by Tracy Ewens
Make that several weeks with Logan Rye, Kara thought.
“We need to get this on the front page of our section before some other paper or magazine or God forbid one of those damn foodie bloggers gets ahold of him. I want pictures, the whole deal.”
“Don’t you think you should talk to him first?”
“I’ll call him right now.” Olivia put her hand on her phone.
Kara took that as her sign to leave.
“Let’s talk more about this at our one o’clock. Oh, and close that door on the way out, hun.”
Kara walked out of Olivia’s office, poured some tea, and sat in her mesh, ergonomically correct chair. Kicking her heels off under her desk, she got comfortable and did something she hadn’t imagined herself doing when she woke up this morning. She Googled Logan Rye. This time it was in broad daylight, not tucked into the covers of her bed on her iPad. Then she searched urban farming. She also found several articles on 920 Seco Street and read the incredibly romantic background story of Bill and Rosemary Barbus. Kara made notes and started to put together some preliminary questions. If she had to do this feature, she was going to do it well. She learned that urban farms and even communal gardens were expanding and had, in fact, been around for years. She began to feel a little overwhelmed as she read about heirloom seeds and the differences between conventional and organic farming. She rubbed her eyes—it was time for a break. She was prepared with some research so she didn’t look ridiculous, but now she needed to prepare emotionally.
She decided to meet up with her friend Jake for lunch.
After Kara had finished giving Jake the backstory on Logan Rye, well most of the backstory, she asked Jake what she should do.
“Is this a trick question?” he asked, biting into his gyro and wiping his mouth. “Write a damn good feature, that’s what you need to do. I mean look, you had a fling with this guy in Paris. Sounds like a great memory. Sure it ended badly when the Wicked Witch made you come home, but most things end badly.” He took another bite, sipped his iced tea, and continued.
Kara loved Jake’s rants. They were like power talks.
“You’re in a job you hate most of the time.”
“I don’t hate my job.” Kara sipped her water.
Jake took her hands across the table.
“Honey, you’re a food critic who barely eats. After your shitty review of my all-time-favorite Vietnamese restaurant, I’m beginning to wonder if you even have taste buds.”
Kara shook her head and pulled her hands away.
“All I’m saying is, now’s your chance to do something different. I don’t see the problem. You’re not in love with this guy. I get all the ‘you got to be yourself with him,’ yada yada, but there’s no going back to Paris. You’re a grown woman Kara, and you need to figure out a way to be in your own skin. Be you, ya know?”
“Are you sure you’re just a plumber?”
“Sweetie, there’s nothing ‘just’ about being a plumber. We are literally the person everyone calls when the shit hits the floor.”
Kara laughed. She’d heard that joke before, but it was funny every time.
“I watch a lot of Dr. Phil, or I should say I listen to a lot of the guy. Almost every damn afternoon appointment I go on, Dr. Phil is on the television. He’s a big deal. Cotton thinks he’s hot.” Jake rolled his eyes at his husband’s crush and finished the last bite of his gyro.
“So before we conclude the emergency lunch,” Kara said, “how’s Eloise since she got her tubes put in?”
“Much better. Doctor says they will dissolve or fall out on their own and we haven’t had an ear infection in two weeks. Brilliant.”
“I can’t believe she’s going to be three next month.” Kara took the napkin off her lap and set it on the table.
“I know, right? It’s crazy. She’s all signed up for school, just waiting on the uniforms to come in.”
“Are you doing okay with sending her off to school?” Kara asked.
“I have to be. It’s a great school and with things picking up at work, we would need to send her to day care. This is the best thing. Can you believe they teach Mandarin in pre-kindergarten now? Frickin’ Mandarin!”
Kara laughed. “She’ll be smarter than all of us by the time she gets out of kindergarten.”
Jake’s phone vibrated. “Okay, sweetie, I need to get to my next appointment. Put your big-girl panties on and write something sensational.”
Kara touched his hand to slow him down for a minute. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Jake leaned over to kiss her. “I love you. It’s your turn to pay,” he confirmed, getting up from their booth. “Call me and let me know how it’s going.” And then he was gone behind the tinkling bells of the swinging front door.
Kara paid the bill, took a mint from the little bowl by the register, and pushed out into the afternoon sunshine. Jake was right. This was an opportunity. She wasn’t some lovesick child; she was an adult, a respected professional even. By the time she pulled back into the parking lot at work, she was ready to tackle Logan Rye. Well, maybe not him, but at least his restaurant.
Chapter Six
The Rye family met at the same diner every Wednesday morning. It was the family-business meeting to go over where things were on the farm and now at Logan’s place. In sickness and in health, they arrived at the second leather booth near the window every Wednesday at 6 a.m. sharp. Schedules, routine, it was the fiber of Logan’s family. As a grown man, he recognized it was the way they survived when it was suddenly just the four of them.
Logan’s father, Herbert Rye, seemed about two days from his monthly haircut, Logan noticed as he entered Libby’s Little Breakfast Place. He was listening intently to something Garrett was telling him. Most likely something about their crops or else he was complaining about their distributors. Logan slid in next to his dad and sure enough caught the end of Garrett’s lecture.
“The thing is, it’s tragic because most Americans have no idea anymore what a real damn tomato tastes like.”
Their father nodded and added cream to his coffee.
“And then this guy asks me the shelf life of our tomatoes.”
Herbert laughed. “What’d you say?”
“I told him we could can them for him if he was interested in shelf life.”
“Lo, your brother’s a funny guy.”
“Isn’t he though.” Logan met his brother’s eyes. “Morning.”
“Morning,” both men replied in unison just as the only female of the Rye family arrived. Makenna was holding file folders stacked on top of her laptop. She was in jeans, muckers again, and what looked like the same flannel shirt their father was wearing. Her long brown hair was still wet and piled on her head. She smiled a morning-before-her-large-Coke smile, and Paige, already dressed for school in jeans and her green sweater with a cow on the front, ran behind her mother and right into the waiting arms of their father.
“Donk!” Paige exclaimed.
“Well hello there, angel. Let me take a look.” He pulled her out of their hug as if surveying her. “Yup, you’re beautiful even this early in the morning.”
Paige kissed his cheek and settled into the booth between her Donk and her Uncle Rogan. Kenna shook her head, set her laptop down on the table, and pulled her bag off her shoulder. Paige rested her head on Logan’s shoulder.
“Good morning, Uncle Rogan,” she whispered.
Uncle Rogan. Logan couldn’t have asked for a cooler name. Paige had trouble saying the “L,” and for a while Kenna gently corrected her, but Logan liked it. Eventually, Kenna stopped trying to change it and even though Paige could now say his name correctly, he was still Uncle Rogan. It pissed Garrett off, of course, because he wanted a nickname too. Paige called their dad Donk, which no one could figure out. Makenna thought it had something to do with when she was very little and their father would carry her around on his back and say he was a donkey.
“Good morning, gorgeous. Why are we whisper
ing?” Logan touched the top of her little head.
“Because Momma gave me the look.”
They both looked at Kenna who was now searching her bag for something.
“It’s the look Momma gets when she’s tired in the morning and needs a drink.” Paige was still whispering, but the whole table, even Makenna, erupted in laughter as Logan tickled her.
“Sweetie, you should probably add that Momma needs a drink of Coke when you tell people that. Otherwise, I sound like a lush.”
Paige nodded as if she knew exactly what her mother was saying and then rested both arms on the table. Garrett recognized his cue and rested his arms on the table in the same way on the opposite side of the table.
“One, two, three, go,” Paige counted out on her tiny pink-tipped fingers and then locked eyes with her Uncle Garrett. The staring contest had begun. Garrett came out strong, puffing his cheeks up and trying to get Paige to break, but she was not budging. How she managed to stare for so long without blinking, Logan would never understand. It almost seemed painful. As had happened dozens of times before, Garrett sneezed, Paige declared herself the winner, and Garrett pretended to argue with her until she climbed under the table and into his lap.
“How’d you get so good at that?” he asked her, kissing her button nose.
“My handsome and . . . what was the other word again?”
“Virile.”
“Right, my incredibly handsome, virile, and favoritest uncle taught me,” Paige announced and again the table, including Libby who had come over to bring Kenna a Coke, laughed. Paige giggled and disappeared under the table.
“Gentlemen.” Kenna nodded with some flair as Paige appeared at her side and climbed into her arms.
“Ladies,” they all replied together, raising their coffee cups and smiling at their baby sister and her daughter. It was a greeting that went back to when Kenna was little and used to come to the breakfast table in her nightgown, Bear in the Big Blue House slippers, and morning hair.
“Bless you, Libby.” Kenna took the first sip of her morning Coke.
“You’re welcome, honey.” Libby put her hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Miss Paige, we are shorthanded behind the counter this mornin’. Would you mind helping me out while Momma has her meeting?”
Paige jumped down from Kenna’s arms and put her hands on her hips.
“Sorry guys, Libby needs me. Carry on.” Without even a backward glance, she took the order book Libby handed her.
Makenna mouthed, “Thank you!” to Libby, and Paige walked away.
Kenna didn’t miss a beat. Knowing Paige was in good hands, she handed each of them a stapled packet of papers and slid in next to Garrett. Logan got two packets. Somehow he didn’t think that meant he was lucky. Just looking at it made him tired. He’d never been a numbers guy and definitely not at six in the morning.
“Okay, if you look at the second page, you’ll see that the farm did well this month and that’s before we add in the Fall Festival revenue for next month. Our first weekend of the pumpkin patch was a huge success and brought us back in the black, even with the tractor and blade maintenance expense from September.”
She glanced up and all three of them were staring into their papers in a sort of trance. They said nothing.
“Well?”
“So, we’re making money?” their father asked.
Before Makenna had a chance to answer, Libby’s oldest daughter came over to refill their coffee and take their order. Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes, and chocolate-chip pancakes with whipped cream for Kenna. Logan was surprised the poor girl even wrote their order down the way she was ogling Garrett.
“How can you eat that crap?” Garrett asked Kenna.
“What? I’m only adding some chips to mine. It’s like a handful of chocolate. I skipped dinner last night. Wait, did you just wink at Libby’s daughter? Christ, who winks anymore?”
“Um, a lot of people wink.” Garrett appeared bewildered. “I wink. She’s cute.”
“She’s barely out of college.”
He gave her his “What’s the problem?” look.
“You’re thirty-four,” Makenna added.
“And?”
“Ugh, men are disgusting.”
They laughed and Garrett bumped her with his shoulder.
“I’m just kidding, Ken.”
“No, you’re not and don’t call me Ken. I’m not a man, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I always call you Ken.”
“Travis calls her Ken now too and she hates him,” Logan said.
“Hate is a strong word.” Kenna looked up from her spreadsheets.
Interesting.
“So we’re making money?” their dad tried to redirect.
“Dad, yes, the farm is looking good. We’re managing our money well and if we keep this up there will be reserves to buy another cultivator early next year.”
“That’s great news.” Their father flipped his packet of papers closed.
“Yeah, when we do that, I found this guy who refurbishes old equipment. I’d like to try him first, see what he has. Some of the older models are actually better. They’re tested in operation,” Garrett said.
They all agreed Garrett could handle the purchase when the time came and Makenna filled Garrett and their father in on The Yard. It was doing incredibly well and was poised to make a profit in only its second quarter. Logan wasn’t sure why good news tended to make him more nervous; it must have been the whole negative and positive energy thing again. After a round of coffee cup and Coke glass clinking to celebrate the good news, Libby, accompanied by Paige—who was now wearing a frilly apron—dropped off their breakfast. Paige paused for a moment so she could kiss her mom on the cheek. Kenna beamed and they all put away the money talk and passed around stories, gossip, and thoughts on the upcoming holidays. To no one’s surprise, Garrett shared that the ballet teacher he’d dated for all of six days didn’t work out. That led Makenna to ask the question that silenced the table.
“Dad, have you ever thought about dating?”
Garrett got the same look on his face he used to get when Makenna would ask him to pick up some tampons on the way home from work when they were younger.
“What? Why the hell would he want to do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s a man. He’s been single for over twenty years. What do you mean, ‘why?’ You date half the damn female population. Why should Dad be any different?”
“Yeah,” their father added with a smile, “why should I be any different, lover boy?”
Garrett shook his head and poured more syrup on what was left of his pancakes.
“Okay, are you serious, Dad?” Logan asked.
“I’m just giving him a hard time. Kenna, I can’t say I have thought much, or think now, about dating.”
“Really? I mean don’t you want to have someone to be with, someone to love and, you know, be physical with?”
“Holy hell! Do we need to be having this conversation?” Garrett looked like he was in pain. “I’m kind of visual, Ken and some of this shit I can’t unhear.”
“Oh, grow up. I’m just curious. It’s been the four of us for so long. I’m simply talking about Dad’s individual life.”
“And I appreciate that, honey. It’s nice that you still think of your dad as a human being. Truth is, I’m busy. I like what I do and sure I get lonely sometimes, but I have a full life. I’ve got you guys.”
“You get lonely?” Logan asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Well, give one of us a call next time that happens. I’ll take you to a movie. Can this little talk be over?” Garrett pleaded looking at Makenna.
“Jesus. Fine. Let’s talk fertilizer.” Makenna handed her glass to Libby’s daughter for more Coke.
“Now that’s a great idea.” Garrett finished chewing his last bite of pancakes. “I’m thinking we need to look into something different for those new avocado trees we planted. They look pathetic and we
planted them with that great compost. They need a boost of something. About fifty percent of the leaves have fallen off.”
“I don’t think that’s the issue. Ricky was telling me the other day that he thinks they’re not getting enough drainage. He was thinking too much compost,” their dad added.
And just like that, Logan thought, the conversation turned. He sat back and considered his sister, who was now looking at her phone, and he couldn’t help but think that she was putting the dating topic up for herself instead of their father. It had been over five years since Adam died and Logan was sure his sister got lonely, but she never said a word. He thought it was probably a great sign that she was even thinking about dating. As if she knew he was watching her, Makenna glanced up. Logan tried to find something in her eyes, but she smiled quickly and returned to her all-important e-mails.
No one answered when Kara knocked on Logan’s front door at 920 Seco Street later that morning. His truck was in the driveway, so she walked around back. Logan was on the side of the yard, standing in a large planter, and Sweet Baby Jesus, it was far too early to see Logan Rye, complete with morning hair and stubble, reaching across a planter. She hadn’t had time to put up her hard outer shell yet, and there he was: T-shirt riding above the waistband of faded jeans spotted with dark soil and that damn tattoo winding up his arm and crawling into his short sleeve. Kara caught herself wondering if it continued on to his chest. Did it wrap around his back? It was as if his body heard her, because Logan turned and began digging or hoeing or whatever it was called. The muscles of his back bunched and released about a dozen times before she realized she was staring like some stupid high school girl. Get your crap together, Kara.
She reached into her purse, pushing past some sand and the pebbles of glass she’d collected last weekend during a trip to Zuma Beach, and found her pen. Stepping closer to Logan, she cleared her throat; he turned and lifted his arm as the sun hit his eyes. She would never be able to explain it to someone, but Logan was like the earth that he was working, solid and real. Even when they were in Paris, before she knew who he was and what he did, Logan was this farm. Maybe that’s why when their eyes met for the very first time, she saw something she didn’t recognize but knew she wanted. He was the opposite of who she was back then. Even the way he sat in a chair or ate a sandwich was different. He was warm from the inside out.
