“Yes.” Lila didn’t often point out the facts, didn’t explicitly share what she knew. Her way was to give her conversational partners the time and space—usually with a bit of guidance—to find the truth on their own. To figure it out for themselves, rather than be told. She was a huge proponent of helping people think their own thoughts, draw their own conclusions.
Because so many victims of abuse—as everyone now knew Lila had been—were denied that right to the extent of believing themselves incapable of trusting their own thoughts.
“Brianna stayed in that house every other Friday night.”
“I know the two of you used to go to Albina on your weekends off. I suspected she might’ve been visiting her father.”
“And my parents,” Harper said, her screen steady on the picture of an injured Miriam. “They have a small vegetable farm and I’d stay with them. Brianna would spend Friday night at Bruce’s. From Saturday afternoon until we came home on Sunday, we’d be with my folks.”
“What’s happened with her visitation since you accepted the new position?”
As head of security now, she couldn’t be gone every other weekend. She had vacation. And days off, but they rotated.
“Bruce has to make the drive here, to my house, to see her. He can take her to his hotel on Friday night, or I said he could just pick her up and spend time with her, then bring her home...”
“Has he done that?”
Well... “Not yet,” Harper said, closing the screen when she could no longer bear to look at it. “But he’s an undercover cop and he’s been on assignment. We knew going in that there’d be times, when he was on a job, that he’d miss his weekends. It happened up in Albina, too, but Miriam still got to visit with her.”
She could hear her defensive tone. It wasn’t that she wanted to be with her ex-husband anymore. If she did, her marriage might have lasted more than a year. But she couldn’t see a good cop having his life ruined because he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.
None of that mattered at the moment. “You should know, Miriam isn’t fond of me,” she told her boss. “Truth be told, she pretty much hates me.” The rest of the staff had a right to know what they might be facing.
But if Mason and Bruce were working together, presumably they’d chosen the Stand because she was there. Because they trusted her to keep their grandmother safe while they did their bit?
Bruce knew where she worked, if not the actual address, the name of the shelter. And he was a decorated cop with cop friends, she heard Lila’s words again.
“Why does she hate you?”
“I left her grandson.” Miriam hadn’t been subtle in expressing her opinion as to where the blame lay. But she’d reluctantly agreed to keep her opinions about Harper to herself when Brianna was around, as long as Harper never showed up in their home. Unless Miriam was discreet, Harper wasn’t going to let Brianna stay overnight with them. Bruce had given her full custody of their daughter, without state guided visitation rights—probably to stay on Harper’s good side—and that meant she didn’t have to let Brianna stay overnight with him. He’d given her everything she’d asked for in their divorce, requesting only that they remain in touch. That she at least let him be her friend. He hadn’t wanted the divorce and had repeatedly begged her for another chance. He’d said he understood when she’d been unable to do so. Deep down, Bruce was a good man. One who lived a deceitful professional life that sometimes bled into his personal morality.
Miriam Thomas was at the Stand. Brianna attended day care there. She played out on the grounds during set times. The two of them could feasibly visit each other. Brianna would want to see her great-grandmother. Miriam would no doubt insist on seeing Brianna, too. And maybe there was no reason she shouldn’t. Maybe Miriam had agreed to stay because of Brianna. Maybe they’d be able to help Miriam help herself.
She wondered whether Miriam would let Harper do anything for her. But she knew she’d find a way. It was her job.
All the Stand’s residents were like family to her for as long as they were with them. She didn’t have to like them. She didn’t even have to know them. She’d vowed to protect them with her life—every last one of them. And she would.
Just as soon as she sorted out this new reality.
THE LAST THING Mason Thomas had ever expected, or wanted, was to need anything from Harper Davidson. Needing her—wanting his brother’s woman—was something he’d been living with since the first night Bruce had brought her home. He took full accountability for his inappropriate reaction, had dealt with and paid for it. All of which was a hell of a lot easier when he didn’t have to see her.
Fully aware that the last thing in the world she probably needed was to have him knocking on the door of her office, he hesitated in the hallway.
“She knows you’re doing this?” He gave Lila Mantle his most commanding stare. “That you’re bringing me to see her.”
“I spoke to her twenty minutes ago.”
“And she agreed to meet with me.”
Lila frowned as she studied him. Up to that point, he’d felt her to be nothing but supportive. A colleague helping him out in a despicable situation.
“Is there a reason she shouldn’t have?” Dressed in a dark blue suit with her hair up in a bun, Lila didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by his six-foot-two-inch stature.
He shrugged. The reason wasn’t as important as protecting Miriam. He’d taken a huge gamble that Harper would agree with him, but now that he was about to see her, he wasn’t as confident. He’d dressed for a normal day’s work out in the field, examining scenes. Khakis, button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, black slip-ons. Seeing Harper hadn’t figured into it. “I haven’t seen her in five years,” he said.
Which didn’t answer the question. Lila’s glance let him know she wasn’t completely satisfied with his answer, but she didn’t push. At least not yet. He was left with the impression that she might. He needed her on his side; without The Lemonade Stand, he didn’t have much hope of saving his grandmother, let alone freeing her to enjoy some happy days in the years she had left. God knew, she’d earned them.
Lila knocked, ushered him ahead of her, said a few words and stepped out, closing the door behind her.
“Mason.” Harper got to her feet, but kept her desk between them, a pencil in her hands. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, her eyes as blue, with the tinge of violet around the edges that he’d never forgotten. She didn’t seem any happier to see him now than the last time he’d looked at her. The morning after...
“Harper.” Hands at his sides, he stood there in a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation. Not sure what to do, how to take control of his interview. Hugging her was definitely out.
Mentioning the past...ditto.
“You look good.” She wasn’t quite smiling, but there was no chill in her gaze, either.
“So do you.” He hoped to God the wealth of feeling in that statement didn’t convey itself to her.
They’d known each other since Bruce had brought her home from work more than six years before, a new recruit who’d also been his new romantic interest, to have dinner with the family, but Mason had never taken much time to actually talk to her that night.
After his initial reaction to her—feeling like he’d been hit by a semi and liking it—he’d deliberately shied away from conversation. She was his brother’s girlfriend.
The