by Brandon Dean
I cleared my throat. “No, that’s all,” I said.
“Good. Now, unless I speak, you don’t speak. We clear?” she asked.
I nodded.
The rest of that walk was probably the most awkward two minutes of my life. My eyes never left the ground as I watched my feet drag across the snow. I couldn’t help but feel like I had completely messed up. And for some reason, even though I’d just had a girl who was about six inches shorter than me and several pounds lighter practically scare me out of my boots, I’d liked it. Sure, I would’ve liked her aggressiveness a hell of a lot more if it hadn’t been directed at me, but it definitely helped me see the type of girl she was. A better introduction would’ve been nice, but now at least I knew she could stand her ground. She wasn’t a pushover. She was confident, and until that day, I’d had no idea how attractive that could be. I only hoped all the stars would align just right and give me another shot. But right then, I wasn’t winning any points with her.
“Okay, this is it,” Hazel said, breaking into my thoughts. We stood before a small plot of land that hardly looked different than anything else around us.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Hazel turned around with a huff. “You hard of hearing or something? I thought I told you to keep that big trap of yours shut! Now, I may be an idiot, but I think I know where my own garden is!”
I raised my hand like a student in class.
“What?” she barked.
I didn’t say a word; instead, I pointed my finger about thirty feet to the right. Leaves, twigs, and weeds were just peeking out from the fallen snow, indicating the presence of something underneath.
Hazel’s cheeks grew rosy in anger and embarrassment. “Okay. So maybe I was off by a little bit. You happy? That what you wanted to hear?” she huffed.
I shook my head.
“Wait here, don’t move. I’ll be back,” Hazel instructed. I watched her walk over to the gazebo and pick up two small metal objects from the wooden bench inside; then she made her way back over to me. “Here,” Hazel said, shoving a spade at me. “We dig, and when we find something, we put it in the basket. Simple enough?”
I nodded.
“Good. If an idiot like me can do it, then surely a sophisticated man like yourself should have no problem with it.”
“Look, I already tried to tell you, I didn’t call you an idiot. I was calling myself an idiot. I don’t know how to keep saying this without sounding like a broken record,” I said, feeling suddenly fed up.
“I don’t believe you.” Hazel turned around and got on her knees to begin digging.
Women sure are crazy, I thought. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
It wasn’t easy, but I was able to get a full basket—mainly of onions, with a few bunches of asparagus. I’d never even held a spade before, much less used one to dig for my food, but I was persistent enough to make sure the job I had to do was done. I was so focused on my own harvest that I hadn’t noticed that Hazel had left me behind; I didn’t even know when she’d gone. My fingers went numb toward the end, making using them nearly impossible. I found myself having to blow warm air onto them to get the blood flowing again, even standing at some points to shove them into my pockets for a few minutes.
Eventually, I returned to the house with my basket of harvested food. The back door creaked open, and I heard Hazel say, “About time he came back.” I assumed that it was directed to Beverly, but she’d purposefully said it loud enough for me to hear, as well. Unfortunately for her, I was both too tired and too cold to care.
“Hey there, Clint. I guess you aren’t much of a gardener, huh?” Beverly asked jokingly as I placed the basket on the kitchen table.
“You can say that again,” I replied unsteadily as my lungs adapted to the warmer air. I spotted a pot of boiling water on the stove. With breakneck speed, I rushed over to thaw my hands over the steam. I let out a groan of satisfaction as my fingers regained their feeling.
“My goodness, Clint. Surely you didn’t go out there and dig through that barehanded?” Beverly asked with concern.
“I did,” I replied, not turning around to face her, keeping my focus on the hot steam in front of me.
“That was just silly, young man. There was a nice warm pair of gardening gloves sitting right next to those spades in the gazebo. You were more than welcome to use those,” she said.
I slowly turned to face Hazel. “Silly me . . . I must not have noticed them,” I said to Beverly, keeping my eyes steadily trained on Hazel.
Beverly looked quizzically over at her granddaughter. “And you, young lady! How many times do I have to tell you that—”
“Shh!” Hazel interrupted, slamming down the book she’d been reading and raising her index finger to her lips.
I didn’t know what was going on, but what I did know was this could be an opportunity to get some sweet revenge. All I had to do was play it up a little bit. “Now, Hazel, that was very rude of you. After everything your grandma has done for my mom and me? Oh, goodness,” I said, tsking softly.
Hazel looked at me with pure, concentrated anger in her eyes, a vein pulsing in her forehead, as she mouthed, “Shut up.”
I gave her a sly, sarcastic smile and directed my attention to Beverly. “Please, finish what you were trying to say.”
Beverly took a couple of seconds to look at Hazel and then me, completely flustered. “All I was trying to do was tell Hazel that she needed to wear her spectacles if she wants to keep her eyes from getting any worse.” Beverly stopped to look at me. “She got picked on a lot as a little girl because of it—but she’s sixteen now! She’s practically a woman!” She reverted her attention back to Hazel. “You need to do what’s best for you, my dear. Don’t worry about the mean things people have said to you about it.”
Of course! She wore glasses! Suddenly it made much more sense to me now—the way she’d had her face pressed against the bathroom mirror, the way she’d squinted to read, the way she’d looked at me the first time she saw me . . . Even why she’d been so wrong on the location of her own garden.
Hazel stood from the table and stormed out of the kitchen.
“Hazel, wait!” I called after her. I felt like scum; she was obviously insecure about having to wear glasses, and I understood. People could be cruel, and nobody liked to be belittled for something beyond their control. All I’d wanted to do was get a little payback. I didn’t actually want to hurt her.
God, I really was an idiot.
She hadn’t wanted anything to do with me before that; she was sure to hate me even more now. “Is she okay?” I asked. It was the only thing I could think of to say. But it was also the only thing I cared about right then.
“Yes, she’s tough. She’ll come around.” Beverly paused for a moment. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Your mother came downstairs to get a bite while you were outside. She said she wasn’t feeling well. She looked a bit pale—clammy, even. She went to go lie down.”
I had known Mom to be sick those last few days, and my heart began to pound as I asked, “Where is she now? Is she okay?”
Beverly laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “She’s fine, Clint. She told me everything that happened. I know it’s hard for you to hear she’s feeling ill, but she was walking and talking just fine. Who knows, could be just the baby being a little ornery in there.”
I slowed my breathing, exhaling and inhaling deeply as I sat at the table. Her words comforted me; something about an elderly lady telling you it’s all going to be all right has a way of doing that. She went from Beverly to Mamaw Maxwell really quickly, and it worked. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us. I should probably go check on Mom, though.”
“I would leave her alone. She probably just needs her rest, is all.”
I nodded, realizing she was probably right.
“You’re
welcome, by the way,” she added.
I excused myself and headed out to the front porch again, remembering the peaceful mood it had put me in the day before. This time, though, I had shoes on. I walked outside to see the chair rocking back and forth slowly. It was Hazel. She gave me a quick glance before staring back out into the distance.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were out here,” I said as I turned to walk back inside the house.
“Wait,” Hazel said.
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face her.
“It’s okay. You can stay out here.”
No way, I thought with a smile. I tried to keep a straight face—I didn’t want to look desperate or too pleased—but I couldn’t help myself.
“I get the chair, though, got it?”
I sat on the frosty ground next to Hazel.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked.
I watched as the snow glistened in the sunlight. “Sure is,” I answered.
“Hey, Clint,” Hazel said quietly.
It was the first time I’d heard her call me by my name. I didn’t know what she was about to say—hell, I didn’t care. She’d said my name. She knew my name.
“What is it?” I asked.
Hazel curled her mouth to one side in a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time. None of this is your fault. And the way you look after your mom, if I’m being honest, I think it’s kinda sweet.”
I let out a chuckle under my breath. “Thank you. But I have to ask, why were you being so hard on me?” I asked.
Hazel laughed for the first time since we’d come. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard—and still is. “Papaw raised me to be tough, I guess. Always told me that no man is good enough for me. And I had the feeling you had eyes on the prize, you know? Just trying to do right by him, since I have no clue where he is,” she said.
“Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s thinking about you,” I replied, hesitating before I went on. “But truth be told, I do kinda like you.”
“No!” Hazel replied sarcastically, her eyes and mouth wide in feigned shock.
I laughed to myself, looking out at the landscape. “How could you tell?” I asked.
Hazel sighed. “Might’ve had something to do with the fact that you almost threw up the first time you ever said hi to me.”
“That obvious, huh?” I asked.
“If you’d had the words painted on your busted-up face, it still wouldn’t have made it any more obvious.”
“Okay, okay,” I said playfully. “But why were you scared to wear your glasses around me?”
“Well, if it weren’t for all your bumps and bruises, I bet . . .”
“You bet what?” I asked.
“I bet you’d be handsome,” she said nervously.
“Oh? Is that so?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, blushing.
Suddenly, we were interrupted by the sound of screaming.
“What was that?” I shot to my feet in alarm.
“I don’t know,” Hazel replied, following suit.
More screams rang out. It was Mom.
“Is that . . . ?” Hazel said.
“Yeah, it’s my mom,” I replied. “I have to see what’s wrong!”
I rushed in through the front door. The kitchen and living room were both empty as I called out for Mom, darting up the steps and navigating through the hallway to the room she’d been using. I twisted the knob; it was locked from the inside.
I pounded on the door, yelling, “What’s going on? Mom, are you okay?”
Hazel could see how upset I was, so she tried offering words of comfort.
The doorknob slowly turned as the door creaked open, and Beverly’s head peeked out.
“What’s going on? Is my mom okay?” I asked, my voice trembling with fear.
Beverly smiled. “Shh . . . Everything’s okay. The baby’s coming!”
By then the room had started to spin around me as both excitement and fear washed over me. I had always wanted a sibling—it didn’t matter if it was a boy or girl. But what kind of world was this baby being brought into?
It seemed to go on forever, and the hours stretched endlessly as my eyes stayed glued to the ornate grandfather clock on the first floor of the house. Hazel and I sat on a perfectly fluffed sofa, awaiting news.
Why did she care? I wondered. Why did she feel the obligation to sit with me? It made me think that maybe the hard-ass attitude was just a ploy and she really was that gentle-natured girl I’d met on the front porch.
We talked as we waited. It almost made me wish the labor would last longer than it already had, just so I could keep living in that moment with her.
“So . . . Wonderful weather we’re having,” Hazel quipped. I’d realized by then that was her style of sparking conversation.
“Yeah. If you say so,” I replied, my focus still on the grandfather clock.
“You do know that thing’s not set correctly don’t you? Hasn’t been right in months!”
I laughed. “No, I didn’t know that. So what time is it, really?”
“Does it really matter?” she asked reasonably.
I took a deep breath, then turned to face Hazel. “I really want to get to know you . . . if that’s okay,” I said.
A smile tugged at Hazel’s lips. “Yeah. That’s okay.”
“I ask you some things, then you ask me. Sound good?”
“I’m familiar with how conversation works, but thank you for giving me a refresher,” she replied.
“Okay, then. So . . . Beverly is your grandmother. What happened to your parents?” I asked.
Hazel sighed, obviously bothered by the question. “The Depression. Goods got too expensive, jobs didn’t pay as much—that is, if you were able to even find one in the first place. Shortly after Gabe was born, the load became too heavy for Mama and Papa, and they just couldn’t take care of us. They dropped us off here one day and headed west for Arizona. That was so long ago, though. So where they are now, what they’re doing . . . Your guess is as good as mine,” she said, staring down at her hands.
“What about you? What happened to your dad?” she asked.
“He, uh . . . he died, a few days back now,” I said.
Hazel’s eyes shone with genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to talk about—”
“It’s fine,” I said, cutting her off. “We had to find some medicine for my mom, out in the city. Met a couple guys at a pharmacy whose heads weren’t right. Some bad things happened, and he got hurt. Really hurt.” I paused, closing my eyes to muster up the strength to talk about what had happened. “I . . . I had to . . . you know. Out of mercy.”
Hazel looked at me with clear compassion. “Oh, Clint . . .”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, shaking my head and trying to clear my eyes of tears. “I did what I had to do, what he wanted me to do.”
“Can I have another question?” Hazel asked.
“Sure. Shoot,” I replied.
“Did you do what you had to do, with those other guys?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“The guys at the pharmacy. What happened to them?” she asked.
“We . . . we . . . ,” I stammered, trying to find the words. “I’m not a killer, Hazel. But I am a guy who’s killed someone. If that makes sense.”
“It does . . . I think,” she replied slowly.
“It was either them or us. Guess there just aren’t enough supplies to go around, especially when everyone needs all they can get.”
“I understand,” Hazel said.
“Please, don’t think I’m some kind of monster. Don’t be afraid; that really isn’t who I am.”
Hazel looked at me with a smile.
“Trust me, wise guy, you don’t scare me,” she said.
I glanced over to the clock again. Another forty-five minutes had passed since I’d last looked at it. Talking to her helped pass the time, gave me something to do. And it helped for other reasons that hadn’t yet occurred to me.
“My turn?” I asked.
“I guess so. Wise guy,” Hazel replied.
“Well, I’d like to ask why you keep calling me that, but I don’t want to waste my question on something so pointless. So here goes . . . Do you believe in God?” I asked.
“That question is dumber than the other one!” she replied. “What kind of buffoon wouldn’t?”
I rolled my eyes. “The kind of buffoon that doesn’t have a reason to,” I answered.
“Okay, wise guy.”
“Again with the wise-guy stuff,” I muttered.
“Shh! Listen to what I have to say!” Hazel demanded. “Who made it?”
“It?” I replied, confused.
“It! Everything! All of it! If not God, then who?”
“Well I don’t know—”
“Aha! Exactly! But I know who made it. God made it,” Hazel said, confident in her answer.
“Oh, please. That’s just what you believe,” I insisted, rolling my eyes.
Hazel leaned toward me and gave me a sly smile. “You’re right. And what’s it hurt to believe in something good right now?”
That caught me off guard. I hadn’t really expected that answer. She had a point, though, as much as I hated to admit it. Before I could think of a response, Hazel said, “Gonna take a while for that snow to clear up. Should be plenty of time to teach you some things. It’d be a real shame if you did all this just to burn in a lake of fire when you push up daisies.”
