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I sigh. “Meet me out by my car.”
“You don’t want to walk?”
“Penelope doesn’t like all that movement.”
“Penelope’s coming?”
“She needs to get used to her new surroundings.”
89
Harlow
Jace shows me through his house, starting at the cameras he’d set up at the front and back doors, as well as in the living room, and while he does, I try to push aside the memories of how I felt the last time I was here. He’d told me he wished I’d never moved here, and sure it hurt, but it’s in the past. Besides, I’d said things to hurt him too. In fact, I hurt him first.
Jace tells me he’ll have access to the cameras and that he’ll set it up on my phone too, and then he assures me he’s notspyingbecause he doesn’t trust me. He simply wants that peace of mind. Who wouldn’t?
There are other things he plans to do, like stick little memory cards on the walls or furniture to remind his grandpa to do certain everyday tasks—brush his teeth, wash his hands, those sorts of things. Jace suggests we do that together with his grandpa, and I agree. Then he shows me through the rest of his house. The living room, kitchen, everything else downstairs. The more he shows me, the quieter he gets, and I can’t tell if it’s shame or uncertainty that has him feeling a certain way. Our houses are similar, but the content within them is not. The furniture and appliances are old and well used, and there’s not a lot ofpersonal touches around, but it’s still a home.Hishome. And I hope he sees it that way.
Jace leads me upstairs and to the room opposite his and says, “This will be your dad’s. It’s not much now, but I plan to work on it over the summer.”
The room is sparse, like the rest of the house, with nothing besides a bed pushed up against a corner. “My dad sleeps in a truck most of the time. A bed is a luxury for him. This is perfect.”
Without making eye contact, Jace nods, then takes me to his room. The first thing I notice is the mountain of bags on his bed. “I went to Odessa this morning to visit my grandpa, and I got you some stuff.” He leans against his desk, his arms crossed, head bowed between his shoulders.
I place Penelope’s travel tank on Jace’s nightstand and peer into the nearest bag. There are bedsheets in there like the ones currently on my bed.
“The lady at the store said they were high count,” he murmurs, still refusing to look at me. “I don’t know what that means, but it can’t be bad, right?”
I sit on the edge of the bed, opposite his desk, and look up at him. “What’s going on?”
“You don’t like the bedsheets?”
“I love them. But they’re not necessary. I’m just happy to be doing this for you. But you seem… I don’t know. Whatever it is, though, you should talk to me about it.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and my pulse quickens the longer he’s quiet.
I sigh, my shoulders dropping with the force. “Please don’t tell me you changed your mind.”
Jace sucks in a breath, lets it out slowly. “I’m worried, is all.”
“About whatspecifically?”
“Everything.” He runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. “I think I got caught up in the moment last night, and the pressure?—”
“I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
“—and I don’t know if I made the right decision.”
I search his eyes, trying to come up with a way to make him believe in the plan as much as I do.
Before I can speak, he says, his voice so broken it almost kills me, “What if he hurts you, Harlow?”
“He won’t,” I assure.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“He won’t,” I repeat. It’s not as if I’m naïve enough to completely disregard the possibility. It was the first thing on my con list when the idea came to me. “You said it yourself. He only ever saw your father when he was hurting you. He won’t see that in me. And hopefully, once we know more about his specific disease, then we can find the right treatment, and sure, it won’tcurehim, but it will help. That’s what all this is about, right?”