Chapter 12 Frankie
Frankie
“Hollywood!” Hayes snaps his fingers.
I tear my eyes away from the door and Cal’s retreating…figure and face Hayes. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you’ve ever picked an avocado.” His lip twitches like he’s just read my thoughts and discovered they’re ninety percent steamy romance novel.
“Toast?” Jo asks Hayes, seemingly oblivious to anything beyond piling his plate high with the remaining eggs and bacon.
“Sure. Thanks, Ma.” Hayes takes off his hat, still smirking at me. Then he swipes a pancake from Junie’s plate, which makes her giggle.
“Course I’ve picked an avocado, Cowboy.” I banish Cal from my thoughts and fall back into character, enjoying the comedy act I’ve got going with his brother.
“Off a tree? Not a grocery store bin?” He slides into a seat next to Junie, tears a bite out of the pancake and grins around it.
“Is there a difference?”
Hayes laughs. “You’re about to find out.” He clocks my shoes and shakes his head. “But you won’t be picking. You're on ground crew and bin babysitter. No ladders in those shoes.”
I glance at my trainers—Adidas better suited for casual walks than any real exercise—but I don’t like being told what I can’t do.
“I’ve walked red carpets in five-inch heels and dresses tight enough I had to be cut out of them at the end of the night. I can handle a little ladder.” I take a sip of my second cup of coffee, set the mug down and look pointedly at his uneaten brekkie. “Ready when you are.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Long as I get to cut you out of your next dress.”
“In your dreams, Cowboy,” I shoot back.
“Behave,” Jo warns.
I assume she means Hayes.
“Always,” he answers.
I don’t need to see Jo roll her eyes to know he’s lying.
“Frankie’s playing with me today.” Junie slips off her barstool and puts her hands on her hips.
Hayes tsks and shakes his head. “I hear you’re skipping school, Bug.”
Junie sets her mouth tighter but doesn’t deny her crime.
“You know what happens to little girls who skip school?” Hayes tears off a chunk of bacon with his teeth.
Junie shakes her head, all defiance and no fear.
He narrows his eyes and slides out of his seat. “They get tickled.”
Hayes wiggles his fingers and clomps monster-like toward her.
Junie freezes and squeals, not even trying to run away. Obviously, they’ve done this before. When he reaches her, he growls then tickles her until she begs him to stop. By then we’re all laughing, except for Jo. But she’s fighting not to.
“All right,” he says. “You get dressed. No playing when you skip school. We need your help with the avocados.”
“I can help?” Junie bounces on her toes.
“Oh Hayes,” Jo says, swatting the counter with her dishtowel, “last thing I want is to be out in that sun all day.”
But Junie’s already running to her room. There’s no stopping her now.
“I’ll keep her safe, Ma. Don’t worry,” Hayes says.
“Says the man who makes a living trying to get killed by bulls,” Jo says with real annoyance. “You wouldn’t recognize safe if it hit you upside the head. Junie will be climbing ladders and trying to drive the tractor while you’re busy flirting with Frankie.”
In one long stride, Hayes has Jo in a playful hug, rocking her back and forth. “You worry too much, Ma. Besides, Frankie will help.”
“I’m not making Frankie work in the trees and watch a three-year-old.” Jo’s words are muffled against Hayes’s chest before she pushes him away and walks out of the kitchen calling, “Long pants and sleeves, Juniper!”
“You ready for this, Hollywood?” Hayes asks me as he puts on his hat.
“You have one of those for me?”
“You gotta earn one of these, girl.” He grins, then walks to a row of hats hung on hooks by the door. He grabs a baseball cap—Cal’s camo hat—and hands it to me. “This will have to do until you prove yourself.”
I scoop back my hair and adjust the hat on my head, reacquainting myself with the safety I felt wearing it before, then follow Hayes outside.
He takes me on an ATV down a hill to the grove covering a larger hill. Accordion-heavy music blasts through the air as we approach, and Hayes parks at the bottom of a row, where we climb off and walk the last few feet.
The branches are so thick with big, waxy leaves that I almost miss the pickers at the tops of ladders, clipping avocados and sticking them in large canvas bags hung over their shoulders like one of those baby carrier things, only bigger.
Workers with long poles are under the trees, clipping the lower hanging fruit which drops into bags at the end of the pole.
They work so fast, I only catch glimpses of the avocados before their stems are snapped off and they’re dropped in the bags.
I’m mesmerized by the quick, sure, motions of the workers on the ground and by the workers high on the ladders nearly parallel to the steep hill, staying balanced while they pick, clip, and drop in the bags.
“All right, yeah. I’ll pass on the ladder bit,” I tell Hayes. “And the long pole bit, too. Both look like they’re above my pay grade.”
“Good choice.” Hayes laughs. “These guys are experts, so we leave most of the hard work to them, but crews have been short on manpower the last year or two. Workers we’ve known for years haven’t been showing up.”
“Why not?”
Hayes gives me a questioning look like I’ve missed something obvious before he answers. “Fear. Or they’ve been deported. Or they’ve self-deported.”
“Oh. Yeah. I didn’t think about that.” I leave it there, a bit embarrassed, and suddenly very aware that my reasons for coming to America were very different than most immigrants.
Plus, Malcolm had lawyers to do all the paperwork required for me to get dual citizenship, and the process still took years.
“Anyway, we’ve tried to fill in the gap, but it takes skill and experience to work as fast as these crews do and none of us can keep up. Not even me.” He winks and, like that, he’s back to his playful self.
We walk down the row lightly shaded by the canopy of leaves. “What happens if you don’t get all the avos picked?” I ask.
“That’s the beauty of avocados, they won’t go bad if they’re not picked. We’re picking any that are the size of your fist or bigger because of the order from Sanctuary, so. Otherwise, we’d let them keep growing. They can stay on these trees for up to a year.
“That right?” I’ve lived in Serenity Cove for three years, surrounded by ranches, vineyards, and avocado groves, and I’m a bit embarrassed this is the first time I’ve learned anything about them.
Hayes stops under a tree and faces me. “Stick with me, Hollywood, and I’ll teach you everything you wanna know about avocados.” He slides closer in a way that feels like more than innocent flirting. Up close, I realize how alike he and Cal look, only Hayes is a good five years younger.
I put up a hand to stop him getting closer. “Think I’ve learned as much as I need. Cheers. Now what’s my job?”
Hayes doesn’t even blush, just laughs, then plucks an avo from the tree.
“You can pick low-hanging fruit. We want them this size or bigger.” He hands me the avo, and I roll it in my hand, not mentioning that I didn’t realize avocados were fruit.
“Pick up any you find on the ground, too. If they look good, add them to your bag.”
“I don’t have a bag.”
“We’re getting there.” He nods toward the end of the row where an old tractor is parked. Hitched behind it is a long trailer lined with giant white bins. Workers with full bags walk to the bin, unhook the bottoms of their bags and let the avocados roll into the bin.
“How heavy are those things full?” I might have bitten off more than I can chew volunteering to help today.
“Forty-five pounds. But dump ‘em before the bag’s full if they're too heavy.” Hayes pats my head like I’m Junie or something.
“I’ll be alright, Cowboy. I’ve had harder jobs than this.”
I haven’t, but his doubts have lit a fire. Hayes doesn’t think I can handle hard, manual labor? My only option is to prove him wrong.
I heft the bag over my shoulders, allowing Hayes to adjust the straps in the back so it fits right. The bag itself might weigh a couple kilos.
Once it’s on, I take off. Within minutes of reaching to pick avocados and scooping them from the ground, I’ve worked up a sweat. The canopy of leaves keeps things shady, but heat creeps in through the gaps. Today’s going to be hot.
Hayes works the row parallel to mine, which puts only a couple meters between us.
He moves slow at first, but when I pull ahead, he speeds up.
So, I speed up. I may not surf competitively anymore, but I’m still a competitor.
Doesn’t matter what the challenge is. And one thing about being on my feet all day at Flamingo’s is I’ve still got endurance.
But Hayes has more experience and is just as much of a competitor. He catches up, then passes me. “This ain’t no red carpet. Keep up, Hollywood!” He says over his shoulder, expertly snapping an avo from its branch without looking.
“It’s easier,” I shoot back. “I’m not wearing heels or a dress so tight I need mouth-to-mouth at the end of the night.”
His lip slides into a grin, and I realize my mistake saying anything about mouths on mouths.
“Whatever you’re thinking, keep it to yourself.” I turn my back to him and pick two avocados in quick succession. I’m getting the hang of this.
“Wasn’t thinking anything…except I didn’t see you in a tight dress yesterday, but I did see you getting some mouth-to-mouth.”
I whip around, dropping both avocados while my face catches fire.
He bursts out laughing, a barking noise that clashes with the Spanish convo and music that play in the background and have become my motivational soundtrack this morning.
Now all I can hear is his laughing, and the only thing it’s motivating me to do is punch him.
Maybe he senses that, because he stops laughing. He doesn’t stop smiling as he walks closer. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. It’s nice to see my brother happy.”
That soothes my bruised ego a bit. “Yeah? Is that why you keep flirting with me? That didn’t make him happy, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Just helping him see he’s got feelings for you. He likes to keep those bottled up.” Hayes picks up the avocados I dropped and puts them in his own bag.
“Cheater. Those are mine.” I cross my arms over my bag, but not because I’m mad, more to hide the shaking in my hands.
If Hayes thought he was delivering news I wanted to hear, he’s wrong. I know Cal has feelings for me, but hearing it out loud makes them more real. Makes my feelings more real, too, and raises the stakes even higher. There’s no clean break if I leave.
He looks me dead on, his smirk slowly disappearing. “Don’t break his heart, Frankie. Or Junie’s. That’s all I ask.”
What can I do but nod? He’s not the only one worried about Cal’s heart. Or Junie’s either. That’s why I’ve kept my distance. Or tried, anyway.
Until last night.
Cal was right to run, but he shouldn’t have to.
That’s my job.