In Harmony(9)

“Good guess,” I said. “He’s a VP at Wexx.”

“Oh shit, yeah, we got those gas stations all over. Even Isaac’s deadbeat dad runs a station at the edge of his scrapyard. So what’s out here for you guys?”

I shrugged. “His boss told him to head up the Midwest operations. So, he did.”

“You sound so okay with it.” Angie drove carefully but not timidly along the winding, snow-drifted Emerson Road, which connected my neighborhood with downtown. Snow drifts piled on either side. “I’d be flipping out if I had to move senior year.”

“Not like I had a choice. Have you lived here your whole life?”

“Born and bred,” Angie said. “But I’m not staying. I’m applying to Stanford, UCLA, Berkeley—basically any school in California that will take me. I want sunshine and beaches, you know?” She pursed her lips at my silence. “What about you? Where are you applying to?”

“Nowhere,” I said.

Angie slowed for a stop sign. “For real? You’re not going to college?”

“No.” I shifted in the seat. “I mean, I haven’t applied anywhere yet. But I will. Soon.”

“Girl, you gotta get on that. Clock’s-a-ticking.”

“I know,” I said, gritting my teeth.

That was the bitch about life: it kept going even if you desperately needed it to slow down and wait a minute while you tried to piece yourself back together.

“You’re going to be a Yale gal, right? Or Brown?” Angie said as we came to the bottom of the bend to see the lights of downtown Harmony straight ahead. “I picture somewhere posh and New England-y.”

“Maybe.”

“Hey, you okay?” Angie gave me a sideways glance. “I realize I don’t know you very well—hashtag understatement—but you seem a little… I-D-K, down. Dimmer than earlier today.”

“Oh, I took a nap and it left me kind of drowsy,” I said. “And did you just say I-D-K?”

“I’m a child of the technological age.”

“Is that what you want to do for a living?” I asked, mostly to keep the attention off myself, but curious too. “Something in tech?”

“Indeed,” Angie said. “Robotics is my thing. I want to build prosthetic limbs for amputees. My dream is to be on a team that creates limbs like Luke Skywalker’s hand, you know? Realistic on the outside, Terminator on the inside.”

“You watch a lot of movies, don’t you?”

“Geek: one hundred percent, certified fresh.”

I smiled a little, but it faded just as quickly as I thought about Angie and her dreams. She was noble and kind, with ambitions of Stanford and doing some good in the world. I yearned to have that same spark. Some fire that fueled me toward a future with a career and goals and purpose. Some goal beyond making it through one more sleepless night.

You’re out of the house now, said a voice like Grandma’s. Doing your best. That’s something.

I took some comfort in that and was rewarded with the picture-postcard sight of downtown Harmony. Garlands of Christmas lights were still strung along the Victorian-era buildings, their large facades fronting more than one shop. We passed a laundromat, the five-and-dime, Daisy’s Coffeehouse and a beauty parlor. The neon sign of Bill’s Hardware blared red beside the marquee of a one-screen movie theater. Snow had been shoveled into neat piles and a few people strolled along the sidewalks.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

“Yeah?” Angie craned over her dash as we waited for the town’s one and only light to change. “Yeah, I guess it is. Have you seen much of Harmony? I know it’s buried under snow but we’ve got some cool stuff here for being a speck on the map.”

“Like?”

“There’s a cool hedge maze just north of us.”

“A hedge maze?”

“It’s not tall or complicated enough to lose a tourist in, but at the center is a cozy little shack with a windmill. Purely decorative.”

Or romantic, whispered a thought.

“West of town, there’s a really cool cemetery that dates back to the Civil War. And we have an outdoor amphitheater where town events and festivals are held. If you need outlet stores or fast food, Braxton is ten minutes north. And if you need a real city, Indy’s twenty minutes beyond Braxton.”

She pulled her car to the curb, alongside a building with a sign reading The Scoop.

“Here’s your typical, John-Hughes-style, high school hangout,” Angie said, shutting off the engine. “Be warned: it’s a burgers, fries and ice cream place. In case you’re a salad-and-sprouts kind of gal. I am not, if that wasn’t readily apparent.” She slapped her rounded hip with a laugh.

I followed her inside the restaurant. It was bustling with what looked like George Mason students, plus a few families with small children.

“Ah yes, I see the cliques—such as they are—have taken up their usual posts.” With her chin, Angie indicated various groups clustered around tables or crammed into booths.

“There’s my tribe,” Angie said. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited them.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, scrambling to recall the names of people Angie had introduced me to at lunch this afternoon. Her boyfriend, Nash Argawal—a sweet-faced guy of Indian descent. Caroline West, a petite brunette. And Jocelyn James, the towering blonde, captain of the basketball team.