TWENTY-ONE

Stone

The week leading up to Thanksgiving meant it was time to start harvesting this year’s crop of Christmas trees that would be sold at the Morgan Farm Market tree lot.

Cash, Boone and I had spent the morning choosing and cutting the best trees and loading them onto the trailer to be brought to the farm market. There we’d set them up and prepare for the crowds of shoppers. 

Cell phone signal was spotty on top of the hill where we grew the evergreens we sold, so it wasn’t until I’d gotten back down to the farm stand and was about to start unloading the trees that the texts started to load.

The phone in the breast pocket of my jacket didn’t shut up for what felt like a solid minute as the notifications kept coming.

Boone and Cash had already started hauling trees off the trailer as I pulled the cell from my pocket.

“You gonna help, princess?” Cash, always the smart-ass, asked.

I’d been up on the hill tagging trees for half an hour before he’d rolled in with a cup of coffee and a yawn.

Torn between cussing him out and lecturing him about being late, I chose a third option. I ignored him and swiped the display to read the texts and find out what the hell was going on.

The bulk of the texts—about four of them—were from Red, with one from Bethany and two from Harper.

I sighed and triaged what to focus on first.

Harper’s texts, of course, took priority.

I opened hers and saw the first one was reminding me that she might be driving downstate to visit her parents for Thanksgiving but she still had to call her mother about that. The second one was to tell me not to forget that Agnes wanted a fifteen-foot tree for the front hall and that I should keep my eye out for one that wasn’t too wide at the base.

Yeah, because fifteen-foot skinny evergreens were so common. I shook my head and smiled at my city girl as I punched in a reply, promising to do my best.

Whose text to read next? I chose Bethany’s since one message would be quicker to get through than four.

Bethany: Can you call me? It’s about Harper.

Hmm. That was interesting since Bethany’s message had arrived earlier than Harper’s had. And Harper had sounded just fine in her messages. What could be wrong?

I navigated to Red’s text to look for more clues but they were just a string of all-caps and exclamation points that didn’t tell me a whole lot except that she too wanted me to call her, as soon as possible, about Harper.

Drawing in a breath, I decided to find out what was happening first-hand and swiped the screen to call Red.

“Red’s Resale,” she answered, even though I’d called on her personal cell and not on the store’s phone.

Cash liked to mess with her when she made that mistake. He’d put on a fake voice and ask her crazy questions about oddball items he supposedly wanted to purchase.

I didn’t have the time to tease my brother’s girlfriend. I needed to find out why the woman and her friend had texted me half a dozen times this morning. “It’s Stone. And this isn’t your store phone.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Thank God you called. We need you.”

“Need me for what?” I asked, wondering what had Red sounding so agitated.

“For the intervention.”

“Intervention for what?”

“For Harper. She told Bethany she’s quitting writing.”

I shook my head. “She texted me twice this morning and sounded fine. And she always acts like that when she’s getting closer to a deadline.”

“This time is different. Even Harper said so to Bethany. Stone, Harper’s not as tough as she pretends to be. Bethany said she looked close to tears. And, uh, I did something I probably shouldn’t have.”

Now what? “What did you do?” I asked.

“I snuck into Agnes’s house while Harper was at Bethany’s and looked at Harper’s computer. It was open to her book. She’s only on chapter two of the book that’s due in like a month.”

I thought back to when I’d seen the book on her computer myself. That was just about where she was before the election.

Red was right. Harper wasn’t writing. In fact, lately she didn’t seem to be doing much of anything except obsessing over the forum or watching television.

“So we’re planning an intervention. You, Agnes, Bethany, me. We have to convince her she’s just in a slump and help her get over it.”

What they were planning was definitely the wrong thing to do. But an idea hit me and I had a feeling it was just what she needed. It would take a phone call to set up. And me doing something I really hadn’t wanted to do. But for Harper, I’d do it.

“Red, please. Do not have an intervention.”

“But—”

“There’s no but about it, Red. Do not gang up on her. She won’t respond well to that.” I knew her better than anyone. Including her two best friends.

“We have to do something,” Red said.

“We will. I will. I’ve got an idea. But it’s going to take me a little while to get it rolling. Please promise me you won’t hold this intervention in the meantime.”

“All right. But I’m still going over there later with Bethany after I close the shop.”

“No intervention.”

“No intervention. I promise. But I can’t promise there won’t be wine. And probably cookies too.” 

“Fine. Maybe I’ll see you later. I’ll be over Agnes’s tonight after I get all my shit done.” Shit being my way of avoiding telling Red what I had in mind to do to cheer up Harper.

Women—Harper in particular—could be a mystery. But for once, I knew exactly what I had to do to make things right.