by Tia Louise
“Oh shit.” He breaks our kiss, hopping up and grabbing the trash. “I’ve been gone too long.”
He pulls me to my feet, but I’m floating on air as we hurry to the waiting ATV.
Sawyer LaGrange has been my hero since I was a little girl, and being in his arms last night was a big piece of heaven. Hell, being in his arms today after crashing into my old demons reminds me why I’ve waited for him so long.
I close my eyes and hold his waist as we bounce across the fields to the house. My cheek is pressed against his shoulder, and I’m sure I have him now. We’ve come this far. I won’t let him retreat from me again.
10
Sawyer
Harvest doesn’t give a shit what’s going on in your life. Jay’s crew arrives Monday before dawn, and those peaches are coming off the trees. I take one crew out to the back forty. Taron goes with another to the middle, and Leon heads up the final team nearer the house.
We work eight-hour shifts every day, sweeping the trees, pulling every ripe fruit off, even the ones that aren’t so ripe, and hauling them to the shed where the teens are waiting to sort them for distribution, immediate sale, or cooking.
It’s back-breaking work in temperatures so hot and humidity so high, I’m surprised we all don’t end up with heat stroke.
Of course, we don’t.
We’ve grown up in this climate.
Still, it leaves me tired as fuck by mid-afternoon every day.
Now that Leon is heading up a crew, Noel spends the mornings in the shed overseeing the teens at the sorting tables. Dove stands on a chair beside the high-schoolers, sorting peaches like a pro. When I’m there, I can’t help feeling a mixture of amusement and a real sense of pride watching them.
Long story short, I haven’t had a break to think about anything since we started. Every June is the same way, but this year is different for me. Things have happened I don’t want to neglect. Still, when I look up, it’s Wednesday. I haven’t seen or talked to Mindy since Saturday. Dammit.
Correction, I sent her a text before I crashed last night. My eyes were closing on their own, but I pulled up that picture I took of us on the pier. She’s so pretty sitting on my lap. Her smile is pure and full of emotion, and I want to know what she’s thinking.
She was upset because of Beth and Liz. Those girls have been catty little bitches all their lives. To be honest, I’ve never paid any attention to them, but I realize now Mindy does. She cares what they think, which surprises me. I thought she was over all that kind of stuff.
I guess you’re never really over wanting to be a part of something.
“We’re making good progress.” Leon’s at my side talking fast, clearly excited. “Jay says we’re ahead of where we were this time last year.”
“That’s good.” I pull my cap lower over my eyes.
It’s six o’clock, and the workers are gearing up to head out. We’re moving a little slower than Monday, but like horses headed to the barn, we’ll pick up the pace by Friday.
I was just about to send Mindy a text. I want to check in with her before another day gets away from me.
“If we’re done this weekend, maybe we should think about planting more trees for next year.” My little brother is so young. He never gets tired.
“We can look at where we stand when we’re done and talk about it.”
“Okay!” He pulls his hat down over his eyes, similar to mine.
I pat his shoulder and walk over to where I’ll have a sliver of privacy. Opening my messages, I text quickly, Sorry I’ve been slammed this week. Maybe we can catch up this weekend.
My thumb hovers over the red dot, hesitating before I hit send. If I do this, I’m going down a road I’ve avoided many times… Still, something deep in me drives my thumb forward. Maybe it’s that selfie I took. Maybe it’s looking into Mindy’s eyes in that photograph, so vulnerable. She looks at me like she loves me.
With a quick tap, I send it.
“Let’s go.” Taron slaps me on the shoulder, and I shove my phone in my back pocket.
It’s time to bust our asses all day.
We call it a day at two, and I’m back at the house, heading to the shed to finish sorting what we’ve just brought in from the fields. Sometime across the morning I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, but I didn’t have a chance to stop and look at it.
Now, standing behind my sister at the table, I take a quick peek. Ma’s heading to Hammond to pick up new bees on Friday. Maybe I can cook dinner for you?
Scratching my forehead with my thumb, I think about spending Friday night alone with Mindy. It sounds pretty fucking perfect… If I can get away from this house without facing the Spanish Inquisition.
Plan on it. I’ll figure out how to get away.
“Am I having a heat stroke?” Noel’s voice causes me to put my phone away fast.
I turn, ready to examine her pupils for dilation, her cheeks for pallor. I don’t see any of it. “Are you feeling light headed?”
Her brown eyes narrow. “Were you sending a text? My brother Sawyer who hates cell phones?”
My stomach tightens. “You going to make us some lunch or what?”
Dove turns around on her chair. She’s wearing denim overalls, and Noel tied a red scarf around her head. She looks like a mini Rosie the Riveter.
“I sorted two whole baskets today!” She’s practically shouting.
“That’s my girl.” I swing her up into the air, and she squeals with laughter, grabbing my neck. “Run help your mamma make us some lunch.”
I put her on her feet, and she hops over to grab Noel’s hand. My sister is still giving me the stink-eye. “You can’t distract me with my own child. You’re up to something, Sawyer LaGrange.”
“I’m about to starve to death. I bet Leon is, too. And you probably want to be inside in the A/C.”
She’s about to make another snarky remark when Dove pulls her hand towards the house. “I’ve got my eye on you.” She does her two fingers at her eyes and at mine.
I turn to the table shaking my head. Still, Noel keeping her eyes on me only makes everything more complicated.
Sliding my fingers over the fuzzy, rose-gold fruits, I turn them, looking for splits, feeling for ripeness. The battered ones go in the baskets for us to turn into fudge or ice cream—or for my sister to turn into cosmetics. The whole, ripe, and near-ripe ones go into the crates for shipping to the distribution center.
I’m always surprised we don’t have more bruised peaches. Jay’s people are good at their jobs, but with how fast we move, it’s impressive we don’t damage more.
Sorting is mindless work, which allows me to think about Mindy’s invitation. Alone on a Friday night is kind of the perfect opportunity. Mindy and I need to talk. Talking is not my strong suit, and I’m going to be dead tired by Friday night.
It’s another in my long line of excuses for shoving these feelings down and burying them. If I tell Mindy everything, lay all my cards on the table, she’ll say what I’ve said to myself so many times.
She’ll say it’s not true. I don’t have PTSD. I don’t have scars you can’t see… I don’t believe it either.
Until Taron calls me out for losing my shit because she’s stuck in a field with a flat tire. Another soft, amber fruit touches my fingers, and I turn it over, then the next, checking the fragile produce, sorting them into baskets or crates.
My chest is tight when I remember that day. I almost had a panic attack thinking she might be hurt or worse… But that’s normal. Everyone worries about their friends and loved ones, and I stopped my spiraling thoughts. I controlled it. I’m okay.
The final yellow-pink fruit races toward my hand, and I pick it up. It looks perfect, smooth skin, plump and round. I turn it over, and wince when I see a big, ugly gash hidden on the other side. I drop it in the basket feeling like it’s a bad omen.
Which is something my sister would think. Ridiculous.
I don’t have any hidden gashes. I just nee
d people to get out of my head.
Switching off the table, I wave to the rest of the teens. “Be sure to mark your time. See y’all tomorrow.”
I haul the baskets to the office and the crates to the trucks. It’s another two hours of manual labor, hauling and lifting bushels of peaches. Sweat runs down my back, and my mind is lost in the repetitive labor, the heat, and my straining muscles.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Noel sends Dove out with a cooler of food. I eat in between working, and when it’s all finally done, I head to the house exhausted and ready to sleep.
After dinner, upstairs in my bedroom, I stand at my dresser. A cedar box is there, and I lift the lid. My medals and officer badges are inside along with a ribbon and an old monogrammed handkerchief. Under these items is a pistol. I lift it, turning it to the side to be sure the safety is still on.
A card falls out. It’s for a therapist in Nashville. Taron gave it to me when he got back, and I shoved it in here with the rest of the relics.
Turning it over in my hand, I think about Taron’s words. I think about the incident.
And I shove it back into the pile, lowering the gun and closing the lid.
11
Mindy
“You’ve got Ma buying more bees.” It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m sitting on the porch swing with Deacon.
He laughs, pushing us with his feet. “Why don’t you sound happy?”
He stopped by to give her buying tips before she got on the road, and now he’s heading to Dallas for the weekend. I’m having a beer before I make the special dinner I’ve planned for Sawyer.
Noel is a killer cook, but I’ve got Ma’s authentic Italian recipes. I’m baking an Eggplant Parmigiana he’s going to dream about for a week—I know I do every time she makes it.
“Your mom and Noel are sitting on a gold mine.” Deacon closes my mom’s portfolio. “I’m trying to get them to combine forces and go national.”
“Peaches and bees. Who knew?”
“The best ideas are the simple ones. Consumers like simplicity.” He rises, straightening his slacks. “And clean beauty products are huge right now.”
“I didn’t even know beauty products could be dirty.” I take another sip of beer.
“Speaking of dirty. You’re expecting company?” He slants an eye at me.
I don’t even bother pretending. Deacon knows everything anyway. “Yes, and thank you very much for getting her out of the house for me.”
“Does this mean you and Sawyer are officially together?”
“I hope so.” My chest squeezes at the thought. I really hope so.
“It’s about time. Although, what does this mean for your business plan?”
My nose wrinkles, and I’m almost embarrassed. “On hold. For now.”
A hint of concern flickers in his eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that. You told him about your plan, right?”
“Yes? Sort of…”
“Sort of?”
“He knows. I mean, of course he does. Everybody knows I wanted to move to Dallas. They all thought I was going with you.”
“Listen…” He’s in front of me now, and I stop swinging. “I’ve learned whenever you think people know things, they don’t. You have to tell him. Straight out.”
I’m frustrated by this advice. “That feels like a boner-killer.”
“Secrets kill relationships, Min.”
“I’m not keeping secrets.”
“Have you told him what you want?”
“I’ve shown him.”
He’s quiet, studying me. “He’s been back how long, and you’re still not talking about your goals? You’re not a kid anymore.”
“You’re one to talk. You’re still visiting your racist old aunt every time you go home.”
“For my dad. You know he asked me to look after her.”
“Even if it hurts Angelica?
“Angel would tell me if it bothered her.”
I wouldn’t be so sure… I glance up to see his expression is dark, so I drop it.
“Sawyer’s a special case. We’ve known each other a long time, and it’s hard for him to see me as a grown woman.”
“But you’re sleeping with him.”
I don’t answer that.
He exhales impatiently. “What happened to the kickass Mindy Ray I know? The one who speaks her mind and gets what she wants?”
I shift in the swing, picking the label on my beer. “Is that who I am?”
“Yes.”
My lips tighten, and I think about what he’s saying. I think about seeing Beth and Elizabeth, and how I let their condescension distract me from the person I’ve worked hard to become since high school. They’re not superior to me… Maybe they never were.
“You know,” I exhale a little laugh. “I think I lost sight of her for a minute.” I blink up, and his smile gives me the kick in the pants I need. “You’re right. No shelving my plans. I’ll tell him what I want to do… But I want to do it here. Can you help me?”
“Of course, I can.” Deacon is always so certain. “You can easily headquarter your business in Harristown. It would help if you went to Dallas and established a physical presence there. Meet with clients, put a face to your name, and they’ll be willing to work with you anywhere.”
“How do I do that?”
“Do you have any friends who’d help you? Some place you can send mail for a little while?”
I think about this. “William!” My old design classmate from college, who I said I’d move to Dallas with at Christmas… until I backed out.
Noel was my excuse last Christmas, and my mom.
And who am I kidding? I didn’t want to leave Sawyer.
“Give him a call. We’ll reconvene next week and work out the details.” Deacon starts down the porch steps. “Don’t let anybody make you lose sight of your goals.”
“You’re a really great guy, you know that?”
He waves before climbing into his truck. “Just telling you what they tell us boys.”
Speaking of boys, I jump up and dash inside. Sawyer is going to be here in a few hours, and I’ve got to get ready. I’ve got to prep dinner. I want to look cool, sexy, and sophisticated… Like I didn’t even break a sweat preparing for his visit.
Which means I’ll be running until the doorbell rings.
After a quick shower, I pull on my dark green sweater with the low V-neck that shows off a little cleavage. My hair is curlier than usual because I haven’t had time to see Halle. It’ll have to do.
I’m in the kitchen balancing Ma’s ancient, handwritten recipe book while I stir the pot of eggplant. It’s actually labeled Melanzane alla Parmigiana, which I’m guessing means eggplant parm in Italian.
“Secret ingredient, the zest of one lemon.” I’m reading softly as I cut the deep purple vegetable into coin-sized slices. “Interesting.”
Running to the fridge, I chant a prayer. “Please have a lemon, please have a lemon, please have a—a lemon!” I shout, snatching the little yellow fruit out of the drawer.
Back to the cutting board, I do not allow myself to consider how I’m chopping up a phallic emoji symbol. This dish is delicious when Ma makes it, and I had no clue she put lemon zest in it.
I imagine sitting at the table, gazing at Sawyer through the golden candlelight, which flickers off our crystal wine goblets. He takes a bite of perfectly baked eggplant with bubbling tomato sauce and zesty, melted cheese.
“Why, Mindy! It’s so good… there must be a secret ingredient!”
I’m not sure why Sawyer sounds like Mr. Peanut in my fantasy. It’s seriously not sexy.
“How did you guess?” I bat my eyes. “It’s our secret family recipe…”
Okay, that daydream is creepy AF. I need to socialize outside the nursing home more.
Returning to the tomato sauce, I grab the zester and the lemon. I’ve never zested a lemon, so I’m not really sure how much is enough. For a few seconds I scrub until the white starts
to show, but looking in the bubbling pot, it doesn’t seem like nearly enough. I scrub it more, until I’m almost to the inside and stir it in good. That should be good and zesty.
My heart is beating so fast as my eyes fly to the clock and back to the baking dish. I’m running out of time as I dip the eggplant medallions in egg whites and roll them in the breadcrumbs, parmesan, and panko mixture. It’s Ma’s trick for keeping them crisp and not soggy—that part I remember. Frying makes the medallions soggy.
A quick mist of olive oil, then I pour the special family marinara sauce over everything. Finally, it’s all covered with shredded Mozerella, grated parmesan, and fresh basil. Presto! Into the oven for… thirty-five minutes. Shit. He’ll be here in five.
“That’s okay… the house will smell like good Italian food.” I’m talking to myself again. I’m officially crazy.
Rushing to the sink, I give the pots a quick scrub, letting the big one soak. I grab all the prep materials in my arms and quickly put them in the fridge. I throw the scraps and paper in the trash. Kitchen clean, I’m just corking the wine when I hear a tapping on the door.
“Shit.” I manage to get the cork out and put the bottle on the table.
Stopping at the mirror behind the ficus, I straighten my denim skirt and smooth my hair back. I don’t look like I’ve been running for an hour. Cool, sophisticated, sexy…
Then I see him, and all my cool flies out the window.
Sawyer LaGrange is standing on my front porch in all his dark-haired, hazel-eyed, square-jawed, bulging-bicep sexiness.
Opening the door, I’m glad I’ve got something to hold onto. “Hey.” I hear the wobble in my voice.
We’ve never done this before.
Ever.
It’s officially our first date.
“Hey, baby girl.” I love the way he says that, all deep and rumbly as he steps into the house. “Smells delicious in here.”
“I baked.”
He doesn’t get the reference, and I laugh nervously. We go in for a hug at the same time and almost bash our noses together.