CHAPTER 7SAM
Having said goodbye to my colleagues in the CCE Erie County offices, I arrive for Sunday dinner only a month later than I’d planned, with what’s left of my belongings in bags and boxes in the back of my truck. After I put Gomer in a sit-stay on the porch, I squat in front of him and run my hands over his soft fur. “Wish you could come inside and keep me calm, buddy. But I’m trying to play by the rules.”
After all that, I’m a little disappointed when the only person I find inside is Ethan’s new/old girlfriend Lia. At least when she looks up from chopping vegetables, she smiles at me.
“Gran put you to work?” I ask.
“She’s downstairs picking herbs for the chicken salad.”
Lia’s cheeks are a nice rosy pink. She’s looking a heck of a lot healthier than she did when she showed up at the reading of my grandfather’s will last winter. I’m trying to figure out if it’s rude to comment on that, when she hands me a bunch of carrots. “So you’re back in town now too?”
As I scrub and peel them, we fill each other in on the job changes that brought each of us back to Fork Lick.
“Sounds like you really love what you’re doing these days,” she says.
“It’s super rewarding. I’m only making a fraction of what I did at Congento, but who needs money?”
Her smile is strained as she trades the carrots for celery, and as I rinse the stalks, I remember who needs money: my brother Ethan and our family farm.
“This is kind of awkward,” I begin, “because you work for the bank and all, but you’re a friend too, so…”
When I trail off, she places a hand on my forearm and squeezes it lightly. “You can trust me, Sam. Your family is important to me.”
I blow out a breath. “I’ve just wondered, were the loans Grandad took out legit? I mean, was the lender predatory in any way?”
She tips her head to the side and looks out the window over the sink—not like she’s focusing on the crop rows fanning out over the land that’s been in our family for more than a century, but like she’s looking at spreadsheets in her head. “I really don’t think so. The timing doesn’t line up with that era. All the loans were approved for equipment purchases and other farm expenses. I’m sure each refinance made sense at the time. Your grandfather just had a streak of bad luck.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, back to slicing and dicing, but when she sniffs, I ask, “You okay?”
“Just, you know, onions.” She waves a hand in front of her face. “But I did remember one thing that was a little unusual. One year, he took out a loan with a line item marked ‘Personal.’ I think it was about fifty grand. I haven’t been able to figure out what it was for.”
A chill runs down my spine, and I fumble the potatoes. Turning off the water, I take a deep breath. “Do you remember when that was?”
“Pretty sure it was six years ago. Does that amount or time frame ring a bell?”
“No, not really,” I lie, swallowing down the urge to confess the truth. “Probably, you know, none of my business.”
If only that were the case.
Grandad may have made some bad decisions; he may have treated me like I was a pain in the ass and more trouble than he’d planned on in this lifetime. But it sounds like he also dug himself deeper into debt to put me through school.
And then it all comes back—his words shouted in anger the Saturday after Thanksgiving last year, right after I quit my job and found a new one I could be proud of.
Right before he died.
“You’re the smartest kid in this family, but you have no sense. Why’d you have to leave Congento?”
“Because it felt like selling my soul to the devil, Grandad. I hated it there.”
“Your family made sacrifices to put you through the best school in the country.”
“And I’m using that education. The Cooperative Extension helps small family farms. Like this one.”
“Help? All you ever do is propose outlandish ideas that cost money I don’t have. Not sure how that’s helpful.”
“If you weren’t so damn stubborn, you’d see that change is inevitable. And if you paid attention, you’d have known that Congento was killing me.”
All I want right now is to be comforted. To run to my grandmother, the way I did when I got bullied as a middle-schooler, and ask her if Grandad hated me.
But she has her own grief to deal with.
I need to figure out a way to erase that debt. And I need to present those ideas in a way that doesn’t set my brother’s hair on fire. I can’t make the same mistake with Ethan that I made with my grandfather.
I don’t know what I was thinking, imagining a future with Diane. I can’t even manage a relationship with my own family. Luckily for her, she got out before I had a chance to try.
CHAPTER 8DIANE
Even though it was uncomfortable as hell to sit through, I was impressed at the family dinner last month when Colleen’s brothers got it all out on the table, so to speak. So unlike my stiff upper lip family, where you’d never know what anyone is feeling. If they’re feeling anything. Sometimes, I’m not sure.
Still, it took some convincing for Ethel to get me to return to Fork Lick. It’s not like I was planning to stay forever, but it was clear she was disappointed when I left so abruptly. I get the feeling she didn’t stand up for herself before she was widowed, but for the past few weeks, Ethel Bedd didn’t let up with the phone messages and texts until I agreed to return.
I’ll admit that the videos I posted after my visit here seem to have hit a chord. Every single one I put up is getting hundreds of thousands of likes and comments, even without a shirtless farmer.
Well… there was that one shot I got at the dairy of two shirtless farmers, Alex and one of his guys, tossing bales down from the hay loft. And I may have put it in slo-mo, but that’s because it was the only way the viewer could see the way wisps of hay and dust caught the light.
