Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Have fun, bring them back by 2, okay Dad? Lily has ballet.”

Harry nodded, swallowing against the grimace that rose with the word “Dad.” It’s a new change, he reminded himself, running a stray hand through his hair. 

Well, if five years still counted as “new”.

Still, Allison had taken the news better than some of their family. She at least still spoke to him, even if it wasn’t with generous words. Her husband had tacitly refused to be in the same room with Harry since he had found out.

“Back by 2,” Harry agreed, rapping gently on the side of his daughter’s front door, before spinning around to the delighted shrieks of his granddaughters.

“Alright ladies,” he trilled, placing one hand cheekily on his hips. “Are you ready to go see some butterflies?”

The resounding cheers were almost enough to soften the heavy thud of his daughter’s door behind him.

The day was warm and soft, the sun a gentle light dusting the tops of the trees. Swimming through puffy white clouds. Harry rolled the windows down, letting Hannah fiddle with the radio on the dash while Lily bounced around in the backseat, excitedly updating him on the plotline in her latest fantasy novel. 

After much fussing, Hannah settled on Shania Twain with a knowing grin plastered across her face. Harry merely raised his eyes, pretending not to take the bait for a few moments. She shrieked in delighted annoyance, outstretching her arms to point at the radio. 

Harry caved.

The road to the arboretum was golden, shining with sunny guitar strings and the strains of Harry harmonising with his granddaughters.

“I thought you said we’d be riding tractors.”

Montero tilted his head at the oversized go-kart in front of him in confusion. His goddaughter Nia cackled, raising one hand to cover her mouth. 

“These are tractors,” she said, a laugh riding the waves of her voice, “just, like, mini ones.”

“Your daddy said you were farm people now,” Montero rejoined, quirking one eyebrow. “That doesn’t look like a farm tractor.”

“It’s just for mowing the lawn,” Nia explained, still giggling. “He wanted me to teach you on this one before we took you to see the bigger ones.”

Montero placed a hand over his heart in mock affront. “Didn’t trust me with his fancy equipment?” He craned his neck to look out across the field and the old farmhouse beyond it. “Where is that son of a bitch anyway?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He paused, glancing up at the sky. “Um, no offence to your nana, may she rest in peace,” he added.

“May you rest peacefully if she hears another word like that come out your mouth,” a dry voice drawled behind him.

“Carol!” Montero sang, twirling with his arms outstretched for a hug. Daniel’s mother was wiry, hands gnarled around a smooth wooden cane, a floral workshift hanging down to brush against the grass. Wire glasses pinched her nose, framing milky eyes that narrowed up at Montero. 

“Get on the fucking tractor then we’ll see about a hug,” Carol chirped, her voice rusty with cigarettes. “This pasture should have been cut two days ago.”

“Your wish is my command,” Montero said with a flutter of his hands that had Carol rolling her eyes. 

He hefted himself up onto the seat of the mower, knees straining slightly with the movement. Carol eyed him as he reached for the controls. 

“You’ve gotten grey since I last saw you,” she commented, pulling Nia into her side with a gentle squeeze. 

Montero grinned, reaching up to run a nail along the edges of his silver curls. “Finally stopped dyeing it,” he explained, rummaging in the side compartment for a set of headphones and keys. “So Nia, I just steer this like a MarioKart thing, or?”

Nia laughed, shaking her head fondly and stalking through the grass to slide the keys into the slot easily. “Have you even played MarioKart before?”

“Excuse me,” Montero rejoined, blinking rapidly. “How old do you think I am?” He paused, raising a finger in the air. “Don’t answer that—yes I’ve played it before. I’m always that pink princess, remember?”

Nia smiled, nodding as she flicked the keys, starting the ignition. “That’s right,” she agreed. “Well maybe we can play tonight.”

“If he gets the pasture done in time,” Carol jumped in from behind her. 

“Thanks for always looking out for me, Carol, I do appreciate it,” Montero drawled. 

“So you push the levers in the direction you wanna go,” Nia said, in a slightly louder tone, “forward, reverse, and hold it in the middle if you want to stop. Blades are activated by the red button, just push it in if you have to go over a road or something.”

Montero nodded, taking in her directions. “Sounds easy enough,” he laughed, taking the bright yellow headphones from her with a grin. 

He settled them over his ears and felt his hearing narrow to the blood rushing in his ears. Shaking his shoulders out, he pushed the levers forward. 

The tractor jerked. Once, twice. Then sprang forward.

“Shit!” Montero yelled as the mower lurched over the field, blades whacking at the grass in front of him. He could faintly hear Nia yelling something behind him, but with his hands gripping the levers tightly and his neck craning for fences he might be about to run into, he couldn’t take in what she was saying. Shredded grass flew through the air, landing in his eyes and mouth with little stings. He sputtered, trying to see past the long grass and into the pasture beyond. 

Nia’s shouts came into clarity just as he was able to see what lay before him.

“Montero! Watch out for the fucking ditch!”

Several feet across and full of wet muck. And Montero was barreling towards it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Montero muttered—or yelled, it was hard to tell with the earphones on. Forward for forward, back for back, he remembered Nia saying. “Where’s the fucking emergency brake on this thing?” he shouted desperately as the tractor ploughed forward at full speed, nearing the ditch. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the distant form of Nia sprinting towards him but it was too late, she wouldn’t make it in time. He glanced down in panic and saw a red button winking at him from the side panel. Without hesitation he jabbed at it, hoping for an ejector seat or emergency release system. Instead, the blades cut off with a low whine. 

Montero had a moment to appreciate the lack of grass shards stinging his face before the tractor hurtled into the muddy ditch. 

“Granny, the butterflies love you!”

Harry giggled in delight as Hannah pointed at his arms in awe. Sure enough, little wings adorned the sleeves of his soft yellow jumper, gently making their way over the folds and billows in the fabric. 

“Guess that’s why I get bitten by mosquitoes so often,” he quipped, turning a sly grin towards his granddaughters. “Must be something in my blood,” he intoned, wiggling his fingers towards them menacingly. Hannah squealed in delight while Lily rolled her eyes. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Lily asked, her voice unamused. Harry could see the slight humour dancing in her eyes though, and pressed the point. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, placing one hand theatrically over his heart, the butterflies shivering back into place with the movement. “I didn’t realise I wasn’t cool enough for you anymore.” He closed his eyes, biting his lip to suppress a grin. 

“Oh my god, Granny stop,” Lily groaned, but Harry could hear the laughter in her voice. “You’re plenty cool, alright? Just not very scary.”

Harry tilted his head, considering. “I can live with that,” he agreed with an easy shrug. 

He looked down to find Hannah attached to his arm, peering with wide eyes at the delicate wings fluttering. “So you’re telling me,” she said, her nose scrunched up in scepticism, “that these things come from grubs? How?”

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it when he saw Lily peering up at a nearby tree, scanning intently. 

“Here!” Lily called, beckoning them over. “It’s called a chrysalis, Hannah.” She glanced up at Harry, a soft question in her eyes, and he nodded encouragingly, heart warmed.

Hannah’s mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’. “That’s where the grub goes?”

“Yeah,” Lily confirmed, pointing at the little stalk connecting the chrysalis to the tree branch. “They eat a bunch and then they curl up in these,” she explained, “like a little worm in a blanket.”

Hannah glanced at Harry, her awed expression widening, and he nodded eagerly back at her. 

“Worm in a blanket,” she hummed, eyebrows raised. 

“And then,” Lily continued, gesturing, “they sleep for a bit and when they wake up and come out of the blanket, they look a little different than they used to. All pretty and shiny. But they’re still the same bug from before.”

Harry rested a gentle hand on Hannah’s shoulder as she gazed at the cocoon in wonder. 

“Is that why you have a butterfly on your tummy?” Hannah asked, poking Harry in the stomach. 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He met Lily’s eyes, watched them soften with a smile. 

“You know,” he said, feeling the words out. “I suppose it is.” He glanced between the two girls. “It is.”

Hannah just nodded and settled back into her hug. 

“So Montero broke the tractor, huh?”

Montero spluttered, raising his body half out of the porch chair in protest. “I did not break anything, it’s sitting out there in the garage perfectly fine.”

Daniel folded his arms and leaned against the beams on the other side of the porch, grinning. Nia chuckled from her spot on the old wicker couch, picking at the edges. 

“Perfectly fine, I’m going to hold you to that,” Daniel said, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Are we going to sit around and point fingers, or are you going to have a drink with me?” Montero asked, huffing over his glass of pink lemonade. 

Daniel threw his head back and let out a long laugh. 

“Let me make up something right now, alright?”

Montero grumbled but nodded in assent, unable to help cracking a smile when Nia rolled her eyes at him. 

The porch door swung shut with a thud behind Daniel, bug screen bouncing in its place.

“Hey where’s your brother been?” Montero asked, setting his glass down and grimacing slightly as his elbow popped. “I thought I might see him around.”

Nia sighed, propping her chin on one hand. 

“He’s probably still out with the horses,” she said, sliding her eyes over to Montero. “Wanna know a secret?”

Montero nodded rapidly, waving his hand in fake annoyance. “Obviously.”  

“I think he’s seeing this guy from the Hamilton farm,” she whispered, mouth twisting into a smile,  “over that way.”

“You’re shitting me,” Montero deadpanned, placing a hand over his mouth. “Is he cute?”

“Ezekiel?” Nia asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Like, I guess so? He seems well-groomed, I guess.” 

She burst out laughing at the disbelieving expression on Montero’s face. 

“You’re gay, not undiscerning Nia,” he hissed. Nia cackled louder and threw her hands up in the air. 

“He’s fine! He’s fine,” she giggled. 

“Hamilton farm,” Montero repeated, musing. “So do we know the Hamiltons? Are they cool?”

Nia hummed, playing with a loose thread on a cushion. “Not really,” she shrugged. “They’re sorta hot shit over here.” Montero scoffed and her eyes widened. “I’m serious. It’s like small town politics on steroids.”

“So, what, these guys are like the town mayors or whatever?” he asked, intrigued by the gossip.

“Nah, we don’t really have those,” Nia said, twisting onto her back and propping her feet up on the arm of the couch. “They’ve just been around for ages, and everyone knows them, and their kids are like. You know, they’re popular or whatever. All the stereotypes.”

Montero hummed. “Prom royalty, then?”

“Oh even worse,” Nia tossed back, glancing up at him. “Try Maple Ball royalty.”

“No,” Montero gasped, snorting. 

“Yup,” Nia said with a cackle. “And they’re good at all the sports and they’re always having these big parties at their house, and their grandpa is like the big guy in town, everyone knows him.”

“So they live on the next farm over?” Montero asked, craning his neck in that direction. All he could see were trees and rolling hills dotted with pastures and long swaying grass. Green and more green. “Do you ever go to their parties?”

“Oh god no,” Nia said, shaking her head vigorously. “Tom and I don’t get invited to those. That’s for all their rich friends who run the town businesses or whatever.”

Montero raised an eyebrow. “But they’re your neighbours, I thought that was small town etiquette?”

“It usually is,” Nia agreed, nodding. “But they’ve got so much damn land I don’t even know if they know we exist, honestly. It’s all arranged around the grandfather’s house, like a little fucking commune or something.”

“But this Ezekiel boy Tom likes?” Montero asked, feeling a slight surge of protectiveness rise for his godson. “He seems okay?”

“He does, honestly,” Nia granted. “And I trust Tom’s judgement. But the rest of the family, I just don’t know. They’re all so stuck up you’d think we were living on some landed estate and they were the lords and ladies.”

“Sheesh,” Montero breathed, shaking his head and taking one more look towards the east. Nothing but trees.

“Well, I guess not all of them live on the commune,” Nia continued, musing to herself. “‘Cause they’ve got another grandpa but he lives by himself. Divorced, I guess. Doesn’t have the name, or maybe never took the name, I don’t know.”

“And he still lives in the same town?” Montero blew out a breath in disbelief. 

“Mm-hm,” Nia nodded. “Where his ex-husband lives like royalty. Funny, right?”

Montero’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sounds pretty tough.”

“I can only imagine,” Nia agreed easily. “I guess he must have stuck around because all of his kids and grandkids would be here.”

“Damn,” Montero hummed, drumming his fingers against the arm of the porch chair. “And he’s the only one who lives away,” he mused. “I wonder if he gets lonely.”

“I would,” Nia supplied. “I can’t imagine Dirk Hamilton being your ex, the whole town’s gotta be brimming with gossip about you. Doesn’t seem comfy to me.”

Montero nodded slowly, watching a fly buzzing in slow arcs over the end table.

“Not comfy at all.”

The porch door swung open with a clatter, and Daniel emerged with two mugs of beer. Montero accepted his with a sly grin. 

“Day-drinking? At your age?”

Daniel threw his head back in a laugh as he sank onto the armchair facing Montero’s across the table. 

“I should ask you the same thing, old man.”

Montero scoffed and turned to Nia, who was watching the exchange with a lazy fondness. “Don’t listen to your dad, he’s really an ancient relic compared to me.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows, grinning. “In that case, we could use your youthful vigour on a few chores this afternoon,” he ventured with a light tone. “Unless of course, you’re feeling a little too old to help a poor ancient farmer.”

Montero’s laugh rang dry as he shook a finger at Daniel.

“You bastard.”

The arboretum settled into a soft stillness by midday. Harry had taken the girls down to the pond to feed the ducks, past the worn wooden swingsets, and all the way to the banks of the river that wound its lazy way through town. It was still the beginning of summer and a little too cold to swim, but Lily waded in up to her knees while Hannah hung over a free-standing rock to gaze curiously into the pools below. Harry had settled down in a warm patch of grass with a picnic blanket, watching the families milling around the water. He glanced down towards where the river forked, unable to help the smile that ghosted across his face as he saw two mothers helping their child into the shallows, arms outstretched. With a shriek, their child swam into their joined arms, and the family collapsed in a huddle of splashing laughter. Harry watched as one mother nuzzled into the other and kissed her forehead, their child tucked between them. He took a deep breath and felt something tighten in his chest.

“Granny, can I have a snack?”

Hannah burst into his reverie with a tumble of gravel and dirt, collapsing onto the edge of his picnic blanket. He shook his head slightly as he smiled in assent, reaching into his tote bag to dig around for a pack of granola.

“Here, love,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Hannah beamed, plunging one hand up to the elbow in the bag of granola.

“Yum,” she enthused, mouth full, with a streak of dirt across her cheek.

“Yum,” Harry agreed, dipping his hand into the bag.

Once Lily had enough of poking around the river in search of nymphs, they made their way along one of the paths crisscrossing the main grove, Hannah brushing her hands softly over the flowers dotting the grass. Harry paused at a wooden sign, green paint peeling slightly off its edges.

“Want to take the old town road back to the parking lot?” he asked, turning to raise his eyebrows at Lily. “I’d like to check the notices.”

Lily nodded, bouncing over to where he and Hannah were standing. “Yeah, I think flower fairies live on that road anyway,” she said, biting at her lower lip. “Though no one checks the notices there anymore Granny, it’s all online.”

Harry tucked his fingers into the loops of his loose white slacks. “Excuse me, plenty of people still check the notices there,” he argued, smiling. “Otherwise they wouldn’t post them.”

“Hmm,” Lily shrugged noncommittally, but the prospect of fairies seemed to be enough to sweep her along the slightly wider road ahead.

Road was a generous term, really. Track might be a better description, but then, most of the roads around town were old dirt tracks. Trail didn’t quite seem to capture the size of it, though, at least when compared to the foot-smoothed single-file lanes that meandered over the town’s rolling hills. Still, the oldest residents of the town—older even than Harry, though that was becoming an increasingly rare phenomenon—claimed that it had once borne all of the through-traffic and movement in and out of the hills. At least what little of it existed in their tiny slice of woods and farms.

The noticeboard was a relic of that perhaps fantastical bygone era. Nothing more than a squat wooden signboard with some lacklustre dents that might have once been engravings (if you asked Harry, which no one ever did, it was likely some of his old students who had been of the more, artistically individualistic slant). Still, Harry liked to check it, at least once a week. Perhaps it was nothing more than an intangible desire to feel connected in this town that had harboured so much pain for him. By checking the notices he could, in some illusory way, feel as though there were some chance that someday he might actually feel welcomed at one of the spring festivals or autumn hayrides. A fleeting but welcome dream, and one that he entertained increasingly more the older he got.

Surely not everyone in town would remember? Still, after all these years?

Harry wasn’t sure but he was feeling more and more ready to risk it.

Montero drove the nails into the signboard, still muttering as Daniel looked on.

“It’s nice of a young man like you to help an elder out,” Daniel teased.

“Alright, would you give it a fucking break?” Montero groaned, sliding the hammer into his back pocket and wiping the sweat off his face. “When did it get so hot?”

Daniel tilted his head to consider the sky. “Only five more locations to go,” he sang cheerily.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Montero gasped. “There can’t be more than five people in this town, us included.”

“Well there’s six,” Daniel said, peering over Montero’s shoulder.

A little girl with unruly brown curls was gazing curiously at Montero, one hand resting on the sign.

“Is that your hammer?” she asked abruptly.

Daniel chuckled softly behind Montero.

“No, it’s actually my buddy’s here,” Montero said, looking softly down at the little girl. “Why, is someone giving you trouble?”

The girl shook her head frankly. “Are you a carpenter?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No, I’m a barber,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Used to be a barber, I guess.”

“Then why do you have a hammer?”

Montero laughed in surprise. “Because I’m nailing these flyers in,” he explained, gesturing towards the papers.

The girl hummed, eyes fixed on the hammer.

“Lily!” a voice called out from the bend around the road. The little girl— Lily, Montero assumed—seemed entirely unperturbed.

“Can I nail the last one?” she asked, gesturing at the free-hanging corner of the flyer.

“Lily!” the voice called again, and morphed into the shape of a harried looking man, carrying a girl that could be Lily’s younger twin on his hip. He stumbled slightly as he rushed over, tripping over the toes of his pink loafers. He was fashionable and well-built, with a soft yellow blouse tucked into white slacks, grey curls bouncing as he half-walked half-ran.

Lily barely turned away from the hammer, and the man smiled apologetically as he got to the signboard. 

“Granny, do you think I’d be a good carpenter?” she asked, tilting her head at the man.

He let out a sigh, eyebrows creasing slightly.

“Of course, Lily, you’d be brilliant at anything, but what—”

“So can I?” she asked, cutting him off and turning back to Montero, who had watched the entire interaction with a kind of stunned amusement.

“Um,” Montero started, scratching at the back of his neck. He gestured at the signboard, looking up to meet the man’s confused expression. “She wanted to hammer the last one.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, seemingly slightly flustered, hiking the younger girl up higher on his hip. “I’m sorry, she’s just curious.”

“Oh it’s no issue at all,” Montero said, shaking his head. “She’s perfectly welcome to,” he added, wanting to ease the man’s apparent nervousness.

“Yeah, Montero could use a break, anyway,” Daniel offered from behind him.

“Daniel could shut his mouth.” Montero threw a withering glance over his shoulder before handing Lily the hammer, brandishing his hands out to the flyer.  “Take it away, Lily.”

“Montero and Daniel?” the man asked, smiling gently. “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen you before. But I’m not usually in town. How long have you been here?”

“Oh I just got here,” Montero explained, watching as Lily steadied the hammer and nail. “Recently retired and I haven’t seen Daniel in years, so thought I’d move out here for a little bit.”

“How lovely,” the man enthused, his eyes also darting to Lily every now and then.

“And you?” Montero asked, watching as the young girl on his hip pulled at one of his silver curls, following the movement as it bounced back.

“Harry Styles,” the man said with a friendly grin, reaching out with his free hand. His grip was warm and steady.

They both watched as Lily took a deep breath, shoulders rising exaggeratedly, and swung the hammer, sending the nail deep into the cork of the signboard.

“Bullseye,” Harry cheered dorkily, bouncing on his toes when Lily turned around.

“Have you lived here long?” Montero asked, accepting the hammer back from Lily and wiping again at his forehead. He was growing increasingly aware of the sweat beading across his upper lip, but didn’t know if it would be strange to wipe it away.

Harry seemed to hesitate slightly, rocking back on his heels. “Yes,” he said eventually, drawing the word out slightly. “I’ve been here a long time.”

Montero was vaguely aware of Lily walking up to Daniel and asking about the flyers in his hands, but he was still caught on Harry’s downcast eyes.

“Granny,” the young girl in Harry’s arms called, pointing to the noticeboard. “You should do this.” 

Harry and Montero turned in unison to peer at the sign. Montero could just make out the vaguely overstretched image of fingers dipped into a clay bowl. 

“A pottery class?” Harry asked, glancing down at the girl. 

“He’s an artist,” she whispered confidingly to Montero. He laughed and raised an eyebrow at Harry, who was shaking his head bashfully. 

“I used to teach art,” he said, waving a hand lightly.

“Sounds like an artist to me,” Montero shrugged, smiling encouragingly. “Maybe you should check it out.”

Harry seemed to pause again, his eyes darting to the side quickly and then back to Montero. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers somewhat shakily through the grey curls at the top of his head. 

“You know what?” he said, glancing back up to meet Montero’s eyes. “Maybe I will.”

Montero and the little girl cheered in unison as Harry bent to tear off a number. 

Once Montero and Daniel left, Harry felt his fingers crumple the pottery class slip, twisting it in frantic energy. 

“Oh cool,” Lily said, pointing to the noticeboard. “Did you read the flyers?”

Harry shook his head, bending to read the paper over her head. 

“A gospel choir!” he exclaimed, breaking out into a wide smile. “How wonderful.”

“Makes sense he’s a singer,” Lily mused, hand on her chin. “He had a singer-voice.”

Harry laughed, grinning in agreement. “A very musical voice.”

Hannah swiveled her head between them as they spoke, finally settling into a vice grip around Harry’s waist. 

“This town could use some music,” she commented, closing her eyes. 

Harry and Lily stared at each other in shock, breaking out into soft giggles. 

“It really could, baby,” he said with another laugh, resting his free hand over Lily’s shoulders as they continued down the road. “It really could.”

“Those are the Hamiltons?” Montero repeated, gaping across the dinner table. 

“Well, the one grandpa’s not a Hamilton,” Nia pointed out, spearing at a smudge of potatoes with her fork.

“Yeah, he said his last name was Styles?” Montero said, tapping the side of his plate. “And I think he might be a granny?” He turned to check with Daniel, who nodded in agreement. 

“That’s what they called him,” Daniel confirmed, mouth full. 

“Oh cool, gotcha,” Nia said, reaching for a slice of bread from a plate in the middle. “Yeah, the girls you described are definitely the granddaughters.”

“They were so nice,” Montero exclaimed in disbelief. 

“Maybe that’s why that Styles is excommunicated from the family,” Carol cut in, sipping at her ale with composure. 

“Is it that serious?” Daniel asked, chewing consideringly. “I barely ever see him, now that you mention it.”

Carol hummed, reaching to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. 

“All I know is, I have never once seen him at Hamilton farm since the divorce,” she said, quirking one eyebrow. “Not that I have much occasion to pass by that place.”

Montero swirled the water in his glass, twisting his mouth to the side. 

“That just seems so lonely,” he exclaimed, eyebrows creasing. 

“Oh, it seems more than lonely,” Nia chimed in, twirling her fork through rolls of spaghetti. “It seems painful.”

Harry bundled Hannah up in her favourite fluffy blankets, emblazoned with loose ferns and butterflies. 

“It’s my cocoon!” she squealed, wriggling around happily.

Harry laughed fondly, cupping her chin and bending over to press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s a very pretty cocoon,” he commented, giving her legs one last tuck. 

“Who tucks you into your cocoon, Granny?” Hannah whispered tiredly, stifling a little yawn. 

Harry bit the inside of his lip. “I do, love,” he said softly. “I tuck myself in.”

Hannah nodded, twisting to her side as her eyelids drooped. “If I was there, I would tuck you in, Granny.”

Harry squeezed his eyes tight shut when he answered. 

“I know you would.”

The moon sat in its soft halo as Montero readied himself for bed. He had taken the small attic room, at least for now, protesting against Daniel’s exhortation to take Tom’s room for the night (and save yourself the trouble, old man, he’s not going to be in until morning anyway), and settling in after several raucous rounds of MarioKart in the sitting room.

As he lay down, watching the clouds swimming in silver gloom, his mind turned to the rolling hills that stretched between the neighbouring farm and the town road where he had met Harry that afternoon. He wondered where the man lived—amidst the tiny sprawl of shops they called Main Street? Out in the foothills of the nearby mountains? How far was he able to get from his family while still being close enough to be in their lives?

After an hour of tossing and turning, Montero groaned and yanked open the dresser to his side, searching for a loose piece of paper. Grabbing an old sheet of hymn music and a dusty ballpoint pen, he scrawled tiredly at it in the dark.

Call Mom.

He hoped it wouldn’t be legible in the morning. 

Harry shuts her door behind her with a heavy sigh, setting her tote bag down on a worn stool by the coatrack. She shuffles up the stairs slowly, shedding her loafers on the first step. All is still in the house. Harry’s thoughts race. 

She washes her hands quickly, not wanting to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A nightbird sings into the quiet and she follows its song to her dresser, yanking her blouse out of her waistband as she goes. 

She disrobes before the dresser, watching the clothes pile up in a sparse bundle of fabric on the ground beneath her. The wooden handles are smooth underneath her fingers. It smells like it might rain, a pregnant pause beneath the clouds, and Harry feels like she’s waiting for something, anything to happen. She feels like she could climb out of her skin. 

She showers instead. Lets the rain dance over her body in a familiar rhythm, sinking her fingers into wet curls, tugging at the back of her neck. Imagines that it speaks to her in soft whispers. Tells her she’s pretty. 

Soft cotton nightgown, bought on a whim a few towns over. For a lady friend? the cashier had asked with a wink. Harry had smiled and nodded. Now her skin feels alive, open, receptive. 

It hangs off her shoulders with a delicacy that has her tearing up in the mirror, toothbrush in hand. 

When she crawls into bed she turns towards the moon. 

She thinks of him.