The Sowing Season Page 19

  He shuffled closer to Hannie, longing to brush her arm with his as he stood beside her at the counter. Longing for the right words to say.

  She let him off easy. “You know you’re going to have to clean the house from top to bottom, right? Since this whole thing was your idea? And the kids’ rooms need fresh linens.”

  He grunted, but a smile tugged at his lips. “I know how to clean.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll let you handle it, then.”

  He cut himself a small bar from the pan. “I was hoping you could make a centerpiece for the party.” He scraped the hardened chocolate-butterscotch mixture off the top, concentrating on it to avoid her eyes. “I mean, I want to order one. From your shop.”

  She stiffened. “Really?”

  His ears tingled. Was she happy or mad? He was afraid to look.

  “A big fancy one for the table here.” He swallowed. “I thought it would be nice.”

  He looked. She smiled. He managed to breathe.

  “Sure, I could do that. What kind of centerpiece would you like?”

  There were kinds? “Uh . . . whatever you think is best. You choose.”

  That seemed to please her. She tucked her hair behind her ear, the wheels in her mind already turning. He could practically see the flowers swirling in her brain, arranging and rearranging. He’d never appreciated what a talent she had. To him, a flower was just a flower.

  “Okay, I’ll come up with something festive.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and grinned. “If you were baking goodies for my shop, you know, I could give you my employee discount.”

  Oh.

  Oh, goodness.

  He smiled back and nodded, as if her words hadn’t turned his stomach to ice. As if it made perfect sense for a used-up old man like him to invest his life savings to join his wife at her shop and make cookies for strangers. As if her offer wasn’t a lifeline he didn’t deserve.

  As if it didn’t scare him half to death.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  Rae studied herself in the mirror. Was it okay to wear skinny jeans to a job interview? They were black at least. Looked pretty nice with her green-and-purple blouse.

  “Rae.” Mom knocked on the door. “You almost ready?”

  She cringed. “Yes.”

  Mom poked her head in the room. “I’d like to be a little early.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Mom scrutinized her outfit, nodded her approval, and shut the door.

  Rae plopped onto her bed. “What am I going to do, Mister?”

  Mr. Whiskers moved his head onto her lap and began to purr. She rubbed his ears. Once her dad had gotten wind of the job opening at the law firm, he’d insisted that was her only option. He’d even “made a call” and then informed her she all but had the job. The interview was merely a formality.

  “It’s not that I mind filing papers.” She rolled her head back and forth, trying to loosen the tension in her neck. “I just . . . I don’t know.”

  How could she explain it? Working at the Schultz and Hardy law firm would be a great experience, and their office was close by. Taylor would be moving away soon, so she wouldn’t be attending Greenville Community Church’s summer program, anyway. But for some reason, Rae had that same awful feeling from her driving nightmare when she was barreling down a hill out of control. And she hated it.

  She glanced at her phone. Time to go. She nudged Mr. Whiskers off her lap and stood. “Look what you did, you big lug.” Clumps of gray fur stuck to her black pants. “That doesn’t look very professional.”

  He was unconcerned. She swiped at her pants to remove the fur and hurried out of her room. Mom was waiting at the door with the car keys in her hand.

  She held them out. “You need to practice. We’ve got plenty of time to get there.”

  Rae groaned inwardly. “Not today. I don’t want to show up to the interview all stressed out.”

  “You’ve got to get a handle on this, sweetie.” Mom crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having so much trouble?”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’ll figure it out. But not today.” Her voice came out much harsher than she’d intended. What was her problem?

  Mom frowned. “Then when?”

  She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know.”

  “Rae, you’re going to need your license if you want to get a job.”

  “I can walk to the office, Mom.” Her voice rose in intensity. “It’s not that far.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that boy? David?”

  “What?” Rae was shouting now, but she couldn’t stop herself. “No. This has nothing to do with him.”

  “Boys are a distraction. Ever since you started volunteering at that church with him, you’ve seemed different. Are you seeing him behind my back?”

  “Oh my gosh, Mom. No. We’re just friends. But why is it such a big deal? What’s so terrible about boys?”

  “We’ve had this conversation. Boys aren’t terrible, but you need to stay focused on your goals. I would hate to see you throw your future away for some crush.”

  “You sound just like Dad.” She hardly recognized her tone of voice. It was prickly and wild, like poison ivy. “Do you really believe having a boyfriend would ruin my future?”

  “Look, young lady.” Mom’s face was grave. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re about one word away from being grounded.”

  Rae knew better. She did. She’d gone fifteen years and eleven months without ever being grounded. But the last few weeks of stress and fear and wondering what was going on in her family spurred her onward.

  “And what word is that, Mom?”

  Mom’s nostrils flared. “Your father and I will discuss your attitude tonight when he gets home. In the meantime, you’re driving to the office.”

  Rae ignored the keys hanging from Mom’s outstretched finger and opened the door. “I’ll walk.”

  “Rae.”

  She shut the door behind her and stomped to the sidewalk, not looking back. If she hurried, she’d still make it in time. Not that she cared. She didn’t want the job. But a lifetime of high expectations and overachievement had conditioned her to recoil at the thought of missing an appointment. So she would go. At least it got her out of the house.

  Mom didn’t follow or yell after her. Rae wasn’t sure what that meant, but it probably wasn’t good. Part of her wanted to run back to the house and throw herself at her mom’s feet. Instead, she strode purposefully to Parker Street and turned right. It was too late now. She’d done what she’d done.

  Oh, heavens, what had she done?

  The law office was easy to find. Businesses of all kinds lined Parker Street, their names etched proudly on windows or displayed in giant block letters above doors. She stopped in front of the office and straightened her blouse. Patted her hair. Hopefully the sweat she was feeling under her arms wasn’t showing up on her sleeves.

  If Kylee were here, she would say to forget the interview and do something crazy instead. Something unexpected. Rae was already in trouble, anyway, and didn’t want a job her father had lined up. But what did she want?

  The question frightened her. Without The Plan, her future was nothing but a scary swarm of unknowns. A place with more questions than answers. A place she did not want to be. She looked through the window at the people busy at work inside and heard her father’s voice. “Without faithful law practitioners,” he always said, “justice is just a pretty word.”

  She believed that. She believed in what Dad did for people. Yeah, maybe he was overbearing sometimes, but he’d helped hundreds of families live better lives. The times she’d watched him in court during big cases had been some of the proudest moments of her life, the way he fought for truth and justice. If she stuck to The Plan, she could do that one day, too.

  Maybe she’d overreacted earlier.

  She checked the time on her phone. Five minutes early.
<
br />   She opened the door.

  RAE LEFT SCHULTZ and Hardy with more confidence than when she went in. The interview had been brief. To the point. They knew her father was a lawyer, knew she planned to attend Columbia and then apply to Columbia Law, and they wanted her to start this summer the day after school got out. They were nice, appreciated her timeliness, and were impressed she already understood most of their legalese. Dad had taught her well.

  Maybe the job wouldn’t be so bad. It would be nice to earn some money. That was the point of The Plan, wasn’t it? But she wasn’t ready to face her mother after the way she’d behaved.

  She turned the opposite way of her neighborhood and walked. It was overcast but warm, the earthy scent of mid-May permeating the air. She was surprised by how busy it was in this part of town on a Thursday afternoon. Parker Street met Fifth, and she turned, moving farther and farther from the problems that awaited her at home. It was only four-thirty. She could put off her return a little longer.

  The houses grew smaller and older the farther she went down Fifth. She rarely saw this part of town. Not that Greenville was a big city or anything. It had grown a lot in the past five years but still had a small-town feel. Her family lived in the newest subdivision, called Evergreen Terrace, but she was pretty sure none of the neighborhoods in this area had names.

  One front yard had a rusty old car sitting up on blocks. Another had a fierce-looking dog chained to a fence, a Rottweiler that growled and snapped his jaws at her as she passed. She walked slowly, taking in every detail, observing as Dad had taught her. Everything here was less glossy than she was used to. If there was grass in the yard, it had brown patches. If there was a car in the driveway, it was dinged up. The paint on every house was faded.

  She reached the edge of town and turned around with a sigh. Five o’clock. Time to head back and face the music. Her stomach twisted. When was the last time she’d been in trouble? No wonder she avoided it. It felt gross. But even if she was in trouble, she didn’t want to miss dinner. She was starving.

  Plus, she was banking on Mom and Dad feeling far less angry once she told them she got the job.

  On her way back up Fifth, she neared a droopy gray house with dented gutters dangling from the roof. Shouts echoed through the air from inside. A man hollered a string of bad names she’d never even heard before. When she’d almost reached the house, the front door flew open and someone stumbled out as if they’d been pushed. A boy with black hair.

  Morgan.

  The yard had a waist-high chain link fence all the way around. With his head down, Morgan scrambled to the front gate and pushed it open, nearly slamming it into Rae’s legs. The hinges squealed, and she inhaled sharply.

  Morgan looked up with a start. She stared at him. His eyes were red, his face drawn as if caving in on itself.

  He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

  “I . . .”

  The front door flew open again, and a burly man in grease-stained coveralls waved a fist in the air. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Come on.” Morgan grabbed her hand and pulled. “We gotta get out of here.”

  He ran down the block, holding on to her tightly. When she tripped trying to keep up, he kept her from falling, then tugged her around a blue trailer house and down an alley.

  “This is far enough.” He panted. “Boss is too lazy to leave the yard.”

  She leaned her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “Your dad’s name is Boss?”

  Morgan gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “He’s not my dad.”

  She looked at the ground so he wouldn’t see the questions covering her face. If that wasn’t his dad, who was it? And what was he so mad about?

  A rickety flatbed trailer surrounded by knee-high weeds was parked on one side of the alley, and Morgan sat on it. Her heart resumed its normal beat, and she straightened, studying the alley. What on earth had just happened? Morgan didn’t speak, so she didn’t either. If he wanted to explain, he would. Dad always said a good lawyer knew when to push for answers and when to let the answers come to him.

  Morgan fixed an intense gaze on her. “Why were you at my house?”

  “I wasn’t.” She didn’t look away, though his sapphire eyes burned through her. “I was just walking. I didn’t know it was your house.”

  He looked away then, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but then shut it again. She wasn’t cold, yet she rubbed her bare arms and looked around self-consciously, suddenly aware of how out of place she was. Standing in an overgrown alley with a kid she barely knew, in stark contrast to him with her nice black jeans and name-brand blouse. He wore the same worn-out hoodie he always wore.

  She gestured back toward Fifth and started to turn. “I should probably get going.”

  His expression changed. “Wait.”

  She stopped.

  He kicked at the flatbed’s cracked tire, avoiding her eyes. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

  Instead of leaving, she took a step closer to him. Drawn by his vulnerability. “No. I promise.”

  “He’s only like that when my mom’s not home.”

  She took another step. “Boss?”

  “Yeah, he’s my mom’s boyfriend. Or something. His real name is Gary.”

  He must’ve seen the question in her eyes.

  He shrugged. “Everyone calls him Boss.”

  She hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the trailer. Morgan tensed but didn’t move.

  “Will your mom be home soon?”

  He scooted back onto the flatbed and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I don’t know. Sometimes she works late at Della’s, and sometimes . . .”

  She wanted to say she was sorry or something but it didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t like that. Instead, she sat there, rubbing her palm over the smooth, weathered wood. Boss must be the reason Morgan attended Community Hope even though he was acing his classes and graduating early. Might even be the reason he hung around the school early in the morning.

  She checked her phone. A text from her mom asked where she was. It was almost five-thirty, and she still had to walk home.

  She stood. “My parents expect me for dinner.”

  Longing glinted across Morgan’s face like a flicker of flame, then was gone. Snuffed out. “You’re lucky, you know.”

  She remembered Boss’s face and the words he had shouted. “You can come with me, if you want.”

  He laughed a humorless laugh. “I’m sure your parents would love to see me show up on your doorstep.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind. You better get going.”

  “No. I want to know. You think my family’s a bunch of snobs or something?”

  He shook his head, and his shoulders slumped. “You just live in a different world from me. You don’t know what it’s like to wish . . .”

  As his voice trailed off, she thought of her parents and a car flying wildly down a hill. Whatever it was he didn’t want to say, she had a feeling maybe she did know.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  Gerrit shifted in the hard plastic chair, his muscles complaining. Who knew scrubbing floors and lugging laundry up and down the stairs could be such hard work? He was wiped out, and Daisy hadn’t lifted a paw to help.

  But Evi and Noah were coming in five days, and the house was going to shine if it killed him.

  “Rough day?” Morgan asked.

  Like this kid had any clue about rough days. Well, maybe he did. A little.

  “This chair is uncomfortable.”

  “Why are you in such a bad mood?”

  He wasn’t in a bad mood. He was worried. What would it be like to have Evi and Noah around? He didn’t know what to talk to them about. What if he messed up the ziti?

  “You’re coming on Monday, right?”

  Morgan nodded, one hand on Daisy’s head, the other on his re
d notebook.

  “Where are those papers I gave you?”

  “In my bag.”

  “Get them out. We can work on it.”

  “I’ll do it at home.”

  Gerrit narrowed his eyes. He’d stopped at the public library—the public library, for crying out loud—on his way here to use their computer thing and print an application to Everett Community College for Morgan. He’d tried to print it at home, but Hannie always did that for him. He couldn’t figure it out.

  “We’ve got time now.”

  Morgan pushed his hair out of his eyes. “What’s the point? I don’t want to go there.”

  Gerrit grabbed Morgan’s backpack and shoved his hand inside. His fingers found the packet of papers, and he pulled them out and slammed them on the table.

  “Got a pen?”

  Morgan covered his notebook with his arms and scowled. “No.”

  Gerrit moved to dig back into the pack.

  “Okay, fine.” Morgan pulled a pen from the spiral of his book and held it out. “Here.”

  “I don’t want it.” Gerrit held up his hands. “You do it. Start with your name.”

  With a sigh, Morgan filled out the first couple of lines, mumbling, “It’s a big waste of time.”

  “No it’s not. You’ll have no trouble getting in. You said you get straight A’s.”

  Morgan looked up, fire in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to go to college?”

  Gerrit looked in the boy’s eyes and could see him wrestling. Hope and fear and desperation all battled for position. Was that what his face looked like when he and Luke had this same conversation forty-some years ago?

  “Community college is cheaper than a university. And the libraria—uh, some lady was telling me about this thing called FAFSA.”

  “I know what FAFSA is.”

  “Then you know you can get money for school.”

  Morgan dropped his pen on the table and sat back, his black hair falling back across his face. “Even if I could get tuition covered, where would I live?”

  “You can commute. It’s not that far.”

  “I don’t have a car. And why would I do that?” Morgan’s face twisted like he’d stepped in a cow pie. “The whole point of graduating early is to get out of my house.”