I turned to walk away, but he set his book down and stood up. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” I said. “I don’t know you.”

“That’s because every time I try to start a conversation, you—”

“Oh, like when you accused me of trespassing?”

He raised his palms helplessly. “I was confused. There was a stranger in my house. We don’t get a lot of visitors—what was I supposed to think?”

I hated that I heard the logic of his statement.

“Anyway, I said I was sorry—”

I laughed. “No. No, you didn’t. You asked me why I was an orphan, and then you said my dad wasn’t respectable.”

His forehead wrinkled, and he shook his head. He had the helpless look of wanting to deny having said it but knowing it was true.

“You did. I heard you. You said it to your parents.” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t cry. If I cried, I would hate myself. “I heard you guys talking that night. I heard everything you said.”

He took a huge breath and then had the grace to remain silent.

“I don’t care what you think about me. I do care what your mom thinks, though.”

“So that’s why you do all this manual labor for her?” he asked.

“I don’t mind helping out.” I glanced away. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon. “In fact, I should get back to it.”

“But you don’t have to do so much work,” he said. “I mean, they don’t expect it.”

That was a lie. He didn’t believe what he was saying. He knew as well as I did that Laura did expect it.

“I have to finish up a few things,” I said.

There was a pile of pots near the benches, and I tried to lift it. A few of the smaller ones fell off the top, and Barrett rushed to pick them up.

“Here,” he said, trying to take the others from me, but I turned away.

“I’ve got them,” I said.

Then he followed me to the storage area near the iron gate, and we set the pots down near the older stacks.

Barrett stood looking around, and then turned his attention to the gate. “This is really cool, isn’t it?”

I found it a little tacky that he was complimenting the house that he would someday inherit, but I let that slide. “Yeah,” I said. “Have you ever been through it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t spend a lot of time in the garden. It’s Mom’s thing.”