I won't lie. I cried myself to sleep that night. I'd known that Daniel would be, for lack of a better word, vexed, at me. But still, I hadn't imagined
my ending to the day going like this. I'd thought maybe that Daniel and I would be sitting together, talking, catching up on things with each other. But no,
here I was, alone, and he'd been so angry that he'd barely talked to me at all. I'd gone to his room, like he'd said, and tried to settle in. The bedroom
was pretty sparse. The only thing that really even made it look as though it was Daniel's room was the family pictures he had setting on the dresser.
I looked at them, picking them each up. There was- Guthrie and Ford. Evan and Diablo. Isaac a few days after he was born. Me with my arms around fat
Clarence, laughing into the camera.
For some reason, seeing that picture of Clarence just set me off to crying again. Poor Clarence. He was probably wondering where I was at.
I curled up in a miserable ball on the bed, pulling my legs up tight.
I must have been more tired than I'd thought I was. I'd figured I wouldn't be able to go to sleep at all, but I did. It was a long while later, though I
don't know exactly what time it was, that I thought I heard a sound in the room, and then the door being closed softly.
I knew it was Daniel, home from the club, coming to check on me.
7
When I woke up the next morning, it took me a couple of moments to remember where I was. And how I'd gotten here. And how mad Daniel
was about everything. And that, of course, made me not want to get up at all. I laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling fan, going round and round. There was a tap on the door, and I sat up swiftly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
"Harlie? You awake?" Daniel asked, from outside the door.
"Yes," I said, and he opened the door.
"Breakfast in ten minutes," he said.
"Okay," I said, trying to study his face, and see if I could determine just where I stood, and how much, if any, cooling off he had done since
last night.
It was too hard to decipher at that moment, though. He looked, well, determined. And his voice was calm enough. I hoped that was a good
sign.
When he'd gone, closing the door behind him, I plunged into Evan's duffle bag, and retrieved my clean pair of jeans, and a Hank Williams t-shirt,
pulling them on. I ran a brush thru my hair, and swept it up into a ponytail.
I went down the hall towards the kitchen, and when I heard voices, someone talking to Daniel, and recognized the other
voice as Red's, I don't think I'd been quite so glad about anything for a long, long time.
Red was here! Of course he lived here! But he was here right now, and that's what was important. Maybe Daniel wouldn't be
quite so harsh with Red here.
I went into the kitchen, and Red, sitting at the table, a stack of pancakes on the plate in front of him, looked up at me as I came in.
"My darlin'," he said fondly, and stood up to wrap me into a tight bear hug.
"Hi, Red," I greeted him, in genuine gladness.
He stepped back to survey me. "It's not possible," he said. "But it must be. You're prettier than you were when I saw you
last winter."
"Thank you," I told him.
He released me, and sat back down in his chair.
Daniel turned from putting the griddle into the sink, and sat down at the table, too. He forked several pancakes onto his plate, and
then said, "Sit down and eat," to me.
I settled into the chair across the table from him, and took a pancake, and a piece of bacon.
Daniel pushed a pitcher closer to me. "Orange juice," he said.
"Thanks," I said, and poured a glass of the juice.
I'm used to putting jelly or peanut butter on my pancakes at home, because syrup has so much sugar in it, but when I reached for the
jelly, Daniel turned a bottle of syrup to face me, so that I could read the label.
"I got you some sugar free syrup," he said.
For a moment, my throat caught in emotion. As mad as he was at me, he'd stopped at a store late last night sometime to buy me
sugar-free syrup?
"Thanks, Daniel," I managed. He gave me a brief nod, but didn't say anything. Other than Red making a couple of comments
about the crowd at the Palamino Club the night before, it was a silent meal. Daniel looked serious, contemplative, deep in thought. And I
was too nervous and miserable to try to make conversation.
I was halfway thru my pancake when Red stood up, taking his empty plate to the sink.
"I'll be off," he said. He tugged on my ponytail. "I'll see you later, my darlin'."
I caught at his hand, wanting to ask him not to go. Not to leave me here with this angry, silent Daniel.
I looked at him silently, pleadingly, but he gave just the slightest shake of his head at me, as if to say that I had to face
the music. And then he was gone, the sound of the front door closing behind him.
And we were there, alone. Daniel and I. In tense silence. He finished eating, and put his plate in the sink, too.
"Do you want more?" he asked me, picking up the plate with the pancakes on it.
"No, thank you," I said. I didn't think I could finish what I had on my plate now.
Daniel started putting everything into the refrigerator, and then he poured a cup of coffee just as the phone started ringing.
He went to answer it, and even though he talked in a low tone, I could hear enough to know he was talking to someone at home.
About me.
I could catch a word here and there. "Safe." "Fine." "Don't worry." "I know."
I dreaded having Daniel call me to the phone. What was going to be said to me? I put my fork down. Waiting. In misery.
But he didn't call me to the telephone. Instead I heard him say goodbye, and then he came back into the kitchen. He refilled his cup of coffee, and
then turned to look at me.
"Finish your breakfast," he said.
"I'm finished," I said.
He gave my plate another glance-over, and then he nodded. "Alright," he said. "Come on into the living room then."
Those words had an ominous sound to them.
But there was no use putting it off. I got up and scraped my pancake into the trash can, and put the plate in the sink.
I went into the living room, where Daniel was sitting on the couch, leaning forward a little, his hands clasped in front of him.
"Sit down here," he told me, pointing to the ottoman directly in front of him.
His tone was still brusque, but I tried to feel hopeful. Maybe he was ready to talk to me. To listen.
I sat down where he told me, which meant that our knees were nearly close enough to touch.
"Do you have any idea," he began, "how wigged out you've got everybody at home?"
Well, there wasn't really an answer for that. But I tried.
"I know," I said.
"No," he said, his voice rising over mine. "I don't think you do know. You don't know at all. But you should, This Jane Bond adventure of
yours has got Hannah crying her heart out!" He gave me an angry look. "And I don't think I've heard Adam sound like he did, well, for a
long time."
The thought of Hannah so upset that she was crying got to me. Hannah's not a crier. And if she does need to have a good cry, she
does it in private. For Daniel to know she was crying so much meant that she wasn't being so private about it.
"Well?" he snapped, so sharply that I jumped a little. "Don't you have somethin' to say?"
"I don't want Hannah to feel bad," I said.
That seemed to make him even madder. "How is she supposed to feel?" he demanded, with sarcasm. "Happy and elated? When one of their
kids run away, there's not goin' to be any good feelings about that."
I blinked at that comment. "But I didn't," I protested.
"You didn't what?" he asked, not gently.
"I didn't run away."
"What?" he demanded, in an irritated tone.
"I didn't run away," I said again. "I ran to. To you."
Daniel looked at me as if he couldn't believe what I was saying.
"Do you know what?" he asked me then.
"What?"
"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
I looked at him in trepidation. "Why is it dumb?" I asked.
"Explain to me what your definition of running away is."
I hesitated. "Running away is taking off, not telling anybody where you're going-"
"Exactly," Daniel said.
"Yes, but it's going somewhere where you can't be found," I protested. "I didn't do that. I came to you."
Daniel lifted his eyes heavenward, as though trying to draw strength.
"Did anybody know where you were going?" he asked. "Did any of us know where you really were for those 20-something
hours that you were on that damn bus?"
I bit at my lip, and then shook my head, just the slightest bit.
"Answer me," Daniel ordered.
"No," I said, and then when it looked as though he thought I was telling him 'no', that I was refusing to answer him, I
hurriedly tacked on, "Nobody knew where I was. During that time."
"Right." Daniel leaned closer, so that his face was literally just inches from mine. "So let's call it what it is. Without putting
a word switch, or different spin on it. It was running away, Harlie!"
I wanted to say something, to continue to protest that I hadn't 'run away', as he said. But the look on his face made me
keep any arguments to myself.
He leaned back again, studying me with a intentness that made my middle flinch in nerves.
"I've been tryin' to figure out where your brain was at," he said, "but I just can't come up with anything, that would
explain why you would think doing somethin' like this was even remotely a good idea."
"I needed to see you!" I told him. "It's been too long!"
"So now this is my fault?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. "Because I haven't been home in a while, I somehow forced you
to pull this stupid stunt?"
"I didn't say it was your fault," I denied. "It wasn't. Not at all." I tried to find the right words. The ones that would get
thru to Daniel, and swing him over to understanding. "I just-needed to see you. You're my buddy, Daniel."
I hoped valiantly that those last four words would soften him. For a moment, and just for a moment, I thought that I'd succeeded.
Something passed over his face, and he gave a slight nod.
"Yeah. Buddies. That's us," he said.
Then he leaned forward again, resting his hands on my knees. "But you don't need a buddy right now. You need me to be
somethin' different. Somethin' stronger, that helps you understand what you've done."
I studied him, not grasping what he was getting at.
"Come on," he said, taking my wrist in his hand, and pulling me over to sit beside him on the couch. Then, before I even
realized his intention, I was across his knee, staring at the floor, and the toe of his boot.
7
