Page 18 of The Fall Back Plan
“How old is she? About ten? Eleven?”
“Ten,” he confirms.
“And you said it’s just you and your grandfather living with her?”
His eyebrows draw together. “Yes?”
“Does she by any chance wear a bra yet?”
“I . . . what?” He looks as confused as if I’d asked ifhewears a bra.
Blerg. If it’s awkward for me to bring it up, I can only imagine how hard it must be for Brooklyn. “When I was growing up, it was just me and my dad.”
He nods. “I remember.”
I wonder how much he remembers. There weren’t too many people who hadn’t heard about my dad and the infamous Harvest Festival crash when he ran the car he was driving on a suspended license into a candy apple booth. Destroyed the booth and broke the leg and two ribs of the one booth worker who couldn’t jump out of the way fast enough.
“He didn’t know anything about girls, less about tweens, and nothing about teenagers. There’s a lot of stuff that goes on for girls that they don’t always understand, and I had to learn most things the hard way. Internet searches at the library when I could get the public computer that was the most private. Books I wouldn’t check out but I would read in the stacks every chance I got. My aunt finally noticed and talked me through some of the basics.”
“Oh.” Sheriff Lucas Cole looks absolutely dumbfounded for the first time. Ever. Including high school. Maybe “dumbfounded” is not the right word. Deer in headlights. Yeah. Clichés are clichés for a reason. Sometimes they’re perfect. “But she’s only ten.”
“It’s definitely puberty.”
He flinches, and I press my lips together to hide a smile. I don’t know why this is cute, but it is. “I guess I thought I had more time before wading into all of that.”
I shake my head. “Sorry. The reckoning is here. Do you have a female relative she can talk to? An aunt or a cousin or something?”
He glances past me down the street, like he’s suddenly going to find the Puberty Fairy floating our way to bestow knowledge on him, Brooklyn, or both. Then he looks over his shoulder toward the station. “Maybe Becky . . . ?”
He looks back at me like I’m going to have the right answer.
“Do they have a relationship like that? Talk together much?”
He hesitates. “No, not really. Brooklyn’s not at the station all that often.”
“Then it’s probably awkward to both of them for Becky to suddenly bring it up. Even if she doesn’t mind, Brooklyn will feel it.”
He reaches up and scratches his beard. I would expect it to be wiry, but something about the way it moves makes me think it’s actually soft against his fingers. “What would have helped you at her age?” he asks.
It’s the right question. An insightful one, better thanWhat should I do?I don’t know specifically what would help Brooklyn because I don’t know her well enough. But I can tell him what would have helped me at the same age. I think the sheriff of Harvest Hollow must spend a lot of time listening to podcasts about how to communicate better.
“A female role model, which like I said, I eventually got in my aunt. Sounds like you don’t have any extra ones lying around?”
He shakes his head. “So I guess I talk to her myself. Any advice?”
I suck my teeth and consider this. “I know we’re in a woke age where dads and dad types are supposed to be super comfortable talking about all this stuff with their girls. And if this is a long-term situation”—he nods to indicate yes—“then you’ll have to get there. Sooner than not, it sounds like. But maybe I can help for right now.” The words come out of me before I know I’m going to say them, but I don’t take them back.
Seeing Brooklyn hunching in her sweatshirt that it’s still too warm for, hiding the evidence of her body going haywire on her in a way no one may have taken the time to explain to her, it’s familiar. Painfully familiar. I think about eleven-year-old Jolie, and I know I’ve got to help. If Brooklyn doesn’t want me to, that’s fine. But I have an idea for how to approach this in a way that won’t mortify her.
“How’s that?” Lucas asks.
“If she’s just going home anyway, why don’t you wait on having your grandfather come pick her up. Tell her you’re sending her to my bar to hang out because it’s quiet before opening, and I think Tina and I can talk her into doing some shopping where girl stuff can come up naturally. If you’re okay with it, that is.”
“You would do that for me?”
I give him a faint smile. “I would do that for her.”
“Got it.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s better than any idea I have, which is none.”
