After the Summer Rain

by Gerri Hill

  “Seriously? The first chore you give me is scooping up goat shit?”

  Melanie laughed quickly as she dropped off the wheelbarrow beside her. “Dump it in the compost pile when you’re finished. I’ll be in the garden. Compost pile is out there too.” She paused, looking at Erin’s slacks. “Are you sure you don’t want to change into something less…dressy?”

  Erin glanced at the beige slacks she’d put on and then at her leather loafers. She lifted one corner of her mouth. “I’m afraid I didn’t exactly pack for life on the farm.” A loud noise coming from behind them made her jump and nearly run for cover. Melanie didn’t seem concerned in the least.

  “What in the world is that?”

  “That’s Bandito. And he’s braying. Surely you’ve heard a donkey before.”

  “Not in real life, no.”

  “I’ll introduce you later.” Melanie pointed at the stall. “Time to work.”

  She wrinkled up her nose as she picked up the first scoop of straw and goat poop. The goats—the girls, as Melanie called them—were out with the chickens in a fenced pen. The gate to the stall was closed, but two faces were squeezed between the slats, watching her. They were kinda cute, she admitted, especially since they were on the other side of the gate and couldn’t get to her.

  She filled the wheelbarrow to the top and still had half of the stall to go. She wheeled it out to the garden where Melanie had said the compost pile was. Erin found her on her knees, digging in the dirt around a tall plant, the familiar hat on her head covering her blond hair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I added compost around them, now I’m mulching with pine needles.”

  She looked around the garden for the first time, not having a clue as to what most of the plants were. Actually, she didn’t have a clue as to what any of the plants were.

  “First time in a garden, huh? Tomato plants.”

  “This is a pretty big plot. What do you do with all of this?”

  Melanie took her gloves off and slapped them together, knocking the dirt off. “I eat what’s in season, I have a pressure canner so I put up quite a bit, especially green beans and tomatoes, and I freeze a lot too.” She stood up. “And I give some away. Not everyone out here is still able to keep up a garden like they used to. Rachel, for instance. I think this year she only planted a few tomato and squash plants.”

  Erin looked around again, the rows neat and tidy. “This is what takes up most of your time then?”

  “I find it relaxing, really. There’s always something to do. Pull weeds, hoe, mulch, water…and the best part—harvest. But yes, I practically live out here.”

  “So you were a gardener before you moved here?”

  “God, no.” Melanie laughed and took the wheelbarrow from her. “I at least knew what a garden looked like, but no, I hadn’t grown one before. The first few years here were…Well, let’s just say I would have starved if not for some handouts from the others.”

  Erin walked behind her, guessing her height to be five-five, five-six, maybe. Not overly tall, really, but certainly not petite. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, away from her face. The tank she had on couldn’t hide the fact that she wore no bra. The tank also revealed arms that were used to working; her biceps were well defined as she tilted the wheelbarrow onto an already high pile of what she assumed was the compost. Beside it was a pitchfork and Melanie stabbed it into the pile, turning and mixing.

  “There’s more in the stall, I’m assuming.”

  Erin nodded. “This was about half.”

  “Do you mind getting the rest? That’ll finish off this composting site then.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I won’t add anything else to it. I’ll start a new one. This one needs to sit and cook, as they call it. I turn it a couple of times a week, keep it watered. It’ll be ready in time for next spring.” She pointed to another spot of moist, rich soil. “Those two over there are ready. That’s what I’m using around the plants now.”

  Erin nodded, not really understanding any of what she was saying. Seemed like it would be a whole lot easier to go to a grocery store to buy veggies.

  She dutifully picked up the wheelbarrow again and headed back toward the stall, but the sound of a dog barking stopped her.

  “You have a dog?”

  “Occasionally. Fred. He and Bandito came as a package. He only lives here part-time, though.” Melanie took her hat off and wiped her brow with her forearm before moving toward the gate. “I assume that’s Stella coming to check on you.”

  Erin saw Stella’s old truck coming up the lane. She was glad she was up and about this morning. She wondered what Stella’s reaction would have been had she found her still in bed. She was the paying customer, she reminded herself. If she wanted to stay in bed all day, it shouldn’t be any of their concern. But Melanie’s words rang true. The feel of the sun on her face, on her arms, seemed to be having some magical effect on her. And, she admitted, it did feel good to do some physical work outside in the bright sunshine.

  It occurred to her then just how dark her life had been. She was usually in the office before the sun was even up. And it was well past dusk when she got home. The only time she was outside was when she had to go to a site to prod the contractors along. Even then, she’d be in one of her power suits, impeccably dressed. That had been Sarah’s doing. Before Sarah came into her life, Erin lived in jeans and company T-shirts. And out at a project site, she fit in perfectly well. But Sarah had convinced her that if she wanted to be the best, if she wanted to have the power, then she needed to dress like it.

  So she did. She dressed the part, she acted the part. And she got things done. Not by sweet-talking, cajoling, and gently coaxing them along. No. That was how she used to manage. Now? Now she yelled, she pushed, she coerced, and she forced them. Where she used to be buddies with the contractors—laughing and telling jokes and even sharing a beer at the end of the day—she’d become someone they dreaded to see on a project site. Because if she showed up, then something wasn’t going as planned, something was behind schedule, something was wrong. And someone got yelled at.

  She closed her eyes and turned her face up toward the sun, letting its warm rays soothe her. It felt good. She felt good. She opened her eyes again, smiling up into the bright blue sky. Yeah… She felt good.

  So she pushed thoughts of her job away, turning her attention instead…to goat shit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Melanie offered to make coffee, but Stella declined.

  “I already stopped over at Angela’s. I think I’ve had enough.” She leaned closer. “Where is she?”

  Melanie smiled. “Mucking the goat stall.”

  Stella’s eyes widened. “Really? She didn’t seem the type.”

  “I know. She’s in khaki slacks and brown, leather shoes. But at least she’s up. If you had come yesterday, she would have been in her room. Actually, today is the first day she’s been up, first day outside.”

  “What has she been doing?”

  “Sleeping, I guess. I’ll admit, she looks more human today. Her eyes are bright, alive. I don’t mind saying, I was a little concerned.” She joined Stella at the bar, leaning against it instead of sitting.

  “Has she been eating?”

  “Yes. Alone, mostly. But then this morning, she was like a completely different person. She got up in time to not only eat breakfast with me but help cook too.”

  “Cook? Oh, Mel, you know I don’t like to make our guests tend to their own meals. They pay enough as it is.”

  “She’s not a normal guest, Stella. She’s not here to go out soul searching or to seek the meaning of life. She’s not even here to vacation and relax. I still don’t know why she’s here in the first place. She won’t say.”

  “Well, I got a call from her sister last night. She seemed concerned that she might try to escape or something.”

  “Escape? It’s not like she’s locked in a jail cell, is i
t?” Melanie pushed away from the bar. “I don’t really like being a part of this, Stella. Erin is here against her wishes, essentially. If she asked me to take her to Silver City, I would. We can’t hold her here against her will.”

  “But her sister made it clear—”

  “We are not a prison,” she said again.

  Stella surprised her with a narrowing of eyes. “So you’re saying I should find her another host?”

  Melanie paused. This would be her out, wouldn’t it? Yes, send Erin to someone else… Someone else could babysit her, worry over her, cook for her… Keep her locked away from the world for three months for whatever reason. All she had to do was say yes.

  But she didn’t. She thought back to that first day when Erin had been standing in her kitchen, staring out the window…tears in her eyes. “Out of my element, I’m afraid.” She’d looked so lost and lonely, yet there was still a trace of defiance in those dark hazel eyes, even in her weakened state.

  And today? Today she had actually been pleasant, friendly. That was a first, really. But still…three months? Did she want company for three months? Would the money she’d get for hosting be worth it? It had nothing to do with the money, she knew. It had to do with having someone in her space, her house, her life, for three whole months.

  “Well, should I?” Stella asked again.

  Melanie shook her head. “No. It’s fine. She can stay with me.”

  “Her sister expects us to house her for three months. I don’t know what the significance of three months is, but she stressed that, Melanie.” She leaned closer, her voice quiet. “That’s a lot of money to add to the coffers. A lot for you too. We don’t want to run her off. Money has been so tight these last few years.”

  Melanie smiled and nodded—as Stella expected her to—keeping her response to herself. She knew that the group fund could use some cash, and of course, so could she. But whatever reason it was that Erin Ryder was here, they weren’t qualified to offer anything other than room and board. This sister, and even Stella, seemed to think of this stay as some sort of therapy for Erin.

  If Erin elected to make it therapy—solo hikes, meditation, self-reflection—then that was her business, but Melanie certainly wasn’t going to offer any kind of counseling.

  “Now…I guess I’ll go say hello and see how she is.” She paused at the door. “I’ll swing by next week and check on you.”

  * * *

  Erin was coming out of the garden, having dumped the last of the goat poop onto Melanie’s compost pile when she saw Stella making her way over. She put the wheelbarrow down, glancing toward the house, but Melanie remained inside.

  “Well, there you are, dear. Look at you…in the garden!”

  Erin smiled at her. “I don’t suppose I’m exactly dressed for gardening,” she said, looking down at her slacks and shoes.

  “Did you not bring any jeans, Erin?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure what’s all in the bags. Joyce—my sister—packed most of it for me. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.”

  “Oh? I know Melanie has a cute little dresser in there. Is it not—”

  “No, it’ll be fine. I just haven’t…Well, I’ll probably do that today.”

  “Okay, good. You’ll be here three months, dear. No sense living out of a suitcase. Make your room into a home for you.” She leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Now, what about meals? Have they been to your liking? No beans?”

  “Meals have been fine. I wouldn’t mind some chicken every once in a while, but—”

  Stella gasped. “Chicken?”

  “And we had beans last night. A spicy, cheesy burrito with onions and spinach and stuff. Very tasty.”

  “Okay. Good, then. I had hoped you’d like it better here. Melanie is probably close to your age. You’ll have more things in common.” She grinned. “And she doesn’t knit!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So you never said how your visit with Stella went.”

  Erin paused in her onion chopping. “She was checking on me. Wanted to make sure you were feeding me properly. I told her I keep hoping to find chicken on the menu one night.”

  Melanie laughed and pointed at the cutting board. “Don’t tell her you’re doing food prep. The guests aren’t supposed to help with meals.”

  Erin went back to her chopping. “I offered to help.” She paused again. “I haven’t been in a kitchen—to cook—in over a year and a half. It…it feels good. Thanks for letting me in your space. I guess you’re used to having your kitchen all to yourself.”

  “Yes. I’ve been here seven years. You are the first guest to be in my kitchen for something other than eating.”

  “How often do you have to host people, as you call it?”

  “Usually once a year, never more than twice. And it’s rare that someone stays more than a week. Long weekends, normally. Three, four nights, most.”

  “You’ve been here seven years? Did you come willingly?”

  “I did. I was living in Phoenix at the time so it wasn’t a drastic move for me.” Melanie held up her hand. “And no, I don’t want to get into the whys and hows of it.” A quick smile. “But what about you?”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Yes.”

  Why was she here? She knew the reason her father and sister sent her here, but was that really the reason?

  “You were right. Bad breakup.”

  Melanie gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry. I suppose it was recent then?”

  Erin looked up from her onions. “Why would you think it was recent?”

  Melanie scooped up the onions she’d cut and added them to the pan that was sizzling with oil. “Well, you’re here. I’m assuming someone broke up with you.” She looked at her. “Is that why you tried to commit suicide?”

  Erin’s eyes widened in shock. “What? Suicide?”

  “I’m sorry,” Melanie said quickly. “I have no right to bring it up. It’s just that Stella said—”

  “Stella? I never told Stella that.” She thought back to their conversations, finally nodded. “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  “She wanted to know about my three-month sentence. I told her that my father and sister thought I was trying to kill myself.” She shook her head. “Not literally.” Then she paused. “Or maybe I was. Trying to kill myself with work and Red Bull and booze and cigarettes and not sleeping and not eating.” She shook her head. “God, that’s depressing.”

  “That’ll certainly do it. Slowly, of course.”

  “It’s been a year and a half since she left.”

  “Oh, I see. No kitchen duty since then, huh?”

  “We used to…stay in and cook. Quite a bit. At first, anyway. The more I worked, the more free time she had. She’d take dinner out with friends since I usually got home late.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Sarah.”

  “So she had time on her hands? Did Sarah leave you for one of your friends?”

  “No.” Erin put the knife down and wiped her hands on a dishcloth. “We used to go to New York twice a year. She loved the city. She met someone on one of those trips. They had an online affair afterward, apparently. Then when we went back, they hooked up. For two years they did that.”

  “Why an affair? Why not leave you right away?”

  She’d asked herself that a hundred times. She knew the answer. Joyce had given her the answer. “Because we had a big house, a nice pool, nice cars, vacations to the Mexican beaches. I guess she wasn’t in a hurry to give that up.”

  “You were together a long time then?”

  “Not quite six years. I guess I should say four, since two of those years she had a lover on the side.” She motioned to the onions in the pan. “They’re going to burn.”

  Melanie quickly stirred them, then moved them from the heat. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-three. Why? Too old to be forced into this so-called vacation?”

  Melanie nodded. “But none
of my business.”

  Erin let out a breath, watching as Melanie added chopped squash and peppers to the onions. “Might as well get it all out,” she said, almost to herself. “My father threatened to fire me. This was my alternative. Well, this or a rehab clinic, apparently.”

  “Do you need rehab?”

  Erin smiled. “Does any addict think they need rehab?”

  “But you’re not really an addict, are you?”

  “You seem to be the only one who thinks that.” She pushed away from the bar. “I was certainly addicted to Red Bulls. I thought my head was going to explode those first few days.”

  “And booze?”

  Erin shrugged. “I wasn’t a drunk, if that’s what you’re asking. I think it was just something to do in the evenings, when I was alone. Have a cocktail or three while I worked on my laptop, anything to keep my mind occupied. Skipped breakfast, had a Red Bull. Skipped dinner, had a drink.”

  “Then sleep for a few hours?”

  “A few, yes. Then start the process all over again.”

  Melanie shook her head. “And you did this for over a year? You’re damn lucky you didn’t kill yourself.” She motioned to the potatoes on the bar. “Slice those very thin.”

  “What are you making?”

  “We are making a casserole. I’m going to blend some tofu to make a cream sauce.”

  “Cheese?” she asked hopefully.

  “Lucky you, I have a weakness for cheese. It’s full of fat and so not good for you, but I have yet to give it up. I’m working on that. Once or twice a week is about all I allow myself.”

  “Were you a vegetarian when you moved out here?”

  “God, no. It was hard at first. When we’d go into town shopping, I’d often think of buying some chicken or ground beef or something and sneaking it back to the ranch.” She laughed. “Stella must have suspected because she often would inspect my bags.”

  “So you never did?”