by Linda Joyce
“I never understood how complicated parenting must be until mine died. I have many regrets now. I took my mom and dad for granted. My mom was upbeat and like a brilliant star. I always felt like I lived in her shadow,” Lia confided. Tears welled in her eyes. She had to get a grip on her own sadness or she stood no chance of helping Megan.
“But…but,” Megan sputtered. “It’s like my dad gave up on life and our family. Lucas is now a parent to all of us. Something he didn’t ask for. He’s always had broad shoulders to carry the weight of our woes, but now, I’m worried about him…yet also feeling sorry for myself.”
Lia reached for Megan’s hand. She squeezed, offering support. “I know it’s not the same with your parents moving out west. I know how life can feel unsafe because of all the changes. Craig takes his big brother responsibilities very seriously. I know he wants to protect me, just like Lucas wants to protect you.”
“How is it that my dad, a fourth-generation farmer—I mean, our family survived the Dust Bowl!—leaves the farm?” Megan sat up and scooted on the bed, resting her back against the headboard. She pulled a pillow into her arms and hugged it. “My dad now spends his days swimming and playing shuffleboard at a retirement village. Every trailer looks the same. Okay, maybe the front doors are different colors. My mom knits and goes to book clubs. Who are those people?” she wailed. “What’s become of my mom and dad? Why did they desert me?”
“Lucas works hard so they can have some comfort in their life,” Lia said quietly. “He also does that for you. Do you really think he’d leave for more than a couple of weeks? Arizona might be nice in the winter, but Lucas is tied to this land. I’ve never talked with him about it, but as a former military officer, I’m guessing many large companies would be happy to have him. Yet, he chose to come home.”
“Yeah.” Megan sighed. “You’re right.”
“Remember what my mother always said?”
“C’est la vie,” Megan whispered.
“That’s life,” Lia repeated. “Say it louder.
“C’est la vie!”
“Much better,” Lia said. “We have to take life as it comes. You’re counting on doom before it arrives. Not a good philosophy for living.” She paused and tried to step away from the war of emotions battling in her heart. Guilt about her mother raged against practical reason, but so far, the war had no victor, and her heart remained battered and bruised. She might very well be on the way to a bleeding ulcer if she didn’t heed her own advice. Megan had spent more time at the Britton’s farm over the last five years before her parents died than she had. Maybe Megan had insights? “I’ve only told one other person this…”
“Yes?” Megan leaned forward.
“I loved my mother, but she made me uncomfortable sometimes. She was always the brightest star in the room. She made people feel welcomed. Growing up, I often felt awkward in her presence. She had a sense of grace and southern style, and she forgot to pass those genes to me.”
“When I was in high school, I got off the bus at your house on Fridays,” Megan said, a small smile appearing. She pulled a tissue from the side table and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Your mom always had something wonderful cooking on the stove. The house smelled heavenly with spices. I didn’t mind the long walk home, even in the winter wind or snow, although she always offered to drive me. I think it made my mother mad that I spent so much time with your mom.”
Lia paused. “But you can’t think it had anything to do with your parents moving to Arizona.”
Megan shrugged.
“No,” Lia insisted. “I think it has more to do with the embarrassment they must feel over what happened. Losing the farm, one that’s been in the family for several generations, is hard. It’s complicated. Emotions are messy. I understand embarrassment. Felt that way about my own mother sometimes. She would talk to anyone about anything.”
“Wrong,” Megan corrected. “She listened to everyone, even those in line at the grocery store. She drew people out. She gave them a reason to smile. She made everyone she came in contact with feel special.”
“Because she was so outgoing, and you know how small town gossip is, my parents strictly enforced propriety. Dotting all i’s and crossing all t’s was required. The fact is…my mother embarrassed me and, at the same time, she insisted I follow strict rules of conduct.”
“I guess”—Megan shrugged—“we always want what’s on the other side of the fence.”
Lia laughed. “In this case, we’ve crossed the line into literal. May I ask you a personal question?” She chewed her bottom lip. Never would she want to sully her mother’s sterling reputation, but there was so much she wanted to know, and she had no one to ask but Megan. “Did she ever talk with you about buying all that stuff? I don’t know if my dad ever knew about the cache in the barn. Mom paid the bills and did the bookwork for the farm.”
Megan grew pensive. “I don’t want to speak out of turn. Your mom never said anything directly to me. It wouldn’t be right for me to say. I don’t want to speculate.”
“Did she ever mention me?”
“Oh course! All the time! She beamed with pride about your art. About the recognition you’ve had. And, I hate to say this, but here goes—I’m on Craig’s side. I think you should go back to the city and paint.”
“So, you, Craig, and Lucas are ganging up on me. Nice to know I’ve got the support of my family and friends.”
“As Lucas reminds me, sometimes we’re unable to determine the direction of the wind, but we feel the effects. Anyway, now you know my vote, for whatever good that is. Um… How about lunch?” Megan swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Before you and Craig arrived, I told Lucas I’d make lunch.”
“Now who’s uncomfortable? It’s three against one.” Lia folded her arms over her chest and eyed Megan. “What else do you know?”
Megan’s nose wrinkled. “All I’m going to say is you’ve got an ally, and you haven’t figured that out yet.”
“What do you mean?” Lia demanded.
“I think I hear Lucas calling me. I know he wants lunch. He’s all hyped up on caffeine.” Megan slid off the bed. “Let’s go.”
Megan left the room almost at a run. Lia stared at the empty space where the young woman had just been and frowned. The only person who might agree she should stay, at least until next Saturday night, was Karl, but he couldn’t be counted as an ally. Even Zoë encouraged her to return to the city. Megan had some explaining to do.
Lia’s hands rested over her heart. Who in Harvest could she trust?
Chapter 8
Lia set plates on the table. “Chicken salad sandwiches. Potato chips. Lucas likes the salt and vinegar kind.” She opened the bag and poured a small pile of chips on each plate. It comforted her to know small details about Lucas’s life.
Megan turned up her nose. “Those make my mouth pucker just thinking about the taste.” She carried napkins to the table and placed one beside each plate. “He can have my share. I’ve got some fruit salad in the fridge. Shall I get it out?”
Before she could answer Megan, she caught sight of Lucas. He stalked into the house, his expression unreadable. The screen door bounced closed behind him. He went straight to the hall. She followed, but stopped short, peeking round the corner. The sound of water running came from the bathroom. When she turned around, she stood face to face with her brother, who did an about-face and went to the kitchen sink.
“Is something…wrong?” Lia asked Craig as he soaped up his hands.
“Wrong?” He shook his head. “No. Why?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say Lucas was mad.”
“He’s wearing his military poker face,” Megan said. “Not good.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a bowl. “He’s deadly serious about something.”
“I can hear you,” Lucas called out.
“We had a difference of opinion,” Craig said. He dried his hands before making his way to the table. “Thanks for lunch, Megan.
”
When they were finally seated, Lia poured lemonade in glasses and passed them around. “The silence is deafening. What’s the disagreement about?”
She pinned a stare on her brother, who then looked outside as though interested in the hummingbirds diving and darting around the feeders. Megan cast a glance at each of them, planted her elbow on the edge of the table, and rested her chin on her palm. A grin full of excited anticipation lit her face, like she’d just won a ticket to a ringside seat at a fashion runway show.
“Good lunch,” Lucas said between bites of his sandwich.
“Awkward,” Megan replied in a singsong tone.
Lia frowned. Something was going on between Craig and Lucas. They had no right to be mad at each other. This was her time. She planned to seize the moment, hoist a conquering flag, confronting both men about their plot to ruin her social life in front of a witness. But as much as she wanted to battle with them, their silence brought uneasiness prickling up her spine, one she couldn’t ignore. Adding fuel to an existing fire could result in a blaze they could all regret. In the many years of their friendship, the two men had few falling-outs. They had a way of balancing each other. Funny and serious. Loud and quiet. She had come to count on them as a team. That realization surprised her. No matter what the problem eating at them, she wouldn’t kick them when they were down.
Megan, obviously bored with the silence, turned the conversation lively with stories of dorm life. Craig and Lucas chimed in, but neither spoke directly to the other. Lia rolled her eyes. Did they really think they were fooling anyone?
“Thanks for the hospitality. I’ve got to get back.” Craig rose from the table and put his plate in the sink.
“I’m going to catch a ride home with Craig,” Lia told Megan and Lucas. “Zoë’s coming by in a bit.”
Megan walked them to the door. Lucas remained at the table.
“Remember, I’m here to help,” Lia said, hugging Megan tightly. “I love your wonderful memories of my mother.”
Lia rode in silence with Craig to the farm. When they arrived, she hugged him before getting out of the car. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. It’s weird and unsettling, you and Lucas not speaking. I can’t remember the last time you two had a problem…wait, I do. It was over a girl when you were in college.” Lia paused. “Is it a girl now? Did you and Lucas meet someone new at Rockets?” She really didn’t want to know the answer. It would break her heart if Lucas had a serious interest in someone else.
“Yes, it’s about a woman.”
Lia flinched.
“But not in that way. I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about it later.”
They’re fighting over a woman? Who?
Worry began a slow shred of her self-confidence. Prickling sensation returned, moving up and down her spine like someone playing scales on a piano. She shuddered at the eerie vibrations. “Okay. Text me when you’ve made it to St. Louis. Even a younger sister can worry.”
Lia entered the house. In need of a distraction from niggling apprehension, she donned bib overalls, the perfect stereotypical garb for a Kansas farmer, and went outside. Jack ran circles around her as she walked to the barn. “Dog, you make me dizzy.”
A late afternoon breeze fluffed her hair. An orange sun in a cloudless sky hovered above the treetops. The days were growing shorter. She gazed over the green horizon—miles of corn and soybeans, a postcard of almost anywhere in the state of Kansas. The thought of leaving the beauty surrounding her produced an ache in her heart. Zoë didn’t understand that even she would miss the land if she moved to the city. But some lessons were best learned from personal experience.
Inside the barn, Lia turned on the bright shop lights and surveyed the scene. An old croquet set she and her friends had used back in their junior high days, sawhorses, a long worn workbench lined the wall, rusted dog crates, and other junk too rusted or broken to discern the purpose they’d served when new. From the horse tack hanging from posts to the scattered hay on the floor, this place would make the perfect setting for a country music video.
She made her way to the very back of the barn and pulled open the door to the storage room. A light popped on. The room resembled a small warehouse, walls lined with shelves and racks in the center of the room. Her task until Zoë arrived would take her through each remaining box to create a complete inventory of what remained from her mother’s secret shopping stash.
Awhile later, Lia pushed her hair behind her ears and surveyed her progress. Now only one wall displayed boxes. Cool air rippled along her back like a ghost running its hand from her neck to her butt. She shivered and scanned the room, half-expecting to find her mother sitting on the crate near the door.
“Momma, I miss you,” she whispered, folding her arms over her chest. “Missing you so much. What do I do about Lucas? What will happen to me if I lose the farm?”
The rumble of a vehicle coming up the road drew Lia’s attention. She stepped out of the room and peered through a window of the barn. A cloud of dust confirmed her suspicion. Someone traveled on the road to her house. Zoë?
A moment later, outside the barn, an engine died.
“Lia!”
“Back here.”
Jingling keys allowed her to track Zoë’s progress to the rear of the barn.
“How’s it going?” Zoë asked. She shielded her eyes and squinted. “Wow! Not a whole lot left.”
Lia nodded. She moved a package from the center rack to the last open space on the shelf against the wall. When all the shelves were empty and the packages shipped off to new destinations, would she be forced to go, too? Uncertainty rubbed her nerves the way a new boot rubbed a blister on the back of her heel.
“It’s pretty bare compared to when I started. I made an inventory of the remaining items for sale and those pieces I’m going to keep. The problem is the Lenox china. There’s a place setting for eight. I have Mother’s set of Lenox Autumn in the house, so I’m not sure what her plans were for the Lowell Dinnerware. Maybe she intended it as a wedding present. I guess, I should check with Craig to see if he’s interested in it…for that someday event. But I imagine his bride will prefer to pick out her own china.”
“I would,” Zoë agreed.
“Over there”—Lia pointed—“are enough packages of seeds to plant a kitchen garden for everyone in the county. Mr. Turner said he’d take those off my hands.”
“I can’t fathom what made your mom, the mother-of-no-clutter, transform into a secret shopaholic.”
“I’ve continued my search for clues. A diary. A journal. Notes stuffed in a drawer. All I found was a pocket folder with receipts. It makes me sad. I feel so guilty, as if somehow this is my fault.” Her chest tightened. Guilt hit her hard.
“You’ve got to let it go. We’ve talked about this. Your mom wanted you to be a success. She was proud of your teaching and artwork. She chose your dad and life on the farm.”
“Still…I believe she began this secret obsession after I left for college. The sales receipts indicate that.”
“I’m a parrot. I’ll say it again. You have to let it go. As your mom always said, C’est la vie. It’s advice that’s served us all very well. Consider it the best gift she ever gave you.”
“Maybe.” Lia shrugged. “Help me move these boxes to the cleared workbench. I’ve sold this stack.”
Zoë picked up the biggest box, square and awkward, her arms barely able to hold the sides. When she tried to adjust it in her grasp, it toppled and hit the floor sending up a cloud of dust. She coughed and swatted to clear the air of dancing particles.
“You okay?” Lia chuckled at Zoë’s sheepish grin.
“Sorry. I hope whatever’s in here didn’t break.”
Lia flipped open her steno pad and ran her finger down the page. “Nope. No worries. That’s box 53. A blue and white sundress, matching blue sandals, and a big floppy white hat. The box is mostly filled with those air-filled packing pockets to protect the hat.”
“The box isn’t damaged, so that’s good.” Zoë resumed her trek toward the door and managed to get the box there without dropping it again.
Lia placed two small boxes in the Jeep. “I’ll admit I’m worried. What if there’s not enough money, even if I sell all the boxes, to keep me completely in the black all the way through spring? I’ve been working on Plan B. Emailing with a gallery in KC that sold a couple of my paintings last year. They’ve looked at my entire portfolio. They want to give me a showing. I’m taking a dozen paintings to them tomorrow.”
“How many paintings do you have completed?”
“Between what I have here and in my studio in KC, a catalog of forty. That’s every last unsold piece. A few of the paintings are almost fifteen years old.”
“You kept the work you did in high school?”
“Absolutely. Someday when I’m famous, I think people will be most interested in my earliest work.” She grinned, wishing she really had that much faith about her painting future.
“I like you’re confidence. It helps to stare uncertainty in the face. Unflinching tenacity is what it will take, especially if you truly mean to stay on the farm. So you want me to play Pony Express and mail these packages for you?” Zoë teased.
“You found me out. Now to keep with the western theme, you and I are having leftovers from the potluck while you explain to me what happened yesterday.”
Lia did a double take at Zoë’s bashful smile.
She wondered when Zoë would get around to talking about Karl. Did she know about the private conversation he had with Lucas that had Karl shaking his head like a bobblehead doll? Afterward, Karl had politely, but determinedly, insisted on leaving.
Gentleman Jack bounded to the barn door. He loped in the grass alongside Lia and Zoë as gravel crunched under their feet on the fifty-yard walk to the house. Inside, no evidence remained of the houseful of guests from the cookout.
