Harder by Robin York Read Free Book Online

you love her?
    No reply.
    I spent a day fuming, analyzing, talking, drinking, and came back at him with
Do her knees go weak when you kiss her? Does she smile when you fuck her? Does she say your name?
    I was drunk and bold that night. Righteous, shouting.
    West hung up on me.
    My best friend, Bridget, had to pry the phone from my hand, because I was shaking with anger. I didn’t feel the tears until she wiped them away.
    I study his retreating back, his stifled shoulders moving through the room. Moving away from me.
    I understand him better than anyone alive. I just don’t know what the fuck to
do
about him.
    West’s grandma liberates me.
    She whispers, “Go on,” and takes Michelle’s arm.
    I weave between the rows of chairs set up for the servicein half an hour, out of the room and down the broad main hallway of the funeral home, with its fussy old-fashioned couches and its wall art no one could ever possibly object to—mostly shepherdesses and cows, with a seascape thrown in for good measure.
    West is nowhere in sight. He must have gone outside to smoke.
    Near the exit doors, I see the man who’d been talking to West’s mom by the coffin. I start to pass him, and he says, “You’re Caroline, aren’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    He extends a hand. “Evan Tomlinson. May I speak with you for a moment?”
    Tomlinson.
Dr
. Tomlinson. West calls him Dr. T.
    This is the man who paid for West to go to Putnam. “Of course.”
    From the viewing room where West’s dad is, I hear a door slam. Someone going outside? They’d have to use the big set of double doors by the coffin. The door scrapes open and slams shut again.
    “I was surprised to find you here,” Dr. Tomlinson says. “I understood West had cut all his ties to Putnam.”
    “He’s tried.”
    He sinks his hands into his trouser pockets. His eyes flick across my face, seeking. I guess he finds whatever he’s after, because he says, “I’m going to cut right to the chase. West Leavitt making wood chips is a waste of a life. It’s a waste of intelligence, and we don’t have so much intelligence to spare in this world that I like seeing it thrown away. I’ve been trying to get him back to Putnam, and I’m hoping you can help.”
    Yes
.
    Yes, I can help
.
    Yes, yes, yes
.
    “What did you have in mind?”
    “As an alumnus and a major donor, I’ve been offered the opportunity to recommend a student to the college for a legacy scholarship. It’s an attractive deal—tuition and board are covered, and all West would have to demonstrate is an ability to benefit.”
    So far, so good. I can’t think of anyone with greater ability to benefit from a Putnam education than West.
    “If you control a legacy scholarship, why didn’t you recommend West for that before?” I ask. “Instead of paying his tuition and everything yourself?”
    “This is a new thing I’ve been developing with the financial aid office since I sent West to Putnam. I think it was my sponsoring him as a student there that got their attention.”
    “I see. And have you mentioned this to West?”
    “I have. He turned me down. He wouldn’t say why.”
    “When did you ask him?”
    “Just the other week. Before his father …” He loops his hand in the air, encompassing everything surrounding us.
    … got shot
.
    … ended up here
.
    “Did you mention his sister when you made this offer?”
    “No.”
    “He won’t leave her behind.”
    “He’s too young to be responsible for that girl.”
    I shake my head, unwilling to agree or disagree. Sure, West is too young, but what does that mean anyway? He’s the age he is. He’s the person he is. He’s been responsible for his sister a long time, and he’s going to take care of her regardless of what Dr. T or I think. Regardless of what
anyone
thinks.
    “Dr. Tomlinson—”
    Just then, the funeral director comes through the front door. He’s red-faced, and he reeks of panic. “Where’s Mrs. Leavitt?”
    “She was in the viewing