Four days pass without much event. Boo steeps in her worry; the little seed of doubt within blooms. At the center of every thought crossing Boo's mind is Martha's death; the hurricane becomes her sick obsession, in a way. The worry within is only exacerbated by Det. Loughton's strange behavior and the lack of an autopsy.
Harry provides a welcome distraction but even his soothing presence isn't enough. Her days become full of him as they get to know one another, but no amount of coffee dates or home-cooked dinners in the quiet comfort of Boo's new kitchen can help ease the constant gnawing in her stomach.
One afternoon, after working a morning shift at the hardware store, Boo is curled up on her sofa while the two o'clock sunlight drips in through the open blinds. Her attention is on the television as a random baseball game flickers by. Harry is in the kitchen, bustling about making a late lunch for the two of them. Boo's eyes keep drifting to his figure, lazily admiring his back muscles move under his white shirt as he prances around the kitchen.
"Are you staring at me again?" Harry calls, not bothering to turn around. She hears him laughing as she rolls her eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she mutters, her gaze drifting back to the screen. Seconds later she glances over again, only to see Harry walking back with two plates in his hands.
"Caught you," he grins, handing her one plate and plopping down next to her. She blushes furiously and averts her eyes in embarrassment. He sprawls out on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him and one arm resting on the back of the cushions behind Boo's head, subtly pulling his lean figure closer to hers.
She takes a bite of her sandwich and pokes her tongue out at him. "You don't know anything."
He winks at her but doesn't reply. The television screen suddenly flashes bright red, interrupting the baseball game, and Boo knows another breaking news story is about to begin.
Breaking news, my ass. Anything more exciting than a busted sprinkler is considered breaking news around here.
Sure enough, the words BREAKING STORY flash across the red screen in white block letters before the feed cuts to an image of Lena and Garret sitting at a desk in the JCTV news station. Lena rearranges her papers while Garret fidgets with his tie.
"Good afternoon, Jack Creek, we apologize for interrupting the normally-scheduled programming to bring you this breaking report," Garret chimes, a plastic smile on his face. "We've just received notice that next week is the forty-fifth anniversary of the disappearance of Jack Creek resident Damien Burkwell, who went missing while on a fishing trip at the beginning of summer in nineteen-sixty-nine."
A bell rings in Boo's mind; she shifts on the couch, her interest suddenly piqued. She knows that name.
Harry notices her movement. "Who's Damien Burkwell?" he asks, taking another bite out of his sandwich.
"He went missing a long time ago," Boo answers, her voice pensive. "I don't know too much about what happened. He used to live in Jack Creek, I think Nana was friends with him at one point."
"Did they ever find out what happened?" Harry asks.
She shakes her head. "No. But I don't think anyone really tried to."
"What do you mean?"
Boo sighs and a familiar sense of frustration settles on her shoulders. "Damien was black. Especially in that time, if a black man went missing, people didn't care. And by the time anyone bothered to look into what happened, too much time had passed."
Harry switches his position on the couch so that he's facing Boo. She flashes him a sad smile. "It's really not fair, the way they treated his disappearance. But it's one of those situations where if someone wanted to finally try and solve it, they wouldn't even know where to begin."
"That's incredibly sad," Harry murmurs. "I can't imagine what his family went through."
Boo nods. Her attention goes back to the television, where the story about Damien's disappearance is already over. Her irritation flares up again at this; decades later and Damien is still only being given a passing glance.
"I think his sister still lives in town," she remarks, leaning into the cushions and staring at Harry. "But she rarely leaves the house."
"Why's that?" he asks around a mouthful of sandwich.
Boo laughs humorlessly. "Harry, no offense, but you don't know what it's like for people like her in a town like this. For people like me."
Harry, to her surprise, leans in keenly. "Enlighten me," he says, completely serious.
She frowns at him. "Why do you think you don't see too many folks my color around here?"
His gaze falters. Boo laughs humorlessly, running a hand over the smooth skin of her arm.
"I'm a rare breed," she says, her words melancholy. "People like me, like Damien and his family, we're treated differently; like criminals. My very existence is an act of rebellion around here."
Harry stays quiet, watching her with patient eyes. Boo shakes her head and sighs.
"The smaller the town, the smaller the mindset," she mumbles. "People make a home in the past and can't accept change. That's what Nana used to tell me."
"I am terribly sorry for what this town has put you through," Harry says, sounding sincere. "It's disgusting."
She nods glumly. "Yeah. Doesn't help that my family is the way it is; it's hard enough walking down the street without having people run the other way."
His eyebrows crease. "What do you mean about your family?"
Boo snorts derisively, unable to keep her eyes from rolling as Lori pops into her head. "Sometimes I think my dad and I were the only sane ones. Nana could be a little odd at times," she remarks, laughing internally at the rumor that her grandmother was the town witch. "And my birth mother is a total shit-show. You're looking at the daughter of the town junkie."
Harry's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow," he mutters, clearly at a loss. Boo waves her hand dismissively.
"You don't have to say anything," she simpers, leaning her head into her hand as she peers over at him. "I accepted it a long time ago. Lori and I don't speak unless absolutely necessary, which seems to be the most tolerable arrangement we could come up with."
Harry exhales through his nose, takes another bite of his sandwich, and observes Boo closely as he chews. She doesn't have to wonder for long what he's thinking about.
"I don't get it," he remarks thoughtfully.
"Don't get what?" she asks softly, wary of the subject change.
"Your nickname," he answers. A hint of a smile is on his lips. "Just listening to the way you talk about your role in the town, your family . . . I could be assuming too much here but you don't seem scared of anything to me."
For some reason this makes Boo want to grin uncontrollably but she forces herself to bite back the urge. Instead she flashes him a mischievous look. "People don't call me Boo because I'm scared of everything."
"Then why?" He leans in, eyes still watching her steadily. He seems strangely intrigued by this.
Boo furrows her brows. "People call me Boo because I'm the one who scares them."
Part of her finds the moniker amusing, but deep down it's more hurtful than anything-that the town's general consensus is that she could be capable of terrorizing anyone. She may be an outcast and come from a family that screams unconventionality, but she wouldn't hurt a fly.
Harry picks up on the melancholy edge of her voice. His face stays rather unchanged, but there appears to be something beneath the surface that he's holding back from saying. Or maybe Boo is just imagining the look in his eyes.
"Would you prefer I not call you that?" he asks, sounding remorseful.
She shrugs indifferently, but inside she feels a sense of relief that someone finally cares enough to ask. "I don't care," she answers honestly. "I've been called that for so long that it doesn't bother me anymore. It's almost a term of endearment now."
A dry laugh bursts from her lips as she shakes her head.
"You don't have to pretend with me," Harry says, catching Boo off-guard. "If it makes you uncomfortable, just tell me."
"Harry, don't worry, it doesn't," she reassures him. "I kind of prefer it; my real name is like a special secret that only a few people get to learn. The mystery adds to the whole 'social pariah' image I've got going on."
She grins at him until he chuckles in return. "You are probably the most unique person I've ever met," he laughs.
A smirk settles onto her lips. "Only probably?"
He rolls his eyes playfully. "Okay, definitely the most unique."
She sticks her tongue out at him again. "I've just learned not to listen to what people say about me."
A dimple pokes into the swell of his cheek. He seems pleased with her answer. "I'm glad you don't. Because I think you're pretty wonderful. And definitely not scary in the slightest."
Boo feels her heart flutter. She grins lazily back at him, admiring the way the light paints his features. "I think you're pretty wonderful too."
aww they're so cute my cold heart is melting. i love the purity of their relationship☺️
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