The ride home in Clare's little car was a quiet one. Both Adam and Crane seemed as though they were lost in thought, and, since I was

feeling lots of conflicting emotions of my own, I wasn't inclined to talk, either.

Stopping mid-way home, at a gas station in Carmen, we waited until the gas station attendant came around to the driver's side window.

"Fill it up?" he asked.

"Yeah. Thanks," Crane said, and then we sat and waited, as the gas tank was filled, and the windshield washed.

Adam broke the silence enough to turn and ask me, "How about we stop for somethin' to eat? A hamburger, maybe?"

I shrugged. "I'm fine with waiting until we get home to eat," I told him, then adding, "Unless you guys want to stop."

"I can wait," Crane said, handing a ten dollar bill out the window to the man to pay for the gas.

"Alright," Adam said, and subsided into silence again.

"I just kind of want to get home," I added, from the back seat. "It feels like an 'at home' type of evening."

I'd meant that I wanted the comfort of our somewhat shabby, but comfortable living room, and to feel protected within

the familiar walls. I didn't know if they would really understand what I meant, but I might have been wrong, because Crane gave me

a smile in the rearview mirror, and then Adam said quietly, "Agreed," in a subdued voice.

I tried to concentrate on my homework again, but finally gave up, and just wrapped my arms around myself, staring out the

window, and feeling miserable.

This was all my fault. I'd concluded that. Nobody in the family may say that outright, but it was. If I had just walked away from Karissa

that day in the parking lot of the Dairy Kurl, or if I'd talked to her and then gone right home and told my brothers about it, then

none of this would be happening. Of that I was certain.

When we arrived home, we sat down to eat with the rest of the family, who had waited supper for us. Roast with vegetables, and some of

Hannah's homemade rolls.

Brian, pouring milk from the pitcher into glasses before he sat down, filled Guthrie's glass, and then began to fill mine.

"I'll drink water," I told him.

Brian paused, and then filled my glass with the cold milk. "Milk's good for you," he said, in answer, giving my braid a gentle pull.

I pushed the food around on my plate, taking only an occasional bite here and there.

"What's wrong with my roast?" Hannah asked me.

I looked up to meet her eyes. "Nothing. It's good."

"I bet a hot soak in the bathtub would help relax you," she went on.

"Sounds good," I told her.

As family members finished their meals, and began scooting their chairs away from the table, talking, I was still picking

at my food.

I started to stand up, too, but Hannah said, "You've hardly touched your food, Harlie."

"I'll grab a snack before bed," I promised.

Hannah gave me a dubious look. "Hmm," she said.

"I will," I assured her, standing up and resting one knee on my chair.

Adam, passing behind my chair on his way to the sink, paused. "Finish your supper," he said.

I turned to look up at him. "I'm just not hungry, Adam."

"Remember what the doctor said? Sometimes you have to eat, even if you're not hungry," he reminded me.

"I remember," I said, with a sigh. "But I'll finish it later, okay? I'll put my plate in the fridge and eat it after

awhile-"

Adam went to set his plate on the counter beside the sink. Then, pausing beside me again, he said,

"Sit down and eat, Harlie."

His tone was firm.

I sighed again, and sat down, muttering about my stomach hurting.

Adam paused again. "What?" he asked, and it was one of those times when the word 'what' really just means to hush up.

"I'll eat," I amended.

Adam gave me a long look, and I saw a range of emotions cross his face. Within a couple of moments, though, he just took his cup of

coffee, and went on thru to the living room.

I sat, finishing my meat and vegetables, the only one still sitting at the table, as everybody milled around the kitchen behind

me, clearing the table, and starting to wash dishes.

Eventually, there was only Evan and Guthrie, doing the dishes, and Brian, who was searching thru the cabinets as he looked

for something. And me. Eating the remaining food on my plate.

Finally, I was done. I stood up, pushing in my chair, and took my plate over to the sink, sliding it into the soapy water.

Brian, who was now leaning against the cabinets, talking to Evan and Guthrie, gave me a raised eyebrow look.

"Finally done, huh?" he asked me.

"Finally."

"Hey," he said, as I turned to go out of the kitchen.

"Huh?" I asked, turning back to look at him.

"Comere," he said.

I went over to him, and he wrapped me in the crook of his elbow, leaning into my ear.

"You've been hang-dog since you got home. What's wrong?"

I gave him a look. "I'm just down, I guess."

"Crane said it went okay at the lawyer's office."

"I don't see how he can say that," I muttered. "It was horrible."

"You know how Crane is," Brian offered. "Always seeing the bright side of things."

I shrugged. "I guess."

"It's all gonna work out," Brian said.

"If you say so," I said dully.

"I do say so. And I don't think I like the way you sound."

"How do I sound?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Like you don't believe me."

I shrugged. "I guess I don't," I told him.

Brian tightened his hold on me. "I'm gonna have to do something about this," he said, sounding considering. "What do you

boys think? Should we dunk her in the horse trough, or hoist her up the flagpole?"

I recognized his attempts at humor, trying to make me feel better.

Guthrie and Evan paused in their washing and drying of the dishes to add their input to the teasing.

"I say the flagpole," Guthrie spoke up.

"Me, too," Evan agreed.

"Ha. You guys think you're so funny," I told them.

I wanted to tell Brian to stop making jokes about it. That making light of the whole thing didn't make it any less menacing. But I knew enough

to know that was Brian's way of dealing with it all. And he was, I knew with certainty, trying to help me to feel better, too.

So I went along with the teasing. "I don't have time for the flagpole thing," I joked back lightly.

Brian gave me a wink, and turned me loose. "Well, darn it," he said. "Later then, I guess, huh?"

"Yeah. For sure," I told him. I went to head up the back stairs, pausing at the bottom, to add something more. Mostly because I knew

that Brian would appreciate my joking back, and it would make him feel better.

"If you think you're big enough," I challenged him.

Brian grinned, in appreciation of my sassy verbal comeback.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Challenge accepted. When you least expect it-bam! To the top of the flagpole you go, peach."

"Okay," I said, and gave a pretended bored yawn. "Better rest up, old guy."

Brian made a move towards me, playfully, and I turned to race up the stairs. I let my smile fade as soon as I was out of his eyesight.

I went to gather up my homework, and went back downstairs. I didn't feel like being alone in my room.

Everybody was just sort of sitting around the living room. Evan was watching tv, Crane was working at his desk, and Adam was sitting beside

Hannah, both of them reading the newspaper. Clare was bouncing Isaac on her lap, and intermittently Brian would take Isaac from her, having Isaac's little

feet rest on his stomach, as he talked to the baby. Guthrie and I were doing our homework, sitting next to each other on the floor, and I had just started to settle in, and feel a little calmer.

Clare went to the kitchen to make popcorn, and as she was heading that way, the phone began to ring.

"I'll get it," she offered, and went to answer.

After her 'Hello?', she didn't say anything for a couple of moments, and then she turned to face us all.

"Just a minute," I heard her say. Then, questioningly, she said, "Brian?" in a quiet voice.

Brian stood up, Isaac in the crook of his arm, and went to the telephone. "Who is it?" he asked her, reaching for the receiver.

"It's not for you," she said, and then Brian said, "Who?"

There was a moment of whispers from Clare to Brian and then Brian handed her the baby, and said tersely, "Adam."

Adam looked up from his newspaper. "What?" he said.

Brian laid the receiver down on the table, and motioned to Adam.

Clare went to sit back down, Isaac on her lap, and Adam got his feet, walking over to Brian.

They talked low, quietly, and by now everybody's attention was caught.

"Who is it?" Guthrie asked Clare.

There was a touch of color in Clare's cheeks, and she avoided Guthrie's question with a slight shake of her head.

Adam picked up the phone receiver, and said, brusquely, "This is Adam."

I set my homework to the side. I knew who was on the other end of that call. My stomach sank.

"No," Adam said, in a clipped voice. "You can't."

There was a moment where Adam listened, and then he said, even more clipped, "No. Don't call here." Then he hung up.

By now, everybody in the room was watching Adam, and Brian, and waiting for them to say something.

Adam came back to sit down, next to Hannah, but he didn't pick up the newspaper that he'd been reading. He just sat there, leaning

forward a little, and clasping his hands together.

"It was Karissa," I said, into the silence. "Wasn't it?"

"Yep," he said, looking angry.

"She wanted to talk to Harlie?" Hannah questioned him.

"That's it," Adam answered.

"Oh, gosh," Hannah said, sounding distressed.

I hesitated, moving a little so as to sit on my knees. "Why does she want to talk to me?" I asked, quietly. I really did not understand. After

what she'd done, how could she think I'd want to talk to her?

"I'm sure she has a reason," Brian said darkly, coming back over to sit next to Clare, and reaching out for Isaac.

"Maybe I should have," I offered.

Immediately I was given the full benefit of angry glares of my brothers.

"Come again?" Brian challenged me.

"Maybe I could convince her to stop all this craziness," I went on.

"We've had this conversation already, Harlie," Adam said. "You know how I feel. And you know what I told you about talking to her."

"Talking to her will serve no purpose," Brian added.

"She has some nerve, calling here," Hannah said. "I'll say that for her."

"She doesn't lack nerve," Brian agreed.

"I don't think she really thought this all through," I said. "And if someone told her what damage it's doing-maybe she would back off."

The room was silent then. I knew that I'd spoken too much, when Guthrie gave me a nudge in my side.

"You want to talk to her so badly?" Adam asked me, and his voice was so cold that I felt frightened.

"No," I began. "That's not what I meant-"

"That's what it sounds like," Adam said, and though his voice was quiet, it was harsh.

I saw Hannah reach out and touch his knee, and I knew she was trying to help.

"I told you no. And yet you're still talking about it," Adam went on ruthlessly. "So what am I supposed to think?"

I knew then that if I didn't leave the room within the next five seconds, I was going to burst into tears. Right there. In front of

everybody.

I picked up my English textbook and notebook, and scrambled to my feet, heading towards the stairs. My eyes were already

blurring with tears. I saw Crane reach out a hand to try to catch me, but I brushed on past him.

I went upstairs to my room, and shut the door. For good measure, I locked it. I threw myself onto my bed, and let my tears

have free rein.

I couldn't remember ever feeling exactly like this before. Adam had misunderstood what I was trying to say, and in that misunderstanding

he was feeling angry, and probably hurt, thinking that I wanted to talk to Karissa. I was equally hurt, though. He'd jumped to conclusions. I hadn't

meant what it sounded like. At least I didn't think I had.

I sobbed until I was tired out from it. I laid on my back, staring up at my ceiling, mopping at my wet face with Kleenex.

Of course, eventually, there came the inevitable knock on my bedroom door.

I sighed, ticking names off in my head of who I wanted on the other side of the door, and who I did not.

"Guthrie, yes. Crane, yes. Clare, yes. Evan, no. Hannah, no. Brian, No. Adam, NO!"

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