by Andrew Grey
“You were the one to listen.”
Foster stopped, staring at Javi. “Don’t sell yourself short. It was your idea, and all I did was bring in the building. You thought of it and helped me make it happen, so this is your win as much as mine.”
“Okay,” Javi said, smiling. “I’m glad it’s working out. Did you actually check the stand itself?”
“No.” Shit, Foster wondered if he should have done that. “Do you really think people will steal vegetables?”
“If they do, then they need the food a lot worse than you do,” Javi offered. “It wasn’t like you put that much out there. Stop worrying and be happy. You deserve it.”
A horn sounded outside, and Foster groaned. “I guess the afterglow is over,” he grumbled and began getting dressed once again. This time Javi did as well. Foster finished dressing and opened his bedroom door. He stepped out and ran to the window in the stairwell, paling when he saw the truck his mother and grandmother had taken that morning. “They’re back,” he whispered and heard Javi rush to finish dressing. “I’ll go down and see what happened.” When he turned, he saw Javi jumping into the last of his clothes.
The back door opened and slammed shut. “Foster.” His mother’s happiness rang through the house, and he couldn’t help wondering how long that happiness would last if Javi didn’t hurry up and his mother caught them upstairs in his bedroom.
“Coming,” he called back, and thankfully Javi joined him. He hurried down the stairs and met his mother and grandmother in the kitchen. “You’re back early. Was something wrong?”
“We sold out. We were the only ones there selling asparagus, and people came by the whole time.” She handed him a box with three jars in it. “They loved the preserves, and we have orders.” She set the box on the counter and opened her purse. “Three hundred pounds of asparagus total for twenty different people—I have their names and phone numbers for next week—and twenty-four jars of preserves.” She handed him the money from the day.
“Mrs. Dulles stopped by because of the stand and ordered thirty pounds of asparagus. She’s also going to tell others.” This was beyond anything he had ever expected. That meant that the second cutting from one of the fields was already completely spoken for, and at a much higher rate than he was getting from the produce merchant. “Are we going to have enough preserves?” There were still jars in the cellar, but they couldn’t keep up the preserve business for very long.
“Yes, though I think that we’ll be sold out after next week, which is fine. The next batch of fruit will start to come in next month, and we can make more jam,” Grandma Katie said with a proud smile.
Video game music started in the other room. “Is that Javi?”
“Yeah, Mom. He walked over this morning, and we got a few things done.” He felt sort of lazy telling them that he and Javi hadn’t done much that morning while they were at market. “I expect we may get a few more orders between today and tomorrow.” The sales of their produce, at the much higher rate than the dealer, would be a nice addition to the farm coffers, and hopefully that interest would translate to the rest of their produce when they brought it to market. At least on that front, things were looking up.
“Is everything okay in the barn?” his mother asked.
“Yes. We’ll get things ready for milking in a few hours.”
“Good. I think we could all do with a rest after lunch,” Grandma Katie said as she got to her feet and began pulling fixings out of the refrigerator. “We’re going to make our own today, so call Javi in to eat.”
Foster got Javi, who came in and sat down. Foster tried not to look at him and smile every few seconds. It was hard. He was happy—both he and the farm had had a great day—but clouds loomed on the horizon. Foster knew that as sure as he knew that winter would eventually arrive.
Chapter 8
THE DAYS went by quickly, between milking and working in the fields. Foster would’ve liked to have been able to say that he was so busy he didn’t have a chance to think about the fact that Javi was going to leave. It had rained on Sunday, and with the threat of more rain on Wednesday, they had worked extra hard on Monday and Tuesday to cut all three fields. They had all been ready, and with everything harvested, Javi’s family was leaving the following morning.
“Thank you all for all your work. It’s very much appreciated,” Foster told them, then handed Mrs. Ramos an envelope with the money they’d earned. He also passed over some of his grandmother’s preserves as well as a few books for Daniela and art supplies for Ricky. He’d made a promise earlier, and he intended to deliver on it.
“Gracias,” Mrs. Ramos said, taking the money and then gripping his hands. He knew she was not only thanking him for the money, but for taking care of them during the storm. Foster smiled and explained that they were always welcome.
Foster shook hands with Mr. Ramos, who had stayed home the past few days and seemed to be on a more even keel. Then he turned to Javi, wondering what exactly he could say. He blinked a few times and then ended up shaking Javi’s hand, saying a simple good-bye, and turning to walk away.
That single action was the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life. His eyes watered, and by the time he got to the truck, he could barely see what was in front of him. Foster wanted to wipe his eyes, but he couldn’t let any of Javi’s family know how upset he was. They’d wonder, and he wouldn’t put Javi in any danger of being outed. Javi had made his decision, and while Foster hated it, he understood, and he was helpless to change it.
Foster opened the truck door and climbed in, starting the engine after slamming the door shut with more force than was necessary. He turned the vehicle around, glancing in the rearview mirror. Javi stood on the back side of the van, alone. He raised his hand, and Foster watched as much as he dared as Javi got smaller behind him. Foster stopped at the road, turned for one last look, wishing he could look into Javi’s eyes just one more time. Then he turned his gaze forward and made the turn onto the road.
Foster wasn’t ready to go back to the farm, so he continued on, taking the roads away from home before turning and taking the old drive to the top of the hill. He didn’t stop until he was at the top. He got out and walked to the edge, staring down at his home and the red Ramos van, still parked in the field. He didn’t move and couldn’t look away. If he did, Javi would be gone. Foster knew it was dumb for him to get so upset about someone he’d only known a few weeks. He’d tried telling himself that last night for hours on end, but it had done no good. He’d fallen in love with Javi and that was the end of it.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and continued watching. He ended up wiping his eyes again and again until he could watch no more. He turned and went back to the truck, his shoulders slumping. He knew there was nothing he could do except go back to the farm and to work. Return to the life he’d had before Javi walked into it and turned everything upside down. But he couldn’t bring himself to return to the farm, not just yet. Once he did, he’d lose the last hold he had. Up here he could still see the van and he knew Javi was down there.
He couldn’t stay up there forever. Eventually he turned away, got in the truck, and returned to the real world. He used to come up here to dream and wonder, to stay above the world. Now, like Javi, his dream was gone. Only work remained.
THE FOLLOWING morning, Foster got up, dressed, and milked the girls. He did his best not to wonder what Javi was doing at that moment and if his family was already packing up to leave. One of the cows was fussy as hell, nearly kicking him twice. He left her for a while, milked the others, and then returned, hoping she’d calmed down. He was able to get her milked, but only after fighting with her for longer than he wanted.
He had never been so happy to be done with milking in his life. He let the herd out and checked on the ones in the birthing area. Two new calves, a heifer and a bull calf, stood next to their mothers, nursing happily. A third cow, ready to birth at any moment, blinked at him. “I know, girl, I’ll be ha
ppy when it’s over too.” She went back to eating, and Foster turned away with a sigh.
“Can you help your grandmother in the cellar?” his mother asked from the door as he walked across the yard.
“Sure.”
“She’s trying to inventory what she has so she can decide how much she wants to sell next week.”
“All right. I need to open the stand in about an hour.” His days were filling quickly. Foster went inside and found his grandmother in the basement, standing in front of the pantry.
“I think we could sell these and keep these.”
Foster grinned. “There are only three of us now, and we use a jar of preserves every two weeks. That’s two a month. So we don’t need a two-year supply. Keep twelve and sell the rest. When we make more, we can add to it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. And next week, we’re going to raise the price to seven dollars. You have too much work in them otherwise.” At this rate his grandmother could make preserves day and night and still not be able to keep up. That wasn’t what he wanted. He gently took her thin shoulders. “We’re only going to do this as long as you enjoy it. If you don’t want to make preserves any longer, then we’ll sell the fruit and that can be the end of it. You’re so much more important to me than a few jars of strawberries.”
“I know that, sweetheart.” She patted his hand and moved the last jars over to the other shelf. “I need to go check the garden.”
“It’s fine. We’ll weed in a few days.” He made a note that he was going to have to cut hay soon. They’d had enough sun and rain that the grasses and alfalfa would be high enough to get a good first cutting.
“You need to rest too.” Grandma Katie walked up the stairs, and Foster followed, turning out the lights at the top. He continued outside and got in the truck, then headed out the drive and turned toward the asparagus fields. He drove as quickly as he could but slowed as he approached. The field was quiet—no red van or awning. Foster made the turn back to the park site, locked the power shed, and turned off the pump and water. That was it. He stood, walking the site that Javi and his family had called home while they were here. Who would have thought that three weeks could have made such a difference in his life? Or that Javi being truly gone would leave such a hole behind right beside the one left by the loss of his father?
He walked to where the grass had been trampled and found a few remnants that had been dropped. The animals would eat them or carry them away soon enough. He wished he’d had the forethought to have taken a picture of the two of them while Javi had been here. Instead, all he had were his memories. He slowly walked back to the truck and went home. There was nothing else he could do.
Chapter 9
“WE NEED to pick the last of these strawberries. We’re going to market tomorrow, and they’re not going to last,” Grandma Katie said.
Foster left his mother to pick the cucumbers and went over to the strawberry patch. The mid-July sky was threatening, but he hadn’t heard any thunder yet, which meant they had a little while before they had to stop what they were doing.
“I have these quarts ready to go,” his grandmother continued. “Can you put them in the cellar to keep them cool for tonight?”
“Sure.” He hoisted the cases of strawberries and carried them down into the cooler basement. They didn’t wash or touch them any more than they had to. That kept the berries fresh and firm until they got to market. Foster transferred all the berries to the basement and then went back to the field and began picking, being very gentle and careful to only handle the berries once. They weren’t huge berries, but they were bursting with flavor and commanded an excellent price. “I think we’ll get one more picking this year.” He was careful to leave the unripe berries where they were.
“I didn’t think so last week, but you’re right,” Grandma Katie concurred. “Some of the newer plants are even sending out fresh blossoms, which is rather odd.”
“They’re just running late. We’ll water them a little extra and see if we can coax some fruit from them.” He’d seen stranger things, and if they got even a small picking in a few weeks, that would help. Foster didn’t put strawberries in the stand, but he’d added the other vegetables they had, and it had done well to let the locals know what they had to sell.
Foster kept his head down and worked, plucking berry after berry. “Do we have orders for this week?”
“I believe we need thirty quarts at a minimum,” his mother answered. “Do we have enough?”
“I counted forty in the basement, plus what we have here. We can’t take any more orders, but we’ll be able to fulfill what we took and can sell the rest.” They had two bushels of cucumbers, and the beans were coming in. Foster had picked those the day before. Spinach was also ready, and his mother was bent over the patch, cutting what she could to take that to market as well.
He kept listening for the thunder and heard the first rumbles in the distance nearly an hour later. He hauled all the containers down to the cellar, where they would remain cool and fresh for the following day. “We’ve done enough for the day,” Foster said when he returned and helped his grandmother up. She totally amazed him on a regular basis. Nothing ever stopped her.
“Are you sure?” his mother asked, still working.
“Yes, Mom. It’s going to rain, and you’ve done more than enough.” They all had. He grabbed the last basket as they went inside, the first drops falling as the back door closed. Foster got the huge pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator, and they all sat, drinking and watching as the rain soaked everything outside. It wasn’t a harsh storm or too heavy, but it was just what the fields needed and what Foster had been praying for these last couple rather dry weeks.
He finished his tea and stood, then left the house, dodging raindrops, and headed to the barn. The herd had gathered under the overhang at the back of the barn, standing together for shelter against the rain. Foster took the time to prep for milking, making sure he had everything ready. He’d taken to doing this in the afternoon when most of the farm was quiet. Each feed area was set up with their supplements and feed. He had water in each trough, and everything shone after being washed.
“What’s going on?”
Foster jumped, turning to face his grandmother. “Why aren’t you resting? You have a busy day tomorrow, and I’m worried that I’m overworking you.”
“I’m old enough to know my limits,” she retorted. “I’ll say something if I’m doing too much.” She walked toward him, her steps a little halting. “The one I’m worried about is you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, and don’t try that innocent routine on me. I have eyes. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, keeping that stand of yours running, the weekend market, milking, the garden. You never stop to rest until you collapse at night.”
“I’m fine,” he protested.
“Sure you are. Were you fine last week when you got the check from Mr. Justice and practically took his head off when he paid you at last year’s rate?”
“He tried to cheat us, the old bastard,” Foster argued.
“Are you sure that’s why? Or did you call and raise hell because you’ve been sulking and miserable and took it out on him? You had his note with what he promised, and now you’re going to have to smooth things over with him. Eventually you’re going to need him.”
Foster groaned softly, cringing at the thought. She was right, of course, and that irked him even more.
“You’ve been short-tempered and blatantly unhappy for weeks now. You worry about money, work, and then go to your room and stay away from the rest of us. So don’t tell me that nothing is wrong. I’ve been around the block and know something about hurt.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.” He looked around, hoping like hell the hayloft would catch fire or something just so he wouldn’t have to face her intense gaze.
“It’s been hard without your father. Believe me, I understand that.”
Foster didn’t respond and continued hoping for something to rescue him from this situation.
“Does this have to do with Javi?” she asked, watching him. Foster knew any answer would give away his feelings. He’d never been good at lying, and lying to Grandma Katie was impossible. Foster turned away and began checking the feed. At least it gave him something to do, no matter how lame. “I know he became your friend, and that’s good, but he’s gone, and it’s time you made some new friends. This can be a lonely life, and you need people to have fun with.”
“Javi was….” He actually began to talk and then lost his voice. His lips were moving but nothing came out.
“He was a friend,” she supplied and continued stepping closer. “Or was he more than that?”
“Grandma!” Foster protested.
“Hey. He was something to you. I saw it in your eyes and the way you never seemed to stop looking at him. So what was he to you?” Her tone was so soft, almost pleading.
Foster’s legs shook and he wanted to run and hide. “Javi was….”
“You need to say it, sweetheart. Let it out and be honest with yourself. Don’t do it for me or your mother. We don’t matter. You have to say it for you.”
“Say what? That I loved Javi and he went away?” Foster blurted and gasped.
“See?” She shrugged slightly. “That wasn’t so hard. Were you and Javi intimate?”
“Grandma,” he said again. “I—” He was so not having this conversation with her. The idea of talking about this with her squicked him out completely.
“Okay, fine. Was Javi your first love?” she asked, and Foster nodded. He didn’t have the fight left in him to argue with her any longer. “Then that explains a lot.” She reached out to him, stroking his arm. “You’ve been hurting and you thought you had to go through all this alone. You don’t, you know.”