CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Harley felt almost like a kid again as she sat down on the edge of the roundabout, which was divided into four quadrants of different colors. Despite how little use the playground had seen (Harley wondered who had thought the ruins would garner enough attention to merit its own playground), the slides, swings, and roundabout were clean and usable, at least once one wiped away the patina of sand.
“Used to love sitting on these,” Harley said. “Kelly and I would hold on as hard as we could, and Greg would try to get us ‘seasick’ as he called it.”
“Who won?” Callaway said.
“Kelly, usually. She’d grip one of the bars like she was a koala, get this tight little frown on her face. She might turn green, but she wouldn’t let go.” She smiled at the memory. It was strange how ma
