The Sowing Season

by Katie Powner

  A cow would never howl like that.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  Rae narrowed her eyes at the bulletin board outside the counselor’s office and tapped the paper with her pen. Driver’s Ed. sign-ups. She’d waited until the last minute to add her name to the list, secretly hoping the spots would all fill up and she’d have no choice but to wait until the next session. But two blanks remained at the bottom of the page, and today was the deadline. She had no excuse.

  Kylee nudged Rae’s foot with one of her neon orange shoes. “Hurry up.”

  Kylee didn’t like to wait. She smacked her gum and fidgeted with the colorful bracelets jangling from her wrists.

  Rae stared at the board. Tutoring ads covered most of it, except for the Driver’s Ed. sign-ups and a poster for some program called Community Hope. She scanned the poster quickly. Something about an after-school program at the church across the street helping at-risk students reach their full potential.

  Hmm. Just this morning, Dad had reminded her that college admissions officers gave a lot of weight to a student’s volunteer efforts.

  Kylee clapped her hands. “Let’s go.”

  Rae sighed and signed her name. “Here goes nothing.”

  “You act like you’re signing up for boot camp.” Kylee’s bright blue eyes sparkled. “Don’t you want your license?”

  Kylee already had hers, like most of Rae’s friends. Rae was the youngest in her class.

  “It’s a big responsibility.”

  Kylee’s laugh filled the hallway. “You sound like my grandma.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rae lifted her chin. “Grandmas are cool.”

  “Yeah, you would think that.” Kylee tugged on her arm, and they started back to the cafeteria. “But you’ll be glad when you don’t have to ask for rides anymore.”

  Rae shrugged. “What if I don’t pass?”

  Kylee snorted. “When have you ever not passed?”

  Rae didn’t have to think about it. She’d never failed a test her whole life. Straight A’s since kindergarten. Perfect attendance. Starting varsity as a freshman in basketball. She even had perfect 20/20 vision and the highest PSAT score in her grade. But she remembered how her hands shook after driving around the block with her dad, remembered the look on his face, and she shuddered.

  Perfect attendance didn’t make a girl perfect.

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “If you get anything but a hundred percent, I’ll eat a whole salad.” Kylee slid onto a seat in the cafeteria and pulled a yellow Sesame Street lunch box from her backpack. “With cauliflower on it.”

  Rae scrunched up her nose. “Gross.”

  Kylee’s eyebrows bounced three times. “Don’t let me down.”

  Her flamboyant friend’s lunches always arrived in a brightly colored, wildly inappropriate-for-her-age lunch box and tended to consist more of Twinkies and Snack Packs than anything green. Rae plopped next to her at the table and pulled out a plain brown paper sack. Kylee didn’t understand her anxiety about driving. She had failed many times at many things. She’d almost had to repeat sixth grade.

  Rae’s lunch—which Mom insisted on making in order to ensure its healthiness—was predictable. A tidy turkey-and-cheese sandwich on whole grain bread, a granola bar, a container of yogurt, and apple slices. She knew she was lucky to never have to worry about having good food to eat. Knew a lot of other girls would kill to have their moms even notice whether they went to school or not, let alone make them a lunch. But a tiny piece of her still had an unexplainable and wholly irrational desire to forget her lunch one day and take her chances with the cafeteria food. Just to see.

  Kylee nibbled a powdered donut around double lip rings. “You eat like my grandma, too. The old witch.”

  Rae gasped. “Don’t call her that.”

  A wicked grin split Kylee’s face. “You know it’s true. Just last week she told my mom she owed her a hundred and fifty bucks plus interest for the time she borrowed Grandma’s car, like, two years ago. How’s your grandma?”

  It had been almost a year since Grandma Kate had become a widow, and since then her memory had begun its steady decline. Rae’s mom was stressed about it, constantly making the hour drive to check on her and trying to make arrangements for her care over the phone.

  “About the same, I guess. Yesterday she called my mom Gracie.”

  “Isn’t that her dog’s name?”

  Rae cringed. “Yep.”

  “That sucks.” Kylee frowned. “But that reminds me, my stepdad’s dog had more puppies. Can you believe that?”

  “Aw. I like puppies.”

  “You wouldn’t like them if they were wandering all over your house peeing everywhere.”

  Rae chuckled. “Okay, maybe not.”

  “Guess what else?” Kylee lowered her eyebrows and gave her a sly grin. “I think Seth might ask me to the prom.”

  “Really?” Rae snuck a glance around the cafeteria, though Seth and his friends spent as little time there as possible. “Would you say yes?”

  Kylee brushed a strand of dyed pink hair out of her eyes. “Of course. He’s hot.”

  “He’s wild.”

  “Oh my gosh.” Kylee flicked her wrist in Rae’s direction. “Spare me the ‘boys aren’t worth the trouble’ speech, okay? I happen to like boys.”

  Rae crunched an apple slice. “I like boys.”

  “I happen to like talking to boys.”

  “I talk to boys.”

  Kylee huffed. “Right, I suppose you must talk to them when you’re helping them with their algebra-two homework or proofreading their comp. essays. But you know what I mean.”

  Yes, Rae knew. She had plenty of friends who were boys but had never had a boyfriend. She didn’t have time. Boys weren’t part of The Plan.

  “Hey, Rae.”

  A lanky boy with coffee-colored hair landed across the table from her with a smile. She sucked in a quick breath.

  “Oh, hey, David.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Rae looked down at the remnants of her lunch. “Um . . .”

  “We’re eating lunch, genius.” Kylee crumpled a Hostess Ding Dong wrapper into a ball and threw it at David’s head. “What does it look like?”

  He grinned. “Nice hair. Pink this time, huh? Going for the My Little Pony look or . . . ?”

  Kylee’s mouth hung open in exaggerated indignation.

  “I’m kidding.” David folded his hands on the table in front of him. “It looks pretty. I like it better than the blue.”

  Kylee ran a hand over her head. “Thanks.”

  David turned to Rae. “So was that Driver’s Ed. you were signing up for?”

  Kylee scoffed. “Were you spying on us?”

  Rae kicked her under the table. “Uh, yeah. Time for me to take the leap, I guess.”

  David nodded. “You don’t sound too excited.”

  “She’s afraid she’s going to be terrible at it.” Kylee stuck out a pierced tongue and made a face.

  Rae gave Kylee a look she hoped would tell her friend to knock it off. She had known David Reynolds since she was six and he was seven. Back in first grade, he’d stopped another boy from sticking gum in her hair. He’d grown up to be a “nice young man,” as Grandma Kate would say. Nowhere near as hot as Seth but not a gargoyle, either.

  “Driving’s not so bad once you get the hang of it.” David’s warm brown eyes matched his hair. “If you want, I could give you some pointers.”

  Her mouth went dry. Potentially screwing up behind the wheel in front of Kylee, her best friend in the world? Maybe. But in front of David? Not a chance.

  “Parents always try to teach you,” he continued, “but it never works because they freak out.”

  She looked away. Parents freaking out was something she could relate to. “Thanks, but I’ve already got someone helping me.”

  “Besides your parents?” Kylee asked.

  R
ae gulped and nodded. Why had she said that?

  “Oh.” David shrugged. “Cool.”

  She shoved another apple slice in her mouth so she couldn’t say anything more.

  Kylee gave her a skeptical look. “Who?”

  Oh, great. Kylee was practically a lie-detector machine.

  Rae swallowed. “A neighbor.”

  Kylee narrowed her eyes but kept her mouth shut.

  David hopped up from the table and gave them a mock salute and a smile. “Well, I better run. See you later.”

  Rae gave a halfhearted wave and began packing up what remained of her lunch. She didn’t look, but she could feel Kylee’s questioning eyes staring at her. The truth was she had no one to help her, and she didn’t want to drive with her dad again until she was confident she could perform up to his high standards. The last thing she needed was another “you only have one future” lecture. And she wouldn’t drive with Mom until she could be sure she wouldn’t scare her to death. Mom had enough to worry about already.

  Rae would just have to rely on the Driver’s Ed. instructor.

  Kylee snapped her lunch box shut and leaned her elbows on the table. “A neighbor, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  Kylee waited, but Rae wasn’t about to explain. Kylee didn’t need to know everything.

  Her friend stood up. “If David asked you to the prom, would you say yes?”

  Rae flinched. “He can’t.”

  Underclassmen could only attend prom if asked by an upperclassman. That was the rule. Rae, Kylee, and David were all sophomores. Seth, of course, was a senior. And he could ask any girl he wanted.

  “But if he could?” Kylee persisted as Rae followed her out of the lunchroom.

  Rae shrugged. “But he can’t.”

  They stopped at Kylee’s locker, where she unloaded her lunch box. “There’s always next year.”

  Next year? By then Rae would have her license, if she passed, and she’d be two months away from becoming a senior. Prom and David Reynolds would be the last thing on her mind. They were not part of The Plan.

  But he would look pretty cute in a tux.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Gerrit drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. Daisy lay on the floor on the other side of the kitchen, refusing to come near him. Shouldn’t Hannie be home by now? He checked the time. Four o’clock. When did her shop close?

  “I wonder what she’s planning for dinner.”

  Daisy’s ears perked up.

  “Don’t get too excited. It’ll be hours yet.”

  He rose and scanned the kitchen, searching for clues. The Crock-Pot wasn’t out, no meat thawed in the sink. He went and looked in the fridge.

  “It’s practically empty.” He held it open with one hand and pointed at Daisy with the other. “Are you seeing this?”

  She saw it.

  He squared his shoulders and shut the door with resolve. He would go to the grocery store and visit Hannie at the shop. And then he would—did he dare?—make dinner for her. She would love that. Women loved that, right?

  Last night, as he struggled to fall asleep in his chair, he stumbled upon a cooking show on Netflix and watched an episode. Okay, he watched three episodes. Or four. It didn’t look that hard. If he could bottle-feed a calf, surely he could make fettuccine Alfredo for dinner. That was what Chef Kellan had made in episode three.

  What? He couldn’t sleep.

  Under Daisy’s watchful eye, he made a grocery list. He would use salmon for his Alfredo, because what was the point in living in the Pacific Northwest if you’re not going to eat salmon? Puget Sound was only a couple of miles away. Then he would need noodles, cream, Parmesan cheese . . .

  The list complete, he looked at Daisy. “I’ll be right back.”

  She sniffed.

  “What?”

  She sniffed again.

  He pulled the front of his shirt up to his nose. “Oh. I see.”

  GERRIT SAT IN his truck outside The Daisy Chain, feeling like a teenager too chicken to ring his crush’s doorbell. He was a grown man, for crying out loud. He’d been married to Hannie for thirty-five years. But the thought of going in that shop made manure-scented sweat seep from his pores. This was a mistake.

  He would leave, but he’d seen her catch a glimpse of him through the window. She must have. She wouldn’t have had that disturbed look on her face for anyone else.

  He wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped out of the truck. Though he’d showered and changed, as Daisy had so subtly suggested, he still felt dirty. How long would it take to rid himself of the farm odor? Probably not as long as it would take to rid himself of sixty-three-years’ worth of farm life. He didn’t know how to be anything but a farmer.

  A bell above the door jangled as he entered the shop. Sweet floral aromas swirled around him, stopping him in his tracks. It smelled like a garden. It smelled like Hannie.

  “Welcome to The Daisy Chain.” A perky young woman stepped in front of him. “Can I help you with anything?”

  He took a step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “No.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Jillian.” Hannie appeared beside the young woman, wearing a look he couldn’t interpret. “This is, uh, my husband.”

  “Oh!” Jillian smiled and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Laninga.”

  Gerrit stared at her hand. Why was Hannie frowning like that, cheeks pinker than a calf’s tongue? And had she stumbled over calling him her husband or had that been his imagination? She stood in front of him like a sentinel.

  Jillian dropped her hand, and Hannie sighed. “I’m sorry, Jillian. He doesn’t get out much.”

  He quickly stuck out his hand, but Jillian had already bounced away.

  “You too,” he said.

  Hannie put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?”

  He looked down. Most of his clothes had been moved to the downstairs hall closet long ago, but he’d dared enter Hannie’s room—their room—to look for anything he’d forgotten about that might be a little . . . fresher. He’d found this shirt in the back of her—their—closet. He had no idea where it had come from or what its purpose had ever been, but it had a collar and no holes.

  Hannie tugged at a tag still hanging from his left armpit. “I remember this shirt now. Evi bought it for you for Christmas once. It doesn’t fit.”

  His forehead scrunched. His daughter bought him this shirt? That must have been over ten years ago.

  “Well?” Hannie waited.

  “It’s hard to breathe in here.”

  Her frown deepened.

  He swallowed. “I mean—”

  “Did you need something?” She smoothed the front of his shirt and nudged him closer to the door. “My goodness, you’re a mess. Did you burn the house down or something? Is that why you’re here?”

  “I’m going to make dinner.”

  A half smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. “So you’re planning to burn the house down.”

  “Yes.”

  She smirked.

  “I mean, no.” He threw up his hands. “I have to pick up groceries.”

  “We’re going to have to get you some new clothes if you’re going to be out in public.”

  “Fettuccine Alfredo.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “It’s almost time to close up the shop. I need to get back to work.”

  The light caught her hair so it shimmered with streaks of silver. Some of it was still the deep golden color of late-summer hay, though much of it had turned to gray when he wasn’t looking. His fingers itched to touch it, but he would never.

  She turned back to him and gave the door a pointed look.

  He flushed and nodded. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

  At the grocery store, he filled his cart with salmon, noodles, self-loathing, and second-guesses as he bumbled around searching for garlic salt. Why had he ever thought it would be a good idea to visit Hann
ie at her shop? When was the last time he’d set foot in that place? That was her world. Her domain. And even—yes, he’d admit it—her refuge. From him.

  He chose the shortest checkout line and dumped his items on the belt, grumbling to himself about the price of butter. He’d never be able to make his nest egg last at $3.49 a pound for butter. And where did they get the nerve to charge so much for salmon they caught two miles away? The stiff collar of his shirt grew tighter as he neared the front of the line until he could barely breathe when his turn came.

  “Hi, there.” The woman at the register wore a black vest with a name tag and gave him a chipper smile. “How are you today?”

  He grunted. Did he know this person? She acted like she knew him.

  “Have you been enjoying the sunshine?” she asked.

  “Uh . . .” He floundered. How exactly did one enjoy the sunshine?

  “This salmon looks amazing.” She slid each item over the scanner and into a bag with practiced movements. “I love salmon.”

  So much talking. All he wanted to do was go home and make dinner for his wife. Did Hannie know how much butter cost?

  “Ahem.” The cashier looked at him expectantly. What had she just said? “Your total’s $28.75.”

  He flushed. “Fettuccine Alfredo.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  A strange, tight feeling gripped Gerrit’s throat when he pulled up to the house and found Hannie had beat him home. He thought of the blue-and-white suitcase and braced himself.

  She was waiting for him with her arms crossed when he entered the kitchen. “I got a call from Agatha. As soon as I got home.”

  He set the grocery bags on the counter.

  “It’s been one day, Gerrit.” Her voice rose. “You can’t stay out of trouble for one day?”

  His brow furrowed. He hadn’t seen Agatha in months. “I didn’t talk to Agatha.”

  Hannie rubbed her forehead. “George is livid about the bush.”

  Oh. That. He let out his breath. And here he’d thought he was in trouble. George should be thankful for what he’d done. That bush was a danger to society.