by Janet Dailey
An aching need for comfort, deep and searing, spread through his limbs, and he forced his feet to move away. “Good night, Kristen.”
CHAPTER 7
“A little farther this way. Watch your step.”
Kristen smiled, adjusting her grip on Emmy’s arm and moving her feet carefully across the loose clumps of soil beneath her.
Humid heat seeped through the dark cloth covering her eyes, and the tang of dirt and distant rain in the air touched her tongue as she licked her lips. A giggle bubbled up from her belly, and she closed her mouth, trapping the laughter in her throat.
Good grief. It was silly and ridiculous to get so excited over something so small. But she had to admit that ever since dinner last night, when Mitch had mentioned that her corn should be showing, she’d thought of little else. All day, while she and Mitch had serviced and cleaned Lee’s tractor, she’d caught herself gazing over her shoulder toward her field, peering past the thick clouds on the horizon to see whether she could spot any signs of life from afar, knowing full well she wouldn’t at that distance. Mitch had been forced to nudge her out of her reverie at least four times during the workday.
Emmy had seemed to pick up on that embarrassing fact. She’d tossed amused glances in Kristen’s direction as she picked more strawberries and filled buckets, which, unfortunately, no one had come to buy yet. Then, after Sadie and Dylan had been dropped off by the bus and had come running up the driveway a half hour ago, Emmy had made a game of blindfolding Kristen before they all piled into the truck and drove to the field.
“It’s not every day you get to see your first crop spring from the ground,” Emmy had said. “It’s special and should be treated as such.”
“Now,” Emmy announced, kneeling and then pulling Kristen to a squatting position. “Give me your hand.”
Kristen complied, grateful for the confident note in Emmy’s voice.
Despite last night’s confusion, Emmy seemed more solid after a long night’s sleep. She’d even slept an hour later than usual this morning, which Kristen could only assume should help matters.
She stilled, hearing Mitch’s heavy footsteps behind her and feeling the towering heat of his presence above her. He’d looked so weighed down last night, after Emmy’s confusion, his eyes heavy and his shoulders sagging. So much so, she’d been tempted to wrap her arms around him and pull him close.
But . . . that wasn’t her place or concern. Though, increasingly, she had to force herself to remember that. She was here to work, and her focus should be on producing a healthy crop for Emmy—not on romantically entangling herself with Mitch. Nor should she be ruminating over Emmy’s mental slips. It wasn’t for her to say, but that was probably all last night’s confusion had been. Emmy had overexerted herself and exhausted her mind. It happened to everyone on occasion.
Still, forcing herself to concentrate on the business side of the farm hadn’t removed the unsettled feeling that had spread through her after Emmy’s incident. Or diminished her desire to touch Mitch, whisper words of comfort and ease his mind. To offer strength and support for Emmy and the kids, too, however tiny or insignificant her help might be to them in the long run.
“What do you feel?” Emmy asked after pressing Kristen’s hand toward the ground.
Kristen touched the soil, moist and warm beneath her fingertips. The brief rain showers of last night and this morning had loosened it. She drifted her hand farther across the flat ground, her stomach dropping at the absence of any obstruction, then jolting back up when a soft object brushed against her skin.
“Something small.” Kristen curled her fingers gently around it. Her heart pounded hard, echoing in her head. “Flexible, fragile.”
Emmy untied the blindfold at the back of Kristen’s head and whispered in her ear, “New life.”
The cloth fell away, and Kristen blinked, then focused on the tiny green seedling cradled against her palm. It was barely more than a sprig, less than four inches tall.
“This,” Emmy continued, “is the cotyledon.” She guided Kristen’s pointer finger to the lowest part of the plant, where a tiny green stalklike leaf protruded from the ground. “It doesn’t emerge very far, but it’s the seed leaf, part of the embryo.” Guiding Kristen’s finger farther up the seedling, she stopped at the edge of one of the three small leaves. “See this rounded tip? That means this is the first leaf. And we call the place where it meets the sheath here a collar.” Her tone softened. “It’s at the V-two growth stage, just a baby still. When the collar shows up on the third leaf, it’ll be at V-three.”
“And when I see it on the fourth leaf,” Kristen prompted, “it’ll be V—”
“Four,” Emmy said at the same time. “And so on, till you reach V-ten. After that, you’ll start to see tassels, silk, then kernels.” She smiled and cupped Kristen’s elbow. “Now, help me up, please, and we’ll take a look around.”
Kristen did, glancing at Mitch and returning his warm smile, and then she slowly turned to take in the expansive field surrounding them. Rich red soil was the most visible element, but the delicate tips of thousands of corn seedlings danced in the breeze along perfectly formed parallel lines that met the horizon. The gray clouds, drifting low, sheltered them in a cool cocoon, providing a respite from the late afternoon heat.
“This would’ve made Joe so proud.” Emmy slipped her hand in hers, a slight tremor running through it. “You would’ve made Joe proud, my dear girl.”
A soothing sensation unfurled in Kristen and poured through her veins, filling a little of the emptiness inside her. She leaned closer to Emmy, the older woman’s solid warmth and approving tone making her heart swell. Stirring a deep longing she’d buried with Anna.
What would it be like to have this? To start every day with someone at your side, standing on firm, stable ground where you felt like you belonged? To be a part of something bigger than you could ever become on your own?
“There are so many,” Sadie shouted happily from the edge of the field, Dylan at her side.
“Yep,” Mitch called back, a hint of pride in his voice. “Ms. Kristen’s first crop. I think this calls for a celebration.”
Kristen’s skin heated, and that delicious tingle stirred in her belly.
“Can we go to town for some ice cream?” Dylan asked, smiling.
Sadie bounced in place. “Ice cream,” she squealed. “Can we, Uncle Mitch?”
“Before supper?” Mitch made a concerned face. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, Uncle Mitch,” Dylan said. “It’s Friday. We don’t have school tomorrow. We can eat supper later.”
Mitch smiled at Kristen, the teasing light in his eyes lifting the shadows from his expression and sending a renewed surge of pleasure through her. “What do you say, Kristen?”
She grinned. “I say, you can buy me two scoops.”
The drive into town didn’t take long, and the increasing clusters of storm clouds above provided a blanket of shade across the landscape. The cooler air prompted Kristen to ask Mitch to lower the windows. He did, and a swift breeze swirled through the cab, lifting Kristen’s hair from her face and settling sweetly in her lungs. She turned her head and admired the passing scenery.
Wide ditches sprinkled with tall grass blurred by, and beyond that, every now and then, the distant hills would flatten and a field would emerge. One as big as hers. And as rich with potential.
Her smile grew.
“What kind of ice cream are you gonna get, Ms. Kristen?”
She glanced to her right, where Dylan smiled up at her. He sat in the middle of the backseat this time, between her and Sadie. Seemed her assistance in rescuing his cell phone had gone a long way in thawing his chill toward her.
“Oh, I don’t know. What kinds do they have?”
“All kinds,” Dylan said. “Chocolate, vanilla, rocky road, mint, bubble gum—”
“Bubble gum?” Kristen shuddered.
“Yeah. It’s good. You pick out the big pieces, pu
t ’em in a napkin, then chew them after you finish the ice cream.” He clapped his hands. “Two treats in one.”
Mitch laughed, meeting her eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “It’s an acquired taste. I used to love it as a kid.”
“I might give it a whirl.” Kristen leaned forward and glanced at Emmy, who sat in the front seat. “What kind will you get, Emmy?”
“Hmm?” Emmy raised her chin as they reached Peach Grove’s city limits, straining for a better view. “It’s up on the right. There’s a big dip in the driveway, so go slow.”
Mitch nodded. “I will, Emmy.”
She tapped a finger in the air. “Take this next turn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, returning Kristen’s smile in the rearview mirror.
Mitch took the turn, eased the big truck over the rut in the driveway, then parked on the side of a small white building with THE SCOOP displayed in a playful pink font across the front veneer.
“All right,” Mitch said, cutting the engine. “Let’s get some ice cream.”
They got out, and Sadie and Dylan led the way with excited skips to the front entrance. Kristen followed, surprised at how packed it was both inside and outside the small business. Several people sitting at booths could be seen through the windows, and more were seated outside, at high tables lining the front and sides of the shop, licking ice cream off cones, spooning sundaes, and chatting in small groups. The parking lot was full of cars and trucks, and a cheery tune trickled out of speakers attached to the building, putting a light spring in her step.
Mitch walked beside her. “What do you think? Place worth the trip?”
“For ice cream?” She laughed. “Always. Don’t you think so, Emmy?”
Kristen’s steps slowed at the lack of a response from Emmy, and Mitch stopped, then glanced behind them.
“Emmy?” he called. “What are you doing?”
She stood several feet behind, still by the truck, her back to them. Her posture was different. There was a rigid tilt to her sloping shoulders, and she had assumed a readied stance, with one foot forward and the other back.
Kristen stilled, her skin prickling. “Emmy?”
Mitch walked toward her, saying over his shoulder, “Hold up, kids.”
A rhythmic pound and whoosh echoed across the parking lot. Two boys on skateboards sped out from behind the ice cream parlor, then circled back to the familiar ruins of a building. One jumped off his skateboard, grabbed a brick from a nearby pile, and threw it at the jagged remains of a window in the one wall still standing. The glass shattered, and broken shards crashed to the pavement.
Emmy raised her fists, her shouts echoing off the ice cream parlor.
“Oh, no,” Kristen whispered.
By the time she reached the truck, Emmy was doing her best to edge around Mitch, who spoke to her in low, placating tones.
“Emmy, please—”
“They shouldn’t be here,” Emmy yelled, pacing and waving a fist at the boys. “You shouldn’t be here!” She spun around, and her eyes widened at Kristen. “Look what they’re doing to Cindy Sue’s shop. Look!”
Stomach churning, Kristen glanced at the two kids. Oblivious to Emmy’s shouts, one boy circled back on his skateboard, focused on the pavement in front of him. Emmy shoved past Mitch and limped toward him, then snagged the boy’s elbow as he passed. The skateboard jerked to a halt, and the boy stumbled in her grip.
“You get out of here and don’t come back,” Emmy yelled, shaking him. “You hear me?”
“Ow! Let go.”
Mitch jogged over and struggled to pry the boy out of her grip. “Emmy, let him go.”
Kristen joined him and pulled at the gnarled fingers of Emmy’s other hand, but the feel of thin skin and fragile bone made her stop and gentle her touch.
Emmy yelled louder as she strained against them. “Cindy Sue? Come out here.”
“What’s going on?”
Cringing, Kristen glanced back at Dylan, who ran toward them. Sadie hovered a few steps behind. They both stared wide-eyed and pale-faced at the scene before them.
“Wait there with Sadie, please,” she said, striving to keep her tone calm and renewing her efforts to free the boy.
Emmy was inconsolable. Her fierce grip tightened, her knuckles turning white.
“Emmy,” Kristen begged. “Please let him go.”
“They’ve ruined it.” Emmy’s eyes, panicked and confused, settled on the decaying building. “What’s Cindy Sue going to do?” A tear rolled down her cheek, and her voice broke when she added, “She’s worked so hard. Been good to so many people.” She shook the boy harder. “You don’t do a body like that, you hear? You don’t just throw someone away.”
The boy’s face contorted with pain. “Get off me, you crazy bitch.”
“Shut up,” Dylan yelled, moving toward him. “Don’t call her that.”
“Dylan, go back to the truck,” Mitch said firmly. He nodded at Kristen when they finally managed to pry Emmy’s hands from the boy and move her away. “You’re Zach, right? Charles’s boy?” He eyed Zach’s upper arm. “You all right?”
Rubbing his arm and scowling, Zach nodded.
“I’m sorry about this. Go on home.” Mitch turned back to Emmy and held her thrashing arms at her sides.
“You don’t do a body like that,” Emmy shouted.
“She’s crazy,” Zach spat, snatching up his skateboard.
Mitch’s tone hardened. “Go home, Zach.”
Low voices and hushed murmurs mixed with the peppy music still streaming from the ice cream parlor’s speakers.
Kristen glanced around, and when she saw that people had abandoned their tables outside the ice cream parlor and had gathered behind them to watch the disturbance, her face heated. Dylan, red faced, hovered nearby, shifting from foot to foot. Sadie clutched the neckline of her T-shirt with both hands, mouth trembling and tears streaming down her face.
Kristen looked at Mitch, and the helplessness in his eyes as he struggled to restrain Emmy’s angry movements made her chest tighten.
“What can I do, Mitch?” she asked softly, taking a hesitant step forward.
Cheeks pale, he shook his head. “I don’t know. Just stay back.”
“Cindy Sue?” Emmy craned her neck and peered past Mitch. “Come out here.”
Mitch’s tone was firm. “Emmy, she’s not there.”
“I have to go to her. She might be hurt. All that glass . . .”
“She’s not there.”
“You let me go,” Emmy screamed. “You suits are all the same. Selfish. Hateful. Useless—”
“No one is there, Emmy.” Mitch’s hands tightened their hold on her shoulders. “No one. They’re gone. Do you hear me? Everyone is gone.”
Her arm shot out, and her hand slapped Mitch’s cheek, the sharp crack of flesh striking flesh rocking Mitch back on his heels.
Kristen gasped. “Emmy!”
“Nana, don’t,” Sadie cried, tearing past Emmy and barreling into Mitch. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her small shoulders racked with sobs.
Red blotches rose on Mitch’s left cheek. He released Emmy and lifted his hands, palms out. His fingers shook.
“You don’t throw someone away.” Emmy turned, stumbling a bit, and stared blankly at the people gathered behind them. “You don’t just throw ’em away.”
The group of bystanders fell silent, and Sadie’s cries echoed across the parking lot, mingling with the heavy rush of traffic on the road behind them.
Vision blurring, Kristen swallowed past the tight knot in her throat, then held out a shaky hand. “Come with me, Sadie.”
The little girl lifted her head and looked up at Mitch, her breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Go with Kristen,” Mitch said, staring straight ahead, his voice unrecognizable.
Sadie let go of him and turned. Red rimmed her eyes, and she had a look of desperation on her face as her gaze darted around the crowd of strangers who surro
unded them and stared.
Kristen dropped to her knees, spread her arms, and whispered, “Over here, sweet Sadie.”
Relief flashed through her expression, and she ran into Kristen’s arms, small hands clutching her neck and legs winding around her waist. Kristen stood, holding Sadie, and walked back to the truck. She stopped to grab Dylan’s hand along the way.
They climbed into the backseat of the truck, and Kristen hugged Sadie close to her side, watching through the windshield as Mitch slowly walked Emmy back. When they reached the truck, Mitch opened the passenger door and waited while Emmy put a hand on the seat and stared.
“You need some help, Mitch?” a male onlooker asked quietly.
Mitch didn’t turn around, just shook his head, his eyes averted toward the truck’s floorboard. “No. She just needs a minute.”
Eventually, Emmy climbed in. Mitch shut the door and rounded the truck, got in and drove past the onlookers out of the parking lot.
The first few miles were silent except for Sadie’s muffled sobs against Kristen’s shirt and the slow drum of light rain against the hood of the truck. Dylan slumped against the closed window, fists balled on his knees. And Mitch stared straight ahead, his strong jaw clenched, the bright red mark spreading across his cheekbone.
“What did I do?”
Kristen froze as the sound of Emmy’s shaking voice filled the quiet cab.
The passenger seat creaked as Emmy turned to study Mitch, her mouth trembling and eyes wide. She glanced at the backseat, and her gaze moved over Dylan, then Kristen, and stilled on Sadie.
Her face crumpled. Her voice breaking, she asked, “Oh, what did I do?”
Mitch shifted gears, slowing the truck, then pulled off to the side of the road.
Kristen straightened. Her breath quickened at the tense, angry set of his mouth. “Mitch . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Emmy said, looking at him in frightened confusion, tears pouring from her eyes. Her chest lifted and lowered in jerks, and her hands moved aimlessly over the sides of her seat. “I’m so sorr—”