I can’t shoot a fucking basketball without going through a ritual.
A grunt from Ethan snags my attention, but his expression’s as unreadable as always. “Thanks.”
“You should’ve gone to school for engineering, Ethan.”
He narrows his eyes at me, like he thinks I’m making fun of him. “Right.”
“I mean it. You’re, like, a mechanical genius. That thing you made to plant the strawberry starts? And the changes you made to Gran’s basement greenhouse so she can use it all year round? Diane told me how you rigged a clamp so Gran could film Baabara from above. I mean, at the very least you could take some courses at the community college. You could learn how to patent and sell your inventions.”
“Like I have time to get to Climax every day.”
“From what I heard, you’re getting to climax every damn night,” I mutter, but he just laughs.
“You’re just jealous.”
No way am I confessing that I’m getting some too, so I circle back to my original point. “There are night classes. Designed for working people.”
He passes the ball to me, hard. “Sam, I was never like you. Sitting in a classroom just made my brain clog up. I figure things out when I’m moving. Driving a tractor, digging in the dirt, mending a fence, even shoveling shit. That’s when ideas come. That’s how I tease out the solution to a problem.”
I’m about to point out that there are accommodations for non-traditional learners, but the irony of it stops me. Biting my tongue, I take my shot, which bounces off the rim. Gomer races for it and noses it back to Ethan.
“Anyway,” Ethan continues after taking his own shot, which drops in effortlessly. “I already looked into patents. You can learn anything on YouTube these days. I might file one for my strawberry toboggan.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say, meaning it, as I run after the ball, Gomer chasing me.
Just as I’m lining up to shoot, Ethan says, “You know the other way I learned? From listening to Pop and Grandad. I know you think they were idiots, but—”
“I didn’t say that.” I’m too irritated to shoot now, so I dribble a few more times.
“Well, they were old-fashioned in their thinking,” Ethan says.
I fumble the ball, I’m so surprised at this admission, but I don’t look at him as he continues.
“And I’ll allow that they were wrong about some stuff. But they were right about the basics. The… What’s that word? Tenets.”
I lift a pinky finger and employ the fake British accent we always employ when someone uses a big vocab word or ridiculously correct grammar. “Oooh, fancy word.”
“Shut up and give me the ball,” he says. “I’m trying to agree with you.”
After passing it to him, I remember Carlos and mime zipping my mouth shut. “I’m all ears.”
“Pop and Grandad taught me to take care of the land because it’ll take care of your family.”
It’s not easy to keep my mouth shut because I have opinions, but my lips remain zipped.
“They may have been misled by companies like Congento; they may have been operating on now-debunked ideas. But their hearts were in the right place.”
I nod because I do believe this.
“Anyway,” he says, tossing up the ball without apparent effort. “You and Grandad were cut from the same cloth, so you’d butt heads no matter what.”
Letting Gomer run after the ball, I remain still until it seems like he’s really finished. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
He snorts. “We’re all stubborn, know-it-all assholes, I guess. But we all care about this place.”
I can’t hold this one in, even though I probably should. “The difference for me is that I care about all the places. A lot has to change if we want this land to be here for our kids and their kids to survive. I want to take care of the earth so it feeds people for generations.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, kicking at the dirt, “we have to get it back from the bank before we can do any of that.”
Guilt twists in my gut like colic in a horse. I blow out a breath and do my best to backtrack. “I was going to tell you how impressed I am at how you’re running the family meetings, taking in everyone’s input before making a decision. I’m sorry I jumped down your throat.”
Ethan leans forward, cupping his ear. “Wait. I need to hear that again. I think I heard my stuck-up younger brother admit he was wrong.”
“I didn’t say I was wrong. I said I’m sorry.” I roll my eyes. “Sorry you’re getting so old you’re losing your hearing.”
“I may be older, but I’m still bigger and stronger, you string bean.”
Before I know it, Ethan’s got me in a headlock and is giving me an actual noogie. I’m laughing so hard I can’t break away at first, but thankfully, my dog comes to the rescue and side tackles him.
Ethan staggers to the side. “No fair. I don’t have a dog.”
“That’s a you problem.” I rush to pin his arms behind his back before he can catch his balance. “Take it back.”
“Take what back,” he says, laughing almost as hard as I am.
“String bean.”
“Stuck-up string bean, you mean.”
