Strawberry Summer

by Melissa Brayden

  “You know, you’d be a fantastic firefighter,” Berta told him, latching onto the idea.

  “But you would have to go to firefighting school,” I told him.

  He grimaced.

  “Stop making that face. They can’t have people who don’t know anything about fires running into burning buildings all willy-nilly. Think of the mayhem. You’d have to learn how to hold a hose.”

  He bounced his eyebrows. “I can hold a hose, baby.”

  I looked at him hard. “You need God.”

  He ignored me. “So firefighting requires school? Bummer. I’ll put it on the list of possibilities, I guess.”

  “In the meantime, if you’re truly interested in farming, my brother is looking for extra help at our place. I heard him say so yesterday.”

  “Seriously?” Travis sat forward in his armchair. “Can you talk to him for me? Put in a good word. Work the little sister charm?”

  I shrugged. “I can try. I’m headed home after this, and I’ll see if I can find him. Stop by this afternoon if you have time.”

  He seemed newly energized. “I’ll be there.”

  Melanie Newcastle breezed past our chairs on the way to the counter. She said nothing, which wasn’t shocking. If the rest of us had grown closer over the past two years, Melanie had done quite the opposite. She was meaner and more spiteful than ever. Sadly, she didn’t even mask it behind the pretend niceties anymore and had pulled away from most of her friends. She worked in town part-time at Curl Up and Dye, the town’s go-to salon, as a shampoo girl. From what I heard, she was pursuing her beautician’s license at night.

  I avoided her whenever possible.

  “Nice of you to say hi, Mel!” Travis yelled at her across the shop. “Great to see you!”

  Her answer was to wiggle four fingers at us (and I mean barely wiggle) and turn back to the menu. She was an unhappy human being, I decided. Misery personified over there.

  “Well, I’m out,” Travis said, and downed the last of his chocolate fudge sundae of a coffee. “Catch up with you guys later. Stay groovy. Dream about me and whatnot.” Travis set upon his sojourn of a job search and I turned to Berta.

  “What’s on tap for you today?”

  Her expression was dialed to dread. “Brushing up on my computer science for my summer course. It starts next week and I don’t want to show up already behind.”

  “Such a brainiac over there.”

  Berta had plans to conquer the gaming industry for womankind, and I was thrilled to cheer her on. She was a science egghead and would go far. My plans were a little less specific. I’d start with the basics and see where the road led me. The farm would always be important to me, family history and all, so whatever I did decide to do with my life would have to go hand and hand with a part-time commitment to Beringer’s.

  But I did long for a career of my own. Something I could really sink my teeth into and run with. I was still percolating on what that might be.

  “What about you?” Berta asked.

  “Gonna help with the summer harvest. The largest berries have all been cooled and sent out on trucks for distribution, but the smaller ones are starting to ripen and redden. Clay has the pickers out in full force and can surely use an extra pair of hands at the Pick-Your-Own. Then I’ll see where the day takes me. If Clay decides to put me on the machinery and turn me loose in the northern fields, you may never see me again.”

  “You know he won’t do that. He thinks it’s dangerous and doesn’t want to worry about you.”

  “It is dangerous, which is why it drives me crazy that he won’t. It’s sexist.”

  “Oh, it is not. He’s being a big brother.”

  “An annoying one.”

  I didn’t see Clay when I arrived back at the farm. It was likely he was working in the northern fields and getting them prepped for the larger harvest in the fall. We were luckier than the other farms across the country in that the climate in the valley and our elevation allowed for strawberry production virtually year-round. We snuck in a few pumpkins for Halloween, because who doesn’t love a good pumpkin patch photo with their kids in autumn? The pumpkins brought in a ton of foot traffic.

  What I did find on the property was handfuls of families picking strawberries by the bucketful. My mother and a couple of part-time workers headed up our Pick-Your-Own program in which customers could pick berries to take home, paying by the pound.

  “Hey, Lindsey!” I said to the bright-eyed four-year-old feasting on a giant red strawberry. “You got a good-looking one there. Perfect choice. Ready for harvest.”

  Her mother smiled at me. “You guys really have the best berries in California.”

  “Can we quote you on that?” my mother asked, as she weighed a bucket for a couple I didn’t recognize—most likely out-of-towners. Lots of folks made the drive to the strawberry farms in the summer months.

  “You seen Clay around?” I asked my mother.

  “Six pounds and eight ounces,” she announced to the couple happily. “I think he’s taking lunch around the side of the big house. You’ll probably find him sitting on the tailgate of his truck.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” I walked to the residential portion of the farm and around to the side of the big house where Clay generally parked his truck. It fell under a patch of shade this time of day, which provided a nice getaway from the summer sun. But as I rounded the corner, Clay was nowhere to be found. Instead of the pickup I’d expected to find, I stood in front of a very distinctive blue Mercedes convertible.

  “I wondered if you were home.”

  I turned at the sound of her voice and found myself face-to-face with Courtney Carrington. Her hair seemed blonder, maybe a little longer than the last time I’d seen her. She’d pulled it back on the sides with a clip, and it fell in subtle waves down her back. She wore a white sundress that showcased an admirable tan and beige heels. It had spaghetti straps and small buttons down the side and came to her mid-thigh. Standing there, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “Courtney.” I shook my head, my grin growing. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “Hey there, Maggie.” She lifted a shoulder and smiled. God, that smile. I’d forgotten how it affected me. “How could you have known?”

  The point was valid. We’d exchanged a couple of emails after her sudden departure from town two years ago. I could tell then that the divorce had hit her hard, but she hadn’t gone into much detail and I hadn’t pushed. Gradually, our emails were spaced further and further apart. I figured she’d been absorbed back into Chicago life.

  Yet here she stood.

  “You look fantastic,” she said, gesturing to me. “I mean, really fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” I felt fantastic, too. The time since I’d seen her last had been keenly important in the scheme of who I was, or at least who I was trying to become. I’d done a lot of growing up. I’d begun finding my confidence, my self-worth, and Courtney had been there to help set it all in motion. I owed her big-time for that.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so great to see you.” I pulled her into a hug, realizing that this was not something I would have necessarily done easily the last time I’d seen her, and—bam. There it was. Vanilla, like a freshly baked cookie. I closed my eyes briefly as the scent transported me to the shelved memories of two summers past. The days that had made my heart flutter and my senses overload in the most terrifying, wonderful, confusing way.

  Somehow it was less confusing this time. Still a little nerve inducing.

  But every bit as captivating.

  “How long are you staying?” I asked, as I released her.

  She lifted both hands. “I’m here for the summer.”

  “Oh, wow.” Wow, indeed. Double wow.

  “My dad, though often an asshole, has come through this time. I’ll be working at the Tanner Peak Carrington’s in an apprenticeship, newly designed. Basically, learning everything I can in a three-month rotation,
all on his watch.”

  “And then?” I pushed myself onto the short retaining wall that lined the drive. Courtney followed suit and joined me there, crossing her legs and turning to face me. I would never be that put together, no matter what I did.

  “I’m off to Northwestern.”

  “You got in to Northwestern?” The words tumbled from my mouth before I thought them through. Courtney gasped and knocked me in the arm playfully.

  “Yes, I got in. Thank you very much. I realize we weren’t in school together that long, but I had a rather impressive GPA in high school and an even better one after my freshman year.”

  I laughed nervously at my misstep and held up my hands in contrition. “I believe you. You’re a smart girl, Courtney. I’ve always known that part.”

  She shrugged. “Let’s be honest, it also doesn’t hurt that my father went there or that he still writes them a big fat check each year. In fact, I think that’s the integral part.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt, no.”

  “And you?”

  Drum roll, please. “I go twenty minutes up the road. Not nearly as exciting, I’m afraid. Community college for my basics and then I’ll transfer to the remote campus of UC Santa Barbara to finish my bachelor’s.”

  She looked at me with warmth in her eyes. “You want to stay close to home.”

  “Something like that.”

  “It suits you.” She crossed her arms, which left our shoulders touching. I remembered Clay’s advice about little touches and smiled at the implication.

  “What can I say? I’m happy here.”

  “Hey, I don’t blame you for a second. If I had your setup, I would certainly do the same.”

  I pushed off the wall and turned so that I stood in front of her, meeting those clear blue eyes. I had to steady myself because the sparks were alive and well and our proximity put them on clear display. I just had to decide whether or not I wanted to acknowledge them this time around. “You would? I somehow can’t see you in Tanner Peak for the long haul.”

  She balked and held up a finger. “No, I can’t either. I just meant hypothetically.”

  “Oh.” Somehow that stung. Wasn’t sure why. “How’s your mom?”

  “Better. I wish I could say that every day was great, but depression can be complicated.”

  It was the first time I’d heard her use the word. “Please send her our best.”

  “I absolutely will. And now the reason for my visit.”

  “There’s a larger reason?” Interesting.

  “There’s always a larger reason.” Courtney pushed herself off the wall so we stood face-to-face. The heels gave her the advantage. I didn’t mind. “I’m here to invite you to dinner.”

  I grinned. “As in?”

  “With me. A date. If you’re not busy.”

  While the concept had me singing “Here Comes the Sun” in my head, I made a point to play it cool. I’d never been asked on a date before. “Well, there is a Beatles profile on the History Channel tonight.”

  “That is tough competition.” She passed me her most winsome smile. “And while I know it would be hard for you to miss a Beatles profile on the History Channel, I’m hoping you can record it for viewings well into the future. So what do you say?”

  “I think dinner with you would be fun. We can catch up.”

  She nodded. Her eyes never left mine, an attractive display of quiet confidence. “Great. I was hoping you’d think so. Where should we go?”

  “Well, there’s the café if you’re into burgers and fries. When I look at you today, I definitely think greasy spoon.”

  She laughed. “Don’t be so sure about that sarcasm. I happen to adore a good, messy burger, but is there anywhere a little more, I don’t know, quiet?”

  I liked where this was going. “Well, there is a little place about twenty minutes outside of town. My parents took us there once for my dad’s birthday. Gardell’s.”

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Except, how about I pick you up? I know the way.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Even better.”

  I watched her drive away with the top down and marveled at this new development in the saga that was Courtney. As much as I wanted to linger on those thoughts and let my imagination wander in anticipation of our date, I forced myself to focus on the day ahead of me first.

  “Did you find your brother?” my mom asked when I returned to help out at the Pick-Your-Own.

  “I did not.”

  She turned her face to the side and regarded me suspiciously. “Then why are you smiling?”

  “No reason at all.”

  “You’re still doing it.”

  I looked skyward. “Am I?”

  *

  True to my word, I picked up Courtney at her house at seven sharp and we made the drive to Gardell’s as music played on the radio. I tried for tunes that were soft and maybe a little flirty. I’d worn a lime green sleeveless dress that I hoped came off dressy enough without going overboard, and a pair of simple sandals. Courtney had swapped the sundress for a belted purple number that looked like it had been designed specifically for her body. She’d let her hair down and had one strand tucked behind her ear. Our conversation didn’t come as easily as it had the last time we’d traveled together. I pretended to focus heavily on the beat of the music, letting my head bob slightly. Courtney stared at the passing farmland. Perhaps we were still getting used to each other again, finding our rhythm.

  Once we settled into dinner, however, everything seemed to change. The quiet one-room restaurant provided an intimate ambience, and the conversation flowed easily once we were face-to-face across the white tablecloth.

  Courtney shook her head at me as we ate. “Wow. So you’re saying that you and Travis are—”

  “Friends now. Pretty good friends, actually.”

  “Who would have guessed?”

  “I know. No one is more surprised than me. He’s a lovable dope.”

  “He is.” She sipped delicately from her water glass. “And that’s a good characterization, from what I remember.”

  “In fact, someone that I know once thought he was pretty handsome.”

  “Well, he is,” Courtney said, smiling and gesturing with her fork. “Objectively. He could grace centerfolds.”

  “I will give you that. This steak, by the way, is shattering all my preconceived notions, which were already favorable. What kind is it again?”

  Courtney laughed and I relished the melodic sound. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Maggie.”

  I felt my cheeks redden. “Thank you.”

  She nodded to my plate. “It’s a filet.”

  “This filet,” I amended, “is a thing of beauty.”

  “And here I was hoping you’d think that about me,” she said casually and sat back in her chair. Well, there it was. A declaration if I’d ever heard one. “I’m kidding, by the way.” Whether she was or wasn’t didn’t matter; I felt the butterfly parade and focused on the fancy green mashed potatoes on my plate. The ones I’d yet to touch.

  “Do we know why the potatoes are green?” I ventured.

  She peeked over at them on my plate. “I have no idea, and I’m a little afraid for you.”

  The wide-eyed look on her face had me laughing. “You’re the sophisticated one here,” I whispered, trying to keep it down. “You’re supposed to know this stuff. Here, you try them first.”

  She shook her head and whispered emphatically, “No way. I draw the line at leprechaun mashed potatoes.” That did it. My eyes filled and I took a moment so as not to burst into out-loud laughter in the small restaurant of very conservative diners. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Courtney leaned in conspiratorially. “Maybe it wasn’t a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but a kettle of mash.”

  And I lost it. I leaned sideways in my chair and fanned my face, an attempt to regain control and tamp down my laughter. Courtney was l
aughing now, too, and the other diners looked with curious amusement in our direction.

  “I believe the mashed potatoes are infused with root vegetables,” the man from the table next to ours whispered with a smile.

  I nodded to him, feeling the heat on my face. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I don’t like the color either,” his wife whispered to us aggressively. “Reminds me of a witch!”

  And I was off again in peals of laughter, tears streaming down my face. Courtney covered hers with her napkin, and the nice couple also enjoyed a decent chuckle. I was having fun, so much fun that I felt my nerves fall away. We moved on to dessert: salted caramel gelato topped with hot fudge and nuts and delivered with two spoons. After much sighing over the wonderfulness of the gelato, Courtney looked over at me.

  “So how is your family? How are the strawberries?”

  “The berries are red and mature this season. We’re in the midst of the last third of the summer harvest. My mother just started a new book and is currently fascinated with corsets, which means she’s dabbling in historical romance again. The Regency period, to be more specific.”

  “I love that! And your dad?”

  “High cholesterol, but he won’t listen to anyone and eats whatever he damn well pleases.”

  “Salt is important.”

  “Don’t tell him that! He wholeheartedly agrees with you.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She rested her chin in her hand. “And your brother?”

  “Clay is Clay. Hard work and hard play. He’s dated every girl within ten years of his age in Tanner Peak, and what I can’t quite wrap my head around is that they all still adore him. Whose ex-girlfriends still adore them? They bring him pies!”

  “That is pretty rare. He’s a nice guy who must treat them with a great deal of respect. That’s why he gets a pie.”

  “I think that’s it. I want to be like that,” I said, ruminating on the concept. “Not the serial dater thing, but the nice person part.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

  “Okay.”