Page 82 of Bend Toward the Sun
Harry looked where she pointed. Cheerful golden blossoms were held high on tall stems, quivering gently in the evening breeze. He looked back to Rowan.
“It’s an adaptation,” she said. “Here, where the mower cutsthem, short ones survive and go to seed. Those seeds grow into short plants, too. Genetics. The ones over there by the pond don’t have that same environmental pressure, so they get to grow tall.”
She twisted three strands of grass together, making a tiny braid. Harry waited for her to continue.
“I guess—that was me. As a kid. I was a dandelion. For a while after Edie died, I got cut down by my mother so many times I just”—she nudged up her chin—“stayed small.”
Harry locked his fingers together to keep from reaching out to touch her. His family was too far up the hill to be able to hear their conversation, but they all casually watched, pretending not to. But he wanted more.
Please, please give me more.
“You told me once you didn’t have a middle name,” he said.
“Sybil barely decided on afirstname for me.” She shook her head and laughed ruefully. “The doctor who delivered me—his surname was Rowan, so she went with that. I didn’t even realize it until I was applying for my driver’s license and happened to look closely at my birth certificate, and his name was there.” She shredded narrow petals from a white clover, and they floated to the ground like snowflakes. “I think, for Sybil, I was just another thing thathappenedto her. She never physically hurt me. It was just—benign neglect. She was incapable of bonding with me, so she left it to Edie. Then, when Edie was gone…”
“Benign neglect is still neglect, Rowan.” Christ, he wanted to touch her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The deconstructed flower littered the grass in front of her. “Having what’s traditionally a man’s first name is an advantage in science.” Her smile was sensible and sad.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know, but I can’t deal with you feeling sorry for me for any other reason.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “Did you hear Grey call me Rosie?”
“I did.”
“Grandma Edie called me that. Been a long time since I’d heard it. Grey just—started doing it on his own, and now that’s the kids’ name for me.” Her expression softened. “That ugly old hat you tease me about? It was Edie’s.”
Harrylovedthat hideous old hat.
He glanced up the hill. Dad and Nate quickly turned away. “They’re looking at us.”
“I noticed.”
Alice and Grey squealed and giggled in the distance as Duncan roared and gave chase. Crickets whirred, tree frogs warbled, and Ma sang a loud, off-key rendition of “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen.
Harry sighed, hard. “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”
Another pause, and more evening sounds. The syncopatedch-ch-chscrape of katydids. Warm wind in the grass, and the pond lapping the underside of the dock where they’d had their first conversation. Rowan’s gentle exhale.
“Harry, you know why I can’t—”
“It’s okay. I know. Let’s go before they get too many ideas up there.”
On the walk back up the hill, they kept at arm’s length. Harry imagined what it would be like if he could tuck his arm around her, trail his fingers down her back and across her shoulder. Or simply hold her hand as they walked, publicly declaring her his partner to the people he loved most. It was a strange kind of torture, having herright there,but so, so far.
During the picnic dinner, she shone like an ember beside him. Their arms brushed often. Under the table, she pressed the bare skin of her knee against his. Across from them, Temperance and Maren blinked in identical surprise as Rowan casually wiped a bit of ketchup from Harry’s chin, then licked her fingerclean. When she’d realized what she’d done, her ears and throat flushed red as the ketchup itself. Her skin always betrayed her, regardless of what she wanted anyone to believe.
“I hate knowing you’re up on that hill alone,” Ma said, watching Rowan spoon pasta salad onto her paper plate. “It’s not right. You should come to eat with us more often.”
“Don’t pretend you make us a Spanish feast every night, Ma,” Duncan laughed. “Rowan doesn’t want to come all the way down here for leftovers, or Burger King, or one of Nate’s weird casseroles.”
“Or that nasty gas station pizza you like so much, Duncan,” Maren said, pointing with her plastic fork.
Duncan mimicked her tone, pointing his own fork back at her. “You went pretty hard on that pizza the other night, Maren.”
Maren smoothed a hand over a burgeoning baby bump. “That wasn’t me. That was the baby.”
“There is nothing weird about my casseroles,” Nate said.