by Andi Teran
“Because aside from his nihilistic tendencies and love of pyrotechnics, he’s a monumental ass. Let’s not even get into his motocross obsession, which is as cliché as it effing gets in these parts.”
“So what, maybe you’re not into the same things. I don’t think he’s a terrible person.” Ana didn’t know why she felt the need to defend him. “You’re always going on about how you wish people saw you differently. Maybe he feels the same.”
“You don’t know him as well as I do.”
“How well do you two know each other?” Something about the thought of Rye and Cole knowing each other well made Ana nauseated all of a sudden.
“He was my sort of best friend before you.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We hung out all the time, but not at school. We’re into the same stuff, so we’d listen to music or chill by the beach sometimes. Then he went and told everyone I was quote unquote ‘not into dudes’ and everything changed. He was drunk at this bonfire party at his house, which isn’t an excuse if you’re truly someone’s friend and they asked you to keep it a secret. Anyway, he told someone who told someone else and so on and so forth and now I’m a freaking piranha in this school.”
“Pariah?”
“That’s what I meant. But both work.”
“Did he apologize?”
“Sort of—it was the end of the year, and then he went away. But let me tell ya, no one’s forgotten. Jim Tilsen called me ‘psych-dyke’ in the hall the other day, and Kelsey Weaver has made more than a few comments in the girls’ locker room.”
“Time, class,” Mrs. Darnell said, making her rounds.
“Rye Moon, I’m starting with you.”
Rye handed Mrs. Darnell her simple line drawing of each of the three shapes.
“What is this?”
“It’s minimalism, which is how I see them.”
“Where is the shading? The shadows? You would do well to spend more time concentrating and less time talking. I’d like this done again. You can come in tomorrow at lunch. Your turn, Ms. Cortez.”
Ana handed her a drawing of the objects as if they were floating on water, their reflections altered by ripples underneath.
“This is an interesting concept, but the exercise was to draw the objects in an exact manner to the best of your abilities. The objects are what they are; they don’t exist on another plane or in another dimension.”
“But I thought it was so much more interesting this way . . .”
“Know the rules before you break them,” Mrs. Darnell said, handing the sketch back. “You will join Ms. Moon tomorrow for lunch and there will be no talking.”
“Oops,” Rye said when Mrs. Darnell walked away. “Guess we’re officially jailbirds.”
“Double bad luck,” Ana said.
• • •
The Bracken was empty when Ana walked in. It was still early days for the restaurant, and though they were starting to have repeat customers for breakfast and lunch, the afternoon hours were slower, the café’s imported espresso machine sitting quietly. Ana loved the feel of the place, the exposed brick and dark back wall, the found artwork and roughed-up bistro tables. She wasn’t one for taxidermy, but Will insisted on keeping the deer head left by the previous restaurant, and Ana appreciated that he’d taken her advice and strung dried flowers through the antlers.
“Hey, there,” Will said through the window to the kitchen. “I just let the boys have a break, so I’ll be right out. What’ll you have? Cappuccino? Snack?”
“Sure, what are you making?”
“Welsh rarebit.”
“Not really a fan of rabbit.”
He laughed. “You’ll like this.”
Ana sat down on one of the bar stools at the counter and fished her sketchbook out of her backpack. She flipped through her work—the new label she’d made for Abbie featured a silhouette of Vic, for a batch of spicy pickled carrots, and the other was an unfinished drawing of the creek back in the forest behind Garber Farm. Will switched the stereo on. The sound of screaming guitars filled the empty café. He sang along in the back, something about kick-starting his heart.
“You’re the only customer who won’t mind if I put this on,” Will said, sliding a plate over to her. “Heavy metal and cooking are loves too passionate for some people.”
“What is this?” she asked.
“Welsh rarebit, better known as bubbling cheese on toast.”
“You sure there’s no rabbit in here?”
“Positive.”
Ana took a bite as Will made the cappuccino. “Unexpected and so good,” she said, still chewing. “Taking something basic and flipping it.”
“It’s how I approach my cooking, but this is a traditional recipe. I had to learn all the classics before I could rearrange them.”
“I got in trouble for not doing that mere hours ago, even though my drawing was bomb.”
“Bomb?”
“Explosively good. I’m not good at much else, so I might as well be proud of what I am. Still, my teacher is hardcore. I’m relatively sure she hates my work.”
“You don’t think you’re hardcore? It’s like you don’t even see yourself sitting there in your wild hair and vintage leathers intimidating as all hell to probably every boy in school. Listen,” he said, setting the cappuccino on the counter before dusting it with cocoa. “I was a little older than you when I started cooking, and it was cutthroat. Why do you think I have this tattoo?” He pointed to the butcher knife inked on the inside of his forearm. “I earned this,” he said, “because I fought the worst parts of myself to get to someplace better on the other side. I had guys breathing down my neck, lived in the worst parts of town, no money, never slept; it was brutal. But look at this place. Think it was worth it?”
Ana nodded as she chewed.
“Believe in your work and listen to the people who know better than you do.”
“And what am I supposed to do when I’m on my own?”
“Follow your instincts and kick some ass. You’ve got plenty of time, kid. Until then, listen to Abbie.”
“But I’ve got only a few more months—”
The door of the café opened and shut. Will leaned back from the counter, his entire face and body erupting into a grin. “Speak of the devil,” he said as Abbie walked in, taking off what Ana noticed were new sunglasses and sitting next to her at the counter.
“What did I miss?” she said, grinning back at Will.
“We’re eating rabbit and listening to metal,” he said with a wink. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just making a quick pit stop on the way home. Take your time, Ana,” she said, heading for the restrooms across the café.
Ana took a gulp of her cappuccino.
“Wanna know a secret?” Will asked temptingly.
“Always.”
“You know who else got me through those dark moments back in the day?”
“Who?”
He pointed toward the restrooms.
“But I thought you two only met this summer?”
“Oh, I met Abbie way before that, not that she knew I existed. I talked to her every night before bed. Just looking at her on my wall gave me something to fight for. She was my first crush, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“Ready?” Abbie said, emerging from the back, pulling her jacket over jeans and a T-shirt that Ana also noticed were tighter and lower cut than she normally wore them. “We’ve got to run, but we’ll see you next week.”
“Or sooner,” Will said.
Ana couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. She reached for the envelope of cash in her backpack.
“On the house, and the tip comes in the form of a shhhh,” Will said, putting his finger to his lips. “Find someone to fight for.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
If the summer produce season was lively, the annual Hadley Harvest Festival was an all-out riot. Residents worked year-round perfecting their seasonal goods for the sprawling October event. Though it was Abbie’s favorite day of the year, it was always a hassle to Emmett, who preferred staying home to talking to customers. But Garber Farm’s booth showcased such an abundance of products that they both hoped it would be even more profitable than in previous years.
Ana and Abbie stayed up the evening before the fair hand painting a Garber Farm sign to hang over the booth. Ana drew the lettering and surrounded it in flourishes of orange zinnias and squash blossoms that Abbie punctuated with color. And though Emmett scoffed at the amount of time they were spending perfecting their creation, he couldn’t argue that the work wasn’t an improvement over last year’s booth.
As always, Garber Farm was awake early. Abbie, Ana, and Manny helped Emmett load both his and Manny’s trucks before the two of them went ahead with the bulk of the produce. In keeping with Abbie’s yearly tradition, she and Ana drove over to the Moons’ to help them with their load too, as well as to share in celebratory spiced doughnuts and mugs of cocoa.
“It’s going to be a long day,” Abbie warned. “Be prepared to get your ear talked off and your nerves stretched thin. We’re also going to have a heck of a good time.” She and Ana sat in the Moons’ dimly lit living room next to a crackling morning fire.
“I don’t know what is keeping that girl,” Della said, pulling a shawl over her shoulders. “I’m sending you in, Ana. I think you’ll have better luck than I will.”
Ana headed upstairs and knocked on Rye’s door.
“Wake up, sleepy,” she said.
“Kill me now,” she heard from the other side.
Ana opened the door and found Rye sitting on her bed, a blanket over her shoulders as if she had only just awakened.
“Rising from the dead?”
“I can’t even handle this morning. My dad is forcing me to wear what I can describe only as The Shining meets corporate rodeo.” Rye thrust her tiny hands through the blanket, tossing out something plaid and something denim, along with an apron advertising Moon Pharm General Store, complete with a yellow moon. She sat glaring at the pile, her damp hair slicked to the side.
“Can you believe this?” she croaked.
“Blasphemy,” Ana said. “Come downstairs and have a doughnut.”
Rye threw off the blanket and hopped off her bed. She headed to the mirror barefoot and dressed only in a tank top and boy shorts. “I could just go like this,” she said, scrutinizing herself in the mirror. “My nonexistent everything will only further the Ryan rumors.”
“Or you can put on the uniform and give it a Rye spin. Isn’t western always in?”
“Somewhere, not here, aka not on this person.” Ana shot Rye a look. “Fine. Should I accessorize with silver moon earrings or go full Pharm with my vintage Valley of the Dolls pin?”
“Moons all the way.”
• • •
Abbie’s excitement and Emmett’s moans predicted the Garber Farm booth at the Hadley Harvest Festival would be one of the big tickets. Ana still couldn’t believe the hordes of people swarming around their tented tables, eager hands grabbing pumpkins, jars of kumquat marmalade, as well as Abbie’s new butternut squash empanadas. Behind the counter, Abbie kept a batch of hard cider, along with her bottles of barley wine, reserved for those in the know who either preordered or knew to ask for them. Ana bagged produce while sometimes answering questions about everything grown on the farm, surprising herself with her own knowledge of in-season vegetables. She gave more than a few shout-outs to her coworkers in the fields and was delighted to meet Manny’s wife and two kids. Vic and Rolo stopped by, enjoying their day off, even bringing Joey, who said how much he missed the farm, along with them.
“Delicata, I presume?” Will Carson asked, catching Ana off guard as he was suddenly in front of her, inspecting the bounty of squash.
“Yep. We also have butternut, acorn, spaghetti squash, and kabocha, which is new to the farm this year.”
“Well, well, look who’s learning her Cucurbitas.”
“My what-what-itas?”
“Winter squash,” Will said, his once-longish hair newly shorn and oiled to the side, his beard trimmed and speckled with threads of gray. Where Ana once thought he looked like a lonely pirate, battered and brooding, today he resembled a forlorn sailor in his navy blue overcoat and dark jeans, every bit of him groomed and smelling of cedar and tobacco. “I’ve been trying to get the lovely lady’s attention, but she’s always occupied with other customers,” he said, looking over at Abbie, who had thrown a colorful scarf over her field jacket and jeans, her hair pulled up in a bun, her attention very deliberately focused on Ellery Jonas and Pearl Parnell, who were fawning over jars of marmalade.
“Is there something I can assist you with?”
“Don’t go fully professional on me, kid. I know what’s lurking under that tone. Barley wine and cider,” he said with a wink. “She’s been coy about sharing them with me, but I’ve heard she’s a true brewmaster.”
“I’m not allowed to touch those,” Ana said, even though the cases of bottles were directly under the table at her feet and Abbie had already sold several. “She’s been up every night perfecting them, so I’m sure they’re abnormally good, like everything else she makes.”
“Darling girl!” Ellery and Pearl sang as they scooted over to Ana and fussed over the swallow sweater and vintage jeans she had bought at their store.
“Isn’t she just the most fascinating creature?” Ellery said, laying a hand on Will’s forearm, her pillbox hat threatening to tumble into the mini pumpkins. “I just love how you’ve accessorized with that scarf in your hair. It’s functional yet chic.”
“Devastating, simply devastating,” Pearl chimed in from behind enormous glasses, one hand clutching an oversize turquoise necklace weighting down her blouse. “With that hair and such an arresting profile, you’re Klimt’s Portrait of a Young Woman!”
The ladies moved on to another booth. Will promised to come back later when “the lady” wasn’t so preoccupied. The day wore on and customer demand finally began to dissipate, so Abbie allowed Ana to help out at the Moon Pharm booth. On the way there, Ana wandered the grounds, breathing in the scents of cinnamon-dusted funnel cakes and smoked meats. Vendors were selling everything from home-baked pies to hand-loomed sweaters, and there were small crowds gathered around carnival games. Ana was drawn to the one booth sitting off by itself, constructed to look like a small house, the sign above it painted in whimsical lettering that spelled out THE HONEY POT. She approached and immediately recognized the proprietor, who sat in a rocking chair on the makeshift porch, hands holding on to the straps of his overalls while he stared off into the distance.
“Hello, Mr. Kinman,” Ana said.
“Squirrely! Good to see ya. Want a taste?” He dipped a small sample spoon into a jar of honey, which Ana immediately popped into her mouth, letting the honey coat her tongue before she swallowed.
“Heavenly—smooth and completely different from the last batch I tried. What flavor is it?”
“That’s a well-kept secret,” the man said. “Tell me, how’s tricks over in Garber country? Life unspooling in prosperous directions?”
“Yep. Working hard, trying to keep my grades up.”
“You’ve got so much swirling around in there,” he said with a swish of his hand, indicating her whole person. “Let go sometimes, don’t let it rule ya. I hear you’ve got a hell of a painterly hand. I’m assuming you’re the one who painted the sign over the farm’s booth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Town needs more artists and sundry creative folk like that man from the city and his Crackin’.”
“You mean The Bracken?”
“That’s the one. Fine fello
w. Town’s all up in shoulders thinking he’s going to take over the saloon, but he’s got his own thing going and is respectful to his neighbors. Yep, we need more outlaws in these parts. Place used to be full of ’em until gold and greed killed the grit and gumption. But I feel the tides changing.”
“How’s your bear?”
“Well, he’s not as spry as he used to be and has taken to wandering the forests with the owls, but he comes back to chat from time to time.”
“Tell him I said hi,” Ana said.
“Will do.”
She continued on to the Moons’ booth, which was laid out with teas and tinctures concocted by Rye’s parents as well as handwoven rugs, ceramics, and tribal art. Rye was hunkered down in the back of the booth staring into her phone, one leg nervously dangling over the other, when she saw Ana approach.
“Finally,” Rye said, pulling her apron off and throwing her fuzzy black sweater over the plaid shirt and jeans. “Let’s blow this joint.”
“Rye—” Charlie Moon said with a grim nod.
“Come on in, Ana,” Della interrupted, ushering Ana behind the booth.
“You win for booth beautification,” Ana said. “Hands-down favorite next to Alder Kinman’s honey.”
“Potty break,” Rye announced, causing her father to add a sigh to his nod. “We’re taking a fairgrounds walk, a pit stop, and then we’re going to check out the fireworks later, okay?”
“That’s fine,” Della said. “Just make sure you let Abbie and Emmett know where you are and be back right after the show.”
Rye and Ana made their way across the grounds, avoiding recognizable faces from school, most of whom eyed the twosome as if they were either something to mock or be wholly frightened of—Ana couldn’t tell. They stopped at the Lawson Dairy booth where Brady appeared to be holding court in an oversize suit, jabbering on to chuckling customers.
“Grade-A chocolate milk—best in town, folks!” he shouted.
“Looking good, little man,” said Rye as she and Ana sidled up to the counter.
