from the home due to the fact that

they lack some expensive things that catch their eye, or that they're not sipping tea in a Paris sidewalk café."

"The things that we do need to be concerned about with this, are the safety issues that she has raised, and the domestic issues."

Before I could ask what he meant by that, Crane spoke up. "What domestic issues?"

"She has voiced her worry about tempers erupting in the home. Yelling. Fighting. That things are in a state of turmoil. That it affects

Harlie in a negative way."

For a long, long moment we all just sat there, staring at Mr. Gates.

"What the hell," I heard Adam mutter.

"I understand it's disconcerting. Can you think what she might be talking about?" Mr. Gates asked.

"She's only been at our house once since she approached Harlie," Adam began.

"Twice," Crane corrected.

"Twice, right," Adam agreed. "So I don't know what she's talking about."

Adam and Crane looked at each other, and then at me.

"Did you perhaps talk to Karissa about an incident at home?" Mr. Gates asked me. "Express concern about a problem there?"

"No!" I said. "I wouldn't-"

"She says that she observed one such incident herself," he went on.

Adam and Crane looked even more puzzled, and Adam shook his head in his lack of understanding.

"Oh," I said, and they all looked at me.

"Oh, what?" Adam asked.

I wished I didn't have to say it. "The time she came over, with the clothes, and the boots," I reminded them. "When I was trying on that

skirt. Remember?"

"I remember the skirt," Adam said, his jaw tightening. "What about it?"

"You were mad," I reminded him.

"So?" he pressed me.

"You and Hannah were arguing," I said.

I saw the moment that he recollected the fracas in the kitchen that day. He looked pained. And regretful. And embarrassed.

"Yeah," he said. "That's right."

"It wasn't that big a deal," I hurried to say. "Adam and Brian were unhappy about her bringing more stuff to me. They didn't want me

to accept things from her-" I paused, thinking I was making things worse. It would sound as though they'd kept me from taking a harmless

gift from someone.

"Go on," Mr. Gates instructed me.

"Well, Adam said I could keep the first sweater, but he didn't want me to take jewelry from her, or anything else that was so expensive. And they

didn't approve of the skirt-" my voice trailed off.

"What were your reasons for taking that stand on the gifts?" Mr. Gates asked Adam.

It seemed to me as though Adam would be portrayed as being jealous of not being able to give me expensive things. I didn't want him to

be seen in that light.

"He thought that-" I began, but I stopped when Crane laid a restraining hand on my knee.

"I wanted her to wait on that stuff," Adam said in explanation. "I wanted her to build a relationship with Harlie slowly, not just be buying her things

all the time." He hesitated. "I don't want Harlie to get the wrong ideas, or see people only for what they can do for her." When Adam finished saying all

of that, he gave a short sigh.

"I guess that sums it up," he said. "I want Harlie to have some values."

Mr. Gates nodded. "I understand that." He paused. "What about this argument Mrs. Bonner talks about?"

"Well," Adam said, looking uncomfortable, "Hannah and I had a go-around in the kitchen. It was uncalled for, I'll admit that. I lost my temper."

"But there's no abuse in the home?" Mr. Gates asked.

Adam's face tightened, and seemed to lose color.

"No," he said.

"God, no," Crane echoed.

"So just a simple argument, then?" Mr. Gates asked.

"Yeah," Adam said. He hesitated, and then added, "I mean, we're not a perfect family, not by any means, but we don't have that

much arguing in the house. At least, I don't think we do."

"We don't," Crane agreed.

"Alright. The final thing, beyond the advantages she feels she could provide, and the lack of temper control as she terms it, is the safety

issues," Mr. Gates said.

"And what's that?" Adam asked, and I could hear the tension in his voice.

Again the lawyer sifted thru the papers. "Harlie being hit in the face with a gate?" he questioned.

"That wasn't anything," I broke in. "I was petting my dog, and one of the cows pushed against the gate. I wasn't paying attention."

"And your hand?" he asked, gesturing at my casted hand. "She claims that happened when you were sent into a-" he hesitated, reading

over the papers, "a situation that you weren't equipped to handle. That one of your brothers should have done it."

"I-" I began, but Adam interrupted me.

"That was a bad deal," he said. "We were rounding up cattle. Harlie took out after a couple of calves. Her horse took a fall on a hill."

"It's nothing I haven't done a million time before," I insisted, and then wondered if I should have, as Mr. Gates raised his eyebrows at me.

"Go on, young lady," he told me.

"I don't mean it that way," I backtracked. "It's just that I've always helped, when it's time to do things like that."

"Is the horse too spirited for you?" he asked me, and I saw both Adam and Crane break into half-smiles at the question.

"I take it that's not the situation here," Mr. Gates said, with a smile of his own.

"Harlie's been riding since she was two," Adam said. "We don't have a single horse on the ranch that she can't handle."

"It wasn't Petra's fault," I said, in defense. "I took the hill down too fast. It was my own mistake."

"What did you fellas have to say to her about that?" Mr. Gates asked then.

Crane and Adam exchanged looks. "Well, I wasn't happy about it," Adam said. "That's for sure."

He hesitated for a moment. "I felt as though she took a chance that she didn't need to take," Adam continued. "In cases like that with

the kids, I tend to come down hard."

"I understand," Mr. Gates said. "So injuries are usually typical ranch-type accidents, is that right?"

I nodded, and Adam said, "That's right."

"I would imagine that for someone that's used to life in the city, such as Mrs. Bonner, ranching life might seem a bit overwhelming," Mr. Gates said.

I could tell that Adam or Crane neither one really wanted to give Karissa the benefit of the doubt like that. They didn't really answer, and

I said, "She's never tried to understand our life! She just always wants to criticize, just like she did to our mom."

"And you feel this, because of the journal?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, and took a steadying breath.

"You mentioned that if your grades were poor, that you might be grounded?" he asked me.

I nodded.

"What other things might you be punished for?" he asked me.

I looked at Adam, and at Crane, feeling awkward. "Well, if I'm late getting home, or something like that."

Mr. Gates nodded. "And what happens then?"

"I get talked to," I said, feeling uncertain.

"Anything else you can think of?" he asked.

"If I talk back or I'm disrespectful," I said.

"Is that what causes you to get into the most trouble?" he asked me.

"Well," I considered. "I guess if I told a lie, that would be the worst punishment." I still cringed whenever I thought about that afternoon

when Brian had taken me to task for lying to him about being in an accident.

"Mrs. Bonner says you feel as though your brothers are overly strict. That you're not allowed to do what other girls your age

do," Mr. Gates continued.

"I never complained about my brothers to her!" I said. "She's the one who said all of that!"

He regarded me intently, so I went on, "I mean, they're sort of strict, but I didn't tell her that I thought that."

"Most teens feel their parents, or their family, are too strict," Mr. Gates said, sounding kind.

"Before we forget to mention it," Adam said, "Harlie was in the hospital from Friday night until Saturday morning. She had a low blood sugar

episode."

"Ah," Mr. Gates said, and scribbled something down on his notebook. "Thank you for letting me know that. I'm certain it could be twisted

somehow."

"But it won't be, right?" I asked him, my heart pounding. "I mean, it's just something that can happen with diabetes."

"Try not to worry, Harlie," Mr. Gates told me. "I know this is stressful for the entire family, but we're going to figure it all out."

"Okay," I said. After a moment's thought, I asked him, "Aren't I past the age where I can make the decision to not live with her? I've been doing

some reading-"

"Generally speaking, yes, the judge takes those things into consideration. In most cases."

"Including this one?" I asked, feeling as though I could hardly voice the words.

"Well, once it's stated that there is no domestic violence in the home, then I think our situation will be more secure," Mr. Gates

said, and I thought that he hadn't really answered my question at all.

Mr. Gates stood up, and so we all stood up, as well. "I want to ask you one thing, young lady, and I'd like a direct answer."

"Okay," I said again, trying not to become more nervous.

"Have you, at any time that you can recall, ever given Mrs. Bonner the impression that you might be open to living with her? That you would

prefer it rather than living with your family?"

"No!" I said, feeling my heart-pounding grow louder. "I haven't! I would never do that."

"I didn't imagine that you had," he said, and gave me a steady look.

"I wouldn't want to live anywhere but home," I said fiercely. "I mean, I plan on college and all of that, but even after

that, I want to stay around Murphys, and help on the ranch-"

"I understand, Harlie." He put out a hand. "It was good to meet you."

I shook his hand. "Good to meet you, too," I responded politely.

After shaking hands with Crane and Adam again, too, he said simply that he would be in touch with us.

We were thru the outside lobby, when I hesitated, and stopped walking.

"Can I go back and tell him something else?" I asked.

"What?" Adam asked. "Let's just get going home, Harlie." He looked weary and upset.

"Just something I want him to know," I said. "It'll just take a minute."

Adam sighed. "We'll meet you at the truck," he said.

I went back over to the receptionist's desk, and asked if I could speak to Mr. Gates again.

She went to relay my message, and a moment later Mr. Gates came to the door of his office.

"Harlie?" he asked questioningly.

"I wanted to tell you something-that I forgot," I said, feeling awkward.

"Come in," he said, and ushered me back into his office. "Should I close the door?" he asked me. "Is it private?"

"You don't need to," I said.

"Alright." He stood looking at me. "What is it you wanted to share with me?"

"I just wanted to tell you-about the part with my hair, when I was really little?"

Mr. Gates looked a little surprised, and I thought he must have been expecting something a bit more major than that.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Maybe when I was really little, a baby, they didn't do my hair very well. I don't know, because there aren't that many pictures

from those days," I began in a rush of talking, "but when I got older, when I went to kindergarten and after that, they did good at doing

my hair. They would take turns, every morning doing my hair, and sometimes at night they would have me sit on their lap, and they would practice doing

braids and all of that, so that I would look tidy and-" I hesitated. "And cared for. And at night they had to have been exhausted from everything

they had to do all day, and then getting all my brothers ready for bed, but they would still do that. Practice on my hair, I mean."

I stopped to take a breath, and Mr. Gates gave me a serious look.

"That's a mouthful, Harlie," he said.

"Yes," I said, feeling a little embarrassed. "I just wanted you to know that."

"That is impressive to hear," Mr. Gates said.

Encouraged by his comment, I added, "They were just kids themselves, really. And they did a good job."

Mr. Gates smiled a little. "I think I understand what you're trying to say to me, Harlie. You feel that they did a good job overall with

you and your brothers. Not just with your hair. Am I understanding you correctly?"

I nodded at him gratefully. "Yes, sir. That's what I meant to say."

"Thank you, Harlie. I'm glad you let me know that."

I said goodbye, and went back out thru the lobby, going down the office steps, towards the parking lot, to where Adam and Crane were waiting

for me.

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