A Simple Life

1. John

1

JOHN

I heard Laura’s truck pull up outside, the sound of her squealing brakes announcing her arrival. I rolled my eyes as I reached for another coffee mug. I needed to look at her brakes. Maybe her husband, Bob, and I could work on them this weekend. Now that the planting was done and the crops in, I had a little more time on my hands.

I snorted with amusement as I added cream to Laura’s coffee. More time.

I wish.

The screen door banged open, and my nephew Cody rushed in. “Uncle J!”

“Hey, big man, careful with that door. It’s old.”

He laughed, not caring. “Can I get the eggs?”

I nodded. “You know where the basket is. And the deal. Every one you get and clean, you can sell and keep the money.”

He grinned. “I know. But I have to save you six.”

“Yep. Breakfast.”

“Got it!”

He rushed past his mother, who was walking in, juggling her purse, a laptop bag, and a sack of groceries. I hurried forward, grabbing the sack and the laptop bag about to slip off her shoulder. “Stop being so stubborn and ask for help,” I demanded, leaning down to buss her cheek. “And stop buying me groceries. I’m a grown man and can look after myself.”

She chuckled and set down her purse, taking the bag from me. “I’m aware you can, but you don’t. I saw the empty fridge when I was here on the weekend.”

“I’ve been busy in the fields. Restocking is on the list.”

“Well, I bought you a few days. And stop spoiling Cody. You don’t have to pay him for chores.”

“He’s working toward a goal. I’m not going to miss some egg income,” I chuckled dryly. “It teaches him.”

She sighed. “You have always spoiled him.”

“He’s a good kid. He deserves it.”

I watched affectionately as Laura unpacked and filled the fridge with the basics. My freezer was full, but during planting time, I did tend to forget to keep up with incidentals. I had lots of food, but most of it was frozen. It was a good thing the microwave and I were fast friends. In the winter months, I stocked up on premade meals so when I came in from the fields, tired, hot, and sweaty, I could pop in a bowl of stew or chili and let it heat as I showered.

But I had to admit, I appreciated the lunch meat, bread, cheese, and assortment of fruit and vegetables she placed on the shelves. I didn’t need eggs or milk since my chickens and dairy cows supplied me with both. I bought my meat from local farmers, often trading my goods for theirs. During harvest, we all worked together in the community. Everything, down to the cheese I bought, was local and handmade.

I sat down as she finished, tucking her burlap sack into her laptop bag and pulling out her computer. “Down to business.”

“Not a social call, then?” I asked dryly.

“I finished the tax files and the year-end.” She slid a file my way. “Look them over, sign, and I’ll submit.”

“Got it.”

“And I got an inquiry on 221. They’re sending the application today.”

“Oh, great. No viewing?”

“A friend of theirs—Cathy Rawlings from Mitchell—came and saw it. Said it would work well. I told her if they wanted to see it, they could tomorrow.”

I scratched my chin. “The name is familiar.”

“Used to be Cathy Jones. She married Bart and moved to Mitchell. The applicant is a friend of hers.”

“Ah, explains it. So we have a reference.”

She nodded. “They want fast possession.”

“Great. It’s empty, so that works.”

She flipped through some papers as she sipped her coffee. “I renewed the leases on the other three properties. The house on Renfrew has another two years on their lease.”

“Awesome. Satisfied customers.”

She laughed. “Great little houses, well-kept, and decent rent. Why would they want to move?”

“That’s my goal. I’m thinking of bidding on the old schoolhouse. Turning it into two apartments.”

“Oh. Interesting concept.”

I nodded, scratching my scruff thoughtfully. “I’ll need planning permission. I’m going to put it forth at the next council meeting.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Thelma’s old diner has a new tenant.”

My eyebrows shot up at that statement. Thelma Hopkins had run the local diner for as long as I could remember. She had passed away last year, and the building remained empty. She had been one of my mother’s closest friends, and I had mourned her passing deeply.

“I thought the town council agreed to expand the drug store beside it.”

“No, they decided to move down the street instead and take over that empty building. A new offer came forward, and they accepted it.”

“Someone bought it?”

“Renting for the first while with an option to buy.”

“Unusual.”

Laura leaned back, sipping her coffee. “Unusual circumstances, John. Not a lot of people moving to Richton and wanting to risk opening a business.”

“I offered to buy it.”

“And keep it as an empty shrine to Thelma? We need another business in town to keep going forward. Not an empty building.”

“I would have done something with it.”

Laura laughed, running a hand over her head. “With what time? You are already stretched, John. This farm is huge.”

“I have help.”

“Which you need.”

I inclined my head. My sister wasn’t wrong. What had started out as a 500-acre farm was now 1700 acres. Corn and soybeans were my crops. Planting and harvesting them was a huge job, not to mention caring for them in between. But I loved it. Working the soil, watching the crops grow and flourish. Knowing the produce was the best in the region. My product was in demand, which kept money in the bank. The past few years had been good ones, and I was ready for the leaner ones that would follow. They always did.

My father had cautioned me to always be prepared. He hadn’t been a farmer, but his father had, and he had taught both of us about fiscal responsibility. I’d spent a lot of time with Gramps, and he had left his farm to me. I’d never wanted to do anything else but work on the land. It brought me a sense of peace and completion nothing else could match.

My dad had run the local hardware supply store in town, and my mom had worked as a cook at the small hotel during the summer season and helped out in the store the rest of the time. Laura and I had grown up in a house filled with love, respect, and laughter. Not a lot of money, but there was always food on the table, clothes on our backs, and enough bounty to share. My grandfather had a huge garden that he gave the bulk of to my mother, who canned and preserved all fall. I still had the space out back and Laura helped, but we grew far less than we used to.

Laura was an accountant and a real estate agent. She looked after the renting of the five houses I owned in Richton. I bought them and, with Bob’s help, fixed them up and rented them. I was a good landlord, keeping the places in tip-top shape. I had little to do with the tenants, Laura handling that side of the business for me. But when a repair needed doing, it was done right away. I rarely had an empty house for long, even in our little town. It was a great investment and a way to give back to the place where I’d grown up.

“Does 221 need any work?” I had been too busy to go check when the tenant moved out a few weeks ago. I hadn’t expected it to rent again so quickly.

“Some trimming of the bushes. They’ve gotten a little overgrown.”

“I’ll do that on the weekend.”

“A leaky faucet in the kitchen. A couple other small issues. I’ll make you a list.”

“Great. But nothing major?”

“A fresh coat of paint inside. But they requested that they could pick the colors and said they would paint. I said yes, but they had to be approved and that you would pay for the paint.” Laura smiled. “The daughter likes pink, I understand.”

“Ah.”

I finished my coffee, stretching. A new family for the vacant house, the crops were in, and I had food. It was a good day.

“What sort of business is going into Thelma’s? Another diner?”

“Sort of. A little more upscale than her sandwich shop.”

I snorted. “That won’t fly here.”

“No, I think the concept is good. Open early for breakfast and lunch. Closes at 3:30. Simple fare, good coffee, and they have a hook I understand. Catchy.”

“I liked Thelma’s.”

“You liked the meatloaf.”

“It was the best.”

“And her,” Laura said softly. “You thought she was the best.”

I looked over Laura’s shoulder. I had been twenty-three, Laura eighteen, when our parents had died in a car accident. Their unexpected deaths had shocked us, leaving us both adrift for a while. Laura had already been dating Bob and he’d helped her through the rough times, but I was a loner and always had been. I had no one, and somehow, losing them had made me more introverted. Thelma had stepped in, becoming the mother figure I needed to keep me from totally losing myself in grief. She became my sounding board and confidante. Helped Laura plan her wedding. Was there when Cody was born. I saw her almost every day at her old-fashioned diner, and it was she who helped me stock my freezer in the long winter months, planning for the busy spring ahead. When she didn’t wake up one morning, my life once again changed. Became darker. Lonelier.

“Sorry.” I shook my head, realizing Laura had said something. “I was thinking about Thelma.”

“I know you miss her, but she would be the first person to tell you to pull up your bootstraps. And to remind you this town needs eating places and new businesses. The prospective owner is twenty-eight and is enthusiastic. We need that. Try to be supportive.”

“I will.”

“Okay, great. Then you’ll vote yes at the town council meeting.”

“About what?”

“The new tenant wants some renovations done, and then there’s the name of the diner.”

“It’s changing?”

“Of course it is.”

“To what? The Sandwich Shop was a decent name.”

She shook her head. “New place, new name.”

“Which is?”

“Kind of a Big Dill.”

“Say what now?”

“That’s the hook. Something about pickles. It’s cute, right?”

I snorted. “Cute. I hate cute. I’m not voting for that name.”

“You’re going to be outvoted. The business plan is solid, the money is available, and we have a new business in town. All pluses. Stop being grumpy, locked in some false sense of loyalty, and welcome the change, John.”

Before I could respond, the door slammed open again, and Cody rushed in. “I got lots!”

I directed my attention at my nephew. “Good job. I hadn’t had a chance today.”

“Here’s your six. Mom, you need to take me to Brennan’s to sell these. And I need to go and help Dad. He’s going to pay me to clean out the storeroom. I’ll get that bike soon!”

I grinned. He’d been saving for a bike since before Christmas last year. Little did he know I had already bought it for him and he would get it for his eighth birthday in a couple of weeks. He could put his money in the bank and start saving. I’d been his age when I’d opened my first bank account.

“You going to the fair this afternoon?” I asked. Cody loved the spring fair. It was smaller than our summer harvest event but always fun. The kids loved the rides and all the junk food. The parents enjoyed being able to relax as the kids ran free. Everyone watched out for them, so they were safe.

“Yeah—I’m meeting my friends at four. Mom says I can have supper there.”

Laura snorted. “I said you could eat. I don’t think cotton candy and a corn dog constitutes dinner.”

I laughed. “Let him be a kid, Laura. You did the same thing. Hell, we both did. We turned out all right.”

She eyed me skeptically. “Well, I did,” she drawled. “You should have eaten more cotton candy—maybe you wouldn’t be such a grump.”

“I’m not a grump. I’m quiet.”

“And grumpy,” Cody said with the honesty of a child. “But you’re my favorite, Uncle J.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Laura stood and started stuffing files back into her bag. I slipped a twenty into Cody’s pocket and winked. I wanted him to have a good time at the fair. He grinned and winked back.

“See you later, big man.” I fist-bumped him, and he made an exploding sound, flicking his fingers wide like a bomb going off. “Don’t give your dad a hard time.”

“Nope!” he yelled over his shoulder, slamming out of the door again.

“I need to fix that.”

“Get Bob to order a new one,” Laura replied, starting to follow Cody. Bob now ran the large hardware place in town, having expanded it when he took it over. He managed it well, and it serviced several small towns around our area. He was also the local handyman, so he was constantly busy. We all were in our little town, often wearing more than one hat.

“I saw that, by the way,” she informed me. “And you’re not always a grump.” She indicated the door Cody had run out of. “Never with him. Or me.”

I shrugged. “You’re different.”

“Not everyone is her,” she said quietly.

“I’m aware. But in general…” I let my words trail off, not wanting to discuss that subject. Or remember.

She smiled. “The rest of the world pisses you off, you mean.”

I laughed. “Something like that.”

Laura brushed off her skirt. “I hope that changes for you one day.” She stopped before walking out. “Think about it, John. Stop resisting change. Try to move forward.”

I didn’t respond. Change and I weren’t friends. In my thirty-four years, I’d learned every time there was change, it meant heartache.

I wasn’t a fan.

And Kind of a Big Dill?

Not getting my vote.