Page 48 of Relentless

Harper shrugged. “It was those stupid bags you made me carry.”

The details were always slightly different from Harper’s perspective.

Oakleigh reminded herself that she wasn’t there to argue. In another chapter of life, she would have gone to war over the petty details. She hated to admit that it was a built-in tenacity she had inherited from her mother.

Oakleigh decided to pivot into what she deemed was the safest topic. “There aren’t any nail places in town,” she rambled. “It’s not for lack of trying, though, trust me.”

“For the love of—” Harper rolled her eyes. “Oakleigh, get to the point.”

Oakleigh took a deep breath, stuffing down the anxiety bubbling up from her mother’s impatience.

“Can I fix your nails?” The simple offer made her feel exposed, and she braced herself for it to be cruelly flung back in her face.

To her surprise, Harper relented. “If you’d like.”

Harper was clearly surrendering for the sake of annoyance, but Oakleigh embraced every smidge of an opportunity as an answered prayer. Going to her bedroom, she returned with a manicure kit and a little something extra she thought her mother would appreciate. Setting the items on the bathroom counter, she assessed her workspace.

“Do you mind if I let some light in?” Oakleigh asked, already heading to the window. “Just a crack.” She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled the curtains back, letting the subdued winter sun pour into the room.

Harper winced as the light hit her eyes. “I thought you said a crack.”

Retrieving her kit, Oakleigh sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled out a little bowl and filled it with pungent acetone. Taking Harper’s hand, she placed what remained of her battered sparkling pink acrylics into the bowl.

“What are you doing?” Harper snapped, yanking her hand back. She glared at Oakleigh while examining her nails to see if her entire set had been ruined.

Oakleigh had been conditioned over the years to know her mother hated being touched. She braced herself for yet another outburst as she reached over and took her hand again.

“If you’re going to be here for a while,” she gently broke the news, “You’re going to have to get rid of these.” Oakleigh had learned the hard way, ripping off more than one nail over her years at the ranch.

To her relief, Harper didn’t react as she turned over her palm. It was then that Oakleigh noticed the superglued gashes on her mother’s fingers.

“Mom, what happened here?” she asked. It felt odd to feel concerned for her mother, something she hadn’t experienced for as long as she could remember.

“I — well,” Harper stammered. “I had a little accident. It’s nothing.”

“Did Dad — ?” Oakleigh’s voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed. “Was this one of your fights?”

Harper cleared her throat. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Oakleigh,” she replied. “He wasn’t even there when it happened.”

Oakleigh knew there was more to the story.

There always was.

She also knew that if she pried too far, her mother’s walls would fortify.

“We’ll have matching scars, I suppose,” she remarked, presenting her own hands marred with the constant reminder of her broken relationship with her sister. “Maeve’s got some, too — they’re on her knuckles, though.”

For some reason, it felt important for her to remind Harper she wasn’t alone.

“Just ruining your body with this ranch work, I see,” Harper scoffed. “Let’s get on with this already, Oakleigh.”

Mentioning Maeve had been a mistake. Their broken relationship ran deeper than Oakleigh felt like she would ever understand.

Knowing that any opportunity for meaningful conversation was closed, she went to work on her mother’s nails. She soaked them until the glue under her acrylics softened. Quietly rifling through the limitedpolish colors, she chose a pink shade she thought her mother would like. Brushing a thin coat on each nail, Oakleigh couldn’t remember when she had held her mother’s hand for that long, even as a child.

Twisting the cap back on the bottle, she examined her work with a dash of pride. A part of her hoped that her mom would show even the slightest bit of satisfaction with her work.

“What do you think?” Oakleigh ventured to ask.

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