Weekends in Carolina

by Jennifer Lohmann

  Maybe he’d get to eat dinner with Max tonight. And tomorrow was Sunday. Even she wouldn’t feel the need to work on Sunday just to stay away from him.

  The box Kelly had opened was full of papers. Judging from the coffee stains on the old electric bill his brother handed him, this was the pile from the kitchen counter that Aunt Lois had dumped into a box with one great sweep of her arm. The next sheet Kelly handed him was a bank statement. Their father had remained land rich and money poor until the day he’d died, though the income from Max’s rent seemed to have helped.

  “I don’t know why you want to sell the farm so badly.” Kelly’s words accompanied another bill, this one for satellite TV.

  “We’ve been over this. I don’t want any part of something Dad had, even the farm.”

  “Why not make the move to sell right after the funeral? Why wait until now?”

  “I needed the right buyer.” To avoid looking his brother in the eye, Trey looked down at the paper in his hand, some piece of junk mail about alarm systems. He could lie to the house majority leader while laughing and looking the man straight in the eye, but he couldn’t lie to his brother.

  Avoiding Kelly’s gaze didn’t help. Trey could feel the lie hanging in the dust of the attic and knew his brother felt it, too.

  “Max isn’t Dad. Max’s Vegetable Patch isn’t Dad’s dead tobacco farm.”

  No. Even though much of the furniture in the farmhouse was the same, the colors on the walls were the same, hell, even the dishes in the cabinets were the same, the entire piece of land and every building on it felt renewed. Like someone had opened all the windows at the edge of the property and a storm had blown his father’s funk into the great beyond. It was fresh and light and he wanted to stay here.

  Trey shook his head at the thought. He’d escaped rural poverty and obscurity. He had an interesting and important job that made him a lot of money. Red clay dust no longer clung to his shoes. Wanting to stay here with Max, enjoying the fertile world Max had created, converged into regression.

  “I have a life in D.C. and I don’t want the bother of a farm in North Carolina.” Trey set the piece of junk mail on top of all the other bits of mail he’d looked over from the box. They should throw the entire box out when they were done. Or better yet, bring the box outside and put a match to it. If not for Max, Trey would put a match to the whole house. His brother’s silence made him look up. Kelly was holding a piece of paper to his chest, regarding his brother. There was pity in his eyes.

  “Is that the new will?” Part of him hoped it was. Maybe he could pretend he didn’t have the money to break the lease, take the pages out to Max and promise never to sell her land out from under her. It wouldn’t be like last night when she’d barred him access to the house and her heart with her hands crossed over her chest. She would open herself up to him. Welcome him, and this time, when she looked up at him, he’d bend his head down and kiss her.

  He was a fool.

  Kelly stretched his arm out and Trey took the paper. He could tell by the length of the page that it wasn’t the new will, but he looked at it anyway. Another bill, this time for services rendered to produce a will. The bill was dated December of last year. His dad had promised Max a new will and gotten Max a new will.

  Trey sat back on his heels. “Don’t you ever wonder why Dad couldn’t keep a promise to us but kept his promise to a stranger living on his land?”

  “You’ve been gone a long time. Dad changed. Max being here is the result of his change, not the cause of it.”

  Conflicting thoughts banged against each other in Trey’s head. He respected what Max had done with the land. And was attracted to her. But he resented the hell out of her right now for getting their father to keep a promise where flesh and blood family had failed.

  “This—” he wadded up the bill and threw it onto the pile of other trash “—isn’t proof of anything other than that Dad got a new will made.”

  “We know the new will has a contingent for Max’s lease. Why would he lie about that?”

  “You said it yourself—if the new will isn’t findable, we can assume the old man destroyed it. It was never in him to let something beautiful survive.”

  “D.C. turned you into a real asshole, you know that?”

  “Don’t give me credit I don’t deserve. I was always an asshole. D.C. gave that part of me voice.”

  “What’s worse about this is that I think you like Max and you’re going to sell anyway.”

  “She seems nice. Attractive. That hair’s pretty crazy. But I’m suspicious of anyone who would choose to be a farmer.”

  “Well, how about that.” The awe in Kelly’s voice made Trey look up. “You’re jealous.”

  “Of who?”

  “Of Max. You’re jealous that Dad kept his promises to her. You’re jealous that she had the guts to take on the farm and make something of it. You think you succeeded, but Max has won where you lost and she did it wearing work boots covered in mud.”

  The accusation pierced through his gut, leaving a weeping wound. Trey glanced down to make certain he wasn’t bleeding. “You’re nuts.”

  “Maybe, but I’m dead-on.”

  “We’re never going to get out of this filthy attic if you don’t shut your mouth and look through those papers. This is the most promising box we’ve seen. If it’s not here, he destroyed it.”

  “All the boxes have to be looked through. You can’t throw Max’s life away based on a half-assed search.”

  No. Trey was going to throw Max’s life away even if they found the will; it would just cost him more. But he was pretending not to be a slimeball, so he stuck his hand out for the next piece of junk from his father’s box.

  * * *

  MAX CLEANED HERSELF up enough to meet with another intern candidate. This one was a college student from North Carolina State University over in Raleigh. Much like Max, the girl had grown up on a large farm and was interested in spending a summer learning about small-scale farming. She had a place to stay locally and she seemed chipper over the phone.

  She met Sidney at the end of the drive. “Welcome to Max’s Vegetable Patch,” she said to the girl as she stuck out her hand. Despite looking like she was barely a teenager, the girl had a firm grip and thick calluses on her hand. Max sneaked a peek at the girl’s fingers. Her nails were cut short and her hands were clean, but also well used.

  Sidney’s smile was infectious. “Thank you. I’m glad to have a chance to see your farm. My second cousin gets your CSA and loves it.” The girl was both cheerful and confident.

  “It’s always nice to hear when my members enjoy the food they get. Let’s start with a tour and then we’ll sit in the pack house and talk.” Max walked away from the house, making her stride purposefully long to see if the girl could keep up.

  She pointed out field four and the compost pile, answering the girl’s various questions about what they used in their compost, Max’s record keeping and the inspection process. By the time they arrived at the next field, Max realized that she probably shouldn’t call the woman a girl. Sidney may look younger than she appeared, but she asked smart questions and had clearly done her homework. She knew what varieties Max grew and what new vegetables she had advertised growing next year. All this information was available online, though Max was surprised how few of her intern candidates thought to look around her website. Or check out her Facebook page for farm pictures and updates. Running Max’s Vegetable Patch may be a philosophical statement, but it was also a business and had to make money like any other.

  Max pointed out where she’d seeded carrots earlier that day. Sidney talked excitedly about different carrot varieties and which ones her mom grew in their garden and how she’d been trying to talk her mom into planting some heirloom varieties. And there were also some varieties of eggplant she wanted to try. Al
l in all, Sidney had many bright ideas about the future of the farm—her farm, Max’s farm, any farm. But Max didn’t know if her farm had a future. And interviewing both Sidney and Sean with Trey’s plans hanging over her head felt like offering false promises.

  But she couldn’t not interview interns, just like she couldn’t not plant carrots. The farm had to move along like always, in case the best happened.

  Together they moved up to the pond, and Max talked about their irrigation, laying drip lines and the water pump. Sidney brought up the many droughts they’d had in the previous years and how hard that must have been for the farmers. She wanted to know if the pond had ever run dry and did they have a contingency plan.

  Max listened with half an ear on the intern candidate and most of her mind on the search process in the house. What was the best that could happen out of all of this?

  Ashes barked and chased after some geese that were getting a little too comfortable walking around the fields. Leaving Ashes to his business, they moved on. Max answered all of Sidney’s questions, leaving her own flashing in her mind.

  Her goal had always been to buy the farm. She had a plan laid out for when she would be able to afford the property and, according to the plan, she was right on target. Trey’s goal was to get rid of the farm as soon as possible, which meant selling it now. And she couldn’t buy it, not yet.... Suddenly her dad’s words about going to the bank, hat in hand and hoping for the best popped into her mind.

  They walked past the packing shed so Max could show Sidney the greenhouse. As they talked about what Max had seeded and when it would go into the fields, the idea that Max could offer to buy the farm from Trey now grew in her head. Could she work her arrangement with Hank into a contract and make her obligated to buy the farm at the end of her next lease or lose everything completely? Then Trey would have what he wanted. The farm would be sold in everything but actuality.

  Ashes bounded up to them as they backtracked to the table and chairs set up in the packing shed. Now the interview would actually start and Max had to focus on what Sidney said. In truth, what Sidney said wasn’t as important as whether or not they could get along. Max could teach farming principles—or reteach what the girl had learned at State—but you couldn’t teach the ability to get along. Long, hot days spent working outside with only the four of them meant there couldn’t be petty disagreements and short tempers. Max needed hustle and likeability. If someone wanted to be crotchety and bad tempered, they could do it on their own farm.

  Max got some water out of the cooler for them to share and they each took a seat. Ashes lay down on the concrete floor.

  Sidney seemed friendly enough. Once the girl stopped trying to impress Max with all her farming knowledge, she came across as intelligent and curious and very chatty. Max could see working long hours with her. They’d never be at a loss for conversation, making a contrast with Sean, who had been silent unless directly answering or asking a question. Sidney’s passion for the land was in her words; Sean’s was in his face.

  On the walk back to Sidney’s car, Max’s thoughts returned to her idea of writing buying the farm into her lease. Tying herself to a future without actually owning the land made her heart flutter, though Max couldn’t decide if it was fear or excitement. Probably both. If, in three years, she didn’t have her money together to buy the farm, then she’d be out of a future and have lost everything.

  If she didn’t get another chance at a lease, she’d lose everything anyway. She balanced the options in her head. When she talked to Sidney about how much she loved the farmwork and the farm, what a pleasure it was to get her hands dirty, she was talking about her true self, the self she’d discovered years ago in college.

  What was the worry, then? She’d be committing herself in a contract to something she’d committed herself to in her mind years ago. The difference was negligible—a signature was all. She’d still be on the same path she’d promised Noreen she would take.

  She shook hands with Sidney one more time and promised the girl that she’d have an answer about the position in a week or so. Then Max headed to the greenhouse to do a little more seeding and prepare her sales pitch to Trey. She could do this. It wasn’t much different than shooting cans—find your target, aim and fire. The rest was in fate’s hands.

  * * *

  MAX INTERRUPTED TREY when he was walking to his car. “Did you find it?”

  She was shifting her weight from one foot to another and worrying the edge of her flannel shirt. Trey wasn’t surprised she was worried—he knew what he was doing to her future—but he was surprised to see her showing it. This was the woman who hadn’t needed to be holding a rifle in her hand to stop him in his tracks—her eyes had done it for her.

  “No, we didn’t find it.” He stepped up to his car and put his hand on the driver’s-side handle. The car beeped to unlock. He blinked when she slipped in to the passenger’s seat, her clothes covered in dust. Ashes sat outside, barking at the backseat. “That dog isn’t coming in the car.”

  “I’m not inviting him. Drive up to the top of the hill. Ashes can meet us there.”

  Trey didn’t want to. He wanted to get the hell out of here. But he wasn’t going to physically pull her out of the seat, and he’d be gone tomorrow, whether or not they found the will. She could have this. He started the car and slowly headed up the hill.

  When they got to the top, Max hopped out to the excitement of her dog. Trey debated driving away, but whatever she had to say to him wouldn’t change his mind—he was going to sell the land and she would have to find a new farm. To show he wasn’t a total jerk, he’d even help her find one. There had to be thousands of dead tobacco farms in the Piedmont. He didn’t care if Max stayed a farmer; he just didn’t want her farming this land.

  Ashes sat next to her, his tail kicking up dust as Trey approached. The fields looked much as he’d seen them a couple weeks ago, only one field had been completely tilled.

  “Do you know what I did today?”

  “Farmed.” If his brother’s earlier words over the box of papers hadn’t killed him, the look Max gave him might. He ran his hand through his hair, giving the ends a short tug before putting his hand back in his pocket. “I’m sorry. That was rude. My mother would’ve made me eat soap for that as surely as I had to eat soap for swearing.”

  She acknowledged his apology with a nod, which was probably as good as he was going to get. “I planted carrots. I’ve already planted radishes, and both garlic and strawberries went into the ground in the fall.”

  Trey looked a second time at the brown earth, trying to imagine the plants growing under the surface. He failed. “I hope they all turn out okay.”

  “What did Hank do to you that could possibly justify destroying that?”

  There was the problem. His father hadn’t beaten him. There was always food on the table, even if it was cheap shit-on-a-shingle for five nights in a row or grits and greens for a month. They also had health insurance because his mother had a decent job.

  Trey stopped to pick up some of the gravel from the road. “He drank. When Kelly fell and broke his leg, my dad was too drunk to drive us to the emergency room. I drove. I was twelve.” He hurled a rock into the falling dusk. “When I was eight, my mom got some award at church. My dad hooted and hollered for her—not because he was proud of her, but because he was drunk.” Another rock, this one thrown with enough force to hurt his shoulder. “Every time he lost a job because he showed up to work smelling of moonshine one too many times, he blamed my mom. Or his ‘gay-ass son,’ Kelly. Or me. Or the Jews. Or the blacks. For all I know he blamed Jesus. Never once did he put down the bottle and blame himself.”

  Fuck it. Trey didn’t need to half-ass throw rock after rock. He transferred the handful of gravel from his right to his left hand and chucked the whole lot of it into the sunset.

  “Why blame the
land? Your dad wasn’t growing anything. It had no part in your childhood.”

  Trey reached down to pick up another handful of rocks, but Max’s hand on his arm stilled him. “Don’t. I don’t want to have to make you pick rocks out of my fields tomorrow. I’d rather you spend your time looking for that will.” The strength of her grip through his sweater emphasized her words. Her energy ricocheted through his body. Longing screamed through him, nearly stretching him to the breaking point before he was able to rein it in and focus.

  “Once, my mom found a buyer for the farm. Not a farmer, like you, or a developer. Just some rich guy who liked the idea of being a gentleman farmer and had the money to back up his desires. It would have been enough to buy a nice house in town, with some left over. We could’ve even paid for the help Dad needed to stop drinking. He said no. Because as much as he hated this land, he couldn’t let go of it. ‘Heritage,’ he said. Like that meant anything more than shit.”

  With nothing to throw, Trey put his hand on top of hers and squeezed, crushing her hand and her arm and not caring. “But you know what? I’m not my father. This land has no hold on me. I freed myself and I’m not letting it pull me back.”

  Before she could respond to his confession, Trey released his grip on her arm and walked to his car. Driving her back to the farmhouse was the polite, Southern-gentleman thing to do. Instead, Trey left her there to walk to the farmhouse in the dark.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTER THE FUSS Trey had made about walking her from the farmhouse to the barn those two nights—nights that felt like they’d happened a lifetime ago—Max was surprised to be left alone in the dust and the falling night. Fear wasn’t the emotion making her eyes go wide—shock was. She whistled for Ashes and walked down the road to the farmhouse.

  With the last of the sun disappearing into the horizon, winter chill fell fast. Humidity in the air meant it didn’t much matter how warm the day had been because the damp sank through Max’s shirt into her bones, spreading through her body like the dark was spreading across the sky.