The Way We Fell

by Mj Fields

  “You wanna grab the Mule and check out the beans? Tell me where you want me to start?”

  “Could do that, I guess.”

  “All right, let’s do it.”

  Only the farm-grown kind of people know how much a man like my dad loves his land. They protect it like they would a child, maybe even more so. It was always somewhat of a burden in my teens. Friends would be going on vacation, doing cool shit like hanging out at the lake or working the races, and I’d be in the fields or throwing hay. My parents more than made up for it, though, and times like now, as I watch him, mind calm for the first time since … hell, college maybe, he looks peaceful.

  “You’ve done good, Ben. Really good.”

  “Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”

  Pulling up to the house to drop Dad off, I turn off the Mule.

  “You coming in for breakfast?” he asks.

  “Guess I could.”

  The rest of the day, I spend it in and out of the house, checking on Rio, who I don’t want to be a burden to my folks. Every time I go in, she’s at Dad’s heel.

  “You believe in reincarnation?” I joke as I walk into the living room where Dad is standing over Mom while she’s busying herself with making handmade washcloths and scrub pads.

  Mom looks at me oddly, and I realize how fucked up that must have sounded in light of everything going on.

  “Rio’s attached to your heel, just like Red,” I clarify.

  Dad looks down at her and pats her head, and Mom continues crocheting.

  “Raining yet?” Dad asks.

  “Just sprinkling.”

  Mom holds up the one she just finished. “Thinking about selling these at some of the festivals coming up. Maybe even the races.”

  “Why would you do that?” Dad asks with annoyance.

  “Why not? Miss Patty sells cinnamon stick dolls, and all the city people vacationing in our town buy her out every week.”

  “Understand that, but why the races?” he asks.

  “That race brings in NASCAR fans from all over the country. Throw a number on there and boom.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I sit down. “Need some help?”

  “Sure.” She smiles.

  “You tell Kendall I crochet with my mom and I will deny it,” I joke.

  “Well, Dad mentioned maybe going to the fair, and I was thinking of bringing Maggie some of these. Maybe we could bring yours?”

  I don’t react to the news that Dad told Mom about the fair, but inside, I’m just about bursting. Maybe I can’t fix the physical, but if I can help pull this family back together, I’ll be keeping my promise to Mom.

  “Yeah, hell no, Mom.” I shake my head. “Hell no.”

  “Might be better received if it’s shown and not just told.”

  I look up and roll my eyes at Dad because that’s what I would have done before our issues started.

  Dad sits down. “Still three more races this season, right, Huck?”

  She looks up at him and nods excitedly, her eyes smiling and hopeful, her lower lip quivering out a bit.

  I wonder how long it’s been since he called her that. By her expression and reaction, a long time.

  “So, the big fair?” Mom asks.

  “Gene’s coming by early in the morning with a seat for that”—he pauses and rolls his eyes—“truck.”

  “Should we check it out first?” I kind of laugh.

  Dad smirks. “I don’t trust his taste either, but it sure couldn’t get any worse than it was.”

  “True.”

  Restless again and unable to sleep, I get up and go downstairs to make some warm chocolate milk.

  Passing by Dad’s office, I see moonlight shining in through the picture window, overlooking the back fifty, shining right on that one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar piece of paper.

  I walk in to sit in his chair, a place he always wanted me to end up.

  “It doesn’t feel too bad, I guess,” I think aloud as I turn the chair and look out the window.

  When my foot hits something on the floor, I bend down to see what the hell it is. When I see a box, I’m a bit shocked. Dad doesn’t leave shit lying around. Everything has a place.

  I flip on the desk light then pull off the cardboard top and look inside.

  An hour later, I’m exhausted and kind of sick to my stomach.

  I don’t agree with him ignoring his illness until crop season is over, but I now understand why a man like my dad would.

  He’s behind on everything, and the more I dig, the more I realize just how bad it is.

  “Jesus Christ, Dad.” I sigh as I lean back. “You could have asked for help.”

  When I hear a familiar voice clearing, I look up.

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” He’s pissed.

  “I get you’re pissed, but this is a mess.”

  “It’s the shitty part of farming, Ben. Feast or famine. We feasted for years.”

  “Maybe it’s time to get the hell out.” I stand. “No, it is time, Dad. Sell the thousands of hay bales in the barn, sell the equipment, sell—”

  “I built this from nothing, Ben; I will not see it all just thrown away. I understand you don’t want a thing to do with it, but—”

  “I want you, Dad. I want you and Mom to be able to breathe. I appreciate what you did for me—”

  “I had nothing growing up. Not one thing, but a fear she’d listen to her old man when he said I’d never be anything.” He spreads his arms out wide. “I have ten times what he did. I built this for her, and so my son would never feel like he was less than. It’s in your blood, Ben.

  “I’ve watched you these past few weeks. You’re good with the land. You could have all this and not have to even work half as hard as I did. Been a bad few years, but you’d have to work damn near thirty years for this, and that debt is pennies in comparison to what it’s worth to live doing something that will provide—”

  “My music—”

  “Ben,” he sighs. “It’s been long enough; you need to quit believing in fairytales and come home.”

  “I’m home for you, and I will help in any way I can, Dad, but I’m gonna believe in fairytales.”

  “You telling me you don’t want this place, then fine, I’ll sell it. You just promise me, when I’m gone, you take care of your mom.”

  “You think I wouldn’t do whatever I needed to for you and Mom, you’re wrong.” I set the box back on the ground and stand up. “I need some time to think about this, and you need to think more about what all that shit in the box is doing to you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you need to get your priorities straight. Your marriage and your health mean a fuck of a lot more than Sawyer Hill.”

  I walk past him then stop. “I need some time to think, and you need to do the same.”

  At six in the morning, I heard the sound of a loud diesel engine pulling up the long driveway. I rolled over, meeting bright blue eyes and hearing the thump of a tail.

  “You spend more time in this bed than I do, Rio,” I say.

  She licks my face, and I pull away just before she licks my mouth. It’s fucking gross, but it’s a first.

  “Girl, you just made me a happy man. If I had a tail, I’d be wagging it, too.”

  I sit up and stretch. Then I stand, throw on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of socks. “You gonna stay in bed all day or go see what kind of shit Gene brought us to work with?”

  Walking down to the shop, Rio following me, bad leg raised but keeping up a quicker pace than the past few days, I see a black bench seat that surprisingly looks pretty damn good.

  Gene hops out of his truck. “Morning, Ben. How’s it going?”

  “Good. Sun’s out. Thanks for coming up.”

  “Have a look. Your old man said not to bring him shit. Just so happened Freedman wrapped his truck around a pole weeks ago and he brought her in the same day Frank called.”


  “He okay?” I ask as I hop up onto the flatbed.

  Why the hell he brought this beast up instead of one of the twenty pickup trucks he owns is beyond me, but much of Gene, who graduated a few years before me, is a mystery. He’s one of those kinds you know damn well you’ll never figure out.

  “Got shit-faced when he lost the race on his property.”

  I sit down to feel out how comfortable the seat is.

  “He’s been hosting for years. What happened?”

  “You know how I hate rumors.” He shakes his head.

  Gene doesn’t hate rumors; he spreads them like a frat boy does STDs.

  “But between you and me; the circuit found out he’d been operating without proper insurance coverage. Told me the other day he just couldn’t afford it the way crop prices have been. He’s lucky no one got hurt or sued. Now the poor bastard isn’t gonna be able to pay auto insurance either, what with a DWI hanging over him. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “Never do, Gene.” I stand up and look it over some more.

  “Five thousand dollars to host one of them races without insurance. Add three to that, and you got”—he stops and uses his fingers to do the math—“eight Gs.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  Gene laughs. “He made four times that on campsites, food sales, and T-shirts.”

  “Pretty good profit margin.”

  “Stanley Leese was gonna host but doesn’t have the time to get the trails together. I heard they’re moving it to PA. Shame to see it go. Boosted the local economics.”

  “Economy,” I correct.

  “That’s what I said.”

  I nod. “How much for the seat?”

  “Could get five bills for it. But I’d take four.”

  I pull a wad of cash out of my pocket. “How about three?”

  “Sold to the man in the sandals and backward hat.”

  Dad and I spend the drizzly morning as if the past few weeks—hell, the past few years—hadn’t happened as we put the new bench seat in Kendall’s truck.

  The damn thing fits perfectly, no springs are coming out of the seat, and it’s only about ten years newer than Battle Ax Bertha.

  “Suppose we should head inside to get cleaned up,” he says as he wipes down one of his wrenches. The man has the cleanest tools I have ever seen. Looking around, it’s evident that he takes great care of everything he’s ever owned, and everyone he’s ever loved. “Gonna head in.”

  “I’ll be in soon.”

  Once he’s inside, I get in the Mule and decide to drive around, looking over what I need to decide is either something I need to say goodbye to or something I need to hold on to.

  As if there’s really a choice. Land’s not just part of him; it’s part of me, too.

  25

  In Your Eyes

  Kendall

  For the past four days, I’ve been absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of Blue Valley’s annual, four-day fair.

  In the distance, I hear the excited screams of children on the rides and the whining as they wait in the lines at the vendor tents because they want to get back to the midway. The sometimes pleasant, other times nauseous smells of cotton candy, fried dough, French fries, sausage, clams, and sweets waft through the humid air.

  Dogs are barking from the Blue Valley Veterinarian tent where Alex has set up a “petting zoo.” There are chickens, a single goat, and a few rabbits, but it’s clear that he’s hoping to adopt some of the domestic animals he has collected, mainly because of our family’s inability to see a stray and look the other way.

  The vendor tents are full of tables where women are selling their homemade goods, alongside every sports team selling something to raise funds for the fall season quickly approaching. They have lost funding due to the state’s budget cuts, while still having to try to pay the increased premiums for insurance policies due to the sue-happy society we now live in.

  All in all, it’s a great time for the young, old, and all those in-between. All except for the music lovers sitting on the bleachers, watching the DJ play music while desperately hoping someone, anyone gets up and sings.

  Standing behind the sausage counter, run by the local fire department and the VFW, I look over the crowd. I see Jake, who looks frustrated, and Sarah, who appears to be a nervous wreck, approaching.

  “You did good, girly.”

  “This is a train wreck,” she says and begins to scratch at her neck as she looks toward the stage.

  I grab her hand and pull it away. “It’s still early. Have faith.”

  “Beer tent’s packed, babe. They’ll start stumbling out, halfcocked and full of confidence soon enough.” Jake laughs.

  She spins around, grabs the collar of his shirt and, with possibly the deepest desperation I have ever heard in her voice, says, “If you love me, really love me—”

  “Now stop right there.” He shakes his head.

  “Jake Ross, I need you! Desperately.”

  He shakes his head again, and then her bottom lip pouts out.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sarah.” He sighs as I fight back the urge to laugh.

  “Please.” Her lip trembles.

  “Fine,” he snaps, and I let out a laugh.

  He turns his head sharply at me. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at. But, as soon as I slam about ten beers, I’ll be back to drag you up there with me.”

  “Oh no, you won’t.” I laugh.

  “Oh yes, he will, Kendall. We have to save the fair!”

  Shocked at Sarah’s complete change of personality, I nod in agreement.

  Jake chuckles as he walks away.

  Standing in front of the stage, I cover my mouth as I laugh when the all-too-familiar music begins

  “Jake went down to the Valley. He was lookin’ for a soul to steal. He was in a bind, ’cause he was way behind, and he was willin’ to make a deal. When he came upon this young girl, sawin’ on a fiddle, playin’ hot …”

  “Oh my God.” Sarah covers her face as he clearly sings to her. And, true to his nature, he doesn’t give a damn who is watching him.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Alex asks.

  “You better go back to your tent, or you’re next,” I warn him.

  “Like hell I am!” Alex laughs, and Sarah peeks around me to shoot him daggers.

  I laugh as I turn my attention back to Jake.

  “And Jake jumped, on a hickory stump, and said, Sarah, let me tell you what. I guess you didn’t know, but I’m a fiddle player, too”—he winks at her, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her grin— “And if you’d care to take a dare, I’ll make a bet with you …”

  “Is that …?” Phoebe begins then laughs out loud.

  Jake jumps off the stage and walks toward us, still singing, “The girl said, my name’s Sarah, and it might be a sin, but I’ll take your bet, and you’re gonna regret …”

  He holds the mic to her, and she says, “’Cause I’m the best there’s ever been?”

  He kisses her quickly and says, “Bet your ass you are.” Then he walks back toward the stage as he continues to sing, “’Cause hell’s …”

  “Holy shit. Holy. Shit!” Phoebe throws her hands in the air and claps as she nudges Sarah with her hip. “Ross men rock.”

  Moments ago, the space between the bleachers and the stage was nearly empty; now it’s filling up as Jake continues to sing. He isn’t playing a fiddle nor the crowd; he’s wooing the girl … still … after ten years.

  When the song nears its end, I glance to my side and see Sarah is gone. Looking at the stage, I see her talking to the DJ while Jake shakes his head. She clasps her hands in prayer, and he rolls his eyes. Then the song, “Mammas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,” begins, and Jake continues to sing.

  When the song ends, Jake jumps down and grabs me, pulling me toward the stage.

  “You’re doing a great job.” I attempt to pull away.

  “Yeah, well, so will you.�
� He grips tighter, and I have no choice but to go.

  We look at each other and laugh when the song, “Just You And I,” starts.

  “What the hell, Sarah?” Jake laughs, and the crowd begins cheering.

  “For your parents.” Sarah smiles.

  The entire time we sing the song, we’re half-laughing, half-mock-fighting as siblings do. I see Mom and Dad in the crowd of about a hundred people, both laughing so hard Mom’s crying and Dad’s covering his belly.

  The song hasn’t even been given an adequate moment of silence when the next starts.

  “No fucking way!” Jake shakes his head at Sarah.

  She grins, and then I hear a familiar voice start singing.

  Lucas Links appears on stage.

  “Baby, when I met you, there was peace unknown. I set out to get you with a fine-tooth comb.”

  I nudge Jake aside and run off stage, forcing him to sing with Lucas.

  Standing next to my mom and dad, we’re all laughing hysterically as Jake pulls his shirt out as if he has boobs like Dolly Parton’s while singing to Lucas. By the end of the song, I am wiping tears off with the bottom of my shirt when I hear another song begin

  “Hey, redneck girl likes to cruise in Daddy’s pickup truck.”

  I snap my head up and gasp when I see Ben, wearing a backward black ballcap, loose-fitting, dark blue jeans, Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt that doesn’t even attempt to hide his amazing body. That voice, that stage presence, that man makes me want to toss all my morals out the window and break my promises to myself.

  “Hey, beauty.”

  I look left and see Becky Sawyer standing beside me. “Hey.” I grin.

  “You gonna hug me or, now that you and my boy have finally gotten on the same page, are you gonna get all weird?”

  I hug her and see Frank behind her. “Hey, Frank.”

  “Kendall.”

  Stepping back, I tell them both, “Look at him shine.”

  “We were watching you and Jake shine up there, too.” Becky squeezes my hand.