The whole cab vibrates right down to my bones as the engine growls into a roar. Smoke bursts skyward from the exhaust pipe jutting up from the hood, black at first, then clear and hot. The tractor revs and shakes, then slows and settles into a nice, regular idle. Easy peasy.
“Alright now, back up a hair.” With a hand extended to keep Mr. Ferro safely behind him, Grandpa curls his fingers to back me up.
I shift it into reverse, ease off the pedals, and the tractor starts to roll. Six inches later, Grandpa holds up a hand. “You got it! Hold there.”
The tractor jerks when I throw it into park.
Mr. Ferro and Grandpa both step behind the cab and wrestle with getting the three-point hitch and pin off, then back out of the way, Grandpa red-faced and wiping his brow with his sleeve.
“Forward!”
At Grandpa’s command, I shift into second and follow the men out of the field to the gravel by the house before turning off the key and shutting it down.
T-Rex moseys out of the yard to greet us, tail wagging.
“What’s going on?” I hop down the steps.
“Tire change. We aired it up, but it’ll be flat again quick if we don’t change the tube.” Grandpa leans against the front tire of the tractor and wheezes, then slaps his thigh and nods to Mr. Ferro. “Paige, get the jack out of the truck, and Asher, you grab the bead breaker. Let’s get this done.”
“On it.” I start for the truck as, behind me, Mr. Ferro says, “What’s a bead breaker?”
Maybe ten minutes later, we’ve got the tire lifted off the ground, and Mr. Ferro steadies the bead breaker—a metal wedge with a thin curve on the end—as Grandpa pounds it between the metal rim and the rubber tire with a sledgehammer.
“Let me do that. I’m strong enough.” I reach for the sledgehammer, but he pulls it away.
“Smart enough, yes. Strong enough? Tall enough? No.”
T-Rex pads between Grandpa and the tire and lies down almost on his boots, but Grandpa shoos him away. “What makes ya think I want you napping underfoot? Go on, Rexy-boy. Give me some space.”
Reluctantly, T-Rex slinks off a few yards, then sits and watches, his head tilted to the side.
With feet spread and hands tight on the handle, Grandpa swings the sledgehammer wide over his shoulder and slams it down onto the wedge with powerful, controlled blows. Devastating and dividing, the sledgehammer beats the wedge deeper, forcing the two apart.
“You kids—”
Boom!
“Get that—”
Boom!
“Other field done.”
Boom!
He sets the hammer head on the ground and leans on the handle, gasping. “If you hurry, you can come help us after.”
“Okay.” I step toward the truck, but hesitate. “Do you want a drink? I could get you a drink first.”
“Nah. I’m good. Go on.”
He hefts up the hammer and swings again.
Boom!
The metal sings with the blow.
Boom!
“You coming, T-Rex?” Scotty pats his leg, but T-Rex lays his head on his paws and whines. “Aww, come on.”
“Leave him be. He’s tired.” I open the truck door. “We’ll be right back.”
Scotty and me drive over to the field on the other side of the lane and get to moving pipe. This one’s hook-and-latch, instead of ball-and-socket, so it’s harder to get apart—especially when they’re full of mud in the ends.
Once, I think I hear our peacock cry, but it’s only once, and I can’t be sure. Probably, I’m just wishing.
T-Rex’s deep bark rolls across the field, a constant slow beat, and I look toward the house but can’t see him from so far away.
Scotty darts ahead of me on each pipe and lifts the hook so I can pull it apart easier, then helps clip it all back together after I carry it to the new spot. He pauses to listen to T-Rex, but runs on once I get the pipe in place.
Mom putters up the road in Patches and waves to us as we work in the field.
I cradle the pipe in the crook of my elbow and wave back real quick before I lose my balance.
She cruises up the lane and disappears under the trees by our house.
I call over to Scotty, “Mom’s home!”
He lifts the next hook and waits for me to pull, but doesn’t look at me.
“You can’t stay mad at me forever.” Maybe so, but he’s doin’ his darnedest to try.
We make good time and finish the field, but right as Scotty flips the water pump on, a siren wails in the distance, and T-Rex howls.
The truck bed rocks as I climb up and stand with a hand shading my eyes. “Sounds like it’s over by the Pruitts.”
But no, it’s too close for that.
The lights come first, bouncing off ditch banks and peeking through trees. Then the ambulance speeds into view.
I suck in a breath as it slows down near Kimana’s house.
Not Hutsi. Please let Hutsi be okay.
But it accelerates again, swinging wide around the corner, siren wailing.
I jump onto the roof of the truck, the metal denting under my boots.
No. No. No.
Scotty comes running from the pump.
Flashing red lights sear my eyes until it’s all I can see.
Don’t stop. Don’t . . .
Powerful, controlled, the ambulance cruises up the last rise—and turns down our lane.
I slide down the front of the cab to the hood and jump to the ground. “Get in! Get in right now!”
Scotty dives for his door as I wrench open mine. We jump in and slam them shut.
Boom!
Sprinklers sputter and cough, mist billowing from the Rain Birds as we fly down the dirt path. Tools bounce on the floor and fall from the dash.
Scotty braces himself with one hand on the seat, the other on the door.
First gear, second—my truck roars, and I shift into third.
Red lights blaze across our house, reflecting off bedroom windows, dripping crimson onto our porch.
The birds come up, long arcs of life-giving water splatter across my window, and I twist the lever to wipe them away.
I don’t have to ask who the ambulance came for. I know. I just don’t know how bad.
We turn onto our lane and slow up before the house.
The ambulance blocks the front, so I pull to the side and park. I don’t bother to close the door. I run.
A medic pushes the ambulance doors open wide, snatches something out of the back, and rushes around the side toward the tractor.
I follow right on his heels, but stop at the chaos on the other side.
Mom stands beside Asher, with her hands over her mouth.
Medics bark commands at each other, their hands a blur of blue gloves, wires, masks, and pads. They move so fast, try so hard, I can’t see much of the man they work on.
I can’t see the calloused hands, scruffy whiskers, gentle eyes, or caterpillar brows. I can’t see his face at all.
I can only see his boots.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Turns out, hospitals don’t let kids visit the ICU no matter how long you wait or how many times you ask.
Sometime long after sundown, as Scotty lies curled up asleep on a waiting room chair, the doctor tells Mom the procedure went well—something about a blockage and an angio-balloon thing. He says Grandpa has a will to survive and a strong heart.
But we know that already.
Mom asks Asher to take us home. When we get there, Hutsi is waiting for us. She enfolds us in her warm, wrinkled arms and tucks Scotty into bed. I watch the moon rise past my window, thinking I’ll keep watching till the sun takes its place. But when I open my eyes again, dawn has come and gone.
I can’t remem
ber the last time I woke up so late.
My hand aches, numb and prickly from being held tight against my chest all night, and I uncurl the fingers one by one, revealing the wishstone pressed to my palm. If whispered wishes could be spun like threads, they’d weave a web to hold us together. Grandpa, Scotty, me, Mom, Milkshake, T-Rex, all of it.
My farm. My world.
A dirt bike buzzes past the house, and I press my hands against the window as Mateo rides away down our lane.
Why was he here?
I change clothes, pull my boots on, and walk downstairs.
“Good morning, Paige.” Hutsi looks up from her Sudoku puzzle and waves her pencil. “There’s eggs on the stove, if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks. Did Mom call?”
“She did. She says she’ll stop in later this morning. Your grandfather is resting now. And Kimana called too—says she’ll be home tonight.”
I nod. Best get chores done before Mom comes home. Wouldn’t want to miss her. I pile eggs on my plate and wolf them down, partly because Hutsi is an amazing cook and partly because I’ve got a big day ahead with Grandpa gone.
“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be back after chores.” I reach for the door.
“Young Mateo already did them,” says Hutsi.
“What?”
“He stopped in before you came down and said he’d done all the morning chores. Animals are fed and watered, pipes moved. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“But—” I hang onto the doorknob, not sure what to do.
“Why don’t you go on upstairs and lie down, or read a book? Rest while you can.”
That seems sensible enough, but walking upstairs in the daytime without lifting a finger for chores is as foreign to me as pointy heels and frilly scarves.
Instead of turning right at the top of the stairs, I turn left to check on Scotty.
With curtains half drawn, the room is cozy and safe, filled with pinpricks of light slipping across his ceiling from a galaxy night-light that flickers on his bedside table. Snoring softly, he is curled on his side, small under the enormous patchwork quilt.
I watch him sleep. The rise and fall of the blankets, the flicker of his eyes beneath his closed lids. His mind is so very busy. It never rests during the day, and it seems his dreams are just as busy. He feels more, sees more, senses more than most people. Sometimes, the more excited he is, the less he shows it. And at times like that, the tiniest of smiles lights up my whole world. At other times, all that emotion runs bubbling out of his mouth in words and facts and chatter, flooding out like the headgate inside his brain has burst wide open.
He didn’t deserve to be yelled at.
He deserves to be protected and loved.
I brush the hair from his eyes and tuck the blanket close around him.
“Daddy?” he mumbles.
I ignore the sting and smooth his hair back. “Just me, Scotty. It’s Paige.”
His lids flutter open, his sleepy eyes focusing on me.
“I’m sorry for yelling. Really. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
His gaze fixes on me for one heartbeat, then two, then . . . “Did you know peahens have four to eight eggs in a clutch?”
“Nope.” I smooth the covers over his shoulder.
“Did you know peafowl like Royal are almost four feet long with tail feathers?”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Yeah, I knew that one.”
He looks at the window, covered with stickers of planets and stars, and takes a deep breath. “Is . . . Is . . .” The rocking starts real slow. “Where’s Grandpa?”
“Hutsi says he’s resting.”
His palms slide over his ears, his gaze fixed on the window. “Resting in heaven with Daddy?”
“Oh, Scotty. No.” I gently pull his hands down and lean over so he can see me. Really see me. “Grandpa is resting—sleeping in the hospital. He’s okay.”
He chews his lip, the tautness in his body relaxing bit by bit. “How do you know?”
“Hutsi told me. She says Mom will be here later, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Okay. Okay.” He nods. “Did you know the peacock symbolizes eternal life?”
“Nope.”
Now that he’s talking again, he’s got days of facts to catch up on. “Also, they represent rebirth for Easter.”
“I did not know that.” I shake my head. “Is it because they live so long?”
“No, it’s ’cause they thought the feathers never faded away. And did you know the eyes on a peacock’s feathers were supposed to mean that God is watching?”
“Watching us from inside those eyes?” That sounds a little creepy.
“No, just . . . watching over us all.” He yawns.
“Go back to sleep, smart boy.” I kiss his forehead and tuck the covers closer. “You can teach me more things when you wake up.”
He yawns again. “There’s a lot to learn.”
“You’re right.” Standing, I step toward the door.
“Do you think I’ll ever learn everything?”
My hand on the doorknob, I look back one more time. “Probably not. But I think you’ll try.”
I try not to let Scotty’s words bother me as I go back to my room, but they do. If God really is watching over us, then where is He? It sure didn’t feel like anyone was watching over us in September. And what about now? Why do bad things happen at all? What about Grandpa? And Royal? Heck, we can’t even find him, and he’s the one with the fancy feathers in the first place, so who’s watching out for him?
I sit on my bed like Hutsi said, but my foot twitches inside my boot, and I’m as restless as a weather vane in a windstorm. I scan the puzzles on my bedroom walls. Dad did every one with me, and always teased that I was the fastest in the West at finding the next piece and putting it in place. I wish that was true. In my real life, I can’t keep any of the pieces where they belong.
I thought I knew what my life was supposed to look like. It had a dad and a mom, and Scotty, and our friends. And when pieces fell out of that picture, I tried to figure out how to put them together in a different way. Tried to make it all work without the Dad piece, with the Mom piece being broken. Now the Grandpa piece is missing too, and it just doesn’t work. There aren’t enough pieces left to make me whole.
Once upon a time, puzzles and robots kept me happy for hours, but the only place I feel normal anymore is when I’m outside, keeping my promise.
I pace the room, a fox in a trap, and every minute, the air grows thinner, and the walls press in. If I stay inside, I’ll suffocate.
With Grandpa in the hospital, I should be doing more, not less. I gotta work enough for both of us—for all of us.
Worn and rounded with age, the wood stairs creak under my boots, and Hutsi hears me coming long before I step into the living room. “How’s our Scotty?”
“Tired, but good. I’m gonna walk around till Mom gets home.” I wait till she nods, then step outside.
True to his word, Mateo did all the chores, and I feel strangely useless as I stand with my elbows on a fence rail, watching Milkshake and her calf play in the sun. Usually, we only name the mommas because the calves go to sale—I think that’s so it hurts less when we have to say goodbye. But this year, I’ll be lucky to keep anyone at all, so what does it matter? Named or not, it’s gonna hurt.
After playing with the other calves and drinking his fill of milk, our little curly-haired prince lies down in a clump of alfalfa and falls fast asleep. So that’s what I name him: Prince.
“Heyo!” A distant cry pulls me right off the fence, and I turn my head, listening.
Was it Royal? With all the roosters, cows, and everything else, there’s no quiet to hear one soft voice. But that makes no sense. Royal’s so loud when he cries, he’d have to be awful far
away for his call to be so soft that I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from. “Come on, Royal. Do it again.”
Instead, Mom calls from the house. “Paige!”
“Coming!” I get to the porch just as Hutsi drives off.
“Hey, honey.” Mom gives me a one-armed squeeze while Scotty tromps down the stairs with his backpack.
She rubs my back. “Grandpa’s awake. Sore and very tired, but awake.”
I wrap both arms around her and squeeze, ’cause sometimes words aren’t big enough to say what I feel. When Grandpa comes home, I’ll put him in his favorite chair, help him put his boots up, and tell him all about the stuff we get done every day. He won’t have to lift a finger till he’s all better.
“We’re having a sleepover!” Scotty hoists his backpack up for me to see. “Hutsi’s gonna feed us.”
“Wait, what?”
Mom nudges me toward the stairs. “Get what you need to spend a few nights with Hutsi.”
“But what about the animals? What about the watering?” How can she think I can leave? Sure, Mateo did chores today, but he’s got his own herds to look after.
“Javier said he’ll take it on this week.”
“Mr. Rivas and Mateo are doing it all?” That’s like letting someone cut your meat for you when you’ve got a perfectly good set of hands and a sharp knife.
“Asher has offered to help too. He says it will give him experience.”
“When did that happen?” I thought Mom had been at the hospital, not off visiting with the whole town.
“He was worried about your grandpa and texted me this morning. He probably saved your grandpa’s life, calling 911 as fast as he did. I had no idea, and by the time I got home, the ambulance was already on the way.” Mom walks down the hall. “I’m grabbing a few things, and then we’ll go. Pack a bag, and I’ll run you over.”
“To the hospital?”
“No. I’ll go back after I drop you off.” Her phone chimes, and she stops to read a text, but I don’t move.
If we don’t get to see Grandpa, I can wait for him here as well as anywhere. There’s no reason for me to go.
Mom glances up at me, a small smile on her lips. “Looks like I got the job.”
The Wish and the Peacock Page 18