Chapter 12 #2
Claire looked at me. Mixed emotions passed over her face, gratitude and wariness in equal measure.
"We'll see," she said. "If Mr. Harmon actually goes, and if it's a good time, we'll talk about it."
"That means yes," DJ told me confidentially. "When she says we'll see, it usually means yes."
"DJ." But Claire was fighting a smile. "Finish your dinner."
After the meal, I helped clear the table despite Bessie Anne's protests. She finally shooed me toward the door.
"You worked all day, Tomás. That's plenty. Go on now, or I'll put you to work washing dishes too."
"Thank you for dinner, Bessie Anne. Best meal I've had in longer than I want to admit."
She patted my arm. "You're welcome back anytime."
I found Claire by the door, pulling on a light jacket.
"I'll walk you out."
We stepped onto the porch. The evening was cool but not cold, one of those Peninsula evenings that reminded you summer was finally coming. The sky was purple at the edges, stars just starting to show.
"About the fence. I'll get you cash for the work before the end of the week."
"I don't need payment."
"You worked all day."
"And you fed me. Best pot roast I've had in years. Call it even."
She shook her head. "That's not how this works."
"It's how it works for me." I stepped off the porch, then turned back. "There's something I wanted to ask you. About your tea hedges. I noticed you prune them different from what I've seen in pictures. Some kind of technique I don't recognize."
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she came down the steps.
"The hedges are this way."
We walked in silence past the barn, past the vegetable garden, to where the tea rows began. The plants were dark shapes in the fading light, neat lines running toward the tree line.
"What did you want to know?"
"Honestly?" I stopped walking. "Nothing about the tea. I just wanted to talk to you alone."
She went still. In the dim light, I could see color rising in her cheeks. Her posture shifted, becoming guarded in a way that wasn't entirely unwelcoming.
"What... what did you want to discuss?"
"I had a visitor a few days ago. Harlan Foster."
The change in her was immediate. The flush left her face. Her jaw tightened.
"Oh? What did you think of him?"
"He was friendly. Charming. Offered me butterscotch candy and told stories about hunting my land with your father." I paused. "I didn't trust a word of it."
Claire nodded slowly. "You've got good judgment."
"What should I know about him?"
She looked out at the tea rows. The silence stretched. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat.
"Harlan Foster was my father's best friend for thirty years.
At least, that's what my father thought.
They hunted together. Fished together. Harlan came to Sunday dinners.
He was there when I was born, there when I got married, there when my father died.
" She paused. "But I found out he wasn't a friend.
Not really. He wore a false face the whole time. He's not to be trusted."
I waited. She didn't continue.
She didn't really need to. I'd suspected something like this since Harlan stood in my clearing and offered to buy my land. The details didn't matter as much as the shape of the thing.
"Thank you for the warning."
"You'd do well to steer clear of him." She turned back toward the house. "I'll get you that cash for the fence work."
"I told you. The meal was payment enough."
"Thomas."
"I mean it." I allowed myself a smile. "I've missed this. Sharing a meal with people. Real people, not just the TV for company. Your family's good people. Your mother, DJ. You. This was the best meal I've had since I moved here."
She didn't say anything, but something in her eyes softened.
"You're welcome at my table anytime."
"I'm grateful."
I held out my hand. She took it. Her grip was firm, calloused from work. Neither of us let go right away.
In the failing light, I could see how beautiful she was. Not in the way magazines meant it. Beautiful like something that had endured hard seasons and come through stronger.
I wanted to say something, but didn't know what.
"Goodnight, Claire."
"Goodnight... Tomás."
We shared a laugh at Bessie's nickname for me, both of us enjoying the moment, both of us lingering together.
I finally turned and walked back through the farmyard, past the barn. The path along the property line was dark, but I knew it well enough by now. My feet found the familiar route without much help from my eyes.
Behind me, padding through the grass, I heard Wendell following. It felt good to have the golden retriever walking with me.
Wendell stopped at the edge of the James Farm land. I could hear him there in the darkness, the soft sound of his breathing, the gentle thump of his tail against the ground.
"Go home, boy."
He didn't follow any further. Just stood there at the invisible boundary and watched me go.
The cabin lights guided me home. I sat in the chair by the window. I had my laptop, but I didn't open it.
In the dusk, through the trees, if I looked carefully, I could barely make out the faint glow of the farmhouse lights.
I sat there for a long time, watching them.