Still Love You

by Allie Everhart

  "It was good. It's just that I eat a lot, and hummus and cucumbers aren't enough." I kiss her. "But thanks for making it for me."

  "Do you have something else to eat? What did you bring for lunch?"

  "I didn't bring anything. I was going to go out, but then this hot girl stopped by and I couldn't leave."

  She smiles as she puts our garbage in the sack. "I brought some kale chips. And my mom's black bean brownies." She holds up a brownie. It looks hard as a rock, burnt on the edges.

  "I think I'll pass, but thanks." The wind gusts, blowing my hair on my face. I've always worn my hair long, around chin length, for no other reason than it's what I'm used to. My hippie mom didn't like short hair so she always had it cut this length when I was a kid and I never changed it. "I need to cut my hair."

  "Then get a haircut." Willow bites into a kale chip and makes a face. "These are disgusting. I can't believe my mom likes these."

  "I don't mean just a trim. I mean, I think I'm going to cut my hair off, short, like other guys."

  "Really?" She frowns. "But I love your hair." She turns to face me and runs both her hands through my hair. It feels good. I always loved it when she'd do this when we were dating.

  "So you don't think I should cut it?"

  "It's your hair. You can do what you want. I'm just used to seeing you with it like this."

  "If you like it that much, I'll leave it. I was just going to cut it so it wouldn't keep falling on my face when I'm trying to work. Sometimes I pull it back, but it doesn't stay."

  She tilts her head, eyeing me. "Hmm. It would be interesting to see you with shorter hair. I love it long but maybe it's time for a change. Can I go with you?"

  "Where?"

  "To get your hair cut."

  "Are you going to tell them what to do? Because I have no idea what to tell them. I've had this same haircut forever."

  "I can help with that." She pulls my hair back. "You can't go too short. It'd be too much of a change. And I'd like to still be able to see your natural wave. This is going to be so much fun! Let's go tonight. I'm sure I could get an appointment somewhere."

  "Tonight? That's kind of soon."

  "Do you need more time to think about it? It is a big deal to change your hair. Sometimes it takes me months to decide what to do with mine."

  I don't care about my hair. I only said that because I'd rather be alone with Willow tonight to see if she'd like to act out some of her dream. But that probably won't happen so I might as well cut my hair.

  "Let's go tonight," I say.

  "You sure?"

  "Positive. Come over early. You can eat at my house. We've got some vegan chicken nuggets that aren't too bad if you cover them with barbecue sauce."

  "We have those too. They're good." She jumps off the truck bed. "Just call me when you're ready and I'll head over."

  I'd rather take her out for dinner but I have almost no cash and I can't keep asking my mom or Martin for it. They have no problem giving me money but I feel like a kid when I take it. I'd rather earn my own.

  "You leaving?" I lift the truck gate up.

  "Yeah. You need to get to work and I need to return the car to your mom."

  "Thanks for lunch." I wrap my arms loosely around her waist.

  "I know lunch wasn't very good but I wanted to see you." She's being very open about her feelings today. She was last night too.

  "What are you doing this afternoon?"

  "I was thinking of helping my mom with the farm stuff so she wouldn't have to do it tonight. She's really tired when she gets home from work."

  "What farm stuff?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as anxious as I feel.

  "Orders, payments, billings. That type of stuff. It would actually be good experience. I want to run a business and the farm is a business. Maybe I could be more involved with it this summer. Run the business side of the things. Help with the accounting."

  "Willow, really? This is your summer break. You should be relaxing, having fun, not looking at spreadsheets."

  "Spreadsheets! That's a great idea. My parents use this archaic system for tracking everything. Spreadsheets would be so much better. I'm going to go home right now and make some. I'll start with orders, then move on to payments. Within a few weeks, I could have everything organized into neat and orderly spreadsheets."

  Shit. What the hell did I just do? I mention spreadsheets, thinking nothing of it, and now Willow's all fired up and ready to start digging through her parents' files. And when she sees the financial records and unpaid bills, she'll know what's going on. The girl lives to organize things so I don't know how I'm going to talk her out of this.

  She's still talking, getting even more excited. "My parents can do searches, run variable analysis, or multiple variable analysis, and they can—"

  "Willow, stop." I hold her arms. "Your parents will never do any of that. They don't want spreadsheets. They have a system that works for them and you shouldn't mess with it."

  "But it's not a system. It's a disorganized mess. Just pieces of paper in folders. And the folders aren't even labeled!" She tosses her hands up. "Who doesn't label folders?"

  Willow labels everything. When we were dating, I bought a variety pack of condoms just to mix things up and Willow divided the different kinds into plastic bags and labeled them. So yeah, she organizes and labels everything.

  "I bought them a label maker for Christmas last year," she says, "and they didn't use it."

  "Which just proves they'll never use your spreadsheets."

  She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "That's probably true." She perks up again. "But I can still make them. I love making spreadsheets. I think it's fun."

  "You do know how nerdy that sounds." I smile.

  "It's not nerdy. It shows that I'm smart." She presses her palms against my chest and smiles up at me. "A smart, naughty school girl. I even like to dress like one."

  "Yeah. I remember." I pull her against me as the image of her wearing that short plaid skirt fills my head. "You should wear that again."

  "I will." She pushes me back. "But for now, I'm going to get started on those spreadsheets."

  The naughty school girl image disappears as I remember what we were talking about.

  "No. Willow, don't."

  "Why not?" She picks up the paper sack that held our lunch.

  "Because you'll hurt your parents' feelings. Doing this might make them feel like you don't think they're smart enough or capable enough of managing their business."

  "They won't think that."

  "They might. Why don't you talk to them before you do this? Don't just start going through their office. You wouldn't want them going through your room without asking, would you?"

  "No. I don't even like them going in there."

  "And your parents wouldn't like you going through their files."

  "I guess you're right. I'll talk to them before I do it." She reaches up and gives me a peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight."

  When she's gone, I walk over to the trailer to find Carl. He needs to tell Willow the truth before she finds it out herself.

  Before I reach the trailer, my phone rings. It's Dan, the doctor I became friends with when I was overseas. He's forty, divorced with no kids, and worth several million thanks to a large inheritance and good investments. I left him a message a week ago and never heard back.

  "Dan, hey, how's it going?" I sit down on one of the picnic tables since the workers are now back in the fields.

  "It's going well. I've got a couple more weeks here and then I'm heading home."

  "How's your leg?"

  "Much better. I finally got rid of the cane."

  Dan's leg was injured when a snake bit him. It was a poisonous snake that almost killed him. We were working in a remote village in India and one morning we went to get water. Dan set the bucket down near some tall grass and when he went to pick it up, a snake bit him on the leg. I heard him yell and when I got to him, the snake was slithering away
and Dan was writhing on the ground in pain. Then he passed out and I didn't know what to do. I knew the snake was poisonous but I didn't know how to treat a snake bite.

  Our base camp had a medical clinic but it was a half mile away. I knew Dan needed medical treatment right away so I picked him up and carried him all the way back. The doctor said I got him there just in time. He would've died if he'd had to wait any longer for medical care. He was in the hospital for a week and then had to use a cane to walk.

  To thank me for what I did, Dan gave me his pickup truck. When I got back to California, his sister, who's housesitting for him while he's away, had the truck ready and waiting for me, including the paperwork.

  So that's how I got the truck. But I didn't tell Willow or my mom that because they don't need to know. They'd freak out if they knew about all the dangers I faced when I was volunteering. One time I was even shot at by a group of protestors who didn't like the organization I worked for. They were shooting at my entire group, not just me, but still, it's something my mom doesn't need to know. Or Willow.

  "When I didn't hear from you I was starting to get worried," I say to Dan. "I almost called your sister."

  "No need to worry. I'm fine. I just wasn't able to get into town to make a call until today."

  "Thanks for the truck. It's been great. I still can't believe you gave it to me."

  "You saved my life. The truck is the least I could do. If you ever need anything, just let me know."

  "Well, actually, did you get my message?"

  "About investing in the organic farm?"

  "Yeah. What do you think?"

  "I'd have to learn more about it. I have an investment firm that manages my portfolio. They do all the research, then provide me with their recommendations. When I get back I'll have them look into it."

  "I'm kind of on a deadline here. The farm could really use the money."

  "So you're saying the farm is in trouble? So this is more of a loan than an investment."

  I hesitate. "Yes, but if we can turn it around, it could become profitable."

  "I'm sorry, Silas, but I'm not a big risk taker. I'm very conservative in my investments. And I'm not in the business of giving out loans. I'd like to help but I already support a large number of charitable causes."

  "Yeah. I understand."

  "So did you decide to take a class this summer?"

  "Yes. I'm taking an accounting class and I've decided to take classes in the fall."

  "Silas, that's great. I'm proud of you. Hey, if you need help paying for college, that's something I would be willing to do. I'm a big supporter of young people pursuing the education they need to get a good career. I know you said your parents were helping you out, but if you need help beyond that, just give me a call."

  "Thanks. I'm at work so I should probably go. But it was good talking to you. Give me a call when you're back in the States."

  "I will. Goodbye, Silas."

  Shit. There goes my one and only chance to get money for the farm.

  "Hey, Silas." Carl walks over to me. "You okay? You don't look so good."

  I notice I'm bent over so I sit up straight. "I'm fine. Just sitting down for a minute."

  "You've been putting in a lot of hours. Why don't you go home? Get some rest."

  "No, I'm good." I put my phone away. "I need to talk to you about Willow. She was here for lunch and she mentioned taking over the business side of the farm now that Candace has that other job. She was going to start going through your office at home this afternoon but I think I talked her out of it."

  "Everything is locked up. She can't get to the files."

  "Does she have the passwords for your accounts?"

  "No. And we change them all the time."

  "Still, she's going to ask you if she can help so what are you going to tell her?"

  He sighs, rubbing his jaw. "I'll have to make up an excuse. Candace doesn't want to tell Willow for at least another month. We received some new restaurant orders last week and the farmers' markets are always busier in the summer, so she's hoping that will give us enough cash to make our payments on time."

  "I should let you know that I just talked to Dan, that guy I worked with in India. He's from Napa but does volunteer work overseas. I told you about him last week. Anyway, I was hoping he'd be willing to offer up some financial support to the farm, but I just talked to him and it sounds like it's not gonna happen."

  Carl puts his hand on my shoulder. "Silas, don't worry about this. I know we're like family and I know you love my daughter, but you're already doing too much. This isn't your problem to fix." He stands up. "I need to get back to the field. Oh, and I ordered those flower seeds. They should be here by Friday."

  "I'll get them planted this weekend."

  "Take the weekend off. Do something fun." He walks off before I can talk him into letting me work this weekend.

  He keeps telling me to stop working so much but I feel like I have to. I know this farm isn't my responsibility but I don't want to see it fail and the land be sold to someone else. Willow and I used to play here when we were kids. We'd pick strawberries and eat them right in the field and get berry stains all over our clothes. We had races down the rows between the plants. And when we got older, we'd sit out here and watch the sun set. Or gaze at the stars.

  This is more than just a farm. It's part of our life. Our memories. And I'm not ready for it to go away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Willow

  I ring the bell at Silas' house but the door's unlocked so I just go in. Growing up, I never rang the bell or knocked. I'd just walk in as though I lived here, because I practically did. I was always hanging out here with Silas.

  "Diane? It's Willow. I brought your car back." I follow the sound of scissors dropping and find her in the spare bedroom where she makes her jewelry.

  Her jewelry supplies are scattered all over the house and the garage. She even has stuff stashed in the bathroom. It drives me crazy. I just want to organize it all in neat little boxes with labels, then make a detailed inventory of each and every item. Once I even offered to do that for her and she quickly turned me down. She loves the chaos. She says it fuels her creativity.

  Diane is sitting on the floor, her supplies spread out all over the place. Her wiry black hair is knotted behind her head and she's wearing wide-legged bright blue pants made out of some silky fabric and an oversized yellow t-shirt with a scooped neckline. She and Martin have plenty of money but she loves shopping at second-hand stores so that's where she gets all her clothes.

  "How was lunch?" she asks as she uses mini pliers to secure beads onto a chain.

  "Good, but your son said I didn't give him enough food."

  She laughs. "That boy's stomach is a bottomless pit. And being outside working all day gives him an even bigger appetite."

  I plop down on the worn recliner in the corner of the room. It was one of Martin's contributions when he moved in with Diane years ago.

  "I feel bad. I made Silas a cucumber and hummus sandwich and now he's probably starving. But it's all we had and I didn't have time to go to the store."

  "Go now. You can take my car."

  "I thought you needed it to go to an appointment."

  "It was cancelled, so the car's yours."

  "Thanks, but I can't today. The money jar is empty."

  My parents have a money jar where they keep cash for groceries, gas, and whatever else we need. They like paying with cash. They have a credit card but never use it. It's only for emergencies.

  "Let me give you some money," Diane says. "You can take my car and run to the store."

  "Don't worry about it," I tell her. "I'll ask my dad for money and go tomorrow."

  Diane has this sad look on her face. Why does she look so sad?

  "Diane, are you okay?"

  She snaps out of it and smiles. "Yes. Sorry. My mind drifted off for a moment." She holds up a blue beaded necklace on a gold chain. "What do you think?"


  I don't want to tell her this, but the necklace is kind of ugly. It looks like something an old lady would wear, which makes sense. Diane has a lot of old lady customers.

  "You don't like it," she says, setting it down.

  "It's not really my style, but I think older women would like it."

  "I think so too. That's why I made it. Next week, I'm setting up a booth at a vendor fair hosted by the senior center."

  "My mom should sell her lotions there."

  My mom makes homemade soaps and lotions but she doesn't sell them. She just makes them and gives them away as gifts. She also makes an all-natural healing salve that is amazing. It reduces swelling and speeds healing of cuts, bruises, bug bites. I keep telling her to sell it but she doesn't think anyone would buy it.

  "There's still space left for more vendors," Diane says. "But I doubt your mom could get off work."

  "I could do it. What day is it?"

  "Next Wednesday afternoon. But does your mom have enough to sell?"

  "She has a whole box full of stuff. She could probably make more this weekend. And I could sell her granola. People love that."

  "If you really want to do this, I'll call the coordinator and get you set up, but you should ask your mom first."

  "I will. I'll ask her when she gets home." I pick up a box of beads from the floor. They're all different colors. I would've separated them by color, but Diane likes them all mixed together. I scoop up a handful and let them fall through my fingers.

  "Still wearing Silas' bracelet?" She points to my wrist.

  "Yeah." I hold it up. "I love this bracelet. I wear it almost every day."

  "You know, when Silas was overseas and would call me, he'd always ask how you were doing. Every single time."

  I nod, feeling ashamed for not answering his calls.

  "I understand why you didn't talk to him," she says, stringing neon green beads on a silver chain.

  "You do?"

  "Sometimes it's easier to forget than remember. You and I are forgetters. Silas is a rememberer. Martin is too."

  "What does that mean?"

  "We like to forget the things that hurt us."

  "Silas didn't hurt me," I say quietly, scooping up more beads. "I hurt him."