Planting His Dream

by Andrew Grey

  “You’ll figure it all out,” Javi said, sitting across from him.

  “I’m not so sure. It’s only been a few weeks, and I’ve got all these things I want to try, but sometimes I can barely keep my head on the tasks that I have to do.”

  Javi shrugged. “When I’m working, I do one thing, make sure it’s done, and then move on.”

  “I know about that. But I’m supposed to do the chores, sell what the farm produces, plan how to make the business more successful, and somehow keep from working my mother and grandmother to death.” Yeah, he was feeling sorry for himself, and that had to stop. It was counterproductive.

  “At least you have a place to live,” Javi said, looking around. Foster stared at him. “I haven’t ever lived in a house like you have. My family has moved from place to place with the crops for as long as I can remember. Sometimes we stay in the van, like we are here. Five people in a van. Other times there’s quarters that the farmer lets us use. The last one had a dirt floor and was overrun with termites and scorpions.”

  Foster nodded, knowing he had very little to complain about, really. “You’re right.” It put a lot of things in perspective. “Let’s go check the fields, and then we can have lunch.” There was always more work to be done. “How are you with tools? Building things.”

  “I’ve done just about anything I’ve ever been asked.”

  The equipment shed needed some repairs, and it would be much easier with some help. They got in the truck, and Foster pulled away and down the drive. He turned right and took the road toward the back of the property. He pulled to a stop at the edge of the first field. He got out, looking across the largely flat area that was just greening up, the corn spreading its first leaves. He checked that soil, rolling it between his fingers. The soil in their area could have a sandy consistency, but Foster and his family had been blessed with just a small amount of clay, and that helped hold the moisture rather than letting it wick away.

  “Is it okay?” Javi asked.

  “Yes. Everything is growing.” And the weeds hadn’t had a chance to get much of a start. It wouldn’t be long before the corn took all the sun and made it impossible for weeds to have a chance except at the edges of the field. “I hate using a lot of pesticides and chemicals. They end up in the cows and then in the milk.” Quality was their stock-in-trade, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. “Let’s move on.”

  They got back in the truck and went from field to field, with good results. It seemed that the hours he’d spent in the tractor planting were going to pay off. But he had to caution himself that it was still early in the growing season and there was a lot that could happen. He wondered if Javi wanted to check in with his family, but he said nothing, so Foster drove back to the farm. They went right inside for lunch. His mother had made sandwiches. It was an easy lunch, but Javi didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way he ate. Foster didn’t want to pry.

  His mother had no such compunctions. “Do you always eat that much?”

  “No, ma’am,” Javi answered, clearly embarrassed judging by the red that colored his otherwise bronze cheeks.

  “I like a man who eats. Tells me that the food is good.” She gave Foster one of those looks and then shifted her gaze to Javi.

  Foster rolled his eyes and thought that his mother might have made a nice save. Then she passed Javi the plate. What began bothering Foster was that if Javi was hungry, what about the rest of the family? Yes, he and Javi had done a lot of hard work and that brought on an appetite, but he didn’t think that accounted for the amount Javi was eating. Javi had told him things had been rough for his family, but Foster wondered if there was more going on that Javi hadn’t shared or wasn’t privy to.

  “I should get the supplies together,” Foster said once he was finished and pushed away from the table.

  “What are you doing?” his mother asked.

  Giving you the few minutes with Javi you seem to want. “Dad got asphalt shingles a few weeks ago, and we were going to fix the toolshed roof….” He didn’t need to continue and upset his mother. “Finish your lunch and join me in the yard,” he added to Javi and left the kitchen.

  The sun was strong and hot. June could be a fickle month. Sometimes, if the wind was strong off the lake, it could be wet and cool. This year had been sunny and warm so far, but Foster knew to take advantage when the weather was good because that could change fast.

  He found the shingles in the shed, so he got them out and stacked them to the side of the door. He’d thought about putting the new roof over the old but was concerned about the weight, especially mixed with snow in the winter, so he got a ladder and began tearing off the old roof. He was well into it when Javi climbed up to join him and they each took a side.

  “I always hate jobs like this,” Foster confessed.

  “Why?” Javi dropped a load of shingles to the ground and then went back down the ladder. Foster peered over the side, watching as Javi brought a wheelbarrow to his side of the roof and then parked another on the other side.

  “Good idea.” The shed wasn’t that large, but the cleanup of all the old shingles was going to be a mess. Javi climbed back on the roof, and they finished clearing it off, filling the wheelbarrows and then dumping them in the trash containers. The wheelbarrows filled quickly, and it took a while to rake up the old nails, which they had to be pretty careful about.

  “Have you roofed before?” Foster asked.

  “Not really. I’ll haul up the shingles so you can get started.” Javi tugged off his shirt, shoving it into his back pocket before hoisting a bag on his shoulder and slowly climbing the ladder. Foster got the nail gun and compressor before climbing up himself. He set the first row of shingles, making sure they were straight. He wasn’t nearly as proficient as the guys who did this all the time, but it didn’t take him long to get into a rhythm. It was a simple, two-sided, pitched roof, so there was little cutting, and that could mostly be done at the end. He took off his shirt, dropped it to the ground, and settled in to work.

  Javi reached the top of the ladder and set down another bundle of shingles.

  “Dammit.” Foster needed to be careful. He had let his attention wander and nearly nailed his hand, yanking it back just before the nail gun got it. He needed to be paying attention to his work instead of the smooth copper skin and perfect small nipples that stuck out just right from the planes of Javi’s chest. Foster knew he shouldn’t be looking at the lines on Javi’s belly or the trail of dark, wispy hair that started at his belly button and disappeared into the top of his thin jeans.

  He lowered his gaze, trying not to make too big a deal of it, and grabbed the next sheet of shingles. He placed them, put in the nails, and reached for the next sheet. He thought Javi had descended and chanced a look. This time he saw Javi look at him and then turn away before climbing down the ladder.

  A fluttery warmth started in Foster’s belly, spreading though his legs and up his arms, settling at the base of his brain like the buzzing of a bee. He was glad to have a second to adjust his dick because it was hard, aching, and he didn’t want to be obvious. The last thing he wanted was for Javi to go running back to his family thinking Foster had been perving on him. Granted, the thoughts Foster was having were most definitely pervy and involved finding out if Javi’s skin was as soft and his muscles as hard as they looked.

  He set the sheet of shingles and continued, placing sheet after sheet, row after row until he approached the peak of the roof. Then he switched sides and heard Javi shifting the ladder. He set the first row the same way he’d done the other side. Foster turned as a rip of fabric sounded and the back of his leg suddenly felt breezy. Damn nail.

  “God,” Foster said as he put the gun on the roof and it slid down toward the edge. He caught it, but that meant pulling his hand away from his backside, and he was once again flashing his butt at Javi. “I think I need to go change my pants.”

  Javi got on the roof, and Foster made his way down and over to the house. He
went right up to his room and kicked off his shoes.

  Once he got his pants off, he was surprised to see the seam of his Levi’s had given way, tearing up the leg and over the seat. Foster tried to remember how long he’d had them and couldn’t. He usually wore older clothes when he was doing heavy work. After putting them aside so his mom or grandmother could see if they could be repaired, he pulled on another pair and put his shoes back on, then hurried back out to the shed.

  Thankfully there were no further wardrobe malfunctions that afternoon, but Foster was distracted off and on by Javi and the way the sun shone off his lightly sweat-sheened shoulders and chest. Part of him reveled in the wonder of curiosity. His body tingled in a way that was foreign to him, and he wanted to get closer to Javi, while at the same time, he needed to finish the roof before he did something he’d regret.

  The afternoon was turning to evening by the time they finished the ridge and climbed down the ladder for the last time. Javi began cleaning up the mess around the shed while Foster put away the tools. He set the nail gun on the shelf in the shed under the roof they’d just completed, held the edge of the bench, and sighed, closing his eyes. All he saw was Javi—skin shining in the sun, sometimes watching him when he thought Foster wasn’t looking. At least he thought Javi had been watching him. But what if he hadn’t been, and the interest or curiosity—whatever he wanted to call it—had all been in Foster’s imagination? Foster might not have had much experience with running the farm on his own, but he knew he shouldn’t be having feelings for someone who worked for him, let alone another guy.

  “Are we done for the day?” Javi asked after he gathered up the last of the wrappers from the shingles and spent some time raking the area around the shed once again.

  Foster kept his distance. He figured that was best, so he busied himself inside, putting away the remaining shingles and cleaning up. “Yes. Let me pay you.”

  “Do you need me tomorrow?”

  “It’s supposed to rain,” Foster said instead of giving him a straightforward answer. It was probably good that he spend some time away from him. Maybe he could clear his mind and get this… fascination with Javi out of his system.

  “What if it’s nice?” Javi asked.

  “Then come down,” he answered before he could stop himself. He did his best not to stare at Javi’s chest and the way his jeans now hung low on his hips and the lines on his belly pointed toward hidden treasures. Foster licked his lips in order to get some moisture in his suddenly dry mouth.

  “Javi,” Foster’s mother called as she hurried over. “The shed looks good, boys.” She smiled and faced Javi. “I made a casserole. It’s baked pasta with meat sauce. Come inside when you’re ready to go, and you can take it with you.” It looked like Javi might protest, but Foster knew his mother’s expression and that she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Thank you,” Javi said. He grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on. “I was about to walk home.”

  “I’ll take you,” his mother said, and Foster watched as she led him inside the house. Breathing a sigh of relief, he went into the barn, used the sink to wash up, and then let in the herd to begin the milking process.

  FOSTER WAS a mess. He’d finished the milking and eaten his dinner. Now he was trying to do some work in the office, but he wasn’t getting anywhere.

  “You know you don’t have to do it all,” his mother said from the doorway. She came in and sat down in a chair. “I used to do the books for your father when we were first married. But after you were born, I was busy and the house chores got heavier, so we transitioned it away.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Foster complained.

  “It’s been a long time, and back then I did everything on paper and in ledgers. Your dad used the computer, and I let him take care of it. He always said it didn’t take very long.”

  “Then maybe we can do this together.” He needed help and he wasn’t ashamed to say so. “I’m getting overwhelmed, but I’m afraid that I can’t afford to hire some help.”

  She pulled the chair up to the desk, and he turned the screen so she could see it. Then they began.

  After two hours Foster was about ready to collapse, but his mother was a barrel of energy. He’d shown her how the systems worked, and she’d been able to bring order and context to some of what had seemed like chaos to him.

  “The tools have changed, but what I knew still applies,” she said.

  “Yes, it does.” He slid back and stood, letting her take control of the computer. Foster sat in the second chair and leaned back. He rested his head, and when it fell forward, he jerked awake. His mother was still staring at the screen and going through invoices.

  “Our expenses are fairly minimal and have been for a number of years. The equipment we have is paid for. It’s older but ours. We grow a lot of our own feed, and what we don’t we trade for.” She continued looking and working.

  “It’s the price of the milk that’s killing us. We aren’t getting much for it. Not based on what milk costs in the stores,” Foster told her. It had been the perpetual debate and grouse in the family.

  “Is that why you were talking about cheese?” she asked him.

  “Yeah. If we can add value, we can get more for the dairy products. But that’s a large investment of time and money.” Especially if his grandmother was the one with the knowledge. Not that she couldn’t show them how to make the cheese, but he and his mother already had plenty to do.

  “We can look into it in the future. We’re expanding into the farmer’s markets as well as a stand here, so let’s see how that goes.” She pushed back from the desk. “We’re making money on the dairy operation, but not enough to keep the farm going and pay us something for our efforts. It keeps the lights on, but that’s all at these prices.”

  “No wonder Dad was borrowing money,” Foster said as he stood up. “I’ve got so many ideas, Mom. I’d like to expand the dairy herd and be able to make our own cheeses, really special things. Our herd is from great bloodlines. We could let it grow naturally for a few years and then build a side business in calves. I want to buy additional land to use to grow even more vegetables, like boutique potatoes, garlic, and other types of greens and squash. That way we could have vegetables for the stand and market year-round.”

  “Hold on, honey,” she said with a smile.

  “I know we can’t do all that at once, but I want to be able to actually make the farm really pay so you and Grandma don’t have to work so hard. Mr. Dulles said that we have to treat the farm as a business, and that struck a chord with me.”

  “Okay. Let’s take it one step at a time.” She stood. “But don’t you dare think about keeping chickens. I hate those things, and I will not gather any damned eggs.”

  Foster had no intention of adding chickens to the mix.

  “I’m going to go to bed.” His mother yawned. “I still have a hard time sleeping, and I probably will for a long time.”

  Foster nodded slowly. “I miss him too.” He hugged his mother tightly and felt her start to cry. Tears welled in his eyes as well. His father hadn’t been an easy man to get to know or get along with, but he had been there for him. He’d milked cows and then helped Foster build Pinewood Derby cars for Scouts, even when he was so tired he couldn’t think straight. He’d helped Foster with 4-H projects, and the blue, white, and red ribbons were still in a box under Foster’s bed. He’d delighted in those ribbons, but they had been his father’s just as much as they’d been his. “How am I going to run this place without him?”

  She hugged him closer. “Just follow your heart. It’s what I’m trying to do.” She let him go, and Foster wiped his eyes. “I need to go up to bed,” she said. He reached for the box of tissues and she took one and dabbed her eyes with it. “I keep wishing I’d insisted he go to the doctor. I should have shoved the stubborn old goat into the car and driven him there myself.” She looked toward the ceiling, muttering under her breath. “God help me, I love him, but you
r father was one pigheaded mule.”

  Foster didn’t argue. “I’ll be up soon.”

  She nodded and left the room.

  Foster turned out the lights and went out back, doing a last check of the herd and making sure all the barn doors were closed before returning to the dark, silent house and going up to bed. He undressed, cleaned up, and got into bed. He was so tired his eyes closed on their own, but his head had different ideas.

  He thought about his father and the work he had to do. That sent his mind careening down the path of the work they’d done today, and of course he ended up playing images of Javi in his head. Fuck, it was difficult to sleep with a hard-on. He ran his hands down his chest and then between his legs, stroking his cock slowly, twisting his hand around the head just the way he liked it.

  He let himself sink into his fantasy, watching as Javi stood shirtless on the roof. Thankfully fantasies were never rational, because Javi started doing a striptease right there on the roof, those thin pants sliding down his legs. Damn, Javi was fine-looking, and suddenly they’d changed locations and Javi was in his room with him, sliding work-roughened hands down Foster’s naked belly, wrapping callused fingers around his cock, scratching just enough to make it feel so good and….

  Foster held his breath, warmth spreading through him, and then he was coming, doing his best not to make too much noise so no one would know what he’d been doing. He breathed as steadily as he could, head swimming in a sea of endorphins. He reached for a tissue from the box beside the bed and held still, lying where he was and letting the happiness linger. Of course it never lasted long enough.

  He wiped himself up and then threw away the evidence of his fun before rolling onto his side away from the open windows and closing his eyes. Usually once he had a fantasy and the fireworks were over, it all faded away, but not tonight. Javi stayed in his mind, on the edges of his thoughts. He listened to the crickets and lowing of the herd outside his window, carried on the wind. But after a while he also heard the sounds, in his mind, anyway, of Javi climbing up and down that ladder, the squeak, the slight grunt when he lifted the package on his shoulder. And no matter what he did to stop it or how much he tried to put the image out of his head, he kept seeing Javi, shirt off, glistening in the sun.