by Katie Powner
She poured him a tall glass of milk and set it in front of him, along with a small white plate piled high with Oreos.
He picked up a cookie. “No pizzelle?”
He couldn’t remember a time Luisa had no homemade pizzelle on hand.
She threw up her hands. “And who would eat it? There’s only me. I grow tired of eating all the pizzelle.”
Her accent thickened when she was agitated. He ate three Oreos in silence and took a long draught of milk, the wheels in his mind turning, turning. Should he bring up the boxes or leave well enough alone?
She wiped the immaculate countertop with an equally immaculate dishcloth. “You’re not here to get the pizzelle. And you didn’t come to fix my screen door.”
He kept his eyes on the counter. “I haven’t seen you since Jim’s office. I wanted to check on you.”
She held her arms out and spun in a circle. “See? I am fine.”
Her parents had both died years ago. She had no siblings or children. She’d never returned to her homeland, where she’d lived the first twenty years of her life. But apparently she was fine.
“How is Hannie?”
He flinched. “Good. Busy.”
“Yes, yes. I go visit her in the shop sometimes. Such beautiful arrangements. And how are the kids?”
He wouldn’t know, yet he didn’t want to tell her that. “Fine.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Good.”
“I was in the barn the other day.” He gripped his glass in one hand and rubbed at the condensation with his thumb. “Luke’s boxes are in there.”
“So that’s what this is about.”
He kept staring at the counter.
She sighed. “Did you open them?”
“No.”
“I think you should.”
He looked up. “Why?”
Her eyes had a faraway look. “It’s good to remember.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. There were a lot of things he’d rather forget. “I could bring them here.”
“I kept all of Luke’s things from our time together.” She put a hand to her cheek. “They keep me company. But those things are yours. From before there was me.”
When Luke married Luisa, he took nothing from the tiny apartment over the garage on the farm except a few clothes. Not much had been in there, anyway. Almost everything from his younger years had still been in his old bedroom in the house they grew up in.
Their father had moved everything left behind in the apartment into his own house so he could rent out the space to migrant workers. But after Luke died, their father had demanded Gerrit remove everything from the house that might remind him of his oldest son. His pride and joy. And then he never spoke another word to Gerrit again, aside from the logistical communication necessary between two people running a farm together.
“Did Luke ever show you his old stuff? The yearbooks or anything?”
Luisa shook her head. “He said he started a new life the day he met me and none of that stuff mattered to him anymore.”
“Would you like to see it?”
A wistful look softened her face. “Maybe. If there were old photos, baby pictures . . .” She paused and smiled. “Yes, I would like to see that.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Rising from his stool, he set his empty glass in the sink. “Thanks for the milk and cookies.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get the ladder from the garage. Gotta clean out those gutters.”
GERRIT’S BACK ACHED as he climbed down the ladder for the last time. There. Luke couldn’t have done it better himself. Not a single leaf remained.
Luisa pulled her car into the tidy garage as he was setting the ladder back in its place. She had offered to run to the hardware store for a spline roller once it had become clear Gerrit would not leave until he took care of the torn screen.
She hopped out and waved the roller in the air. “I got it.”
He grunted and took it from her. “Just have to find that roll of screen.”
“A thank-you would be nice.” She put her hands on her hips.
He stared at her in surprise. He was doing her a favor, not the other way around. “Thanks?”
“No wonder Hannie says you’re impossible.” She pointed a finger in his face. “You’ve got no manners.”
Hannie said that? To Luisa? What else had they talked about? His stomach twisted. Had Luisa known Hannie had planned to leave him?
“You don’t look so good.” Luisa touched his elbow. “Are you sure you want to fix my screen door today? It can wait.”
He shook off her hand, shook off the question. “It will only take a few minutes.”
He found the roll of screen, grabbed the utility knife from his truck, and set to work. It had turned into a beautiful day, despite the earlier rain, so he did all the work outside, letting the sun warm his back. Luisa carried a patio chair over from the backyard and sat nearby to watch him.
“You have talked with Jakob lately?” she asked.
With his back to her, Gerrit scowled. Jakob was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Now that the farm was gone, he had no reason to waste another minute of his life thinking about his younger brother. Surely, Luisa knew that.
“He took it hard, I think,” she pressed. “Losing the farm.”
Gerrit’s shoulders tensed. He took it hard? How could she say that to him? Jakob hadn’t set foot on the farm since Luke’s accident. Hadn’t lifted a finger to help since two years before that. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the place.
“Haven’t seen him,” he replied.
Luisa was quiet for a moment, and he glanced over at her. Her eyes were sad, seeing right through him.
“He’s your brother, Gerrit. Your flesh and blood. You know what I would give to have a brother?”
“He made his choice.” Gerrit struggled to line the screen up with the frame, his hands trembling. “I’ve got nothing to say to him.”
It shouldn’t have surprised him when Jakob abandoned him and Luke to chase women and booze. Nor should it have surprised him when their father made excuses for Jakob and continued writing him a paycheck even though he never showed up for work. But it had. Even after all the years his father had favored Jakob, the son born ten years after his other sons even though the doctors had said no more children would come, Gerrit had still been surprised.
Luisa sighed. “Luke would tell you to forgive.”
Gerrit’s nostrils flared. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He would never forgive Jakob.
“God gave Luke only forty years on this earth.” Her voice grew louder. Sharper. “Forty short years. Look how many you’ve had, and you would waste them in bitterness?”
A growl erupted from his lips. “You don’t know anything about it.”
She knew nothing of the times Jakob had gotten himself into trouble on the farm and blamed him. Nothing of how Jakob had turned their parents against him and only worked when someone was watching, until he stopped working all together. Nothing of the thousands of dollars his father had spent trying to buy Jakob’s way out of his gambling debt. And then when Gerrit needed help financing the property he and Hannie wanted so they could have a place of their own—away from the farm, away from his father’s relentless scrutiny—where had his father’s money gone then?
Gerrit clenched his fist. He knew exactly where it had gone.
Luisa stood and picked up the chair to carry it back to its place. She gave him a solemn look. “I know about needing to forgive, Gerrit.”
She turned her back on him. Her words struck like an arrow and sunk into his side. Not a mere flesh wound. No. That arrow had pierced straight through to his heart.
LUISA’S WORDS STILL reverberated through Gerrit’s soul as he pulled into his driveway. Words about forgiveness and a wasted life. Words he could not bear.
He heard the commotion before he even opened the truck door. Bernard the Terrible was at it
again. The stupid rooster was at the back door, feathers ruffled, wings half raised. He charged the door repeatedly, screeching the whole time. Inside the house, Daisy howled.
“Cut that out!” He slammed the truck door and strode toward the house, waving his arms. “Get away from there, you little—”
Crunch.
Who would be coming over right now? He spun around and swallowed hard. A police car drove deliberately up the drive, an officer with a serious face at the wheel. Glaring at him. Oh, God. Hannie. His heart dropped to the ground, and he stumbled over it as he met the officer at the driver’s door. Something terrible must have happened.
The young man’s expression gave nothing away as he slowly got out of the car. This couldn’t be real. Gerrit’s mouth went dry. No words would come.
The officer cleared his throat. “Mr. Laninga?”
Gerrit nodded dumbly, his throat constricting. A black hole opening up in his stomach. Not Hannie. Oh, not my Hannie.
“I’m Officer Denway.” The officer crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at the house. “I’m here about a noise complaint.”
Gerrit watched the man’s mouth move but couldn’t process his words as fear roared in his ears. How could he go on if something happened to Hannie? How would he tell the kids? And Daisy would never understand. She’d surely blame him.
Officer Denway cleared his throat, and Gerrit blinked, the man’s words finally penetrating. A noise complaint? He was here about a noise complaint?
“I just got home.” He rubbed his forehead. “The rooster was badgering the corgi, but I’ll take care of it.”
Officer Denway narrowed his eyes and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “I see.”
Relief flooded Gerrit’s veins like morphine from an IV, and his arms tingled. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you. Then a movement over at the neighbor’s property caught the corner of his eye.
George.
A spark ignited in his chest. “Who called you about this, anyway? It’s the middle of the day.”
Officer Denway didn’t budge but gave him a condescending look. “That is confidential information, sir. During daytime hours, complaints can still be made for unreasonable noise.”
The rooster brought an end to his siege on the house and began making a wide circle around the police car as if casing it. He was silent now.
Gerrit glared at the foul fowl, trying to contain the anger expanding in his chest. “He gets worked up sometimes, but I won’t let it happen again.”
Because he was going to chop his filthy head off with an ax. He’d have a hard time disturbing the peace with no head.
Officer Denway nodded. “I’d appreciate that. I’m not going to write up a citation or anything this time, but I don’t want to get called out here again, okay?”
He acted like he was doing Gerrit some sort of big favor. How old was this guy? Thirty-two? Where did he come off talking to Gerrit as though he were a little kid? Couldn’t he see Gerrit was twice his age?
Gerrit’s fists clenched, but he grunted his agreement and took a step back so Officer Denway could climb back into his patrol car. No use causing more of a scene. Hannie would kill him if he got arrested.
As the officer turned the patrol car around, Gerrit silently willed him to run the rooster over, but Bernard nimbly avoided the vehicle’s tires.
Gerrit waited until the police car drove away, then raised his voice. “What’s your problem, George? You had to call the cops because of my rooster?”
George slid out from behind a tree where he had no doubt been watching the whole time. “The noise was out of control, Gerrit. The rooster wouldn’t stop. And my daughter’s here visiting, trying to rest.”
Gerrit took five menacing steps toward his neighbor. “You couldn’t just ask me to shut him up?”
George didn’t flinch. “You weren’t home.”
“You could’ve called. I would’ve come back.”
“I tried.”
Gerrit’s hands curled into fists again. His phone. He’d left it sitting on the kitchen counter. “You knew I’d be back eventually.”
“I didn’t know when.” George shrugged, unfazed. “And Mallory needed to take a nap. Her doctor says she’s been spending too much time on her feet. It’s not good for the baby.”
George’s defense of his daughter did nothing to cool Gerrit’s anger. It was bad enough the way they’d ended up as neighbors. Bad enough George had never once said he was sorry for what had happened that day at the farm. Now he would stoop this low to pay him back for the way Bernard ran him off the other day?
He glared at his neighbor.
“Maybe you should bring Daisy with you next time you’re out so this doesn’t happen again.” George smiled. “You’re supposed to be watching her, aren’t you?”
He lifted a hand in farewell and hurried back to his house before Gerrit could respond. Not that he wanted to. Mere words would never be a strong enough reply for today’s indignity.
Only actions would even the score.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Rae covered up a yawn. It was her own fault she had to be at school by six-fifteen on a Monday morning. She’d had to settle for the last available drive time.
“You’re going to do great.” Her mom pulled into the school’s lot and put the car in park. “Remember what Dad said about being confident.”
Rae nodded. She remembered. She also remembered the meaningful look Dad gave Mom when he said it, as if he held her personally responsible for Rae’s success—or lack thereof—behind the wheel.
“Did you remember to grab your lunch? I set it by the door.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Your hair’s a little bumpy.” She smoothed her hand over Rae’s head. “Do you have time to redo your ponytail?”
Rae resisted the urge to roll her eyes and remind Mom she was almost sixteen. “I’ll fix it after the drive.”
“Okay.” Mom leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Have a good day. I love you.”
“Love you too.” She grabbed her backpack and climbed out of the car. She should be thankful. Mom only wanted what was best for her. That was the whole point of The Plan, wasn’t it? But sometimes she wasn’t sure if the person Mom and Dad saw and the person staring back at her in the mirror every day were the same. Sometimes both seemed like strangers.
The Driver’s Ed. car idled in front of the main entrance, and Mr. Fletcher stood beside it, arms crossed. The two other students who were supposed to drive with them this morning had not yet arrived.
“Good morning, Miss Walters.” The sour look on Mr. Fletcher’s face made it clear he was not a morning person. “Any idea where your fellow classmates might be?”
She shook her head. It figured she would be stuck standing here with this grump, waiting on Rob and Izzy. They probably couldn’t stop making out long enough to drive over here.
Mr. Fletcher drummed his bicep with his fingers and scowled at the road. She tried to avoid eye contact, not wanting to accidentally start a conversation. As she examined the school, as though greatly interested in its architecture, a dark figure lurking around the side of the building caught her attention. She turned to look closer, and he slipped around the corner and disappeared. But not before she’d gotten a pretty good look.
Morgan. It had to be him. Who else wore that hoodie every day? Who else walked hunched over like that?
What was he doing here this early?
The slam of a car door drew her attention away. Rob sauntered toward her and Mr. Fletcher. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and had one arm draped over Izzy’s shoulders.
“You do know your driver’s permit requires you to have an adult in the car when you drive, right?” Mr. Fletcher waved an arm at Rob’s car. “The rules are there for a reason.”
It was a favorite saying of his. He and Dad would get along well. Izzy elbowed Rob’s ribs and giggled, brushing her long blond hair back over her shoulder with a
flick of her hand.
Rob gave their intrepid instructor a lazy smile. “I know, Fletch. But nobody was home. I had no other way to get here on time.”
“It would be generous to say you’re on time, Mr. Harris.” Mr. Fletcher checked his watch. “And the next time I see you driving without an adult in the car, I’m going to call the police. But we better get going. Mr. Harris, why don’t you go first since you already had a warm-up this morning?”
Izzy giggled again. Rob shrugged and held the back door open for her, watching appreciatively as her miniskirt-clad behind wriggled into position. He reached in and made a show of securing Izzy’s seat belt, which allowed him to graze her breasts with his arm. Izzy smiled.
Rae made a face she hoped portrayed her utter disgust. So immature. And embarrassing. And gross. No wonder her parents didn’t want her to have a boyfriend.
She slid in next to Izzy in the back while Mr. Fletcher took the front passenger seat, a clipboard in hand and instructions ready on his lips.
“Check your mirrors and—”
Rob didn’t need any helpful hints or reminders. He pulled onto the road like he’d been doing it for years.
RAE FORCED A smile as all eyes turned on her.
Mr. Fletcher repeated himself. “Your turn, Miss Walters. Up you go.”
Her legs shook as she got out of the back seat and took the keys from Izzy’s outstretched hand. Rob’s and Izzy’s drives had gone off without a hitch. Rob had even pulled off a textbook parallel park downtown, and Izzy had remembered to yield to the car on her right when the two cars arrived at a four-way stop at the same time.
But Rae was certain her drive was not destined to go as smoothly.
The car was centered perfectly in a parking space in front of the post office, which hadn’t opened yet. She climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror, buying time. So far, Gerrit was the only one who knew she was a terrible driver. And who would he tell? But now the world was watching.
Behind her, Izzy slid over to the middle seat, because an arm’s length away was apparently too far to be from her boyfriend. Rob placed a hand on her bare knee. Maybe they would be too enamored with each other’s presence to notice if she turned the wrong way on a one-way street or backed over a curb.
