Chapter 20
TWENTY
The garage is still dark except for the soft light from my lamp, and since it’s still early, no one’s here yet. But that’s what I need right now. I need to be alone in this space, and to work on this.
But I didn’t sleep at all last night after how yesterday went… so this isn’t going so well.
I shift two sheets of paper over the page, so they block everything but the line I’m reading, and I run my finger beneath each word, like I used to when I had to read for school.
Low cation exchange capacity and residual compaction may reduce nutrient availability and delay uptake.
Ok… low cation exchange capacity…
I shift my gaze out into the dark garage as I let these words settle.
Cation exchange is how soil holds and releases nutrients.
So, if that’s low, and if the soil is still compacted in spots, it can’t hold or move nutrients the way it needs to.
So even if it looks ready… it’s probably not ready enough.
I slide the sheets down to reveal the next line of the report.
Recommend monitoring GDD accumulation to determine optimal planting window based on emergence thresholds in this zone.
I blink and read it again. And again, and again. What the fuck does that even mean?
The longer I stare at it, the more the words jumble, and I lose my grip on any understanding I may have had.
A harsh breath escapes me, and I press my fingers to my eyes. GDD… I know that means growing degree days, a measure of heat to predict plant development. But emergence thresholds? Accumulation? How do I monitor that, and what am I monitoring? And what zone? The entire field? Part of it?
I tip my head back and blow out a breath, squeezing my hands into fists and releasing them a few times.
Planting will start within the next two weeks.
But I still want to hold off on this field for a bit longer.
The soil is staying too wet, cold, and too inconsistent overnight.
And if we plant too early, we’re risking rot again.
Even though we’ve planted in these conditions in other fields and it’s worked out…
this field needs everything to be… comfortable.
And I know it’s close. It’s just not there yet.
I drop my eyes to the report in front of me again, but the words are still a jumbled mess.
A frustrated noise escapes me as I lean forward and rest my forehead on the bench.
I need this. I need this to work. I need something to go well, and something to focus on… I need this.
The sound of the side door opening echoes through the garage, and I immediately sit up as my heart thrashes, and my eyes fly over to it.
I watch as the shadowy figure steps closer, and my hands tingle.
But when Papa steps into the light, my chest falls as I release my breath and relief floods through me.
He holds up a paper bag. “You really thought Mama would let you get away without this?”
“No,” I say, watching him as he sets it on the bench. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came down early.”
Papa nods, looking over the papers on the bench. “Hm,” he hums. “And?”
I release a breath and gather them up, shoving them back into the folder. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do,” he says. He leans against the workbench as I look up at him, and he searches me for a moment. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I say quickly, shifting my gaze back to the bench, looking at nothing in particular.
Papa is quiet for a moment, then pushes the paper bag towards me. “Eat.”
I give the bag a disinterested look, not even feeling hungry. But he pushes it closer again.
With an eye roll aimed his way, I grab it and pull out a blueberry muffin.
He huffs a small laugh and claps me on the shoulder as he pushes himself off the bench. “Atta boy. I’ll be around.”
I nod as I take a bite. “Thanks,” I say, and let my eyes drift back to the folder as Papa’s footsteps fade away, and he leaves the garage.
I know this field can’t be planted with the others. I know it needs more time.
So that means I have time to figure everything out, too.
I push up from my stool and start gathering everything I need to begin oil changes on the tractors. I line everything up, just how I like it, and keep my focus on my work. I don’t need to think about the report right now… or anything else. I don’t want to think about anything else.
Everyone starts trickling in, but I keep my head down and stay quiet. I know I’m being an asshole for ignoring them, but they all seem to give me space. And I’m thankful I don’t have to pretend I’m in a better mood than I am and try to hold a conversation when I know I can’t.
The sun eventually rises, and the bay doors open, and the morning breeze travels into the garage.
I shed my hoodie as the sun shines in, and I let the subtle warmth from the sun and the cool bite of the breeze distract me from everything going on in the garage.
But still, I can’t help but flick my gaze to the doors whenever someone walks through them.
And each time, it’s like a zap of electricity shoots through me.
Like there’s an endless amount of energy coiling tight deep inside me, putting me right on the edge of something I don’t have any control over.
I try my hardest to push it all aside as I work on the first tractor, letting the engine warm up for a few minutes before I turn it off and slide underneath it.
Around me, the garage hums with the typical morning sounds of clanking tools, half-finished conversations, and the occasional bark of laughter, but they all blur into the background as I position the drain pan beneath the plug and twist it loose.
A dark stream of oil pours from the engine into the tray below, and I stay where I am as I watch it. I could get up and work on something else while this drains, but… I don’t. I just continue to lie here, watching the oil fall in a smooth ribbon into the tray.
Until the sound of footsteps draws my attention away, and my eyes flick to a clean pair of Converse and jeans walking past the front tire.
“Hey, Al,” Levi’s voice sounds, and the ball of energy in my stomach immediately starts pulsing like it’s begging to be set free.
I shift my gaze back to the oil as it narrows to a drip and stay still. I don’t think I can move even if I wanted to.
“Hey,” Al greets him from somewhere nearby. “So, how far did you get?”
Levi lets out a soft chuckle, and my chest tightens.
The sound rolls over me like something comforting, warm, and familiar, but settles sharper than I was expecting.
The oil finishes dripping into the pan, but my eyes stay fixed on the underside of the engine as I listen to the voice that used to be the one to calm me down when nothing else could.
“Well,” Levi answers, “there’s a lot to go through. I barely slept last night.” He chuckles again, and I blink hard.
I miss laughing with him. I miss his voice, knowing I could hear it whenever I needed it, and it would make everything feel better.
Now… it’s here, and it fucking hurts. It’s not doing what it’s supposed to be doing.
“But I do have some initial recommendations based on what I’ve gone through so far,” Levi continues.
My fingers pick at my thumb as the buzzing under my skin grows, and I try to keep it quiet.
“I’ve read through most of the yield reports, input and output ratios, and planting history,” he says. “And I think a staggered planting schedule would reduce early stress and improve input efficiency overall.”
My breaths come quicker as I think of previous years. We’ve staggered planting before for soil reasons… What’s input efficiency?
“And it looks like western fields will probably benefit from soil probes, which you already identified due to temperature inconsistency.”
My brow furrows, and I press harder against my thumb without realizing it, before a sharp sting snaps me back when I almost break skin.
“It also looks like some yield loss last year in some fields may have been tied to row spacing. We can look at trialling narrower spacing in one or two fields to see if that stabilizes output.”
Yield loss in some fields? There’s always going to be some due to normal fluctuations, and we didn’t have a big loss last year besides the hollow heart… Why is he changing things that work?
“And… I’m just curious,” Levi says. “Field 2… It’s being planted this year?”
It feels like my heart completely stops beating.
That’s my field.
“Yeah,” Al answers simply.
Levi pauses, and I try to keep my breathing quiet.
“Ok,” he says slowly. “Well, I really don’t think that field should be planted this year. It’s been too inconsistent to justify putting more resources into it.”
I see fucking red.
Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I crawl out from under the tractor and push to my feet, my gaze immediately locking on Levi across the garage.
He looks over, and the second he sees me, his shoulders tense.
I take a few steps forward as rage builds inside me so fast I can’t keep up with it, and it all zeroes in on him.
Him. Coming in here and changing everything and taking what’s mine.
“You stay the fuck away from that field,” I snarl at him, stopping in the middle of the garage.
His brows knit together as he stares at me. “What?”
“Don’t fucking touch it,” I say, unable to find any other words. There’s so much I want to say, but it’s all I can manage. I just know I need to protect it. Because I know what it needs and I want to give it a chance. I need to give it a chance.
He stiffens and takes a step towards me as his eyes narrow. “It’s my job—”
“Don’t!” I yell.
My voice echoes around the garage, and my pulse roars in my ears, drowning it out. I don’t even know where that came from…
I wish I could say more and explain why he can’t take it from me, but the words won’t come.
And I hate the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’m someone to analyze instead of someone he used to know.
I stare back at him, and for a second, all I see are his eyes. The same warm brown eyes I used to look into when I was desperate for a lifeline.
But now they’re looking back at me like I’m the problem.
His mouth opens, and Al steps forward with a hand raised to intervene, but I don’t wait to hear what either of them has to say.
I turn and leave the garage, letting my feet carry me as I just keep walking with no idea where I’m going.
I just need to get away.
Fuck this.