The Sowing Season

by Katie Powner

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, how are you?”

  “Fine, Dad.” An edge crept into her tone. “What do you want? Is Mom okay?”

  A sour taste filled his mouth. This girl—woman—was a stranger. He forced the words out. “Can you come for a visit? Memorial Day weekend?” After a long, painful moment, he tried again. “I’m going to try this spicy marinade and barbecue—”

  “I’m a vegetarian, Dad.”

  He slapped himself on the forehead. What an idiot. He had forgotten.

  “Look, I gotta go.” She sounded distant now. He was losing her.

  “Evi, wait.”

  “I’m pretty busy with work right now. Might not have time for a family gathering. You of all people should be able to understand that.”

  The words hit their mark. His lungs fought for air. “Evi . . .”

  “Bye, Dad.”

  Click.

  He let his hand drop from his ear and hang at his side, clutching the phone. What had he expected? He deserved her resentment. But he’d done the best he could, hadn’t he? He hadn’t been around much, but he’d given his family a nice home on a two-acre lot with flowers and trees and a view. He’d kept them clothed and fed. His eyes returned to the box filled with memorabilia from Luke’s high-school days.

  What would Luke do if he were here? What would he say to Evi?

  Didn’t matter. Gerrit was on his own.

  The barn walls began to close in on him. With the low growl of a cornered animal, he spun on his heels and strode toward the door. Only to slam into a petite girlish figure.

  “Ow.” The girl stumbled backward, a cat falling from her arms.

  Gerrit shook his head to clear the fog of memories. “Oh. Sorry.”

  She rubbed her right shoulder. “You in a hurry?”

  “Uh . . . no.”

  She frowned and picked up her cat. “You okay, Mister?”

  “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

  “You said I could come back. And I was talking to my cat.”

  He stood awkwardly in front of her. He wanted out, but she was blocking the door. Why was she looking at him like that?

  “I was checking my mail.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “Cool. Have you seen that movie about the mailbox?”

  His eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard of it.”

  “It looks funny.”

  He grunted. “Yes. I was hoping to see it tonight, but my wife . . .”

  Well, that was certainly none of this kid’s business. Nothing was ever anyone else’s business actually, as far as he was concerned, so why did he keep opening his big mouth?

  “She turned you down, huh?”

  “No.” His cheeks grew warm. “She has to work late.”

  The girl tilted her head. “My best friend didn’t want to see it, either. She thinks that guy’s annoying.”

  He did everything he could to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, but he failed. “I’ve heard that. But I still want to go.”

  “Me too.”

  She stared at him. He stared back. What was she waiting for?

  She leaned a little closer. “I’d go with you.”

  He blinked and opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Cleared his throat. Scratched a phantom itch on the top of his head.

  “There’s a three o’clock show.” She whipped out her phone and pointed the screen at him. “We could go right now.”

  Words finally loosed themselves from his throat. “What about your parents?”

  “What about them?”

  “I would think—I mean—wouldn’t they—?”

  “I’m not a little kid. They trust me.”

  “They don’t know you’re here.”

  She shrugged. “Here’s what we do. You drive me to my house. I drop off Mr. Whiskers, then we go to the theater. There’s enough time if we leave right away.”

  “But . . .”

  “I’ll text my mom. I promise.”

  It was absurd. But he did want to see the movie. “Wouldn’t you rather hang out with someone your own age?”

  “I’ve been volunteering at the nursing home since I was thirteen.”

  He huffed. “I’m not that old.”

  “Kids my age are too much work. My grandpa used to take me to the movies, and he would say—”

  “What?”

  She looked away. “Never mind.”

  Gerrit narrowed his eyes. This was getting crazier by the minute. “I don’t even know your name.”

  She slung the fat cat over one shoulder and stuck out her free hand. “Rae Walters. At your service.”

  “Isn’t Ray a boy’s name?”

  “Rae with an e.”

  “An e makes it for girls?”

  She shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Okaaay.” He shook her hand. “Gerrit Laninga.”

  “As in Laninga Family Farm?”

  He cringed. “Not anymore.”

  She looked long and hard in his face as if searching for something. He squirmed under the scrutiny. What could she see? Probably nothing. Or maybe everything.

  “Well.” She smiled. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Rae’s stomach hurt by the time the movie ended. She hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time. Kylee would’ve thought the movie was lame and complained the whole time, but going to the movies with Mr. Laninga was like going with Papa Tom before he died. They both snorted more than laughed, and they both sat stick-straight in their seats as if their enjoyment of the movie depended on their posture. They even ate their popcorn the same way, dumping one small pile at a time onto a napkin on their laps.

  Maybe that was why she’d brought up going to the movies on a crazy whim. Because Mr. Laninga reminded her of her papa. Whenever she thanked Papa Tom for taking her, he’d say, “That’s what papas are for.”

  Plus, she had been desperate for a reason to stay away from her house.

  Outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky had brightened. They’d had to park at the outer edge of the parking lot because it was so crowded, but the long walk back to Mr. Laninga’s truck couldn’t keep a grin from splitting Rae’s face. This was way better than facing her parents.

  “Where does your wife work?”

  Mr. Laninga startled as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Huh?”

  “Your wife. Where does she work?”

  “Oh.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “At The Daisy Chain.”

  “Cool. Flowers, right? Does she like it there?”

  He scrunched up his face. “I guess so.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I never asked.”

  She studied his face from the corner of her eye. He was rough around the edges, no doubt about that, but he didn’t seem uncaring. Crusty? Yes. Awkward? Definitely. But heartless?

  “Maybe you should ask her sometime.”

  He looked straight ahead, not altering his course when he reached a puddle but stomping through it as if it had deliberately set itself in his path and needed to be put in its place. His face was grim. Apparently, the subject of his wife was a touchy one.

  Rae pictured the tall, slender woman she’d seen at his house, sitting alone at the table. Had they been married a long time? Maybe they’d lost some of their spark and needed to get it back. Or maybe something happened between them. That could explain his response.

  She resisted the urge to rub her hands together. This was a project she could get behind. The old man was clearly miserable, and the lady was clearly lonely. Maybe she could help them if she could get some answers. Dad always said the best lawyers ask the best questions.

  Mr. Laninga cleared his throat. “How old are you?”

  Her growing excitement stalled out. She was supposed to be the one asking questions. She needed to pry, by golly, and show no mercy.

  “Fifteen and three quarters.”

  “So you don’t have your license yet?�
��

  Her smile disappeared, all thoughts of coaxing information out of him gone. Driver’s Ed. started on Monday. “Permit.”

  When they reached his black Dodge truck, Gerrit paused. “You been practicing?”

  “Yes.” It was technically true. She “practiced” almost every night.

  He held out his keys. “Want to drive back?”

  Panic seized her stomach like a menstrual cramp. She wasn’t ready. What was he thinking? That movie must’ve put him in a good mood. Yes, he was just like Papa Tom.

  She held up her hands and stepped backward. “No, that’s okay.”

  He dangled the keys in her face. “You need road experience, don’t you?”

  Fear and dread sent chills through her body, but she watched the keys swinging from his finger. She had told Kylee and David she had someone helping her learn to drive. She’d even said it was a neighbor. And if she had to find out how bad of a driver she really was, it might as well be with someone she barely knew. Someone who wouldn’t make fun of her at school. Or tell her parents.

  “Okay.” She snatched the keys. “I’ll try.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll try?”

  “I mean, I’ll do it.”

  She forced herself to climb in the driver’s seat before she could change her mind. Be cool. Fake it till you make it. You can do this. She’d never met a challenge she couldn’t overcome. Dad said success could always be achieved with hard work and determination.

  This was not a good idea. Her palms were sweating. People didn’t fake something like this. Yet the drive back to Mr. Laninga’s house was short and straightforward. Though they lived close to each other, she would have to make several turns, change lanes, and even—shudder—navigate a roundabout to get to her house because of the hill. But Mr. Laninga’s house was almost a straight shot. Then she could take the shortcut home from there.

  What could go wrong?

  She buckled her seat belt and inserted the key. At least he had backed into the parking space so she could pull out easily.

  Her hands trembled.

  It’s all part of The Plan, Rae.

  They were both going to die.

  GERRIT WAS PLEASED when Rae turned on the truck’s headlights even though it wasn’t yet dark. He appreciated the extra measure of caution. She appeared to have a good handle on everything. Kind of like Luke. Always self-assured.

  But he didn’t want to think about that.

  He looked out the window as Rae started the truck and chuckled again, remembering the scene in the movie where a rooster from one world managed to slip through the mailbox into the other world and cause all kinds of trouble. Ha. Maybe he should get a rooster. Yes, that could be exactly what he needed to exact his revenge on George.

  Cock-a-doodle-doo.

  He slammed into his seat belt as Rae slammed on the brakes.

  He snapped to attention. “What are you doing?”

  Her face was pale. “Uh, sorry.”

  He watched her with wary eyes as she drove the Dodge forward. It had been a moment of weakness, offering her those keys. He never let anyone drive his truck. But she had gotten him out of the house, made him laugh. It was like he’d been given a gift, and he wanted to give something back. What had he been thinking?

  The truck crept through the parking lot slower than the sun across the sky. He’d learned to drive a tractor before he was ten and had been in charge of the silage truck every summer since he was twelve, handling its crotchety stick shift and spontaneously combusting engine with ease. He’d never thought about how other people learned to drive. Kids just . . . knew how to drive, right?

  What about Evi or Noah? If they’d needed help learning, they must’ve turned to Hannie. His only memory involving his kids and their driving skills was when Evi screamed at him to leave her alone after he made a comment about where she had chosen to park the car.

  Had his kids had a hard time learning to drive? He didn’t know. He had missed it. He had missed everything.

  They reached the point where the parking lot met the road. Rae came to a jerky stop and waited.

  How had he gotten himself into this?

  He tried to keep his voice even. “Blinker.”

  She quickly switched it on.

  “Look both ways.”

  She complied.

  “Now ease on out there.”

  She hesitated.

  “Go ahead.”

  Still she waited, concentration etched on her face.

  “Any time now.”

  Her lip began to quiver. “I—I’m too scared.”

  He shifted in his seat. “You said you’ve been practicing.”

  “I know, but not on the road.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Where else would you—?”

  “Just in my driveway. Well, in the garage.”

  His eyes bulged. “What?!”

  She flinched, and he was fifteen years younger, blowing up at his teenage daughter for wearing his boots to work in the garden and not putting them back. Didn’t seem like such a big deal now.

  Rae’s eyes filled with tears. Oh no. Please, no. If she started crying . . .

  “Okay, it’s okay.” He lowered his voice and spread his hands in a placating way. “Why don’t you put it in park, nice and easy, and we’ll trade places. Everything’s okay.”

  Her shoulders drooped as she adjusted the shifter. Her face took on a desolate look. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t answer as he hopped out and switched sides with her. He was in way over his head here. Why was she asking him if she was terrible? Surely she could see that for herself. His stomach twisted. Maybe she was looking for something else from him, but darned if he had any idea what it was.

  She looked dejected in the passenger seat, head hanging low, all self-assurance gone. No hint of Luke remaining. Only a few minutes ago they had been laughing their heads off at that crazy movie, and now she was acting like her life was over. But it wasn’t his fault she didn’t know what she was doing. Wasn’t his responsibility to teach her.

  Evi’s face popped into his mind, and he sighed.

  He pulled onto the road. “I’ll get us closer to my house, and then you can try again.”

  She looked up. “But you think I’m terrible.”

  He grunted. “I never said that.”

  “I could hurt someone.”

  “Now you’re being dramatic.”

  She groaned. “You don’t think running someone over is dramatic?”

  He fought to keep his eyes from rolling. “There won’t be anyone on the road by my house.”

  She didn’t answer. Good. They drove in silence for a few minutes until he maneuvered to the side of the road and put the Dodge in park.

  “Your turn.”

  She hesitated.

  “You’ve got to learn sometime.”

  She didn’t smile, though her eyes brightened a tiny bit. She unbuckled. They made the switch.

  He pointed. “You see where my driveway is?”

  She nodded.

  “Drive down and turn in. That’s all you have to do.”

  “Okay.” She shifted on the seat and gripped the wheel, resolve showing on her face. “I can do this.”

  His driveway was only about a hundred yards away. The length of a football field.

  He blew out a breath. “Nice and easy now.”

  She put the truck in drive and crept down the road. At some point she would need to be able to drive the speed limit, but this probably wasn’t the best time to mention that.

  They reached the halfway mark, and he pumped an invisible brake pedal with his foot when the truck started veering toward the ditch.

  “Straighten out.”

  She jerked the wheel.

  He raised his hands in protest. “Where are you going?”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’m a little tense.”

  Unbelievable. No wonder he never let anyone drive his truck. His shoulders
began to ache. And she thought she was tense.

  “Almost there. You think you can make the turn?”

  She set her lips in a determined line. “Yes.”

  The driveway was ten feet away. He gripped his knees and pressed his back into the seat.

  Rae screamed. The truck bumped over something. She slammed on the brakes, only it wasn’t the brakes. It was the gas.

  The truck surged forward. She jerked the wheel.

  Bang. Crunch.

  The front wheels of George’s antique-car mailbox rolled down the street in a satisfyingly straight line as the post holding the box tipped to a forty-five-degree angle.

  Rae yelped.

  “Huh.” Gerrit rubbed his chin. He may no longer have need of a rooster. He weighed his options. “Put it in reverse and try again.”

  “But . . . but . . . I ran over an animal or something. And hit a mailbox.”

  He smirked. “Serves him right.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Daisy’s ears perked up at the sound of Hannie’s car pulling into the driveway.

  Gerrit gave the dog a wry smile. “Good, your mother’s home. Now you can quit following me around.”

  She wagged her tail. He quickly donned two floral oven mitts and pulled the lasagna from the oven with a flourish. His face fell. He’d been forced to guess at Hannie’s return time, which meant the lasagna had finished cooking about a half hour ago and had been warming ever since. And it showed.

  The back door banged shut.

  He set the pan in the middle of the table, wrinkling his nose at the overly crisp edges.

  Hannie swept into the kitchen. “Hello.”

  He nodded. “Hello.”

  She eyed the table. “Lasagna?”

  He nodded again. “If I would’ve known when you’d be back, I wouldn’t have overcooked it.”

  She set her purse on the counter and gave him a solemn look as if he’d just announced he had six months to live.

  He fidgeted. Cleared his throat. “I just meant if you would’ve given me a call . . .”

  She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, and his words faded away. He waited.

  Uh-oh. There were those crow’s feet again.

  Her eyes fixed on him. “You mean like all those times you let me know when you’d be home for dinner?”

  He swallowed. There was no safe answer. He used to call her from the farm when he knew what his evening was going to be like. Sometimes. But when was the last time he’d done that? Ten years ago? Twelve? How had she ever known if he would be home for dinner?