by Katie Powner
He concentrated on pulling food out of the bags. “I wanted to help.”
“You can’t trespass on private property. What were you thinking?”
Gerrit snorted. “Technically, mailboxes belong to the federal government. They’re not private property.”
Hannie’s nostrils flared as she watched him deposit the cold items inside the fridge. “And why is Daisy limping?”
He hid behind the open fridge door. Good thing he’d already cleaned up the blood. “I wanted to help.”
“What did you do?”
“Her nails were long.”
He avoided looking at Hannie as he pulled a large pot and a saucepan from the cupboard. He kept his back to her as he filled the pot with water and set it on the stove to boil.
“Was that before or after you took her for a walk?”
He could not safely answer that question. He opened the package of pasta and examined its contents carefully.
Hannie sighed behind him. “She’s got special clippers. For dogs. They’re in the top drawer of the dresser by the back door.”
That was good to know, although Gerrit was pretty sure Daisy would run and hide if she saw him holding clippers of any kind ever again.
He dared a glance at Hannie as he pulled out the butter and caught her yawning. “You were up early.”
“Every Monday and Thursday.”
“I’m making dinner.”
“Yes.” She blinked. “I can see that.”
The butter sizzled when he dropped it in the saucepan. Why had he said that? Her nearness was making him nervous. He could feel her eyes on him as if she was waiting for him to mess up. The tension in his shoulders rose with the bubbles in the pot.
She took a step back and turned away. “I’m going to work in the flower beds until it’s ready.”
His shoulders relaxed.
THE SAUCE WAS lumpy, the noodles mushy. Gerrit ate with his head down, occasionally sneaking a peek at Hannie’s plate out of the corner of his eye. She was eating it, as far as he could tell.
“The salmon’s good,” she said.
He sat up straighter. “I bought the freshest package I could find.”
She nodded, covering up another yawn. “I used to get it all the time. The kids loved it.”
He considered mentioning they could hardly be called kids anymore but took a drink of milk instead. Evi was, what, twenty-nine? No. She was thirty! When had that happened? And Noah was twenty-seven. The milk turned sour in his stomach. When was the last time he’d seen them? Spoken to them?
“We should invite the kids over for Memorial Day weekend.”
Hannie gaped. “Our kids?”
He swallowed. “I’ll cook.”
She set her fork down and opened her mouth twice before speaking. “They’re very busy.”
He gripped his own fork with unnecessary force, trying to picture Evi and Noah at the square wooden table, all of them eating together like they used to.
“They don’t want to see me.”
Hannie sighed. She sure did that a lot. “Can you blame them?”
Though her tone was gentle, the words hit him like a kick from the back hoof of a Holstein. “I did the best I could.”
The muscles in her jaw tightened. “Did you?”
“It was up to me.” Luke’s face flashed in his mind. “I was the only one left.”
Hannie stood and carried her plate over to the sink. She leaned against it, looking straight ahead out the window. He watched and waited.
Her voice sounded deflated. Resigned. “You loved your cows more than you ever loved our children.”
A shock shivered up his spine. No. That wasn’t true. He loved Evi and Noah more than anything. The farm just required a lot of attention. It was a relentless, demanding place. He thought they understood. But had he ever talked to them about it? Ever tried to explain?
“I’ll barbecue ribs.” It couldn’t be as bad as Hannie seemed to think. The kids would come. “And bake a pie.”
She dumped the water out of her glass and set it on the counter, then called for Daisy. “Come on, girl. Let’s go sit on the deck for a while.”
Gerrit watched them go, clearly not invited.
It took him hours to clean up the mess he’d made in the kitchen and scrub the noodles off the bottom of the pot. At least it felt like hours. And with each minute that passed, he thought of Evi and Noah. What did he know of them anymore? He scoured his mind for details Hannie might have shared during their brief moments together over the past year.
Evi was living in Everett, working at Boeing. But what did she do there? And was she seeing anyone? He shuddered. She was a grown woman. Who knew what she was up to in that department.
And Noah. Gerrit was sure Noah still lived in Seattle. He was not sure, however, whether Noah was still attending community college, because it seemed like his school status changed every time Hannie brought it up. Taking classes, taking a break. Taking classes, taking a break. That boy didn’t appreciate the opportunity he had for higher education, the way he was dragging it out like he had all the time in the world.
He stalked through the living room to the back deck to take his turn. Hannie and Daisy had gone to bed. The last light of dusk tinged the horizon, and the air was cool. Soon an evening mist would climb the hill and cover his backyard. He could smell it. He looked down at the farm.
He hadn’t appreciated his opportunity for higher education, either. Hadn’t respected the gift he’d been given when Luke said, “I’m not cut out for college life. Besides, you’re smarter than me.” Neither of those things had been true, but regardless, Gerrit had gone to college at Luke’s insistence. In Luke’s place. He’d even had the audacity to believe things would be different when he returned. That his father would see him in a different light. Maybe even respect him.
It wasn’t until after Luke died that Gerrit learned the college fund had not come from his father at all.
“You were such a fool, Luke.” He spoke to the falling darkness and the rising mist. “Such a fool.”
Back in his recliner, he squirmed in discomfort, searching for relief for his back. He hadn’t set a single foot on the farm, but his body still felt like he’d spent the day wrestling cows. He clicked the TV on. A man with wiry eyebrows and spiky hair was making a lemon meringue pie. He whipped the meringue until it was so fluffy it looked as if it might float away.
“Now, how did he do that?”
Gerrit leaned forward. If he was going to impress his kids with his cooking on Memorial Day, he’d better start paying attention.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Rae waited by Kylee’s locker with a grin on her face.
Kylee scowled as she walked up. “I hate it when you’re perky. Especially on Monday.”
Rae liked Mondays. She got a kick out of watching her classmates drag themselves around like zombies. She wasn’t like that. She had purpose and determination.
Kylee pulled a book from her locker and shoved it in her backpack. “Why do you always have so much energy?”
Rae flinched as Kylee slammed her locker shut. “Rough day?”
“The usual.”
Rae fell into step beside Kylee as they exited the high school. They’d been best friends since Kylee’s family moved to Greenville five years ago, and Rae couldn’t remember a school day Kylee hadn’t been thoroughly disgusted with. Rae had the nerve to actually like school, which only made it worse. But they were both an only child and had bonded like sisters the first time they met.
“Want a ride home?” Kylee asked.
“No, thanks.”
“You taking the bus?”
“No.” It was Rae’s last week of freedom before Driver’s Ed. started. “I’m going to volunteer.”
“Oh my gosh.” Kylee rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”
“What?”
Her friend stopped walking and faced her. “You’re already a shoo-in for a scholarship to any colleg
e you want.”
“There’s no such thing as a shoo-in at Columbia. And that’s not why I volunteer.”
Kylee gave her a look.
“Okay, it’s not the only reason I volunteer.”
“Then why?”
Rae tucked her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. “I like to help people. It makes me happy.”
“You’re already happy. All. The. Time.”
She smiled.
Kylee scoffed. “See?”
“You should come with me.” Rae pointed across the street. “I’m going to check out that Community Hope thing.”
“No way. I need a nap.”
“Okay.” Rae shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Fine. Bye.” Kylee trudged off to find her car in the jumbled mass of vehicles parked helter-skelter around the school.
Rae watched her go for a minute. Many people had remarked over the years how strange it was that she and Kylee could be such good friends when they were so different. So mismatched. But their friendship had been forged in the loneliness of two sibling-less homes and the fact that neither of them really fit in anywhere else, except with each other. Rae didn’t always understand Kylee, but she never doubted Kylee would be there for her.
She dodged careless teen drivers and weary school-bus drivers and crossed the street. She’d always found it paradoxical the high school was located on Fallow Drive. No one else ever appreciated the irony.
She studied the unassuming brown building as she approached it. Greenville Community Church. All Are Welcome Here, a white sign with black letters said. Her family had attended a church across town a couple of times when she was younger, but they hadn’t been there in years. Dad said he was too busy. Mom said she wouldn’t go without Dad.
The same Community Hope poster she’d seen on the bulletin board at school was taped to the glass front door. At the bottom, someone had written Room F in black Sharpie. She entered the building and looked around. While she couldn’t see Room F, the low din of voices pointed the way.
The door to Room F was propped open, and she paused in the hall to peer inside. At least two dozen kids filled the space, along with three adults. One man and two women.
The man spotted her and waved. “Come on in.”
A couple of kids glanced at her as she walked in, but most of them paid her no mind. A basket of snacks sat at the end of one table next to a cooler of bottled water and Gatorade.
The man walked over to her with a smile, a clipboard in hand. He was one of those hipster types with skinny jeans and a beard, and he was obviously the guy in charge. “Welcome. I’m Mark. What’s your name?”
“Rae Walters.”
He checked the list on his clipboard. “I don’t see your name here, Rae. Were you referred by one of your teachers?”
“No.” She slid her backpack off and dug around inside it. “I want to volunteer.”
She pulled the Volunteer Information Sheet she’d printed off the internet from her bag and held it out.
“Cool. We need all the help we can get.” Mark took the paper from her hand and skimmed it over. “Looks like you filled everything out. This is impressive.”
She lifted one shoulder. The sheet had all the standard questions on it—name, address, birth date, and school information—but it also had questions about previous volunteer experience and why the applicant was interested in the Community Hope program. She’d felt a little weird listing all the random places she’d helped out before, like she was trying to show off or something.
Mark added her paper to the pile on his clipboard. “You’ve got a lot of volunteer hours racked up already. You going for an award at school or something?”
She raised an eyebrow at his red flannel shirt. “You going for the lumberjack look or something?”
He gave her a dimpled grin. “I have just the job for you.”
RAE TAPPED THE open math book with her pencil. “You still have five more problems, Taylor. Come on, you’re running out of time.”
The petite girl with mousy brown hair wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care.”
“You’ll care when you fail math and have to repeat seventh grade.”
Taylor scoffed. “That doesn’t really happen.”
“Yes it does.” Rae scooted her chair closer. “Now, let’s go. Number seventeen. Write it down.”
“Fine.” Taylor gave an exaggerated sigh. “But only so you’ll shut up.”
She looked like an ordinary shy middle schooler on the outside, but Rae had discovered in the past hour that Taylor was unlike anyone she’d ever met. She reminded Rae of a woman she used to know at the nursing home named Betty who would cheat at cards and then blame Rae.
Before introducing them, Mark had hinted that Taylor’s family life was less than ideal. Based on the language she’d heard from the thirteen-year-old’s mouth, Rae could only imagine what that meant.
Taylor scrunched her lips to one side as she concentrated, and Rae glanced around the room. More kids had arrived after her, but none were volunteers. As far as she could tell, only the three adults, Rae, and one other student she knew was a senior at her school were there to help the kids referred by teachers for extra help. It wasn’t near enough to give everyone the attention they needed.
A kid about her age sat as far into the corner as possible with his back to the room. His stringy black hair fell in his face as he hunched over his work. Something about his posture, about the way he focused on whatever was in front of him as if it were the cure for cancer, tugged at her heart. What was his story?
“One more minute,” Mark called out. “Wrap it up, guys.”
Rae felt Taylor flinch beside her. The girl whose feistiness had known no bounds only moments before tossed her pencil on the table and slumped in her chair.
“What are you doing?” Rae picked the pencil up and held it out to Taylor. “You’re almost finished. Let’s do the last problem.”
Taylor stared at the math book. “Why?”
“Because.” Rae waved the pencil under her nose. “Don’t you want to complete your assignment?”
Taylor grabbed the pencil and snapped it in half.
Rae nodded once. “Okay then.”
“Time’s up.” Mark positioned himself by the door and pointed with his clipboard. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
Students groaned as they shoved books and papers into backpacks. They nabbed snacks from the basket on their way to the door so that there was nothing left on the table by the time they filed out. The kid with the black hair kept his head down as he slipped out of the room without a word.
Rae hung back, waiting for all the referred kids to leave before approaching Mark. “More volunteers are coming, right?”
He combed his fingers through his scruffy beard. “Here? Probably not.”
“But we need more help.”
“Tell me about it.” He held the door open for the two women volunteers and gestured for Rae to go ahead of him. “We had twice as many kids this week as last. And more will probably come as the word gets out that we have food.”
She stepped into the hallway. “You’re going to have to do something about it.”
He locked up Room F and walked with Rae toward the front door. “What do you suggest, Miss Volunteer of the Year?”
She felt her face flush. “I don’t know. That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Not my job, per se. I’m a volunteer, too.”
Oh. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye with new appreciation. He was kind of old, like thirty at least, so he had to be out of school. But he still volunteered? That was pretty cool.
Wait. She knew how this worked. Dad was a lawyer, after all.
“You have some court-ordered community service hours to complete?”
He laughed. “Nope. I just like helping people.”
The words sifted down into her gut and stung a little. She’d said the same thing to Kylee.
And she’d meant it, hadn’t she? But when Mark said it . . . well, it seemed different.
She stepped outside and saw several of the kids from the program milling around the parking lot. “Do you have to wait with them until their parents come?”
Mark gave her a look that made her feel like a little kid. “Their parents don’t come. Most of them probably don’t even know their kids are here.”
She kicked at a rock. “So do they walk home?”
“I’m not sure. I always offer rides, but most of them put off going home for as long as possible. I think some of them don’t want me to see where they live.”
“Oh.”
Rae lived in the nice part of town. In the biggest house on the block. And she could be anywhere at any time, and all she’d have to do was send a quick text, and her mom would come for her. In fact, her mom always knew exactly where she was.
A Ford Explorer pulled into the parking lot as if to prove the truth of what she’d been thinking, and Rae suddenly felt embarrassed. “There’s my mom. I—I’ll be back Wednesday.”
“Look, Rae.” Mark gave her shoulder a gentle punch. “Volunteers are hard to come by. If you have any brilliant ideas about recruiting more, let me know.”
She nodded and slipped into the passenger seat of the Explorer.
Mom gave her a big smile. “Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”
Rae looked at the other kids through the window. Almost invisible in the shadows behind the building, the boy with the black hair leaned against the church, hands in his pockets. Alone.
Rae pulled on her seat belt. “Better than I thought.”
CHAPTER
NINE
Gerrit peered through a gap in the curtains of the dining room window. Daisy sat at his feet and gave him a dubious look.
“What?” he whispered. “He doesn’t need to know I’m home. It’s none of his business.”
The postal truck appeared, and Gerrit checked his watch. 1:42. He had learned the mail was delivered between one-thirty and two every afternoon. He had also learned Hannie didn’t appreciate his opening mail with her name on it. It had been a mistake, but one he would surely never make again. When the truck drove away, he sprang into action.