Chapter 17
Fitz
One Week Later
I've spent way too much time this week not working and not thinking about what to do about the other issue with my property, which is that I'm very short-staffed.
So many of my day laborers have been afraid to come to work for fear of getting hauled off by immigration officials who keep doing regular sweeps around town, looking for people who are working in California illegally.
These are some of the hardest-working people I've ever met. Most of them do have their papers, but many have a cousin or two here without a green card, so they're nervous.
I get it, so I've told them to stay home until it's safe.
Meanwhile, that leaves me out in the fields in the morning, doing the work of my foreman, checking on my strawberry pickers and driving the tractor through acre after acre of produce, making sure it meets the qualities restaurants want.
Then I drive the cattle in the afternoons, trying to find new places for them to graze, which is a challenge after the droughts we’ve been having.
Not to mention that everything is blooming at off-peak times thanks to irregular rains and the dry farming I've been trying to institute when there isn't enough groundwater to sustain it. Thank you, global warming.
Slapping a hand against the back of my neck, I wipe the glaze of sweat and dry my hand on my pants. I've been out here six hours already, and it's barely eleven o’clock.
Time for a little lunch and a chat with my brother. We’re overdue for a good heart-to-heart, and I'm hoping that he's resolved a few things with Karen since the night I picked him up at the Hitching Post.
When I get back to the house, I find him already there on a mountain bike, chomping on a Subway sandwich from his open daypack. I can smell the tuna from here, and it reminds me that I haven't eaten.
“Hot as blazes out here. I’m already sweating, and I’ve barely ridden a mile,” he says.
I do a quick assessment, looking for watery eyes, listening for slurring in his voice to see if he’s been drinking on his day off. He seems okay, and I exhale my relief.
“You mind if I grab a quick protein bar before we head out?” I ask. I tear the wrapper off the first bar and shove a second one into my pocket. Chad takes off down the front drive, and I follow.
A few blocks later, we’re riding uphill on a dirt fire road that takes us through a dry canyon with very little shade. It's silly to be out riding in the heat of the day, but this fits my work schedule, and I’m glad Chad is willing.
When we reach a flat area with a lookout, we slow our bikes to take in the view of Willow Springs.
I chug some water, and Chad takes a can of beer from his pack and pops the top.
He chugs most of it before wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
I calculate that if he starts drinking now, he’ll probably pass out in the early evening, which will save me a late-night phone call.
And I hate that it’s how I think about things, gauging whether I’ll need to pick up Chad from a bar.
“How are you doing with all that, man? Better since the other night?” I ask, gesturing at the beer can.
“Wow, you get right to the point, huh?” he says. “No small talk or anything? Is that why the girls like you so much?”
“Very funny. I’m asking seriously.” I know I’m a broken record, but I can’t ignore behavior that is derailing every part of my brother’s life.
“Yeah, about that night. I'm sorry it went down that way. I shouldn't have had that much to drink. It won’t happen again. Bygones.”
“Come on, Chad. I’ve heard it a hundred times, and the shit never changes. Are you willing to lose Karen over it?” There’s a fine line between concern and lecturing, and if I cross it, he’ll shut down.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on, it's me. I’m Team Chad. You said Karen left. Is she back? Everything okay?”
I'm going to keep peppering him with questions until he answers at least one of them.
“I told you I don't want to talk about it.”
“Well, too damn bad. We have a lot of miles on this road, and I don't feel like talking about anything else.”
“God, you're a frustrating asshole,” he says.
“We come from the same stock, so I'm not going to take offense,” I say. The only difference is that he inherited our dad’s alcoholism and I inherited his other asshole traits. Not sure which is worse, honestly.
Chad swings a leg over his bike to dismount and lays it gently on its side. Then he stomps over to the farthest part of the viewpoint from where I’m standing. Because I’m a relentless son of a bitch, I put my bike down and follow.
As soon as I get within ten feet, he turns. “She hasn't been back since that night. You happy now?” he asks.
I continue walking until I’m close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. He finishes the beer and squeezes it in his fist. I wish I could take his pain away, whatever its source, but I know I can’t.
“No, I'm not happy,” I tell him. “I want what's best for you.”
He stands there stiffly. Eventually, he nods.
“What happened?” I keep my voice quiet, even.
“Says she needs to find herself. That she was never happy with me living out here. And she needs some time to think about the other thing…”
“The drinking.” I’ll name it if he won’t.
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Might not be the worst thing for you to be on your own. Maybe she takes some time, you take some time, and hopefully, you two come back in a better place.”
“That feels like a bit of a risk, don't you think? What if she decides she'd rather be someplace else?”
“Well, I guess that's the chance you take, but if that's what she wants, she'd never be happy here for the long haul.”
Chad stuffs the beer can into his pack and walks back to his bike.
I follow, and we start riding again on a path that goes straight uphill, both of us panting, until we reach the next peak, which has two benches at the top.
I know for a fact that the county didn't build either one, but the parks department hasn't taken them down yet. I’m betting they won’t do it, especially when they provide such a nice place to sit.
We tip our bikes onto the dirt, and Chad grabs two apples from his day pack, handing one to me. I bite into it, and a bit of juice runs down my chin.
“Damn, that's good.”
“Yeah.”
“You get these down by the creek?”
There's a long, winding creek behind the bank and on the north side of town at the base of the hills. It gets a lot of runoff from rain and the occasional snowfall. It’s not enough to do much of anything, but it feeds a grove of trees on city land.
“No, dumbass, I went to the grocery store like a normal person. Not everyone feels the need to grow everything in some hydroponic contraption thing.”
A hint of a breeze filters over the hills, offering a respite from the heat. I can vaguely see my property in the distance, where a crew is finally installing cameras today. My thoughts go to Tessa. I should tell him about her. About the baby.
But it’s not the time. We need to focus on getting Chad healthy, and my baby news isn’t the distraction he needs right now. Chad is a “one issue at a time” kind of guy, so I save the baby news for later. I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.
“You want my advice?” I ask him.
“Does it matter? You're going to tell me anyway.”
“I think you should take this situation with Karen as a wake-up call and get serious about getting sober. Let her know you’re working on your end of things.
I'm laying odds it's going to lead her back to you one way or another. And if it doesn't, you’ll pivot. Sometimes plans you made a long time ago need to change. Sometimes you’ve got to change with them.”
“Sounds like you're speaking from experience.” He doesn't look at me.
His eyes stay focused out on the valley below the hills that go on for miles.
Completely different ecosystem there. The green is fed by a natural spring.
California's topography is so interesting, and I want to tell him about Tessa’s suggestion that I set my sights on the Tomahawk Corporation as the bigger bully in the sandbox and try to get neighbors to stop suing each other over water rights.
“I am.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m…going to be a father.” As soon as the words come out, I think of a hundred better ways to tell him with better lead-ins and even the funny story about Tessa sliding into my invisible fence, but apparently, my impatience to blurt out the secret I’ve been keeping took precedence.
“Sorry for the bad delivery. I just…had to tell someone.”
“I’m not just someone. I’m your brother.”
The obvious truth in his words chokes the air from my lungs. I nod because I can’t say more yet, but I plan to tell him everything. I didn’t realize how much I needed his support until this moment.
He shakes his head. “Guess I’ve been monopolizing things with my own shit. Haven’t asked about your life enough.”
“No, Chad, that’s not it at all. It was very…sudden.” But I can’t help a rueful smile. “Seems like we’re each a piece of work, huh?”
Chad pulls another beer from his pack, pops the top, and hands it to me. “Seems like it.”
I take a long swig and debate whether to hand it back to Chad, not wanting to enable his drinking.
He takes it from my hand and pours the rest out.
Then we stay on the bench another hour, and I tell him all about Tessa.
I only leave out the part about how hard it’s going to be to spend time with her and not kiss her.
I don’t want to admit that part to myself.