Heart Land

by Kimberly Stuart

  “All right, brave women of Silver Creek,” I said, standing straight and steeling myself to the real task at hand. I turned toward them, finding their eager smiles contagious. “Shall we begin?”

  Two hours later, I took a break. Leaning against a support beam, a cold bottle of water just plucked from a stocked cooler Tucker had left at the back of the room, I took it all in and shook my head, not for the first time. The women had scooted all the tables closer to each other, meeting at the center in a beehive of activity. They knew each other well, including individual strengths and weaknesses, so they’d quickly determined who would be best at which tasks. By unanimous vote, Myrna was given the job of cutter. She was the most particular, the most organized, the most experienced, and irrespective of her fondness for spray cheese, the ladies all agreed she would be the best person for the most high-stakes of the jobs. Edna would be the serger, finishing all the edges, Bev would be setting in sleeves, her twin would be next to her doing side seams, and Goldie would be putting in zippers. Gigi, also unanimously elected, would be the director of operations and would keep the entire production line working under her watchful and exacting supervision. I’d known Gigi as the director of operations for many years, so I felt giddy at the idea of her manning this part of the ship.

  The women quickly settled into a rhythm of their own, and I largely stayed out of the way after giving a tutorial on three garments. Myrna clucked regularly about the inappropriately low neckline on two of the three designs, and Goldie responded every time with her feelings that the neckline should be lower. Gigi had to interrupt every now and then with a bark to stop yapping and get back to business, but in general, I’d never seen a production line hum along with such efficiency.

  I listened to their chatter as Goldie finished a humdinger of a story about her husband, Frank, and his ongoing trouble with a particular telemarketer. The twins hunched over their sewing machines at exactly the same angle, their shoulders shaking in the same way as they laughed at Goldie’s theatrics. Myrna frowned, absorbed in her cutting, but Edna had to stop sewing for a minute to dab her eyes, the laughter getting to be too much.

  Gigi saw me staring and she put down a spool of thread and came to stand next to me. After a beat she nudged me.

  “This just might work.”

  I shook my head again. “It really might. Who knew?”

  Myrna looked up and frowned at us. “I’m assuming you two are on your way back here to help us out? Lunch break isn’t until noon, as I recall.”

  Gigi sniffed and I grinned. “Sorry, Miss Myrna,” I said as I walked back to my table, practically bouncing as I stepped. “I was just taking in the view.”

  Myrna snorted. “I can’t imagine a bunch of old ladies sitting in a barn is anything compared to where you’ve been living.”

  I threaded a new spool into my machine. “Don’t underestimate just how stunning you are, Miss Myrna,” I said, and out of my periphery I saw her lift her head and look around, trying to see what I saw.

  fifteen

  I pulled Gigi’s minivan into a parking spot in front of the Silver Creek post office and turned down the radio when old Mr. McNeely glared as he tottered by. I tried for my most winsome smile, but that man had never liked me after Tucker snipped a handful of his peonies for an impromptu bouquet for me on a walk toward Azalea Street. That this offense had occurred three presidential administrations ago did not make my smile any more winning to Mr. McNeely, who, as I remember, had required Tuck to do all his spring mulching that year as payback, standing over him the entire time and grousing about how he wasn’t doing it right.

  I chuckled at the memory and retrieved the two shipping boxes from the passenger seat. When I pushed through the door to the post office, hustling to make it before it closed promptly at five o’clock, a bell chimed to announce my arrival. Miss Evelyn took the boxes from me without a word and weighed and stamped the package. She ran my credit card and I signed for it, all in less than a minute.

  We grinned at each other across the counter. “That might just be a personal best,” Miss Evelyn said, and I returned her high five.

  “We’re pretty much professionals at this,” I agreed, and waved her to a good evening as I turned the sign on her door to “Closed.” I hadn’t stepped both feet onto the sidewalk when I saw a familiar ball cap from behind a windshield. The truck came to a stop, double-parked in front of the post office, and Tucker swung out of it. He grinned at me as he weaved his way through a line of parked cars.

  He stopped in front of me, eyes lit up with, if I wasn’t mistaken, a familiar mix of mischief and hope.

  “Good evening, Grace.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Good evening, Tucker.” I waited, saying nothing to the half smile that appeared.

  “Listen.” He bit his lower lip as he considered his next words. “Are you busy right now? You’re not, are you?”

  I must have looked surprised because he barreled on.

  “Let me try that again.” He stepped a bit closer, eyes fully on mine. I felt a sudden chill run down my spine. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have Tucker Van Es’s full attention. There was, I remembered in a rush, nothing else quite like it.

  “Grace,” he said, voice low. “I would really like it if you would go out with me tonight. On a date,” he added for clarity, eyes on me.

  My heart was beating in the exact same rhythm it had fifteen years before, when, standing by my locker, Tucker asked me out for the very first time. I answered the same way I had then.

  “Are you sure you can handle me?” I searched his eyes, looking for a hint of hesitation. I found none. I decided to ask the question I was burning to know. “What about Natalie?”

  “What about her?”

  “I take it she’s in Des Moines tonight?”

  Tucker looked hard at me, a frown quickly pulling at his mouth. “I’m not sure where Natalie is tonight,” he said in a measured tone. “But I can see the old Gracie is back. Not a lot of beating around the bush, then?”

  I could feel heat in my cheeks. I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I know I’m late to the party, that’s all. I don’t want to get in the way of your other relationships.”

  He snorted. “That sounds very New York and very not–Grace Kleren.” He paused. “You’re serious?”

  “I saw the way she looked at you next to the brussels sprouts. She might be in love with you.”

  He sniffed. “Not likely.” When he saw the look on my face, he conceded. “Okay, fine. She might be a little in love. But she also has a hard time listening, that’s for sure.”

  Satisfied with his answer, I asked, “So again, are you sure you can handle me?”

  His eyes showed a mix of relief and amusement. He offered me his hand. I took it and noticed it was warm and strong. “Pretty darn sure.” We walked hand in hand to his truck, and he opened the door for me.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly in the few seconds I had alone in the cab while he walked around the truck. This is happening, I thought, my heart still pounding. He was grinning, even waved to a passing car that had to pull into the opposite lane to get around Tucker’s illegally parked truck.

  When he swung up into the driver’s seat, I turned to him and tried to act like the answer to my question didn’t matter as much as it did.

  “So are you sure it’s over with Natalie?” I said, wanting to hear him say it.

  “Very sure.”

  He was making a series of turns but I was too keyed into what he was saying to care where we were going.

  “Explain, please.”

  We pulled onto a side street and he drove more slowly, both hands gripping the steering wheel. “Erin’s the one who set us up, a few months ago. This place is not like the city,” he said, a little rough. “The pool of dating partners is a fixed number around here. Natalie and I both knew Erin well enough to have her set us up and I guess I weakened. I broke it off the moment I knew I’d rather be on my man couch than go
on another date with her.”

  I burst out laughing. “Tucker, you have nothing to explain to me.” I noticed it pained me a bit to say these words, but when the images of my own dating life passed through my thoughts, I had no self-righteousness left. “I don’t blame you a bit. Natalie’s a beautiful girl. A beautiful, smart girl who is friends with our class valedictorian. She’s clearly taken with you, Tuck. And she is, notably, here.”

  “What about you?” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “It’s going to be tough to compete with the epic romances I’ve experienced during the last ten years, but you can do your best.” The somber expression in his eyes didn’t match his attempt at humor.

  I sighed. “Oh, you know. I dated. Here and there.” I paused, long enough for Tucker to start drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Anyone recent?” he asked, an unnatural lilt to his tone.

  “Not really. Except maybe James.” I said his name, and it sounded foreign to me after what felt like such a long time since I’d last seen him in the offices at Milano. “James was a maybe, but nothing much more than that. He was, um, kind of my boss.”

  Tucker winced. “Dang.”

  “Right,” I said. I picked at the threads on my shirt, trying out the words in my head before they made it to my mouth. “Nothing happened, really. A lot of flirting and a lot of wondering, but nothing we really acted on. We were just starting to think about the possibility of us, actually, but then things fell apart at Milano.” I turned to him, hoping I sounded brave and confident. “He’s the one who packed up my desk and did the official firing. So we haven’t exactly kept in touch.”

  Tucker frowned. “What a total idiot.”

  I smiled. “I appreciate your loyalty.”

  He slowed to a stop on a residential street, parking under a cherry tree in full bloom. A breeze lifted the branches and dropped a shower of pink petals onto the windshield. Tucker turned to face me, his brows knitted together. He started to speak but then closed his mouth. A small smile formed. “Erin wasn’t our valedictorian. Hunter Olsen was. But she gave the graduation speech because Hunter had a massive anxiety attack in the locker room beforehand and Principal Matthews had warned Erin to be ready.”

  “Seriously?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t remember any of that.”

  He opened his door and stepped out. “That’s because we left the ceremony early to go hill jumping.”

  I winced as he came to open my door. “I can’t believe we did that. It is so dangerous. Driving like lunatics on gravel roads, just to get some air on the hills? We were totally reckless. We could have killed someone.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Everyone else was at graduation.”

  I laughed and let him take both of my hands and gently pull me to stand before him. His touch felt like electricity.

  “Everything does tend to feel a little reckless with you around, Kleren. That’s true.” His smile was sly, and I was having a hard time remembering to breathe, standing this close to him. “I seem to remember things starting out that way from the beginning.” He nodded behind me, and when I followed his gaze, I realized where we were.

  I smiled. Below us, set into the hill on the edge of town, lay the Silver Creek High School Stadium. When the town was still flush with railroad cash years before, the council had done generations beyond a favor by building what was the prettiest football field and track within a hundred miles. The seating curved into the hill, bordered by red brick and what, by fall, was a riot of ivy crawling up its old walls. I took in the view, the beautiful old structure, immaculately cared for and still standing proud guard on the edge of a town that would never be able to afford such an indulgence now.

  Tucker handed me a blanket before hefting a wicker basket from the back of his truck. He nodded toward the field, sheepish.

  “Thought we might try again. I know the guy who’s in charge of the sprinkler system, so we won’t have that surprise this time.”

  I shook my head, totally charmed by his gesture. “I don’t remember minding getting soaked. It added to the adventure.”

  He took my hand as we walked down the hill toward the stadium. “You’re rewriting history, sis. It was the end of November and that water was cold.”

  I laughed at the memory. “We were kids. Cold didn’t even touch us.”

  Tucker produced a key from his jeans pocket and opened the lock on the tall wrought-iron gates leading into the stadium. We walked silently onto the perfectly trimmed grass, its Technicolor green heralding the hard-won warmth of an Iowa spring. We set up on the fifty-yard line as the sun dipped behind the mountain of bleachers.

  “Well, now, this spread is a few steps upward from our first date.” My mouth watered as I dropped to my knees on the plaid blanket. “I mean, the PBJs and cans of Mr. Pibb were wonderful. But, Tuck, when did you learn how to do this?”

  Tucker retrieved two paper plates and started filling them with pulled pork sandwiches. He added a bright green salad topped with Granny Smith apples, wedges of white cheddar, and sugared almonds before pointing to bowls of strawberries and grapes. “We have some of Mac Svendahl’s garage-fried kettle chips too, if that suits your fancy.”

  I took my first bite of the sandwich and made a noise that would have been deemed inappropriate by every one of our high school teachers. “Seriously. When did you learn how to cook like this?”

  Tucker’s laugh was low, his face unable to hide how pleased he was with my compliment. “Like I said: lots of time alone with the man couch. At a certain point, a person needs to eat.”

  We covered all sorts of history, both the ancient and shared, as well as the new and still smarting. Tucker told me about his work, how he reveled in seeing a project take shape, how he loved dreaming and creating and working hard and falling into bed at night, satisfied with a job done well. He loved seeing his ideas come to life and making his clients happy. I heard all sorts of echoes from my own design experience, and I told him about my daily life in New York, the work that inspired me, the work that sapped me. We talked about the dresses Gigi and I were making and shipping, and I laughed as Tucker dreamed bigger than I’d dared, how he started running numbers and making projections about how Gigi and I could expand and grow something that was still just the size of a seed.

  We talked about my parents. How I ached for them still, how he’d mourned too, quietly and in a teenage, inarticulate way. I didn’t stop the tears from their paths down my cheeks, not feeling the need to censor or change the sadness. Tucker said nothing as I cried, just moved our dirty plates out of the way so he could sit closer. And when the tears stopped and I took a deep breath in, then out, he made me laugh hard with a story about Erin Jackson’s husband, Les, who had recently had an unfortunate incident involving a tractor wheel and his brand-new Harley.

  The stars were out in full force when Tucker stood to stretch. He pulled me to my feet and we stood together, the star-littered sky our only light but more than enough to see each other’s faces. Tuck turned suddenly serious as he gathered me into a hug.

  “Are you cold?” he said softly, sending a ripple down my spine.

  I shook my head, eyes on his. “No complaints. Thanks for turning off the sprinklers. This is a better ending.”

  A half smile flickered before disappearing again. His arms held me and I relaxed into them, noticing he was stronger, taller even than when I’d fallen into these arms so many times years before. I swallowed hard, feeling his gaze pull me closer.

  “Gracie,” he said, his voice gruff. “It wasn’t just the man couch.”

  I shook my head slightly, momentarily disoriented. “There’s something wrong with your couch?”

  “The couch is awesome,” he said, “but not so awesome that it made me break up with Natalie.” He looked a little at war with himself before speaking again. “It’s you. That’s what made me break up with Natalie.”

  I shook my head, forming a protest, but Tucker interrupted me.
/>
  “I don’t blame you for going to New York, Grace. You needed to move away. You needed more than this place, and I know that.” He shrugged, arms still wrapped around me. “I just wanted you to know the truth. It’s you. Nobody has come close, so I stick with the couch.” His grin was lopsided and completely, utterly him. “Full disclosure.”

  I leaned in and laid my cheek on his chest, my heart racing, but unable to return the favor with my whole, unfettered truth: no one had come close to Tuck either. Out of a city of millions, even with a thousand miles between us, Tucker Van Es was the only one whose face kept me up at night, who visited me in dreams, who made my heart stop when thoughts of him, unbidden, interrupted my days.

  I took a moment before turning again to face him.

  “Partial disclosure,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I’ll take that.”

  I swallowed, gathering my courage. My relationships in New York hadn’t required much of me, I realized. I was sorely out of practice with this kind of conversation. “You still make my heart flip and my stomach tremble and all the things that can make a girl miserable when she thinks about a boy she likes.”

  He grinned. “Perfect. I like this disclosure. Physical sickness is a great sign.”

  I shook my head, not finished. “You know me really well. And you still like me,” I said.

  Tucker pulled me closer. “Is it that obvious?” he said, and then kissed me, sweetly, perfectly, with a heady cocktail of tenderness and longing. I kissed him back, long and full, underneath a blanket of stars. He held me close and I felt happier than I’d felt in such a long time. I looked at him, watched his eyes light with mischief and affection, and then closed my eyes as he kissed me again, and I wondered just how much of my partial disclosure was being made crazily, recklessly full.

  sixteen

  Two weeks later, Gigi and I sat in her driveway, depleted after a long day at the barn. We listened without speaking as the minivan cooled down from our ride home. With the windows down, I heard the engine tick and eventually lose the sound battle with a noisy cricket who was giving a performance near the front porch.