36. Harlan

36

HARLAN

My eyes followed the blades of my ceiling fan going round and round as faint sounds of raindrops began to fall on the roof. The last time it rained was the night I'd taken Daphne to the pond. The night we'd run for cover in the barn. The night we'd had sex for the first time. That night felt like it was a lot longer than six and a half weeks ago.

"Aunt Rhonda is coming home on Friday. As soon as I get her settled, I'm leaving . I'm going home."

Daphne's announcement had been playing in my head on repeat for the past few hours as my fingers grazed over Dini's tiny head, which was resting on my chest.

I felt sick to my stomach. Anxious. Upset.

I'm not sure why her telling me that information felt like such a kick in the balls. It's not like it was anything I didn't already know. I was painfully aware that every minute I'd spent with Daphne since the night I met her had been borrowed time.

There was just something so final about the way she'd said those words. It was goodbye. We, whatever we were or could be, were over.

Despite my brain knowing it was a bad idea, sometime over the past six and a half weeks, I'd gotten attached to Daphne. Hell, who was I kidding? I'd been attached to that girl since the first moment I laid eyes on her. And she was really leaving.

This time, I knew there wouldn't be an extension to her stay. She'd made it clear that her boss had given her an ultimatum. She was either back in the office on Monday morning or she didn't have a job to come back to.

Miss Rhonda was coming home Friday. Once she was home, I doubted I'd see much of Daphne. Not only was she going to be caring for her aunt, she also had to bring her up to speed on the changes she'd made in Moore Farms Moonshine, which, of course, were all brilliant, but there were a lot of things to go over.

We wouldn't be having dinner together every night. Or watching TV shows. Or hanging out with everyone at Southern Comfort.

I didn't just have feelings for her; I was pretty certain I was in love with Daphne Moore. No, I was absolutely certain that's exactly what I was.

Not that it mattered. Love wasn't enough. We lived on opposite coasts. We wanted opposite things in life. Hell, even our circadian rhythms were the opposite. She was not a morning person, and because of my job, I had to be up at four a.m.

Still, there was a part of me that wanted to tell her how I felt. I wanted to tell her that no matter what obstacles we faced, I wanted to face them together.

"What am I going to do?" I asked Dini.

"Prrrrrr," her purrs vibrated against me as she stretched out her front and back legs while kneading her paws in the air.

Dini's presence was the only thing that had kept me in bed for the past hour. I wanted to get up and pace, to walk around the house, to stop feeling like I was going to come out of my skin. But I'd stayed still so as not to upset the miniature princess.

Until now, it had gotten to the point where I had to move, or I was going to go crazy. Not able to lay still a second longer, I set Dini on the pillow beside me and sat up, hanging my feet off the side of the bed. A frustrated sigh fell from my lips as I rubbed my hands over my face.

I'd never been someone to sit on the sidelines. When I wanted something, I did everything in my power to get it. The problem was that my heart and mind wanted different things.

All my life, I'd seen what my life was going to look like. I would have a wife and kids and raise them on the family farm, just like I had been. But, as I sat looking at the multicolored rug beneath my feet that had been on the floor of my room since I was five, I wondered if that was still what my life would look like.

I'd never questioned my desire to have a family; it was just always expected of me. I needed to carry on the Mitchell legacy. But had I ever really wanted kids?

I wasn't so sure.

Zoe having AJ and then Austin dying was eye-opening to me. As a person who'd lost both my parents, I'd only ever seen things from my perspective. However, being one of the adults who picked up the pieces for a child who lost a parent was a totally different experience.

Both situations were difficult for completely different reasons. But I have to say, trying to explain to AJ, when he was two, that he wasn't going to see his dad again was fucking heart wrenching. Not to mention all the sleepless nights I'd spent worrying about the kid. When he was four, he developed strep throat and was running a hundred and five fever. I didn't sleep for three days. Or when he was eight and fell off the roof during a birthday party playing Superman, and his lifeless body lay on the ground unconscious. I was pacing in the emergency room all night and then up for two more nights because he had a concussion. Or even just the worry I had when he was having trouble in school before he was diagnosed with dyslexia. I'd tossed and turned, agonizing over what his behavior issues were about.

I was his godfather, basically a glorified uncle, and I worried about that kid every day. What would it be like having kids of my own? Did I want that? Or would I be happy not having kids? Could I be happy just being married to the woman I loved? Was that enough?

This was definitely a time I wished my dad was still around. Grandad was great, but he wasn't someone who talked about his feelings. He was old-school that way. As a kid, whenever I had a tough time, his solution was to tell me to drink a can of suck it up, get on with it, rub some dirt on it, or some other non-helpful piece of advice. I'd never felt like I could go to him with anything that had to do with my emotions.

My dad always gave the best advice. Or at least, that's how I remembered him. I recognize that I might romanticize him a little bit. But, over the years, whenever his friends are going through tough times, they all tell me that's when they miss my dad the most because if they could talk to him, they'd know he'd have the perfect thing to say. His reputation had lived on without him for nearly twenty years now.

The rain started coming down harder, and I stood and looked out the window. When I did, I saw that the kitchen light was on at the Moore farm. It looked like Daphne was at the kitchen table working on her computer.

Part of me wanted to go over and talk to her. But what would I say to her?

I wished I could force myself to go to sleep. Not because I had to be up at four a.m., but because if I could sleep, there was a possibility of my dad visiting me in a dream. When I was a kid, I was convinced that it was really him—that he was actually talking to me when I was asleep. Now, I don't even care if it was just my subconscious. I just wanted somebody to tell me what to do, even if it was me.

"What do I do, Dad?" I said aloud as I ran my hands through my hair.

The second the question left my mouth, the whoosh of my fan slowed, and the clock on my nightstand went black. I looked out the window and saw that the kitchen and living room light at Daphne's was out, too.

It was a power outage. Was she okay? Did she have flashlights? Would she know where they were even if she did?

I had to go over and check on her. I pulled on my sweats and shirt and slid my feet into my shoes, smiling. "Thanks, Dad."